At dusk, Fang Han locked his courtyard gate as usual and walked down the alley toward the main street.
The second floor of Wangjiang Building was much more crowded than usual; the tables by the window were already full.
Waiters bustled between tables with trays in hand. The clatter of bowls and chopsticks mingled with the sounds of conversation, echoing among the pillars and beams.
As always, Fang Han picked a table in the corner, ordered a pot of tea and a few side dishes, then let his gaze drift aimlessly out the window.
Places like this tavern were the best for gathering information.
For the past month or so, it had become his primary channel for news about the outside world.
At the next table, three men dressed as traveling merchants of varying ages were talking in low voices over a plate of peanuts.
One of them, with a slightly dark complexion and a voice raspy from years on the road, said:
