Chapter Forty-Seven: The Nine Gates of the Capital

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The next day, at half past ten in the morning, Mengya and I arrived half an hour early at the “Summer Palace” private room in Hongbin Tower. In the center of the room stood a round table, placed squarely atop the carpet. Master and four elderly gentlemen, along with a young man with a head of white hair, were seated around the table, sipping tea.

“Qiutong!” Master called out to me, motioning for me to come over.

I approached and stood by his side. “Master, do you have any instructions?”

“These are your uncles in the trade. Go and pay your respects.”

I paused for a moment, nodded, and made a particular note of the young man in a white mask—he was clearly younger than me.

The young man glanced at me, his face devoid of expression. I went over, performed the formal greeting, and sat down beside my master.

“Appetizers before the main dishes!”

Just as I settled into my seat, a loud, clear voice rang out from outside the door.

No sooner had the announcement ended than a stunningly beautiful waitress, dressed in a cheongsam, entered, carrying four tall, blue-and-white porcelain dishes from the Qing dynasty. She placed the plates at the four corners of the table.

On each plate, diamond-shaped pieces of sweet bean jelly, hawthorn cake, and yellow pea pudding were arranged into a sparkling lotus blossom. Around them lay eight crystal-skinned water chestnut cakes—delicate and exquisite.

“Fourth Brother, what’s the purpose of inviting us old fellows here today?” said the old man in the leather jacket seated at the center of the round table, his hair completely white.

“Yes, surely you don’t expect us to eat for free?” added another elderly man, leaning on a rattan cane made from arhat bamboo, his hair peppered with gray.

Master smiled enigmatically, took a sip of tea, and waved his hand mysteriously.

“Heh heh heh…” A bespectacled, middle-aged man with a scholarly air let out a cold laugh. “Come now, it’s only a meal. Must you make such a fuss?”

“Who in our circle doesn’t know that Fourth Brother’s meals are never just about the food?” the cane-wielding old man replied.

The scholarly man shot a mocking glance at him. “Old Eight, if you knew the meal would be unpleasant, why did you come?”

Old Eight tapped his bamboo cane on the floor and smirked. “Kaleidoscope, save your nonsense. After all these years, who doesn’t know your house makes its living off wagging its tongue?”

Kaleidoscope took no offense at the jab. He spat playfully and retorted, “Cripple, think about it—over these years, which of our deals has lacked my input? Unlike some, who always charge in headlong and nearly get their entire house wiped out.”

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Old Eight stared impassively at Kaleidoscope from across the table, tapping his cane three times against the floor in silence.

“All right, all right! It’s been so long since we’ve seen each other—must we always bicker the moment we meet? We’re all old friends now,” the white-haired elder in the black leather jacket tried to mediate.

Old Eight and Kaleidoscope both looked dissatisfied at his intervention. Old Eight sighed. “Dragon King, I respect you as the head of our Lower Three Sects. I won’t argue with him.”

Kaleidoscope shot Old Eight a disgruntled look, clearly unimpressed by his “noble” attitude. Masking his displeasure with a sly smile, he said, “Fine, since you’re the one mediating, Dragon King, I won’t press the issue. Though I’m from the Middle Three Sects, as a man of letters, I won’t stoop to his level.” With that, he reached for a piece of sweet bean jelly.

Snap.

Just as his chopsticks were about to touch the jelly, another pair of chopsticks darted from his left, knocking his hand aside. Kaleidoscope’s chopsticks clattered to the floor.

He looked up in annoyance. It was the white-haired, blue-eyed youth in the mask.

The young man stared at him coldly, tossing the used chopsticks into the waste bin by the table. His voice was hoarse and menacing. “It’s not your turn to eat yet.”

Kaleidoscope clearly dreaded the youth and hastily nodded, wiping the sweat from his brow.

Old Eight’s lips curled in schadenfreude.

“Third Brother, do you know when First Brother and Second Brother will arrive?” Kaleidoscope asked ingratiatingly.

“No idea,” the white-haired youth replied icily.

The curt answer left Kaleidoscope speechless, forcing him to lower his head in silent frustration.

“Guests have arrived!”

A clear voice announced from outside. In walked an elderly man with a full head of white hair and a kindly, gray-haired man in his seventies.

As soon as they entered, everyone stood up.

“First Brother, Second Brother.”

The two men nodded slightly. The white-haired elder looked stern, while the gray-haired gentleman wore a gentle smile. Both took their seats at the empty spots at the round table.

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“Be seated,” the white-haired elder commanded in a deep voice.

Only then did everyone sit down.

I turned to study the two newcomers. The white-haired elder looked well past eighty, with age spots on his face, but his eyes shone brilliantly, like twin golden lanterns. He wore a traditional white robe and cloth shoes with layered soles. In his hand was a Qing dynasty court smoking pipe with a white jade mouthpiece, still faintly smoldering.

The gray-haired elder beside him was noticeably younger, with fewer wrinkles and age spots, always wearing a kind smile. His attire was casual—just a tracksuit and sneakers. He continuously rolled two iron balls in his palm, though they made no sound.

“Third Brother, you arrived quite early,” the white-haired elder remarked to the young man beside him.

“First Brother, Second Brother, you’re not late yourselves,” the young man replied, his face expressionless, voice hoarse.

At this, Master stood up and hurriedly bowed to the two elders. “First Brother, Second Brother, I never thought you both would be able to come. I—I…” His emotions got the better of him, and to everyone’s surprise, tears rolled down his cheeks.

The two elders both heaved a heavy sigh. The gray-haired one, eyes already moist, wiped away his own tears.

“Fourth Brother, ever since Fifth Brother betrayed our Nine Gates of Beijing and defected to the Nine Gates of Changsha, causing Third Brother’s current condition…” The old man paused with a deep sigh. “It’s been years since we’ve gathered together. I’ve heard… that Ninth Brother too…” He left the sentence unfinished.

“What?” Old Eight cried out in shock. “Is it true that the traitor killed Ninth Brother?” Tears welled in his eyes, turning them bloodshot.

“Qiutong,” Master called, motioning me over. “This is my disciple, Qiutong. He knows what happened to Brother Ren.”

I nodded, stood up, and approached the table, bowing formally as Master had done.

“Rise,” the white-haired elder said. “You must be Qiutong of the Cottage of Purity and Grace?”

I nodded. Master smiled, “Qiutong, this is your Uncle Guan of the Celestial Gate, the head of the First Sect of the Nine Gates of Beijing.”

The Nine Gates of Beijing—a mysterious antiquities organization in the capital, divided into nine sects. This white-haired elder, known as “Master Guan,” bore the nickname “Celestial Gate” in the trade, famous to all. The Second Sect was led by the gray-haired gentleman with the iron balls, nicknamed “Hou Qian Kun.” The Third Sect was this enigmatic white-haired youth, known to most only as Zhang, but in the trade he was called “Ghost-face Zhang,” rumored to conceal a horrific mouth beneath his mask. The Fourth Sect was my master; I won’t elaborate here. The Fifth was Lord Jun of Fengshan Hall, who was imprisoned for betraying the Nine Gates of Beijing and thus is no longer acknowledged by us. The Sixth was Kaleidoscope, the scholarly, bespectacled man—arrogant but renowned for his vast knowledge. The Seventh was the leather-jacketed Dragon King, real name unknown, but called “Old Seven Sand” by some. The Eighth was Liu Old Eight, the one with the bamboo cane, nicknamed “Iron-crutch Liu.” The Ninth was Ren Tai’an, whose antique shop in Liulichang was wiped out by Lord Jun. I won’t elaborate further, as each will play their part in the story to come.