Chapter Forty-Six: The Eight Alleys

Mo San merely chuckled dryly in response to Baozi’s question and said nothing. Zhou Yi, seeing Mo San’s reaction, immediately understood; he pulled out five copper coins from his pocket and handed them to Mo San. But Mo San waved his hand, refusing to take them. “Sir, please enjoy your tea first. When I’m done with my work, I’ll come and talk to you,” he said, then turned and walked away.

Zhou Yi realized the attendant found the money insufficient, so he reluctantly took out a silver dollar from his pocket. “Brother Mo San, go ahead with your work. We’ll return to our room, and you can bring us a pot of hot water later.” With that, Zhou Yi pressed the silver dollar into Mo San’s hand and headed upstairs.

The cost of living in the capital was high, and giving away that silver dollar left Zhou Yi with little money to spare. If he lingered in the city any longer, meals and lodging would become problematic, so he felt a pang of regret as he handed over the money.

The two returned to their room, and soon Mo San arrived, carrying a bucket of hot water. He poured it into the washbasin, then sat down and asked, “Are you inquiring about Zhang Zuozheng from the Queue Army?”

“Yes, exactly, Zhang Zuozheng from the Queue Army. Do you know how we can find him?” Baozi replied eagerly.

“From what I know, Zhang Zuozheng is the nephew of Marshal Zhang Xun. He was raised at Wutai Mountain, practicing asceticism since childhood. He arrived in the capital in early June and has stayed at our inn several times. Because he keeps his queue, I remember him quite well,” Mo San said with a smile, a hint of pride in his demeanor.

“Do you know when he returned to the capital, and where he is now?” Zhou Yi asked hurriedly.

Zhou Yi had heard of Zhang Xun—an unwavering supporter of the monarchy. After the fall of the Qing government, Zhang Xun ordered his soldiers not to cut their queues, an action that angered Yuan Shikai but earned him the respect of most royalists.

“You’re asking at just the right time. Marshal Zhang arrived in Beijing yesterday. But I don’t know where he’s staying—certainly not in a humble inn like ours,” Mo San had just finished speaking when the landlady downstairs shouted, urging him to hurry. “Mo San, where have you gone? Slacking off again!”

Mo San heard her call and shouted back, “Coming right away!” Then he turned to Zhou Yi and said, “You could try the Eight Great Hutongs. Officials nowadays are fond of visiting such places.”

Zhou Yi nodded and smiled, indicating he understood. Mo San’s earlier remarks had been accurate, but his last comment about officials frequenting the Eight Great Hutongs was at odds with Zhang Xun’s character.

“Should we head to the Eight Great Hutongs now?” Baozi asked as Mo San left.

Zhou Yi pondered for a moment before nodding. “If we really encounter Zhang Zuozheng, we’ll play it by ear.”

According to the book “Old Tales of Yandu,” in 1917, there were 391 brothels and 3,500 courtesans in Beiping. By 1918, brothels had increased to 406, and courtesans to 3,880. During the sixth and seventh years of the Republic, private prostitutes numbered at least 7,000 beyond the brothels. Combining public and private, the total exceeded ten thousand.

The brothels of the Eight Great Hutongs were divided into various ranks, with the most famous being Dashilan outside Qianmen. Thus, searching for Zhang Xun and Zhang Zuozheng in the Eight Great Hutongs would be a daunting task.

The Eight Great Hutongs were a place of pleasure and revelry, bustling with people and prying eyes. Zhou Yi feared complications if he brought Xun Feng along, so he left him at the inn and headed straight to the Eight Great Hutongs with Baozi.

Upon arrival, Zhou Yi and Baozi furrowed their brows, anxiety written on their faces. They had barely taken a few steps when a group of scantily clad courtesans surrounded them.

The pungent scent of rouge made Zhou Yi sneeze repeatedly.

“Gentlemen, come in for a drink!”

“Gentlemen, come to Spring Garden. My girls will surely satisfy you,” a corpulent madam rushed forward to pull them in, proof that with so many brothels, business was hard to come by.

Zhou Yi shook off the madam’s arm with a frown, refusing to answer and continuing his search.

Not far away, the brothel named Huanxiang Pavilion had no madam at the door soliciting customers; its doors were tightly shut. It was evening, the hour when business should be thriving, so closing at this time seemed unusual.

“Baozi, go knock on the door,” Zhou Yi said.

“What should I say?” Baozi stared at the door, hesitating.

“Pretend—” Zhou Yi tried to laugh.

“I can’t do it; you should go,” Baozi pushed Zhou Yi. Truthfully, neither had ever been to such places before, so their first visit left them uncertain how to proceed.

Zhou Yi scratched his head. If he wanted to confirm whether Zhang Xun and Zhang Zuozheng were inside, he’d have to knock, but standing at the door felt awkward.

“Oh, stop dithering,” Baozi said, stepping forward and pounding on the door three times, then quickly hiding behind Zhou Yi.

Zhou Yi shot Baozi a glare, seeing him snickering, and gestured with his fist. “Wait till we get back; I’ll deal with you then.”

“Who’s there?” While Zhou Yi and Baozi were still talking, the door of Huanxiang Pavilion opened. The door was answered by a house manager, who saw the two standing at the threshold and asked no further questions.

“We’re not welcoming guests tonight. Come back tomorrow,” the house manager said.

Zhou Yi was about to ask more when the house manager slammed the door shut.

“Oh dear, young masters, since they’re not open, why not come to my place? My girls are the finest in all the Eight Great Hutongs,” a madam in her forties, her face caked with rouge, approached them.

“Which house are you from?” Zhou Yi asked. Since Huanxiang Pavilion was inaccessible, the street-facing rooms could still be used to observe its activity.

He didn’t want to stand in the street any longer; the air was thick with cloying perfume, and the madams and courtesans soliciting business annoyed him greatly.

“Across the street at Yingyan Tower, gentlemen, please come inside,” the madam said, delighted to have attracted customers.

The two entered Yingyan Tower and quickly spoke. “We’d like a street-facing room on the second floor and a pot of tea; that’ll do,” Zhou Yi said.

“You want just one room for the two of you?” The madam looked surprised.

Zhou Yi was puzzled. “Yes, just one, and we won’t stay long—two or three hours at most.”

The madam gave Zhou Yi a strange look and shouted upstairs, “Second floor, Kun Room, two gentlemen.” Her announcement provoked laughter from all the patrons in the hall.

Zhou Yi and Baozi didn’t understand the reason for their amusement, and with questions lingering in their minds, they climbed to the second floor.

The Kun Room was empty. They entered, opened the window, and gazed across at Huanxiang Pavilion. The room was directly opposite, offering an excellent view.

The second-floor window of Huanxiang Pavilion was open, allowing Zhou Yi to see a table of guests inside, listening to music and drinking wine.

Armed soldiers stood guard inside, and four men sat at the table. Two elderly men in their sixties faced each other, while the other two served as companions.

Upon seeing the two companions, Zhou Yi’s lips curled into a cold, sinister smile. “What a twist of fate.”