The Shadow Bazaar of Cloudford Town was not an open marketplace of canvas stalls and shouting hawkers.
It operated in the underground basements behind the Black River wharves, where illegal prospectors traded raw red stone, stolen mountain ginseng, and raw wolframite ore away from the eyes of royal tax collectors. Moisture seeped through the rough-hewn stone walls. He pooled in dark drainage gullies beneath wooden walkway planks. The air hung thick with the heavy scents of boiling bitter pine-resin, muskrat oil, and dried bitter herbs.
Pei Jing pushed aside the double-layered felt curtain leading into the back room of the Hundred Herb Medicine room.
Behind a high counter built of dark hardwood sat Su Mei’er.
She wore a high-collared gown of dark green silk, quilted with lamb’s wool to keep out the underground chill. Her slender fingers, tipped with brass needle-sheaths, were busy sorting dried centipedes on a balance scale carved from polished ox-bone. She didn’t look up when the curtain rustled. In the shadow market, curious eyes were an unnecessary debt.
“The shop is closed,” she said, her voice smooth, low, and cool. “The county court guards are searching every cellar within three li for unlisted toddlers. If you came to buy false birth certificates or sleeping drought for infants, you’re late. The scribes have already burned their registries.”
