Chapter 3: The Fish Market!

The moment it hit the creel, the silver-striped fish curled up stiff, and within moments it had frozen solid in the cold.

Shen Xiuhan pumped his fist, unable to suppress the thrill surging across his face.

It was real!

The intelligence system really could pinpoint treasure fish!

In his inherited memories, after Shen Sanhuai had caught that silver-backed fish years ago, he'd spent drinking money to consult a grizzled old fisherman about the creature's habits.

The old-timer was a bottomless pit for liquor. It took three bowls of rice wine before he finally spilled the truth:

The silver-backed fish was not only brimming with vital blood energy — it had a peculiar temperament.

It was an absolute lecher.

Whenever a mature silver-back appeared, a school of the finest female silver-striped fish — all bearing four or more stripes — would be swimming in its wake.

As for the common two- or three-striped specimens, most weren't fit to swim near it and could only drift about on their own.

And the one he'd just hooked carried a full five silver stripes.

Which meant...

Beneath the ice.

A silver-back truly lurked.

"Hoo..."

Shen Xiuhan let out a long breath, fished a few grains of millet from inside his jacket, and re-baited the hook.

The silver-striped fish he'd just landed weighed at least two pounds.

Silver-striped fish were far less precious than silver-backs, but thanks to their tender flesh, they'd always been a hot commodity at the inner-city restaurants — prime river fare.

At market price, an ordinary silver-striped fish fetched twenty wen per pound.

This one had five full stripes, so it might even command a premium of two or three wen more.

A single cast of the rod, and that was already over forty wen in his pocket.

In ordinary times, that kind of money could feed the whole family for half a month.

But for Shen Xiuhan right now, it was nowhere near enough.

His bout of illness had burned through nearly a full string of coins — a thousand wen — in just half a month.

He owed the Bai family for the sampan and fishing rent, principal and interest combined — two taels of silver.

He still owed Uncle Chen's family two hundred wen...

And winter was upon them. The rice crock was scraping bottom. They hadn't even stockpiled firewood for the cold months ahead!

Hunger, cold, debt...

Three mountains pressing down on him, not allowing a moment's rest.

He needed money — desperately.

"Again!"

Shen Xiuhan licked his cracked lips, flicked his wrist, and cast the re-baited hook back into the ice hole.

The very next instant!

SWISH!

The reed float plunged without warning!

"That fast?!"

Shen Xiuhan startled. His body reacted on instinct, far outpacing his brain — both hands locked onto the bamboo rod, waist and legs braced as one, and he heaved upward!

SPLASH!

Amid flying spray, another silver-white form burst through the ice!

SLAP!

A plump, four-striped silver-striped fish smacked onto the frozen surface, thrashing wildly.

In the biting cold, the moisture on its scales crystallized into frost almost instantly, freezing it into a rigid little ice sculpture within the blink of an eye.

Shen Xiuhan grabbed it and tossed it into the creel, letting it join its "sister" from before.

Two fish now!

Elated beyond measure, he re-baited and cast again.

Roughly a quarter-hour later, the float dipped sharply once more.

"Another one!"

Set the hook, haul the line, swing the fish — his movements were growing slicker by the minute, fluid as a single stroke!

SLAP!

The third silver-striped fish slammed onto the ice, a hefty specimen well over three pounds.

Better still, its back bore a striking six silver stripes!

"Top-shelf!"

Shen Xiuhan's spirits soared. He pressed it into the creel.

The old bamboo creel was getting crowded.

Three plump silver-striped fish wedged inside, heavy and satisfying.

But he had no intention of stopping.

Over the next hour, the float dipped once every quarter-hour or so.

The fourth, the fifth, the sixth...

Besides silver-striped fish, he also hauled in two black bighead carp — one large, one small.

They'd likely been lurking in the shallows and were drawn to the hole in the ice for air.

Shen Xiuhan repeated the cycle — set, haul, swing — hands and feet numb from cold, heart blazing with heat.

Until, an hour in, the float suddenly went still.

No matter how long the millet bait soaked, turning pale and waterlogged, the surface didn't so much as ripple.

"Gone quiet?"

Shen Xiuhan frowned, glancing down at the creel by his feet.

Six silver-striped fish. Two black bigheads.

But... what about the silver-backed fish he'd been promised?

He focused his thoughts and called up the intelligence system.

【Intelligence ①: Five hundred meters south (Coordinates 381, 513), at the Xiaojing Bay shallows, a "silver-backed fish" has been spotted.】

Shen Xiuhan distinctly remembered that when he'd first smashed open the ice hole, the pale gold marker for the silver-backed fish had been directly beneath him.

But now...

The marker had slipped away to over a hundred paces off, silent as a ghost!

The coordinate numbers had changed too.

In other words...

The silver-back had bolted!

"..."

It dawned on Shen Xiuhan a beat too late...

The silver-backed fish, old and crafty as they came, had sensed the danger and greased its fins and fled!

"Treasure fish really are treasure fish — goddamn thing's wary as all hell."

He sighed, checked the sky, and decided to let it go for now.

The fish market closed in the late afternoon.

Show up too late and a full creel of fresh fish would be stuck in his hands, unable to fetch a decent price.

"You can run but you can't hide. With the system locked on, you're not slipping out of my grasp!"

"Tomorrow! Once I've got some proper bait, I'm hauling you out whether you like it or not!"

Shen Xiuhan snorted, stowed the bamboo rod, and slung the creel over his shoulder.

With one last glance at the distant, flickering marker of the silver-backed fish, he turned without hesitation and marched toward Changyun County's inner city.

...

Changyun County covered a wide expanse, threaded by canals branching off from Yunshui Lake's tributaries that laced through both the inner and outer districts.

Small bridges, flowing water, boats passing to and fro — the scenery was quite unique in its own right.

But people lived here, and that split the inner and outer cities into two different worlds.

The outer districts — Xiaojing Bay, Dongxi Ward — were slums, plain and simple.

Thatched huts and wooden shacks crammed shoulder to shoulder, leaning at angles along narrow alleyways.

Icicles hung from the eaves alongside laundry that never quite dried — tattered rags, stiff in the cold.

The roads were mud. When the snow thawed, they turned to slop.

The people who lived here were mostly tenant farmers, corvée laborers, and lowborn — those who survived on the strength of their backs.

The inner city was another matter entirely.

Past the gates guarded day and night by soldiers, the ground became smooth flagstone.

Snow had been swept clean, piled neatly along the drainage ditches by the roadside.

Lining the streets were houses of gray brick and dark tile.

Not lavish, but the kind of respectable dwelling an outer-city family could save a lifetime and still never afford.

Here and there, a vermilion-lacquered gate flanked by stone lions guarded a sprawling compound behind tall, imposing walls — the sight enough to send a chill down the spine.

Outer-city folk heading to the market couldn't help stealing glances, green with envy.

Deeper in, the streets widened. Wine banners fluttered and tea pennants swayed.

Inns, cloth shops, grain stores, and sundry shops lined the road one after another. Shopkeepers leaned in doorways with plastered-on smiles, beckoning customers, the clatter of abacus beads a constant staccato.

Pedestrians jostled shoulder to shoulder, carts and horses streamed endlessly, and the bustle was overwhelming.

Shen Xiuhan, creel on his back, turned west and entered the West Market fish exchange.

The exchange sat near the wharf, with a waterway running straight through to Nanxiang Commandery.

A hundred-odd bamboo rafts and sampans were moored along the bank, alongside a dozen or so black-canopied boats.

Fishermen in conical hats and straw cloaks wove through the crowd, hauling basket after basket of fresh river catch ashore, renting stalls, and hawking at the top of their lungs.

The fish market reeked to high heaven.

Groups of three to five men in matching brown robes drifted between stalls, wooden plaques swinging at their waists, each carved with the characters "Golden Dragon."

The moment Shen Xiuhan stepped into the market, a hulking man cut across his path.

The man's gaze was sharp but restrained, his temples bulging prominently — radiating an air of violent capability. A trained fighter at a glance.

At the base of his Golden Dragon waist plaque, a single small character had been chiseled with an engraving knife:

"Gao."