Hide and Seek

Meilan County.

The prison.

A thin, small jailer left his quarters early, searching for his companions.

“Big Mouth!”

The diminutive man’s delight was accompanied by a look that said: great minds think alike.

“Old Cheng and Zhuangzi are here, too.”

Big Mouth, a middle-aged jailer true to his nickname, had thick lips. Usually, all four of them would dawdle as much as possible, never arriving on duty so early. Today was a rarity; the four wardens peered about, searching for something.

Big Mouth spoke first, lowering his voice uncertainly: “Do you think Chief Zhao made it in time?”

Old Cheng, his gaunt, shriveled hand toying with a pair of dice, replied without surprise, “Of course he did. If not, we wouldn’t have slept so peacefully last night.”

The habitual thief Jinsheng pricked up his ears, squinting, “He’s that capable?”

Old Cheng cast a glance at Jinsheng, recognizing him as Jin Er, the thief who’d first warned Zhao Jia, then took a draw on his pipe and continued, “Who is Chief Zhao? The renowned constable of Meilan County, head of the third shift, listed in the Six Doors’ reserve. Don’t be fooled by his role as jailer—he does the work of a head constable.”

A cough cut everyone short.

The first rays of dawn stretched the shadows on the stone walls. Out from the gloom stepped a man, lean and hawk-like.

“Chief Zhao.”

Zhao Jia nodded slightly. “Anything unusual last night?”

The small man quickly waved his hands. “No, no, everything was peaceful.”

“I’m off to see the magistrate. You all look after him—I’ll be back soon to fetch him.”

Behind Zhao Jia, a pair of golden, sun-like eyes shone.

A large, black cat, over four feet long and resembling a small leopard, emerged from the darkness. It was Lu Xun, who had followed Zhao Jia from the residence.

Returning to this somewhat familiar place, Lu Xun remembered the half-dead prisoner—just in time to see if the man had survived the night.

“Wow! That’s a big black cat.”

Big Mouth took two steps forward, crouching down.

“Aren’t you afraid it’ll scratch you? The inspector’s tabby’s gotten you several times,” the small man dared not approach.

Big Mouth chuckled, “I just like live creatures, that’s all.”

Zhuangzi mused, “What’s Chief Zhao planning—could he be challenging the inspector?”

“Two taels of silver for the cat’s upkeep, and I only get one tael and seven qian a month,” the small man snorted.

“Who can say if it’s for the cat or the people?” Old Cheng waved a hand dismissively. “All right, Chief Zhao said he’d take the cat back soon. He must’ve picked it up on his way in this morning—he doesn’t live in the county office barracks.”

“Picked it up? That big? Sleek, well-fed—not a stray, more like a family’s prize pet.”

Big Mouth scrutinized the black cat, puzzled. “Do you remember Mr. Song?”

“Song from the north of the city?”

“He kept a black cat called Three Legs.”

“I heard it got old.”

“That was five or six months ago…”

“Don’t you think this cat looks like it?”

The group fell silent.

Meilan County wasn’t large; any strange tale would spread across town by noon.

Lu Xun paid no heed to the wardens’ speculation, strolling deeper into the prison.

“Three Legs!”

Lu Xun turned his head almost instinctively.

Big Mouth quickly covered his mouth.

The four wardens stood frozen.

“It really is the one!” Old Cheng exclaimed. “Now I remember—about half a year ago, something happened at Mr. Song’s place. It was all kept hush-hush—rituals, priests. My nephew happened to be on gate duty that night, said Song’s servants carried a coffin out of the city to bury the cat.”

The small man trembled. “Could it have turned into a spirit, come back to haunt us?”

Lu Xun turned his head back, helpless. Human curiosity was boundless.

Still, that shout had nearly given him away—he hadn’t expected to turn his head by instinct. Habits ingrained in the body are hard to break.

Lu Xun arrived at the cell. The prisoner was still alive, clinging to life—fragile yet tenacious.

“Don’t scare yourself,” Zhuangzi scoffed, unconvinced.

The rest of the wardens arrived in twos and threes—there were only eight in all, as decreed by the court, just enough for two tables of mahjong.

But their favorite games were dice and pai gow; the clatter of coins and the thrill of gambling far surpassed the slow elegance of mahjong.

The yamen runners erupted into boisterous play, heedless of the passage of time.

A clerk, holding the inspector’s tabby cat, set it on the table. “Here’s the cat. I’ll pick it up this afternoon.”

“Leave it there,” the red-faced, thick-necked crowd paid no heed to the tabby.

“Big, big, big!”

…

A wretched yowl snapped them all to attention.

“Damn!” Zhuangzi shuddered, tossing aside his dice cup.

The wardens surged forward.

They found the inspector’s tabby bristling on the floor, while the black cat calmly raised its golden eyes not far away.

“Where did this stray come from—grab something!” Yu Lin was both shocked and angry. This was the inspector’s cat; if anything happened to it, they’d be in serious trouble—maybe even lose their positions.

“Wait!”

“That’s the cat Chief Zhao brought.”

Old Cheng hurriedly stopped the yamen runners about to act. Partly out of respect for Zhao Jia, partly out of wariness—if the black cat really was a spirit, things could get ugly.

Whatever the reason, he had to stop them from killing it.

“Chief Zhao?”

“Yes, yes.”

“Quick, keep them apart!”

The yamen runners split into two groups, corralling the cats.

The inspector’s tabby was soon captured.

Lu Xun leapt onto the rafters, tail swaying with ease.

While the prison was thrown into chaos—eight officials chasing two cats—Jinsheng, the habitual thief, quietly unlocked the door.

His thin frame melted into the shadows.

In moments, he had vanished from the entrance.

No one noticed the departure of the slender figure—except the large black cat on the rafters.

The black cat narrowed its eyes, then in a few swift leaps, darted out of the prison.

The yamen runners sighed and grumbled at the commotion.

…

“Your Honor.”

“Constable Zhao, you’ve come at the perfect time.” The magistrate, a middle-aged man in a blue official robe, exuded authority. His flowing beard lent him further presence. He smiled, waving his hand for his aide to withdraw.

“Come, sit. Bring tea for Constable Zhao.”

“I don’t deserve such honor.”

Zhao Jia was surprised by the magistrate’s warmth, but nonetheless reported the events of the previous night.

“Last night, I…”

The magistrate’s eyes flashed with astonishment at the mention of a demon in Meilan. When he heard that Zhao Jia had fought and bested a toad spirit, his delight grew.

Zhao Jia naturally omitted any mention of the black cat.

“How audacious of Qingquan Temple!” the magistrate thundered, slamming the table.

Then, his tone shifted: “A raid is necessary, of course. However, there is an even greater matter requiring your help.”

Zhao Jia stood, bowing respectfully. “Your Honor need only command.”

The magistrate said, “This is the situation: the tax silver collected by the county must be delivered to Jiujiang Prefecture.”

“This is a matter of state—it cannot be delayed.”

“Should there be any mishap, even I cannot keep my position.”

“The journey is but half a month. You may choose your men—thirty hardy fighters.”

“And, because of the severe tiger menace, I will grant you two powerful crossbows as well!”