Three relay-station horses suddenly dropped dead overnight, delaying a military dispatch. The station supervisor slammed his hand on the table and demanded sixty taels. Pay up, or be exiled three thousand li.
Lu Chuan woke up, grabbed a handful of moldy beans, and dragged the supervisor's cousin out on the spot.
He had been the owner of a modern-day parcel delivery station, but now he'd become a low-ranking station clerk at Blackstone Relay Station on the northern frontier. In the back storeroom, set into the north wall, was a rolling shutter door only he could open. Behind it was his own shop.
The door opened for fifteen minutes at midnight each night. For every li the station delivered, he earned one li's worth of purchasing credit. White sugar could be traded for silver, headlamps lit the snowy nights, and firecrackers scared off bandits.
The farther he delivered, the more goods appeared on the other side of the door.
But there was a package on the shelf with his name on it. Inside, in his own handwriting, was a note: "Don't trust the man in the crimson robe."
That note had appeared ten years ago.
