Chapter 22: Wanted Notice and the Ghostwriter

For the next three days, Wang Cheng spent his idle moments sitting on the bustling dock, his eyes wide open, watching the endless stream of people. During this time, he took the Zhang brothers and the ship “Zhang Fushun” out to sea once, casting nets near the coast and hauling in several large catches of amberjack migrating south for the winter from the north.

Though not one of the fabled treasures of the sea, this fish was nourishing and valuable among common catches, fetching a good price due to its abundance—enough to yield a handsome profit. Once the fish was sold, Wang Cheng immediately divided the earnings among his crew according to the “Blue Garment Pact,” never hesitating.

From childhood, his father had taught him by word and deed: if one wishes to achieve greatness, one must cultivate loyal eyes, ears, claws, and confidants. In the eyes of his subordinates, a leader’s greatest quality was generosity in sharing profits—there was no virtue more esteemed.

Having established the Blue Garment Pact, which promised generous treatment for his crew, Wang Cheng would not break his word under any circumstances. With each victory and bounty, the image of Wang Cheng among the boat-dwelling Dan people rose steadily—he became to them like a rising sun. Especially during the moments of sharing out the silver, the radiance seemed almost blinding: they could not tell whether it was the gleam of the money, or the heroic glow of their captain standing at the prow.

They couldn’t tell; they simply could not.

With the Zhang brothers acting as examples, even the most rough-and-ready Dan boatmen could be rallied to fight a hard battle. After discussing with the vice-captain Zhang Wu, Wang Cheng resolved to recruit more trusted Dan folk, expanding the ranks of the Blue Garment Fishing Guild—the mere dozen or so men they had were far from sufficient.

Three days after the Waterworks Office’s defeat, Wang Cheng did not go out to sea. He and the Zhang brothers remained at the dock, searching for a suitable master. His standards lowered again and again, until he decided that today he’d make his choice—so long as someone could sponsor him in a petition, as long as they were sane, that would suffice.

“I already have the ‘Artisan’s Silver,’ a talisman of at least prefectural value. I’ll use a guide to enter the trade, and if need be, I’ll find a way to strike out on my own—that’s acceptable,” he thought.

As he watched, he suddenly noticed another official ship arriving at Yue Harbor’s dock. But this vessel did not carry tax collectors or yamen runners. Instead, a group of strapping, armed men disembarked and marched straight towards the Baoshan Beacon Tower at the edge of the port, posting a notice on the wall.

At the top, encircled in red, were two characters: “Wanted.”

The first line below read in bold: “Prince of Jinghai, Wang Cheng!”

Since Wang Cheng had awakened his inner light, his senses were sharp and his eyesight keen. Even from the distant teahouse, he could make out every word on the wanted notice posted at the beacon.

“Prince of Jinghai, Wang Cheng, son of Dan boatmen, without fixed abode, ten days ago volunteered to accompany his father, the Prince of Jinghai, to escort the King’s Ship and fill the sea-eye for the good of the people. However, he vanished midway at sea, suspected to have been devoured by evil spirits, leaving only his skin. Extremely dangerous. A reward of five thousand taels of silver for his capture and delivery to the state yamen. Harboring or failing to report him will be punished as an accomplice. Proclaimed on the twenty-ninth day of the eleventh month, the thirty-ninth year of the Shaozhi era.”

Beneath the words was a lifelike portrait, the very image of his true appearance, clearly drawn by an official painter. It seemed as if calling out to the portrait would cause a “Wang Cheng” to step down from the paper.

After Wang Zeng completed the King’s Ship ceremony, the “Twenty-Four Rites of the Calendar” had acknowledged his ghostly status as a prince, so the Great Zhao Dynasty could no longer pursue Wang Cheng as a “pirate king’s remnant.” Instead, they changed the charge to hunting an evil spirit.

Perhaps the authorities wracked their brains but could not fathom how Wang Cheng had escaped, but that did not stop them from branding him a demon. Exorcising evil spirits was a political imperative; defamation, a political weapon.

This tactic had two obvious advantages: not only could they discard the underhanded means of the “Island Ghosts,” but they could openly pursue him, and fundamentally deny his right to inherit the Prince of Jinghai’s maritime confederation. Even if the great ships of the Five Peaks Banner tried to install him as a figurehead, there would be doubts—could he truly have become a man-eating fiend? Was it wise to consort with a tiger?

Though it would not frighten his loyal followers, it would surely unsettle the fence-sitters.

Wang Cheng had to admit: “The court still has its wise men. My escape did rely on the help of a fiend—they were only mistaken in this: it was not a fiend wearing my skin, but me wearing the skin of a fiend. The Waterworks Office’s earlier bluster became a laughingstock; this time, their return will not be so easily repulsed.”

Soon, the Dan people around him noticed the wanted notice posted in the most conspicuous spot on the beacon, and, joining the other idlers at the dock, gathered to see. Zhang Wen read the contents aloud, provoking a wave of exclamations.

“The prince is still alive!”

“Heavenly Consort bless us, the Dan and water gatherers still have a future!”

“Though the Prince of Jinghai is gone, the prince lives on. Possessed by evil spirits? I don’t believe a word the court says…”

The bystanders’ reactions were much the same: first elation, then indignation, completely disbelieving the official account.

Zhang Wu, ever forthright and loud-voiced, bellowed, “Who dares come to Yue Harbor to post a bounty on our prince? The sky above Yue Harbor has not changed—if you want trouble, first ask if we Dan folk will allow it!”

The group who posted the notice—dozens of men—had not left. Hearing the commotion, they turned abruptly, their leader’s gaze as sharp as a blade, stinging the skin. Everyone felt a chill rise along their spines, as if they were mice being stared down by a venomous snake.

“They look like a band of ‘blade-catchers,’” someone whispered.

Wang Cheng had no time to stop the Dan people from defending him; he, too, felt the leader’s piercing gaze fall on him.

What few realized was that the deadliest part of a wanted notice was not the vivid portrait or the bumbling yamen runners, but the “blade-catchers”—specialist bounty hunters—who would stop at nothing for the reward.

Throughout history, the empire’s backward communications and low population mobility meant that any stranger with a foreign accent would be instantly recognized by locals. Even fugitives confident in their martial prowess could not avoid detection; soon enough, professional bounty hunters, living off rewards and fearing nothing, would be on their trail.

And this time, the blade-catchers had set their sights on the prince. With the Waterworks Office’s failure as a lesson, the ones sent now would not be mediocre—there were more than one or two official experts among them.

“You’re Dan boatmen, aren’t you? The court’s orders are clear—harboring is a crime. Defend a fiend, and you must be fiends yourselves!” The blade-catcher leader, “Badger” Wei Zhong, recognized their identity at a glance.

Not only did they reek of fish, but the law forbidding Dan from wearing shoes on shore was etched into their very bones—so ingrained that even in Yue Harbor, beyond the reach of imperial power, they obeyed it unconsciously.

Zhang Wu, stubborn as ever, would risk his life for those he considered benefactors. Unmoved by the other’s menace, he shouted, “Fiend, you say? When the Prince of Jinghai’s line guarded the coast and protected the people from fiends, where were you? Now you dare claim our prince is a fiend? Who do you think you are? You blade-catchers, who kill for money and care nothing for right or wrong—you’re the real fiends wearing human skin! Know that Heaven sees all, and retribution never fails!”

Hearing his words, and the cheers from the crowd, Wei Zhong’s eyes grew cold. His hand drifted to the hilt of his ring-pommel sword.

He was a famed blade-catcher from the neighboring prefecture, his official status no less than the missing Waterworks Chief. But blade-catchers always had to rely on the authorities and the wealthy gentry; their allegiance was never in doubt.

Wei Zhong remembered well the instructions from the high-ranking official back in Min Prefecture: kill as many stubborn loyalists as needed to set an example, frighten the rabble, and work with inside agents to accomplish their mission. Then, spare no effort searching for the last scion of the Prince of Jinghai—this remnant, marked with “dragon’s breath,” must be captured at any cost.

Wei Zhong had worried about lacking an excuse to cause trouble; now, these gullible Dan, bewitched by the prince, had stepped forward themselves—the perfect opening.

Clang! His sword had only left its sheath halfway when a youthful voice called from the crowd, “Well said, brother! Who are these clowns, without official robes or authority, daring to cause trouble in Yue Harbor? They must have a death wish!”

Immediately, a rotund young man with an oily face led a swelling crowd charging out from the inner port, brimming with righteous fury.