1608. The Whispering Silk Tea House

Now, they couldn't just walk around the streets of Doushi and openly look for a fence. What shady criminal wouldn't mistake them for undercover cops? So first, they needed information. It was a good thing that information brokers were no rare sight in a big city like Doushi.

They didn't operate out of a dark alley as one would expect, but the one they had chosen was a high-end, heavily curtained establishment called The Whispering Silk. It had some of the best reviews, according to Mina's notes.

Obviously, the girls had not only researched tourist attractions, but had also detailed notes on where to go, if their planning was insufficient or they had to deal with unforeseen problems. This incident probably belonged to the latter...

Inside, the frantic energy of the busy commercial street melted away, replaced by the soft, rhythmic strumming of a local string instrument, the dense aroma of roasted tea, and the gentle clatter of ivory game tiles behind private bamboo screens.

In the most secluded pavilion at the back sat a mysterious lady. She was a poised woman draped in expensive violet silks, her fingers adorned with long, polished silver nail guards. She was idly fanning herself, her sharp, dark eyes cataloging the trio the moment they stepped past her private guards. This was Madam Bai, the proprietress of this place.

"Foreign travelers," Madam Bai purred, gesturing with her fan toward embroidered silk cushions across from her low table. "You walk with the weight of people who do not belong to this continent. Please, sit. Drink some silver-needle tea and tell me what brings such formidable guests to my humble pavilion."

Mina, Seth, and Fin exchanged glances. So far, they had done a pretty good job hiding their origin; at least nobody had openly spoken up about this. With a shrug, they sat down at the table at leisure. The signal was quite clear; they couldn't care less.

"The tea smells nice, but we aren't here for tea time..." Seth said after smelling the steam. Technically, they were here for the tea, just not the one one drank. The smell was mouth-watering, and so was the taste. Good stuff, and no poison notification either.

"We are looking for someone. Someone who can process a large quantity of sensitive armaments without asking questions or looking too closely at the details." Mina spoke up while the blacksmith was sipping tea.

Madam Bai’s fan paused mid-flutter. A slow, calculating smile spread across her lips. "Someone to process weapons? Hmm, a shadow artificer, so to speak. In Doushi, anyone who touches hot iron must register with the Merchant Council. To bypass them requires... a very specific kind of craftiness. And 'sensitive' usually means blood has recently dried on the metal." Madam Bai was sharing her conclusions.

Seth had a hard time not going “DUH!” after she stated the obvious. Why did they even go to the length to phrase thing neutral, if these people just repeated it in caveman speech? Mina sighed.

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"Oh no... it's almost as if we are looking for a fence..." Fin mumbled sarcastically, leaning forward. She didn't flinch under the broker's intense gaze, returning it with a roll of her eyes. Seth set down his cup.

"We need someone who will buy and process and modify a huge volume of 'goods'. We expect absolute discretion," the bard spoke up in a serious tone. Madam Bai leaned back, her silver nail guards tapping a rhythmic, unnerving beat against the lacquered table.

"Modify. Hmm. You know, it is a fascinating time in Doushi. Ever since the Southern Blade Sect was reduced to ashes, the black market has been flooded with fake rumors, but very little actual steel. The Merchant Council is desperate to find the sect's vault. If I were to tell them that two wealthy foreigners are looking to sell armament that needed modification..."

“How in the world would they find a vault? Wasn't the whole sect turned into a crater?” Seth didn't even pay attention to her insinuation. Instead, he questioned where this idea of a vault came from. Not even Faenys was able to recover anything from that sect. The only thing that remained of the Southern Blade Sect were the disciples that fled in fear at the time.

Madam Bai stared at him with wide-open eyes. The question in her eyes was quite clear. How did he know that? The blacksmith had no idea that the state of the former sect ground was a secret, but her reaction made it seem so. She cleared her throat.

“Right, it is a foolish venture, but merchants cannot resist the idea of treasure,” she said, straightening her pose a little, as she was not only talking about the merchants. It seemed like she had jumped to some kind of conclusion.

"My apologies. You came here for information.” Apparently, it was a favorable conclusion in her head. Madam Bai motioned with her silver fan, and two servants, both lv.65, brought small bamboo scrolls. The broker gave them a once-over before holding out one of the 7-8 bamboo slip scrolls.

"This is your man. He goes by Master Lu," Madam Bai said cooperatively. "This information is on the house. He operates the Obsidian Hearth at the dead end of the Lower Forge Lane, right behind the central smelting vats. He is a blind, bitter old man, but his work is unmatched.

He is a specialist in scrubbing away spiritual engravings and artifact modification. He hates the Merchant Council. He will erase whatever history your blades have and take over distribution for a 15-25% cut," she explained as Seth took the bamboo scroll.

"Thank you for the tea, Madam Bai," Seth said smoothly, rising from their cushions alongside Mina and Fin, who still gave the woman a stink eye. "We suggest you forget this conversation. For your own sake and that of your business," the bard added to their farewell.

Madam Bai only nodded silently, watching the trio leave her shop, heading toward the Lower Forge Lane. They had no idea where it was, but they found their way to the edge of the commercial district by asking passers-by for the way.

This place was far from the high-class shops, or even the shops and markets the three would have called ordinary. Buildings in disrepair, shady alleyways, shifty children looking to cut wallets- yeah, this was as close to a slum as it could be without actually being one.

Tucked away at the dead end of a narrow alley smelling of sulfur, wet coal, and burnt ash, the shop lacked a proper name. It was marked only by a heavy, scorched iron anvil hanging precariously over the door. Seth liked this touch of whimsy.

Inside, the air was thick and sweltering, vibrating with the rhythmic, metallic clang of a hammer