Strange Tales of Qianjiang

The First: The Swallow Nest The swallow nests of the Qianjiang Streets do not grow beneath the eaves, but atop the rooftops. Nor are they built of mud and straw—they are built of cloth bundles and stolen wealth. No one knows when these swallow nests first began to appear, nor who first built them, nor is there any pattern to where they take root. Sometimes a well-off household finds a nest sprouting upon its roof; sometimes a family already destitute finds itself robbed all the same. Who this nest-builder truly is, and why they persist in their building, remains to this day a mystery. The people of Qianjiang know only this: should their own household be fortunate enough to grow a nest of riches, it is a windfall from heaven, and their fortunes turn overnight. And so hearts grow restless, and no small trouble follows. The Second: Feng Sanzhen Feng Sanzhen was once named Feng Qiniang, born to a boatman's family at the Qiantang docks. By the time her name spread through the Jianghu, none cared any longer for her origins—all knew only the name Feng Sanzhen. The common folk say Feng Sanzhen commands three winds. When the first wind comes, she may see an embroidery lady a thousand li away, threading her needle; When the second wind comes, she may hear bandits a thousand li away, plotting in hushed voices; When the third wind comes, no matter where you stand, should you wish to find Feng Sanzhen, you need only call her name, state your request and the reward you are prepared to offer, and within five days, word shall surely reach your door. Within the bounds of Hangzhou, whatever one wishes to know, whoever one wishes to find, one cannot avoid passing through Feng Sanzhen. The Third: Qilin Sage, the Honorbound Guest When a household in the Qianjiang Streets falls upon hardship, the first thought is of the Connecting Bridge Guild, and the second is of Qilin Sage. The name Qilin Sage is a grand one, though he never claimed it for himself. He was once a scholar, and remains one still. In the Wuyue Region, recommendation and hereditary privilege come before all else—those of Qianjiang without ancestral favor cannot enter office. And so few pursue scholarship, and many turn to trade; a craft is worth more than a book of verse here. Yet learning a craft often means toiling behind closed doors—either the wine's aroma cannot reach the deep alley, or the skill fades away as it passes hand to hand. Qilin Sage once called himself an honorbound guest, though in truth he was but a broker among craftsmen. When Lady Xu, the cloth-dyer's wife, wished to sell her dyed cloth, Qilin Sage would connect her to the Zhang family's tailoring shop, guaranteeing both sides and settling a fair price between them—his scholar's talents finding their true use in guarantees and contracts. Little by little, he built a name for trustworthiness and fairness, and as his net of connections grew, so too did what he could accomplish. Suppose, for instance, one household suffers misfortune this year and seeks Qilin Sage's aid—he might borrow oxen and farming tools on credit from another household to help them through the crisis. And perhaps that other household has a cart of goods it wishes to send to Gusu—Qilin Sage then seeks out brothers in the freight trade to lend their aid. And perhaps those freight brothers, having helped, find themselves in trouble too—a fine silk garment aboard their cargo boat has torn, and the price of compensation is dear indeed—but the first household happens to have a weaver girl of great skill, able to mend it without a seam showing, and so Qilin Sage guarantees the garment's safe passage there and back, to the benefit of both sides. Of course, matters do not always circle back so neatly—this is merely an illustration of how Qilin Sage conducts his guarantees, more or less. His name, Qilin, speaks to this: that whatever great or small trouble a household meets, encountering him is as fortunate as encountering a qilin itself, turning misfortune to auspiciousness. The Fourth: A Steady Hand at Weighing Her original surname is no longer known to any. Now she bears the surname Bai, a retainer of the Bai family, said to have been rescued by the family head himself while distributing porridge to the poor. That day was the eighteenth of the first month, and so she gave herself the nickname Bai Shiba. The Connecting Bridge Guild patrols the marketplace, and any merchant found short-weighing or peddling shoddy goods is to be reported and punished. But for every policy above, there is a countermeasure below—the tricks played upon the scales in the marketplace are countless and ever-changing, and even the finest scale can be fooled. Yet these tricks fear nothing more than encountering Bai Shiba. Bai Shiba's hands are unerringly precise. Whatever object comes into her grip, one weighing tells her all—how many parts copper and how many parts clay lie within a lump of iron, how many scraps of cloth have been secretly stitched into a garment to pass for cotton padding—she can weigh it all out to the last measure. Corrupt merchants tested and challenged her a few times without gain, and soon simply gave up—whenever they saw her coming, they would bring out their good wares in advance, only switching back to fakes once she had gone. Bai Chonghe, seeing her extraordinary skill, once insisted on bringing her along on his patrols. But she found his entourage far too conspicuous, and so ceased following the family head, choosing instead to wander alone and unassuming, appearing and vanishing without warning—leaving the corrupt merchants no way to guard against her, and forcing them, in the end, to keep only genuine goods on hand at all times. The Fifth: The Flying Chopstick of the Tavern The taverns of the marketplace are a curious sort, quite unlike the wine houses frequented by young gentlemen. The most obvious difference is that there are no tables or chairs within. Each person who enters is handed a bowl, and for one coin, receives a ladle of wine—just enough to fill it. Most who come here are laborers of water and land, and porters who wander the streets, all selling their strength cheap. They hurry in, fill a bowl, drink it down, drop the bowl, and hurry off again, with no time to sit and take another bite of rice or exchange idle words. The wine is cloudy and thin, with little flavor—just enough to satisfy the craving. But those who scrape by in the marketplace have little coin to spend on fine wine, nor time to waste on drunkenness. When the toil of making a living wearies them, they come for a bowl—the wine burns briefly on the tongue, then settles warm in the belly, a small comfort, and no hindrance to the work that follows. The keeper of this tavern is an old woman of some fifty years, whose name none know—only that she fled here from Suzhou, and so is called Granny Su. Granny Su's eyes are sharp indeed. Whoever takes a bowl without paying, whoever drinks more than they paid for, whoever quietly schemes to pocket a bowl and carry it home—she sees it all. A single chopstick flung through the air, and whoever harbored ill intent finds himself kneeling on the spot. Though the marketplace teems with skilled hands from every corner, none has yet seen through, nor found a counter to, Granny Su's uncanny trick of the flying chopstick. The Sixth: The Hero's Name The heroes' names were, for the most part, spread more than a decade ago. Few now remember them; more have let them fade. And yet, as the wild goose leaves its mark in passing, so too does a hero leave an echo behind—how could it truly be forgotten entirely? And so it is recorded here.