In the night, a small wad of paper was tossed over the high wall of Chen Mansion, falling into the obscure alleyway outside. In the darkness, a pair of hands, calloused with age, caught it stably.
A middle-aged man carrying a shoulder pole, peddling warm bean curd in the streets and alleys, set down his burden and cautiously unfolded the paper wad. The rustling sound of the paper rubbing against the calluses of his hands filled the air as he read its contents, and he promptly placed the shoulder pole on the ground.
Hanging from the pole were two wooden boxes. The front one held a small clay stove, simmering with a low fire to keep the bean curd warm; the rear one was packed with pots, bowls, and other kitchenware—he carried with him all the belongings of a vendor scraping out a living.
The middle-aged man opened the back wooden box and, after digging around for some time, pulled out a grey carrier pigeon.
