Kidnapping the entire Journey to the West, starting by turning Sun Wukong against his own side.

Chapter 192 The Tide-Calling Man

The gray boat approached very slowly.

The man at the bow raised his hand first, holding the oar horizontally in front of his chest, as if to block or to bow.

He didn't look at Chen Fan, but stared at the booklet in Chen Fan's hand.

"Who's on the boat? State your real name first."

Chen Fan asked again.

The man's lips moved, and after a long pause, he finally spoke: "Chao Shiqi."

Wukong squatted at the bow of the boat, raising an eyebrow: "What's your name?"

The man repeated the same phrase: "Chao Shiqi."

Behind him were six other people. They were all young, wearing identical short jackets, the fabric soaked by the sea breeze, with salt crusts forming on the cuffs. Each of them wore a thin wooden tag around their neck, with a number written in black paint on it, each character different, but all starting with the character "潮" (cháo).

Chen Fan closed the booklet and took a step forward: "Who gave you the number?"

Chao Shiqi lowered his head: "It was issued by the tower."

"What do your parents call you?"

The man paused, as if he'd heard something unspoken. His eyes darted around, first to the person next to him, then to the sea. After a long pause, his throat tightened, and he managed to squeeze out only, "It's seventeenth's turn."

The ship bumped into it slightly.

The two boats were stuck together.

The white dragon horse leaped over first, its toes pressing against the old plank of the boat. The plank creaked hollowly. It turned and nodded to Chen Fan, indicating that there was no ambush.

Chen Fan boarded the gray boat.

The seven men retreated in unison, perfectly aligned, as if they had practiced together in the morning. Once they were back, they stood still, none of them daring to speak. Only the youngest one couldn't resist reaching out to touch the wooden badge on his chest, touching it briefly before quickly putting it down again.

Si Mo wrote this scene down in his notebook, his pen pausing for a moment.

"Where are you from?"

"White Dot Island," Chao Shiqi replied.

How many people are on the island?

"According to the tide wheel, 186."

"How will you divide it?"

"Morning tide, midday tide, night tide. Big horn with little horn. When the copper bell rings, go according to the horn."

He answered extremely quickly. These words weren't something he thought up; they were memorized.

Chen Fan asked, "No one on the island uses names?"

Chao Shiqi was stunned, and this time he was stunned for even longer.

An older woman behind him spoke up, her voice hoarse: "When I was little, there were. Later the registers were taken away. The numbers were easy to remember, so we wouldn't misprint the grain."

Her card read "Tide 43".

Wukong glanced at her twice, then suddenly chuckled, though the laugh lacked warmth: "The name is easy to remember, and the person is easy to manage."

The woman heard this, shrugged, and didn't respond.

The sea route is not far.

The gray boat led the way, with Chen Fan's boat following behind. Traveling a little further north, a low bank emerged from the fog. There was no dock, only a slope with roughly nailed planks, the seams covered in dark green moss. At the end of the slope stood a tall pole, from which hung a copper bell. When the wind blew, the bell remained silent, as if something was stuffed inside.

The island is not big.

Upon reaching the shore, the first thing you see is a row of low houses. The walls are plastered with mud and shell lime, and the doors are all low. Each house has a wooden plaque nailed to its door, on which is not a surname or house number, but only the day's duty roster is written: Tide 21, Tide 5, Tide 72.

Chen Fan walked and observed along the way.

The people in the courtyard were also watching them. Their gazes weren't fierce, but mostly they were evasive. It was as if they saw strangers from outside, or as if they were afraid of breaking the rules by staring too long. Several children were squatting by the ditch washing small fish, their hands covered in fish scales. The older one was about to call out to his younger brother, his mouth was open, but he abruptly changed the subject halfway through.

"Chao Yousan, come here."

Chen Fan paused.

The child, quite naturally, picked up the wooden basin and ran off.

Si Mo said in a low voice, "Even the children are numbered."

The white dragon horse looked at a string of small wooden plaques hanging under the eaves. The plaques were old and shiny, with rounded edges, clearly from frequent handling. He glanced at them a few times, then lowered his voice: "It's not a single, top-ranking family. It's like the person left, but the plaques are still being passed down."

The further you go in, the more you can hear the knocking sounds.

It wasn't blacksmithing; it was chopping seashells, dismantling fish bones, pulling ropes, and sifting salt. The work was scattered throughout every alley, and everyone was busy. No one was urging or scolding, yet everyone moved with frantic speed. It was as if everyone knew that being a step too slow would mean missing something.

Suddenly, there was a "clang" sound from ahead.

The copper bell rang.

All the voices on the island suddenly seemed to fall short.

The fishmonger stopped chopping. The basket carriers put their baskets down. Even the old man squatting to mend his nets pulled out his needle and looked towards the tall pole. The bell rang only once, then after three breaths, it rang twice more. Immediately afterward, a middle-aged man in a gray jacket ran out of the alleyway, carrying a wooden plank in his hand, reporting as he ran.

"Exchange salt at noon! Exchange salt at noon! From tide 6 to tide 18, go to the tower to get your permit!"

As soon as the sound was heard, the people in the alley immediately sprang into action.

Nobody asked a single question.

Those whose numbers were called turned and left. Those whose numbers weren't called continued working. Chao Shiqi also moved, took a few steps, then looked back at Chen Fan, as if remembering his task of leading the way, a hint of difficulty appearing on his face.

"Go," Chen Fan said. "We'll see for ourselves."

Chao Shiqi breathed a sigh of relief and quickly ran away.

Wukong squinted at the copper bell: "One ring stops, two rings start again. It's more efficient than those dilapidated jail cells in heaven."

Chen Fan did not respond.

They followed the flow of people toward the center of the island. The path was narrow, leaving a hard white mark on the ground, all from salt footprints. The further they went, the fewer houses there were. Finally, a clearing appeared, with a tall tower standing in the center.

It's supposed to be like a dragon palace, but all that's left is an old shell.

The pagoda's base is made of stone, inlaid with broken blue tiles, long since fallen into disarray. The eaves still retain their curled ends, revealing their former elegance. A new layer of wooden planks has been installed, nailing all the old carvings back in place. The pagoda's door is closed, with two wooden fences placed in front of it. Four guards stand beside the fences, short sticks at their waists, and larger wooden plaques on their chests that read "Chaozheng".

A queue had already formed inside the venue.

People numbered six through eighteen stood in neat rows, heads bowed. Each held a piece of hemp rope in their hand, the end of which was tied to an old plaque. It was as if they had come to exchange their lives.

Chen Fan stood to the side and watched.

Not long after, a clicking sound came from inside the tower, like a gear grinding. Then a square opening appeared in the door, not high, only reaching waist level. First, a stack of thin wooden tokens was spat out, with holes punched in the corners. The guards distributed the tokens, then scooped salt from a wooden trough beside them, giving each person a small, tightly wrapped packet, which they weighed immediately, neither too much nor too little.

Those who receive a card must first put their old card into another wooden box.

The box opening wasn't big, so the tag fell in and jingled.

An old woman was a beat late.

The guard tapped the wooden fence with the end of his stick: "Chao Jiushi, hurry up."

The old woman's hand trembled, and the old cards fell to the ground. She hurriedly bent down to pick them up, and everyone behind her stood even straighter. No one urged her on, and no one helped her. As she picked up the cards, a layer of dust smudged on the back of her hand, and she kept muttering, "Ninety-one, ninety-one, that's right, that's right."

Si Mo listened intently, his mind heavy, and he even stopped writing.

Xuanzang stood beside her, his eyes calm, devoid of anger. He stared at the bag of salt, reading it from beginning to end, then suddenly asked a young man in line beside him, "What will happen if you don't come to collect it today?"

The young man was startled, looked around, and then whispered, "Half price tomorrow."

"What if it's not claimed within two days?"

"Record the missed work. Three missed work sessions, move the wheel."

What does it mean to "move the wheel down"?

The young man licked his dry lips: "First reduce the salt, then reduce the living conditions. Finally, live on the outer ring."

He stopped talking after that. He forbade anyone to say the rest.

Wukong smirked: "Isn't having less work a good thing?"

The young man didn't understand what he meant, and his face turned even paler: "If there's little work, there's no room for you. If there's no room for you, we can't open your booth at night."

Chen Fan looked in the direction he was pointing.

Behind the tower was a ring of low stone cabinets, like a honeycomb. Each cabinet door was engraved with a number. It seemed that, in addition to work badges and salt, even sleeping quarters had to be assigned according to the number.

The white dragon horse took a half step closer and whispered, "The old Dragon Palace's granary tower. It used to store pearls and grains and record their inflow and outflow. Now, only the method of distributing them remains."

"Who's in charge of the tower?" Chen Fan asked.

The young man shook his head: "I don't know. Chao Zheng just guards the place. The bell rings by itself when the time comes, and the mouth opens by itself when the time comes. There was a Chao Thirty-Two who tried to break into the back wall, but he was nowhere to be seen the next day."

"Dead?"

The young man dared not answer.

Another bell rang in the arena.

This time it was short and crisp.

The guard immediately closed the gate, pushed open the wooden fence, and shouted, "After noon, everyone return to your positions."

The crowd dispersed quickly. Everyone hung their new nameplates back around their necks, as if they were reliving their lives for the day. A child ran up and bumped into his mother's leg, flipping the nameplate over to reveal a thin line of text on the back.

Si Mo, with his sharp eyes, saw it and quickly went over, squatting down to help the child sit up straight.

The back reads: "Chao Yousan, peeling fish for half a day, with two qian of salt."

It's not a name, it's life. It's not a home, it's quantity.

When Si Mo looked up, the woman had already pulled the child behind her, her face full of wariness. She opened her mouth, wanting to thank her, but her tongue got tied, and in the end she only said, "He didn't slack off today."

She was stunned for a moment when she said those words.

Chen Fan looked at her, then at the people who were leaving the room.

The sea breeze blows, carrying the smell of fish and salt. A row of old wooden tags hangs under the eaves, their ends worn smooth, as if no one has dared to touch them for many years, yet someone always sneaks a peek.

Wukong slung his golden cudgel over his shoulder and stared at the tower gate: "Tonight, I'll wait for it to vomit again."

Chen Fan hummed in agreement, his gaze falling on the stone cabinets behind the tower.

A hand was slowly being pushed out from the crack in the outermost door. It was holding half a broken card.

Chapter 665 Former Tax Collector of the Dragon Palace

That hand was as withered as a tree root rotting on the beach, with a layer of grayish-white skin covering the knuckles. Half a broken plaque was held between two fingers, first stretched out, then shook twice, and then extended out half an inch further.

The people below the tower didn't move.

Wukong tilted his head slightly, the staff sliding from his shoulder to his hand. He didn't rush to smash it, but just stared at the hand.

Chen Fan took two steps forward and stopped three feet in front of the stone cabinet.

A grinding sound came from the crack in the door, like gears stuck in salt and sand. Then, the stone cabinet door slowly opened, revealing a human-shaped creature inside. Half of its face still resembled that of an old official from the Dragon Palace, with a high nose bridge and faded blue scale patterns on the side of its ear; the other half of its face had collapsed, revealing black wood and copper nails, with a drooping mouth, and it emitted a musty smell of old paint when it opened and closed.

It first held up the broken sign and waved it at everyone.

"Those who land on the island, report the tide signal."

The sound was intermittent, as if someone was speaking through water.

The row of old wooden sticks under the eaves tapped softly, making a faint sound.

The white dragon horse, who had been standing at the back, darkened upon hearing the words "Tide's Call." He didn't speak immediately, but stared at the cracked bronze plate on the puppet's chest. Three small ripples were pressed along the edge of the plate, and in the center was a notch, as if it had been pierced by a harpoon.

He stepped forward and reached out to stop Chen Fan.

"Don't get too close," he said.

Chen Fan turned his head to look at him.

The white dragon horse's eyes never left the puppet shell: "This is the standard design for the Maritime Tax Bureau. The old Dragon Palace used this shell to collect miscellaneous taxes from the outer seas."

Si Mo clutched the booklet tightly and asked in a low voice, "Didn't the Maritime Tax Bureau withdraw a long time ago?"

"What's being removed is the government office," said the white dragon horse. "The old orders haven't been revoked. As long as the tower remains, the shell will follow the orders."

As if it had heard the words "old order," the puppet's neck snapped shut, facing the white dragon horse. Its intact eyeball was yellowish-brown, with a sliver of green light floating within it, slowly brightening.

"Those who recognize...the controller, step forward and examine your body."

The white dragon horse chuckled, but there was no warmth in his laughter.

"What are you talking about?" He rolled up his sleeve, revealing an old scabbard mark on his wrist. "I've seen you guys since I was a kid. Every time the tide came in at the dock, you'd collect your catch. If a basket of fish was missing from the boat, you'd remember. If someone was a moment late going out to collect shellfish, you'd remember that too. Even when you were returning to your own bay, you'd have to call out your number first."

After hearing this, the corners of Kuike's mouth turned up slightly, as if he were imitating a smile.

"If you have a number, you can return. If you don't have a number, we'll keep a record of it."

It braced itself against the edge of the stone cabinet and slowly rose to its feet. Its movements were clumsy, with scraps of iron grinding against each other in its knees. Once it stood upright, it became clear that it had originally been extremely tall, its robe still bearing the tattered blue pattern, and a string of empty copper rings hanging from its waist, ringing with each step.

"Tide signal," it said again.

The woman who had been holding the child earlier, standing at the back of the crowd, instinctively hid the child in her arms. Several people nearby also took a half step back. The tidal bore emanating from the tower during the day was already unsettling enough. Now, a puppet of an old official crawled out of the cabinet and started calling out names right away; everyone felt a chill run down their spines.

Chen Fan glanced at the tower gate and the stone cabinet, his mind already racing.

The Tatchao is not simply a number-calling machine.

It's taking attendance.

This thing is for keeping a register.

Si Mo also realized what was going on and lowered his voice: "The word 'return' on that blank page, does it mean 'recycle'?"

"Most likely," Chen Fan said.

Suddenly, Kui Ke raised his hand and slammed the broken plaque onto the stone ground.

Those who fail to report will be considered as uncollected samples.

The moment the word "sample" was uttered, the room fell silent.

Wukong raised an eyebrow and twirled his staff halfway around: "Who are you calling a sample?"

Kui Ke ignored him and took another half step forward, as if patrolling the island according to the old rules.

"All documents registered on this island, those registered overseas, and those lost or missing from records, shall be recovered by the Maritime Customs Service. First, report the tide number, then examine the bone markings, and then record the destination."

As it spoke, it raised its wooden hand. Several fine cracks appeared in the palm, as if it were about to eject some kind of needle.

The white dragon horse's expression grew even colder.

"Examine the bone patterns." He repeated softly, his Adam's apple bobbing. "I know which batch they are."

Chen Fan looked at him.

The white dragon horse said, "In the early days, the Dragon Palace governed the sea people, and it didn't just collect taxes. People who had been in trouble or had evaded the records would be taken for bone analysis. It was said to prevent false registration, but in reality, it was to prevent the old names from being lost and the people from being caught. Later, things got chaotic, the tax office was withdrawn, and the people of the maritime tax office either died or scattered. I thought this system was long gone."

As he spoke, his voice became very flat, and the flatter it became, the harder it sounded.

Chen Fan knew this path was different for him.

The White Dragon Horse, having emerged from the Western Sea, rarely mentioned the old Dragon Palace. When it did, it was usually just something he'd taken there. But not this time. He stared at the puppet shell as if it were an old pot that hadn't been opened in years; the moment the lid was moved, the stench inside surged up.

"Do you recognize it?" Chen Fan asked.

"I recognize the design, but not the face," said the white dragon horse. "The tax collectors of the Maritime Tax Bureau are all equipped with puppet shells. Their real bodies are hidden inside the warehouse, while the shells roam outside. They are replaced when they break and repaired when they rot. This one in front of us is probably just a shell; the person inside is long gone."

"What's the point of keeping orders if they're gone?" Si Mo asked.

"The tower is feeding it." The white dragon horse looked up at the top of the tower. "It's not eating rice, it's eating numbers, books, and old seals."

The puppet seemed to understand, and the bronze plate on its chest flickered with light. A deep echo also came from inside the tower gate, like seawater crashing against a hollow stone wall.

"Tide call." It spoke for the third time.

The sound was much clearer this time.

Even the previously messy and disjointed characters have been straightened out.

"Those without a registration number shall not remain on the island. Those without a registration number shall not be registered. Those without a registration number shall be subject to recycling."

Chen Fan suddenly smiled and said, "You have quite the manners."

The puppet turned to look at him: "Report."

"Chen Fan," he said. "Real name. No nickname."

The puppet shell stopped.

The green line in its eyes flashed rapidly a few times, as if it were flipping through an old book.

"No number. No archives. No origin."

"We know where we came from." Chen Fan took the sailing logbook from Si Mo's arms, opened it to the first page, and pointed to it. "We kept our own records. Today's tide, tonight's arrival on the island, those who came, those who left, all come from here."

The puppet stared at the booklet, the crack in its palm widening, and a thin copper needle emerged from it.

"I don't recognize this book."

Chen Fan closed the booklet: "Then what are you going to recognize? Your bunch of worthless numbers?"

Kui Ke, his face expressionless, said, "Recognize the old seal. Recognize the tide number. Recognize the Maritime Customs Service's recall order."

Wukong got annoyed by what he heard, took a step forward, and the stone ground made a loud thud.

"So, after all that talk, you just want to pick them up again and string them together like those wooden skewers?"

Kui Ke looked at him, then suddenly raised his hand and pointed to the row of fortune slips under the eaves of the tower.

"If a signature is lost, a replacement is made. Once the quota is full, the tower is sealed."

Upon hearing this, the faces of the islanders behind him turned pale.

No wonder they've always forbidden touching old visas.

The signature isn't for bookkeeping; it's for reserving a spot.

If one is missing, another must be replaced.

Si Mo pulled the blank page from his sleeve and unfolded it for Chen Fan to see. The first stroke of the character "回" in the corner looked like it had suddenly sprouted thorns under the light.

"It's looking for a gap," she said.

Chen Fan nodded: "Yes. The daytime tidal signal is used to screen who is easy to fill."

The white dragon horse didn't turn around, but lowered its voice to the people behind it: "Back up. Get away from the eaves of the tower first."

The woman holding the child was the first to move, and only then did the others come to their senses and scramble to leave. The wooden skewers clanged against each other in the wind, making a more fragmented sound, like a bunch of teeth biting together.

Seeing the person retreat, the puppet quickened its pace, its copper rings jingling.

"Those who have not reported shall not leave. Each person shall be verified individually."

The copper needle in its hand flicked out half a foot, its tip gleaming with a bluish hue.

This time, Wukong didn't wait any longer. He slammed his golden cudgel on the ground, blocking its path.

"Stand there."

The puppet looked down at the staff, and its neck snapped at an angle with a crack: "Those who obstruct taxation, are of the same rank."

"Damn your ancestors!" Wukong raised his hand to smash it.

"Don't rush." ​​The white dragon horse reached out and pressed down on the staff.

Wukong glanced at him.

The white dragon horse had already taken two steps forward, standing at the very front, directly facing the puppet shell. He untied his outer robe and casually tossed it to Si Mo, revealing the close-fitting short armor underneath. The armor was old, with a patch on the shoulder. It wasn't just for show; it was clothing worn for navigating water and traversing reefs.

"It recognizes rules, not people," said the white dragon horse. "I'll handle this."

Chen Fan looked at him but didn't stop him.

The white dragon horse reached out and took off the old dragon-patterned pendant he had kept from his early years at his waist. A corner of the pendant was chipped off, clearly indicating its age. He held the pendant in his hand and held it up to the light.

The green light in the puppet's eyes suddenly jumped, and the copper plate on its chest also lit up.

"Core body... priority."

The white dragon horse said coldly, "Former official of the Maritime Tax Bureau, state your name."

The puppet shell paused for a moment, turning slowly like a rusted lock.

"Northern Tide Outer Division. Seventh Tax Collection Patrol Officer. Enforcement of Recovery Orders. Enforcement of Supplementary Orders. Enforcement of Tower Sealing Orders."

The white dragon horse then asked, "Who is the mastermind?"

The puppet opened its mouth and made a gurgling sound in its throat, like seawater sloshing through a broken wooden box.

"The Dragon Palace... its old seal remains indelible. The title of the Lord of the Palace... is damaged."

As it spoke, it raised the needle and aimed it directly at the white dragon horse's brow.

"Core body. Tide signal."

The white dragon horse looked at it, its eyes gradually darkening.

"I don't have a number," he said. "And I don't recognize your number."

The copper plate on the puppet's chest suddenly lit up, and with a push of its feet, it charged straight up.

At the same instant, the white dragon horse slammed the old dragon-patterned pendant in its hand into its face, and with its other hand, it grabbed the wrist bone holding the needle and twisted it downwards.

A snap.

The wooden hand snapped off instantly, and the copper needle fell to the ground, rolling to Chen Fan's feet. The needle tip was as thin as a fishbone, and it was still covered with a trace of blackened salt.

A long string of sharp, shrill noises came from the puppet's mouth, and the sound immediately echoed inside the tower. The row of wooden sticks under the eaves vibrated in unison, and the outermost one snapped in two with a snap, falling to the stone ground.

Below the broken slip, a line of very small old characters is visible.

Supplementary amount 1.

Chapter 666 Change the Salt First, Then Change the Name

The sign-off landed, and silence fell before the tower.

"One more to fill the gap." Si Mo squatted down, picked up the half of the wooden slip, ran his fingertip over the old characters, and looked up at Chen Fan. "It's not a name, it's a number."

Chen Fan hummed in agreement, bent down to pick up the blackened salt needle, and examined it in his palm. The needle was thin, with a crust of salt clinging to its tip, as if it had been stuck in a salt vat for years. The puppet shell inside the tower was still twitching on the ground, the copper plate on its chest flashing on and off, and intermittent, shrill sounds coming from its mouth.

Wukong raised his foot and shattered the copper sheet with one step.

The noise stopped immediately.

The wooden stakes under the eaves stopped shaking, but the person behind the tower gate didn't come out. The hand that was peeking through the crack in the door withdrew quickly, as if it had been pulled.

"Open the door," the white dragon horse said in a deep voice.

There was no reply.

Only the wooden latch made a soft tap, and then there was no more sound.

Chen Fan didn't rush forward to bang on the door; instead, he turned back to look at the beach. It wasn't fully light yet, and the sea was shrouded in a gray haze. The gray boat that had been brought back the previous night was anchored on the outer bend, its hull drafted deep in the water. The boat wasn't large, but it carried a considerable amount of cargo: salt bags, coarse cloth, half a box of medicinal cakes, and several bundles of dried, hardened seaweed. The items weren't particularly valuable, but placed before this tower, they were worth more than gold.

He handed the salt needle to Simo: "Remember, the Tali use this to determine their quotas."

Si Mo put the broken talisman and salt needle into his sleeve.

Chen Fan turned and left: "Don't ask the people in the tower yet. Unload the things from the ship."

Old Wu was still stunned: "Now?"

"Now," Chen Fan said without stopping, "first break the tide marks inside their bellies."

Old Wu understood immediately and shouted for help. The men who had come with him the night before grabbed their carrying poles and ran to the boat. They unloaded sacks of salt one by one, threw rolls of coarse cloth on the clean stone ground, and placed the medicine box in a sheltered spot. As soon as the smell of medicine spread, the few people who had been hiding in front of the pagoda peeked out.

The woman who had held the child yesterday was also there. She leaned against the stone cabinet, the child in her arms still coughing, the little shoulders trembling. Her eyes first fell on the medicine box, then looked at the tower gate, as if afraid someone inside would rush out and yell at her.

Chen Fan walked to the middle of the beach and tapped an empty wooden bucket.

"Listen up, everyone."

No one answered.

The people around were scattered about. Adults held the hands of children, and the elderly huddled at the back, their eyes darting around, afraid to move forward. Some people still had the thin rope tags they had used to collect salt the night before hanging from their feet; the edges of the tags were worn and frayed, as if they had been there for many years.

Chen Fan didn't lecture them; he simply pointed to the things on the ground.

"No wet rations will be issued today."

As soon as these words were spoken, the crowd stirred.

It's not rushing forward, it's retreating.

Several people turned pale instantly, their feet trembling as if searching for a way out. The skinny man with the broken front tooth gave a dry laugh: "If we don't pay... then what are we going to eat today?"

Chen Fan kicked a bag of salt.

"I got this in exchange."

The skinny man didn't understand; his eyes were filled with panic.

Chen Fan didn't urge him. He reached out and untied the salt bag, grabbing a handful of sea salt, the grains gleaming white in the morning light. He then pointed to the coarse cloth and the medicine box.

"From this day forward, if anyone needs salt, they don't need to look at the tower. If anyone needs cloth to mend clothes, they don't need to wait for it to get damp. If a child coughs or has a festering wound, they don't need to beg for that piece of copper first."

He sprinkled the salt back into the bag and patted his hands clean.

"Bring dried fish, seaweed, boat nails, or any kind of work you can do, and you can exchange them all. If you have nothing to bring, just give me your name, and I'll put it on your tab, and you can still get something."

The crowd still couldn't believe it.

They've watched the tower for too long. They accept whatever the tower gives them. If the tower says one less mouthful, their family loses one less mouthful. If suddenly someone lays out salt and medicine, saying they can take it first, everyone would immediately suspect it's another rope.

Wukong, carrying his staff, stood to the side, looking somewhat impatient, and was about to speak.

Chen Fan waved his hand, stopping him.

No matter how loudly you shout, they dare not move.

The first person should be allowed to eat first.

His gaze swept over the woman holding the child: "Come here."

The woman tightened her grip on the child and didn't move.

"Your child started coughing last night." Chen Fan pointed to the medicine box. "You go first."

Her lips trembled slightly, but she kept looking at the tower gate.

The tower gate was not open.

Chen Fan didn't even look at the door, but simply nodded to the white dragon horse. The white dragon horse went over, spread a roll of coarse cloth on a flat stone, opened the medicine box, and took out a small packet of cough syrup and a fever-reducing biscuit.

"Here you go." The white dragon horse's voice wasn't loud. "Fry half of it first, but don't add too much water."

The woman hesitated to reach out, saying, "The tide hasn't come yet..."

Wukong frowned upon hearing this, slammed his staff on the ground with a dull thud, and said, "If he says he'll give it to you, then take it."

The sound startled the child, causing him to cough again until his face turned red.

The woman, disregarding everything else, grabbed the medicine and hurriedly stuffed it into her bosom. She then reached for the roll of coarse cloth, nearly dropping it. She opened her mouth, but instead of thanking him, she asked, "Really not deducting from next month's payment?"

Chen Fan looked at her: "There's no quota for next month. Only today's account."

As soon as he said that, a low murmur immediately arose among the crowd.

"No more quota?"

"What's that tower compared to?"

"Easier said than done, what about tomorrow?"

Si Mo had already moved a low table to the beach. The table legs were uneven, so she casually placed a broken tile under it, sat down, and opened the ledger. The pages were still the same blank pages from last night, the edges damp, and she had to press them down to flatten them. She dipped her brush in ink and looked up at the crowd.

"One person comes, one is written down." Her voice was clear and not loud, but it was steady. "Say your real name. If you don't have a real name, give yourself one. Once you've passed this page, collect your supplies."

"Will a pseudonym work?" someone shouted from the back of the crowd.

"As long as you can remember it yourself," Si Mo said without looking up. "When you need to find people, accounts, or jobs in the future, just follow this page. If you use a fake name to fool yourself, you'll be the one who suffers in the end."

After she finished speaking, she wrote two words on the blank page.

Live account.

It is not a roster, not a quota book, and not a tide register.

These two words, placed on the table, are more eye-catching than the tower.

Chen Fan stood by the table and gave Lao Wu a wink. Lao Wu immediately led a few people to set up stalls separately: one side for salt, another for cloth, and yet another for medicine. In the far corner, there were also a few salted fish that had been flipped from the boat. Someone was assigned to watch over each stall to prevent people from scrambling or taking orders.

At first, no one moved.

After a long while, it was the skinny man with the broken front tooth who finally emerged. He walked as if treading on ice, stopping and starting with each step. When he reached the table, he first took off the thin rope tag around his neck, held it in his hand for a long time, and then placed it on the table.

The wooden plaque tapped softly against the edge of the table.

Si Mo glanced at it: "Name."

The skinny man swallowed hard: "In the old days, in the Chaozhou dialect... he was called Bingqi."

That's not a name.

"My mother called me Ah Luo when I was little." After he finished speaking, he was stunned for a moment. It was as if he hadn't spoken those two words for a long time, and they sounded unfamiliar when he said them.

Si Mo picked up his brush and wrote the two characters "A Luo".

"What are you getting?"

Ah Luo stared at those two words, his eyes instantly reddening. He quickly lowered his head, as if afraid someone would see, and pointed to the salt bag: "Half a pound of salt, and a foot of cloth. My old lady's trousers are torn."

"Recorded." Si Mo added a entry under the name, "Half a pound of salt, a foot of cloth. One day's wages owed. What can you do?"

Ah Luo rubbed his hands together: "I can repair nets and mend ship seams."

"Go find Old Wu by the boat tomorrow."

Ah Luo nodded repeatedly, grabbed the salt and cloth, and started to walk away. Halfway there, she turned back and asked softly, "Should we still hang this sign?"

Chen Fan glanced at the thin rope token in his hand: "I won't hang it. If you want to keep it, you can use it as firewood at home."

This time the crowd actually moved.

First, two old women came over, one asking for salt and the other for medicinal oil. Then came a thin, dark-skinned boy who said he could dive to retrieve nails and wanted to exchange two feet of cloth for a jacket for his sister. There was also a man who lingered for a long time, finally giving the name "Chen Liushun," and then immediately adding that this time it really was his name, not a number issued by the tower.

Si Mo took notes, his pen almost never stopping.

Some people who couldn't write their own characters would stand by the table and watch her write. After watching, they would reach out and touch the ink marks, as if if they didn't touch them, their names would be taken away by someone else.

The tower gate remained closed.

But it wasn't quiet behind the door. There were footsteps, hushed noises, and the scraping sound of wooden crates being dragged. It sounded like someone was in a hurry to move something, but didn't dare to actually rush out.

Chen Fan listened but ignored him.

What the old order feared most was not criticism, but the survival of its people.

As the sun peeked over the horizon, a short queue had already formed on the beach. The queue wasn't very orderly; everyone was still hesitant, and even after receiving their items, no one wanted to leave immediately, preferring to stand at a distance and watch. Some people took off their name tags and tucked them into their sleeves. Some people walked halfway before turning back to ask if their names would be recorded the next day.

Chen Fan only replied, "Come again tomorrow, let's get through today first."

The woman brewed the medicine, and the child's cough indeed subsided somewhat. She stood in front of the low table, holding the child, and lingered there for a long time.

Si Mo looked up: "You haven't been registered yet."

The woman lowered her head, looking at the child in her arms, and after a while spoke: "I didn't have a name before. After I married into this family, everyone called me Sister Hai."

Which one do you want?

The woman's lips moved, as if she were trying to pronounce something. The sea breeze ruffled the stray hairs on her forehead, and she raised her hand to smooth them down, her voice very soft.

"I want to be called Ahe."

Si Mo wrote the two characters down, placing them very steadily.

The woman watched for a while, then suddenly untied the thin rope around her neck. Holding the wooden plaque in her hand, she couldn't bear to throw it away immediately. Turning her head, she saw a small brazier nearby, where someone was brewing medicine. She went over and put the plaque into the fire.

The wooden sign was initially just blackened, but after a few breaths, the edges curled up and a wisp of smoke rose from it.

She stared at it, and the child in her arms reached out to grab the firelight, so she quickly moved the child away from her.

Si Mo continued writing, and as she turned to a new page, a broken piece of paper slipped out from her sleeve. She pressed it down, looked up at the tower gate, and suddenly said, "Chen Fan, the person behind the gate is probably about to escape."

Chen Fan took the half bowl of cold water that Lao Wu handed him, took a sip, and kept his eyes on the people in line.

"Let them run away." He put down the bowl. "It's good that the tower is empty. It'll make room for them."

After saying that, he walked to the tower and patted the door.

The person inside the door immediately fell silent.

Chen Fan spoke calmly through the door: "Bring the account books out yourself before noon. If you're too slow, I'll take the door down."

No one answered from inside the tower.

Without waiting, Chen Fan turned back to the beach, bent down, grabbed another handful of salt from the salt bag, and sprinkled it into the newly set-up pot.

The pot was filled with seaweed porridge. The water had just boiled, and as soon as the salt was added, steam carrying the aroma wafted out.

The people in line unconsciously moved forward half a step.

Chapter 667 Tide Tower Recycling Order

Steam rose in wisps from the seaweed porridge.

The people in line moved slowly, none daring to push. Just as they reached the pot, the old fisherman at the front suddenly cried out, clutched his chest, and bent over.

The wooden plaque in his arms was turning red.

It wasn't firelight, but a red glow emanating from the wood grain, like a fine needle burning inside. The next moment, chaos erupted behind them as well.

"hot!"

"Mine's hot too!"

"Take it down quickly!"

Someone tried to pull the rope. They couldn't pull it apart. The thin rope seemed glued to the skin, getting tighter the more they pulled. Several children started crying, but as they cried, they began to move their legs toward the other side of the tower, as if someone was pulling their feet.

Chen Fan put down his spoon, his gaze darkening.

coming.

It was neither a soldier nor a killer.

It's recycling.

The row of old wooden signs under the eaves trembled and rustled incessantly. A sliver of bluish light seeped from the crack in the door, first as a thin line, then spreading across the ground like a tide. Wherever the light reached, the people with the signs went.

The woman who had just been standing by the pot, her lips trembling, still clutching half a rough bowl, was now slowly making her way towards the tower gate. She wanted to turn back, but her neck was stiff as wood, and her eyes were filled with panic.

"Don't go over there!" Someone reached out and pulled her back.

The man felt the sign on his chest burn, immediately withdrew his hand, and then continued walking forward.

Liu Er squatted on the stone cabinet, his ears twitched, and his expression changed.

"It's not calling out to people, it's identifying numbers," he said to Chen Fan. "It's in the inventory register. Every single card, every single number, is accounted for."

Si Mo had already clutched the booklet to her chest, flipping through it rapidly. Her fingers paused on a few lines of old notes she had added the night before, her voice tightening: "Tide number, supplementary quota, return to warehouse. There's a line here: 'When the order comes, return to the tower; if you're even a step late, you'll be charged an extra point.'"

The white dragon horse stepped across the road and reached out to stop two people. It blocked the third, but the third simply slipped under its arm, its eyes glazed over, and it kept repeating the same phrase.

"Return to the tower. Return to the tower."

Like a well-rehearsed old saying.

Chen Fan stepped forward and grabbed the child's shoulder. The child was very thin, and his shoulder bones were digging into his hand. Just as he was about to pull the child back, his fingertips suddenly went numb.

He looked down.

The broken plaque in my sleeve was also getting hot.

The heat wasn't intense; it was more like a reminder that a hole had been opened in the tower.

Wukong had already taken the golden cudgel off his shoulder. He stared at the door, grinding his teeth, but couldn't even manage a smile.

"It dares to kidnap people."

"Stop the flow first," Chen Fan said.

No sooner had he finished speaking than Wukong reached the door in a single step. With a sweep of his golden cudgel, he shattered the circle of blue light in front of the door. A string of fragments exploded on the stone ground, and the people at the front staggered, finally managing to stop.

But it only paused for a moment.

A low hum then emanated from the tower, like many empty cans knocked together. Those wearing signs were sweating profusely, their chests heaving faster and faster, their legs lifting forward again.

"Sealing the ears won't work." Six Ears jumped down, raised his hand to cover a child's ear, but the child still walked away. "It's not a sound."

Si Mo suddenly looked up: "There's old blood on the sign."

Everyone was looking at her.

She turned to the last page of the booklet. The edges of that page were already curled up by dampness, but the ink was still there.

"Shave hair for record-keeping, take blood for identification. Keep scales for fish, take teeth for animals. Put them all in the tower when you change to a new card, so they can be checked for moisture." Her hands trembled as she read this, "It can recognize people, not by their faces, nor by their names."

The white dragon horse's expression darkened, and it subconsciously touched the back of its neck.

This is something that dragons absolutely hate.

A single scale, a drop of blood, falling into the hands of someone with ulterior motives, will no longer belong to them.

Suddenly, several muffled thuds came from behind the tower gate, as if something had hit a cabinet. Those who had been hiding inside and refusing to make a sound suddenly screamed in unison.

"You can't drive it!"

"Don't open it!"

"If it opens, the whole island is doomed!"

Chen Fan looked up at the door and said in a low voice, "The person in charge inside, this is the last time. Take the door down yourself and move the roster and sample cabinet out."

No one answered from inside.

The buzzing only grew louder and louder.

Half the people queuing for porridge had already left. Some had even lost a shoe halfway through, yet they kept inching forward. The old fisherman's lip was bleeding from being bitten, but he still kept moving. His granddaughter clung to his leg, crying, and all he could say in a hoarse voice was, "Let go. Let go. Grandpa has to get into the tower."

Chen Fan yanked the child away and handed him to Si Mo.

"Remember people. Mark who walks in, remember their faces, remember who else is in the house."

Si Mo nodded emphatically, then squatted down next to the stone block with the booklet in his arms, writing and reporting at the same time.

"Chao Shijiu, Master Shun."

"Chao 46, Qin San Sao, the fishmonger."

"The tide rises seventy-two times, and it is Lesser Fullness (Xiaoman)."

With each name she mentioned, Chen Fan's expression grew colder.

Wukong was too lazy to wait any longer.

He pressed one hand against the tower door, palm against it, testing the strength behind it. The door was thick, not only made of wood but also reinforced with iron. The old tower was ancient, but the hinges were new, clearly indicating that someone had replaced them in recent years.

"Pretty precious, huh?" Wukong grinned.

The next instant, the golden cudgel slammed down.

The first crack appeared in the middle of the door panel.

The second time, the latch snapped, and screams erupted from inside.

With the third blow, the entire door crashed inward. Dust billowed out, carrying a strange odor. It wasn't rotten, nor was it fishy; it was like old cloth that had been dried in a damp room but hadn't fully dried, mixed with stale medicinal dregs, all stale and stuffy in one place.

The few trendy people at the front stopped in their tracks and all slumped down on the threshold, their wooden badges fading slightly.

The lighting in the tower is very poor.

The sunlight shining outside only made the interior appear even clearer. At first glance, you couldn't see any people, only rows of shelves winding up the tower walls, layer upon layer, all the way to the second floor.

The items on the shelf were not account books.

It's a jar.

There were pottery jars, wooden boxes, and bronze caskets of all sizes. Each one was labeled with a number. The ink on them varied in age. Several wooden boxes nearby were warped from the impact, their lids ajar, revealing clumps of hair inside.

Black, white, and yellow, tangled together like damp seaweed.

Si Mo stood outside the door, and his face turned pale after just one glance.

The white dragon horse took two steps inside, then suddenly stopped.

On the shelf in front of him, slender jade boxes were neatly arranged. The lids were half open, and inside were lined gray cloths, with a scale pressed down on each compartment. They were of different colors, most of them long since lost their luster, and a few still showed the patterns of dragon scales.

Each piece has its origin and trend code written next to it.

"Eastern Sea Branch, Supplement Three."

"Nanwan miscellaneous dragons, tax deduction."

"Young fish from the North Reef, kept for examination."

The white dragon horse raised its hand and overturned the shelf.

The jade box crashed to the ground.

The people at the very back could no longer hide. Two old officials and a tower-guarding woman were all huddled behind the counter. The tower-guarding woman had disheveled hair and was holding a copper basin in her arms, half-filled with blackened blood clots.

Seeing the door broken, instead of begging for mercy, she shouted, "Don't touch it! If we mess it up, Cangta will have to redo the score! And redoing it won't just mean taking away the cards!"

Chen Fan walked in, his boots stepping over a tuft of broken hair, and stopped in front of her.

"Re-correct what?"

The old woman's throat bobbed, but she refused to answer.

Six Ears had already darted to the second-floor railing and shouted down, "There's more up there! It's all from last year! They even have babies' milk and hair inside!"

Wukong used his staff to pry open the large wooden cabinet in the middle, the door slamming against the wall, revealing dozens of drawers inside. Each drawer was crammed full, with cloth bags, paper tags, and small bottles, one after another.

He casually pulled out a packet and tore it open.

A blood-soaked strip of cloth fell to the ground, with a note that read: Chao Thirty-Seven, kept after changing name.

If you peel off another layer, you'll find your fingernail.

Another layer was peeled off; it was a tooth.

At the very bottom were several thick earthenware jars, their mouths sealed with wax. Wukong nudged one with the tip of his staff, cracking the wax seal and releasing a pungent, fishy odor. It wasn't the smell of fish, but the lingering stench of blood, suffocating and making one's stomach churn.

Si Mo held onto the door frame, forcing himself not to back down.

She stared at the words engraved on the jar, her voice hoarse: "Hair, blood, scales, teeth, store them in the warehouse according to their numbers. Take inventory at tides, and replace any missing items."

Those people who had stopped at the doorway outside could see clearly now.

First, there was silence.

Then someone rushed in.

They weren't going to rob, they were going to ransack the place.

The fishmonger, Qin Sansao, rushed to the leftmost shelf, frantically rummaging through the wooden boxes while repeatedly calling out her son's nickname. After a few moments, she found a small paper package. The package was labeled "Chao Eighty-One." She opened it and found a tuft of soft baby hair inside, tied with old red thread.

She knelt down on the spot, her voice hoarse, and could only utter one curse.

"brute."

The old fisherman rushed to the other side, rummaging through the box until he was trembling. When he found his own box, besides a tuft of hair, there was a small piece of dried, hardened blood-stained cloth. He stared at it for a long time, then suddenly raised his hand and slapped the wooden sign on his chest, twisting his neck.

The wooden sign didn't fall off.

He struck a second time.

Chen Fan reached out to stop him, drew his knife, and cut the rope holding the tag.

The wooden plaque landed on the ground, and sure enough, there was a shallow groove carved on its back. A thin layer of dark-colored substance, like dried blood mud, was embedded in the groove.

"Take the cards off," Chen Fan shouted, turning his head. "If you can't untie them, cut the rope with a knife. If you don't have a knife, go get a wood-chopping knife from the pot."

The crowd then erupted in chaos.

Those who had just walked into the tower were now all pulling at cards. Some were pulling until their necks were red, while others were so anxious that they started throwing stones. The White Dragon Horse kicked the broken needle on the ground to a man, who grabbed it and started prying the back of the cards.

Upon seeing this, the old woman guarding the tower turned blue with anger and lunged forward to snatch the copper basin.

"We can't destroy it! If we destroy it, all your future jobs—salt collection, labor service, ship berths—will be ruined..."

Before she could finish speaking, Wukong kicked over the copper basin.

The blood clots, hair fragments, and fine scales in the basin were scattered all over the ground.

He looked down at her and slammed the stick on the ground.

"Next time, you go first into the tank."

The tower fell silent.

All that remained were the sounds of people rummaging through cabinets, the clanging of wooden boxes, and the bubbling of seaweed porridge outside the door.

Chen Fan walked to the innermost part.

There was another narrow door, with a bronze plaque hanging on it, thicker and older than the wooden plaque outside. The two characters on the bronze plaque had their edges worn smooth.

Recycle.

He reached out, took the card off, glanced at it, and handed it to Si Mo.

"Copy it down."

Si Mo took it, her hands still dusty. She looked down at it for a moment, then suddenly said, "There are more words at the end."

She turned the bronze medal over.

A line of old rules was finely engraved on the back.

The order has been issued from the Tide Tower; all orders are to be returned to their posts. People may be delayed, but the record must not be lost.

Chapter 668 The Tax Book Returns to Fire

It was still dark.

The pot outside the Tide Tower was the first to awaken, seaweed bubbling in the boiling water, the aroma of porridge mixed with saltiness wafting outwards. Those who hadn't dispersed last night returned, their feet treading on the wet sand, none daring to squeeze too close to the tower entrance, their eyes fixed on the narrow doorway.

Chen Fan sat on a rock on the beach, holding the bronze plaque in his hand.

Si Mo squatted down beside her and copied the old rules on the back again. She wrote slowly, and after finishing, she wiped the dampness off the wooden board with her sleeve, afraid that the words would smudge.

Wukong leaned against the tower wall, twirling his golden cudgel in his hand, the end of the cudgel tapping the stone ground repeatedly.

"There's no sound from inside."

Chen Fan looked up at the sea.

The sky was turning white, and the tide was rising. Not far from the tower, on the outer reef, stood a dark tide marker, half-drenched in water, half-submerged in the waves. Those inside the tower couldn't hide their accounts far away. The tide tax books matched up year after year not through words, but through thread.

He tossed the bronze medal to the white dragon horse.

"You're familiar with the old Dragon Palace tower. How many marks are there at its base?"

Bai Longma caught the card, rubbing the words "recycle" with his fingertips, his expression somewhat somber. He didn't answer immediately, first glancing up at the outer reef, then at the circle of black rocks at the base of the tide tower.

"If it were still the old system, four shell seals would be placed under the base of the tower," he said. "If the seals are not removed, any movement within the tower will be known on the other side of the sea route. It will be possible to know which ship the tax silver came from, which bushel of salt was missing, and how many names were missing, all of which can be relayed back along the waterways."

Wukong scoffed.

"They really think the seawater is their ears."

The white dragon horse didn't respond to that, but simply took off his outer robe and draped it over the rocks. Underneath was a short-sleeved garment, convenient for swimming. The old dragon-patterned pendant still hung at his waist, its edges worn smooth and shiny.

Chen Fan looked at him: "Can it be pulled out?"

The white dragon horse nodded.

"Yes. But you need to go deeper."

Si Mo raised his head, his lips moved, but he ultimately didn't say anything to stop him. He just hugged the wooden board he had copied tightly.

At this moment, there was finally some noise from inside the tower gate. First, there was the sound of wooden crates being dragged on the floor, followed by two people arguing in hushed tones. After a few words, they stopped. It was as if the person inside had heard what was being said outside, and simply stopped talking altogether.

Chen Fan stood up and shouted towards the tower gate, "I'll wait only for an incense stick to burn. If the report doesn't come out, I'll dismantle the tower first, then turn the sea upside down."

There was still no response from inside.

The white dragon horse has already entered the water.

The morning tide was terribly cold. When the first wave crashed against his knees, he didn't even flinch. He simply tucked the dragon-patterned pendant into his clothes and continued forward. When he reached waist-deep water, he glanced back. Everyone on the shore was watching him. Their gazes were mixed; some recognized him, some didn't, and some only knew that he had followed Chen Fan through thick and thin.

The white dragon horse took a breath and plunged down.

The surface of the water was immediately covered with only swirling white foam.

Wukong, who had been leaning against the wall, straightened up slightly upon seeing him go down, and stopped spinning his staff. Chen Fan didn't say anything, but walked a few steps along the shore towards the outer reef, staring at the ripples in the water.

There was no movement for the first time.

The second breath, a cloud of murky sand and water churned up beside the outer reef.

On the third breath, the tide marker trembled violently, as if something underneath had been forcibly pried open.

Someone on the shore let out a soft "ah".

Immediately afterwards, the first seashell emerged from the water.

The thing was about the size of a palm, with a dark bluish-green shell and a copper clasp embedded in its back. The white dragon horse poked its head out from underwater, flung the shell onto the shore with one hand, and then quickly sank back down, not even having time to catch its breath.

Si Mo subconsciously took two steps forward and picked up the shell seal. It was cold to the touch, and densely engraved with fine characters, all of them ship numbers and weights. The bottom line, though the ink had faded, still bore the mark of the old Dragon Palace.

Wukong took it, glanced at it, and sneered.

"This thing is kept so that people can use it as a noose."

When the second one was pulled out, the entire Tide Tower swayed slightly.

The row of old wooden sticks under the eaves rattled and clattered as if caught in the wind. The outermost stick broke free from the rope and fell into the mud, half of it gone.

A gasp came from inside the tower gate.

This time it wasn't an act.

Finally, someone inside couldn't hold on any longer and rushed to the crack in the door, shouting, "Don't move! Don't move anymore! If the seal breaks, Hai Cang will bring up old grievances! We can't afford that!"

Chen Fan walked to the door and knocked twice on the door panel.

"If you can't bear the responsibility, how can the people on the beach?"

He choked.

Just then, a wave suddenly burst open on the sea. The White Dragon Horse burst out of the water, clutching a seashell in each hand, his face deathly pale and his breathing rapid. He pushed off the outer reef, using the momentum to flip back into the shallow water, and staggered towards the shore.

When I was three steps from the shore, my right leg buckled and my knee almost fell into the water.

Wukong flashed over, grabbed him by the back of the collar, and lifted him up.

"What are you showing off for?"

White Dragon Horse coughed up two mouthfuls of seawater, threw the last two shells onto the sand, his chest heaving for a long time before he said in a hoarse voice, "It wasn't a bratt. The last one was buried deep; if I hadn't pulled it off in one go, the thread would have tangled back up."

After he finished speaking, he raised his hand to wipe the water off his face and turned to look at the Tide Tower.

"It's broken now."

The four shell prints lay side by side on the sand, like four dead, hard eyes.

At that very moment, it was as if a beam had collapsed inside the tower. First, cabinet doors sprang open one after another, followed by the sound of pages fluttering in the wind—utter chaos. Some people cried, some cursed, and others dragged suitcases toward the back door. Before they could take two steps, Wukong swung his golden cudgel horizontally, and the back wall shattered in half with a bang, sending people and their suitcases tumbling back into the tower.

"Go through the front door," he said. "Don't take the long way."

The tower gate finally opened.

Two former tax collectors carried out a wet wooden box, their steps unsteady, their faces deathly pale. Behind them followed three accountants, each carrying a tall stack of ledgers, their elbows clenched tightly to prevent them from falling.

Chen Fan didn't let them get close.

"Place them on the sand. Lay them out one by one."

The men did as instructed, moving very slowly, as if their hearts sank with each book they placed down. When the damp wooden box was opened, a pungent smell of stale paper wafted out, revealing it crammed full of tax books. The covers were of varying colors, the old ones blackened, the new ones still glossy. Each book had a thin copper plate pinned to its corner, engraved with a number that matched the wooden tags from the previous night.

The crowd on the beach drew ever closer.

Someone recognized their own boat number, and their voice trembled on the spot: "That...that's the boat register from our village."

Chen Fan bent down and casually pulled out a book.

The first page records the tide times. The second page lists the ship numbers. Turning to the center, after the densely packed names, a blank column suddenly appears, marked only by a small stamp. Four characters are stamped on it.

The nameless item was returned to the granary.

Chen Fan held up the booklet, facing the crowd.

"Those of you who can read, look ahead."

Si Mo stood beside him, holding the wooden board, and also raised the old rules he had copied down last night.

Chen Fan read out each word carefully: "The Tide Tower issues the order, all items return to their warehouses. People may wait, but the samples must not be lost."

He paused, turned back to the book, and read again: "Nameless return to the granary."

The beach quieted down for a moment.

Immediately afterward, an old fisherman in the front row reacted first, his voice trembling: "People can be forgotten, but fish samples can't be missing. Just because the names aren't written down, does that mean they're from the public granary?"

Chen Fan nodded.

"This is the one."

"Taxes without a name aren't confiscated, they're just considered unaccounted for." He pushed the ledger forward. "The boat is yours, the fish are yours, the salt is yours, but in the end, your name isn't on the ledger. They take it from the warehouse, and then use old debts to pay you back. If you ask, they'll flip through the ledger for you. See the blank spaces? Blank spaces mean it's your fault."

The crowd erupted in uproar.

Someone lunged forward to snatch the ledger, but dared not actually touch it. He pointed to a page and cursed, "My brother clearly submitted it that year! It was this very ship! They said the number was wrong, told us to go back and resubmit, and the next day they said the tide had passed and refused to acknowledge it!"

Another woman squatted down on the ground, frantically searching through the booklet for her family members' names. When she found the blank column, her hands trembled, and she kept repeating, "No wonder, no wonder..."

The former tax collectors turned pale, and one of the younger ones tried to argue: "We didn't set the rules; we were just following the register—"

Before he could finish speaking, the white dragon horse stepped forward and kicked over the wet wooden box.

A hidden compartment was visible at the bottom of the box.

Inside was a slender copper spoon and half a roll of sealing wax. The wax was stamped with the seal of Hai Cang, which was used to reseal the empty tent.

The white dragon horse looked down at the hidden compartment, its eyes cold.

"When I was in the Dragon Palace, I hated seeing these double-sided boxes the most," he said. "The top layer is for people to see, and the bottom layer is for collecting real accounts. I've finally seen them again today."

He bent down, picked up the half-rolled wax strip, and handed it to Chen Fan.

"The pagoda seal is broken. The sea route is also cut off. Now that it's burning, the sea warehouse can't be resealed."

Upon hearing this, the former tax collectors' legs went weak and they all knelt down.

"Don't burn it!"

"Once it's burned, there's no going back!"

"Mr. Chen, seal it up first, and report it to the authorities—"

Wukong grew impatient and shoved the end of his staff into the sand, making the notebooks bounce.

"When you were exploiting people with empty titles, why didn't you ever say you'd turn back?"

Chen Fan flipped through the ledgers one by one, picked out those with the entry "Unnamed and Returned to Warehouse," and threw them all under the large pot of porridge that had been used for cooking. The fire in the pot hadn't gone out to begin with, and with the addition of dry firewood, the flames leaped up, crackling and popping as they baked the dampness.

Si Mo looked at the fire and suddenly handed over the wooden board with the old rules copied on it.

"You're going to burn this too?"

Chen Fan took it and glanced at it.

The writing on the wooden board was still fresh; the ink wasn't completely dry.

"Keep a piece," he said, "to hang at the tower entrance. So that future generations can recognize it."

After saying that, he unfolded the tax book in his hand and read the line one last time: "Unregistered property returned to the granary."

After finishing reading, he loosened his wrist.

The ledger fell into the fire, curling up at the edges before bursting into flames. The copper nails glowed red, the cover bulged, and cracked open with a snap. The account books with blank names were also pushed in, the flames licking at them, black smoke shooting straight up.

No one on the beach made a sound.

Only the faint crackling of burning paper and the gentle lapping of the ocean waves could be heard.

The white dragon horse stood by the fire, water still dripping from the hem of its robes. Looking at the fire, its chest slowly calmed, then suddenly it lifted its foot and kicked the last seashell on the sand into the flames.

The shell shrank slightly in the charcoal, and a crack appeared.

He then turned to the people inside the tower and said, "From today onwards, no old debts will be collected here. Anyone who dares to collect taxes under a false name, I will personally go into business and pull out their family seals one by one."

The men at the tower entrance crouched even lower, their foreheads almost touching the sand.

A sea breeze blew, causing the flames to shift and shine directly on the newly hung wooden board.

The first two lines of text were written in bright ink.

People can wait, but the opportunity must not be lost.

Someone below picked up some charcoal and, following Chen Fan's instructions, added another line.

Nameless, not stored away.

Chapter 669 The Day the Nameless Island Was Renamed

Before the sky was even at its highest point, the open space in front of the tower had been cleared.

The stove where the books were burned last night was still steaming, covered in a layer of grayish-white smoke, with the red embers still glowing at the bottom. Si Mo brought out two low tables, one for old wooden slips and the other for new paper. Xuan Zang sat cross-legged on the left, a bowl in front of him containing broken plaques and fragments of seashells that he had collected. Si Mo sat on the right, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows, with old ledgers he had collected from the Tide Tower pressed against his hands.

Before Chen Fan sat down at the table, he simply erected a wooden pole next to him.

A new board is hung on the pole.

The three characters above were just written.

Introduce your new name.

The people on the beach watched for a long time, but no one made a move.

They were used to reporting other things. They reported their trades, their quotas, which beach or cave they lived in, and which family had which number of survivors left. But when asked to reveal their own names, their mouths were like salt crusts, impossible to pry open.

Wukong squatted on top of the tower gate, his staff lying horizontally beside his legs, and glanced down.

"One at a time," he said. "If you report late, we won't call you. If you report a false report, we'll deal with it."

As soon as he said that, things started to move below.

The first to emerge was the woman who had been exchanging porridge with her child last night. She stood in front of the wooden pole, pursed her lips, and looked first at Chen Fan, then at Xuanzang.

Xuanzang picked up his pen: "Old name."

She whispered, "Dongtan Bu San, the shell collector."

Xuanzang wrote it down.

Si Mo rummaged through old accounts, his finger quickly stopping: "Yes. Dongtan, supplementary quota three, female, one household and half labor."

When the woman heard this, her shoulders trembled, as if a thorn had been pulled out of her skin.

Chen Fan asked, "What was your ancestor's surname?"

She was stunned.

After a few breaths, she pulled the child closer to her chest: "My maternal grandfather's surname was Jiang. My mother didn't keep a surname. People call me Achao."

"A-Chao is just a colloquial term," Chen Fan said, looking at her. "You choose. The surname Jiang, or something else."

The woman stared at the piece of paper. The wind blew the corner of the paper, and she blinked twice in response.

"My name is Jiang Chao." After she finished speaking, her voice was still weak, and she added, "Chao as in tide."

Xuanzang wrote: "Jiang Chao".

Si Mo started a new line on the new account book and wrote down his residence, occupation, and family members.

"Next person."

Once the first person takes the lead, others will dare to move forward.

An old fisherman with two missing fingers came up; he was formerly known as "North Reef Rafter Two." He squatted down and drew a crooked fishhook in the sand, saying that his father used to be called Wu Qi, without a proper surname. Chen Fan told him to decide for himself. The old man thought for a long time and said that since he lived on North Reef and made a living by fishing, his surname would be Reef, and he would be called Reef Seven. Several old men nearby laughed when they heard this, and after laughing, they all nodded, saying that they could remember the name.

Xuanzang copied it.

Two more brothers arrived, one after the other. They were formerly known as "Salt Shed Worker One" and "Salt Shed Worker Two." Their mother had died young, and they only remembered that their ancestors had fled from the west, carrying a wooden bucket along the way. The elder brother gestured with his hand to show the width of the bucket's opening, saying that when they were young, their mother always said, "As long as the bucket isn't lost, we're still family." Chen Fan then said, "Then let's take the surname Dou (斗, meaning 'bucket')." The elder brother named himself Douping (斗平, meaning 'Douping'), and the younger brother thought for a long time before saying he didn't know how to choose characters, so he simply followed suit and called himself Dou'an (斗安, meaning 'Douping')."

When Si Mo was writing the new account book, the tip of his pen paused for a moment.

She suddenly realized that the old accounts were numbered in the thirties when she turned a page, and the new accounts were written on half a page, and not a single one was the same.

The morning wind was drier than last night, carrying salt foam onto the table.

Xuanzang reported it once, and Si Mo checked it again.

"Formerly known as the Fourth Western Cliff Net-Closing Ceremony."

"New name: Yasheng."

"The dwelling remains unchanged, the stone hut on the west cliff."

"The trade involves hauling in the nets and repairing the boat."

"Family size: two people, plus an orphan."

As he wrote this, Xuanzang looked up at the man.

The man scratched behind his ear: "I picked it up last night. I can't keep it in the tower."

Xuanzang nodded and added a small dot after "orphan" to mark it as a temporary note.

Some people named their businesses after their old professions.

Those who drive piles are surnamed Pile, those who burn salt are surnamed Salt, those who guard boats are surnamed Boat, and those who mend baskets are surnamed Basket. Some people find these surnames too rigid and change them themselves. Those who live in Chiwan change their surname to Chi. Those who live in Aipo Cave simply change their surname to Po. There was also an old woman whose old name was now just "Old Widow of Nankou." She sat down and started cursing, saying that she had lived most of her life and couldn't still be called an old widow. She thought for a long time, then patted her knee and said, "My husband used to love planting bitter herbs. So my surname is Bitter. Bitter herbs grow long, and they grow back even after being trampled."

Xuanzang paused, then picked up his brush and wrote "Bitter Woman".

The old woman thought it sounded bad.

"Don't call her 'old woman.' Call her 'bitter spring.'"

"Okay." Xuanzang changed his mind.

There were also times when things got stuck.

A thin young man stood there for a long time, his face flushed, only able to say that he used to live in the third row of dilapidated houses behind the Tide Tower, and he couldn't remember any of his ancestors' names. Si Mo looked up at him and recognized that this was the man who had run the fastest with the old tent last night. She wanted to retort, but she swallowed the words and just pushed the old tent forward.

"Your old name was the back row handyman, number six," she said. "Tali remembers you could move boxes, grind ink, and recognize more than thirty characters."

The young man stared at that line, his Adam's apple bobbing.

Chen Fan said, "If you can read, don't use 'handyman' as your name."

The young man opened his mouth, and after a long pause, said, "My surname is Mo, is that alright?"

Si Mo paused writing and looked up at him.

The young man's ears burned, and he quickly waved his hand: "I'm not trying to curry favor with you. When I was a child, I picked up half a black stone behind the pagoda and used it to draw words on the wall. My mother scolded me, saying that since I was always touching ink, I should go and be a son in the pagoda. I still remember it to this day."

Si Mo hummed in agreement and lowered his head to write: "Mo Chi".

"Why is it called 'late'?" Xuanzang asked.

"I started learning late," the young man said.

Wukong listened from the top of the tower, grinned, but said nothing.

The line of people kept getting longer and longer.

Some people still remembered half of their old names, counting on their fingers from their ancestors to themselves, but the list quickly became jumbled. Xuanzang wasn't in a hurry, letting him sit beside him and think it over slowly. Some people used three names in one sentence: one called by their mother, one by the fishing team, and one engraved on a plaque by the tax collector. Si Mo recorded them in three columns: old name, common name, and new name, each in its own place.

By noon, a thick stack of new paper had piled up on the table.

The stove area wasn't idle either.

All old wooden tags, supplementary tax plaques, and tax seals passed through Chen Fan's hands. He glanced at them, and those he deemed useless were tossed into the stove. Some people were reluctant to part with them, especially those plaques that had hung for ten or twenty years, their edges worn smooth. Chen Fan didn't try to dissuade them, only asking, "Is your name on it?"

After I asked the question, the other person let go of my hand.

Just as it was about time for the old officials in the tower to get their turn, the wind suddenly changed direction.

A clicking sound, like wooden teeth grinding, came from inside the tower gate. Everyone immediately turned around. The few people who had been lying in wait at the door last night were so frightened that they scrambled to the side, rolling and crawling, almost crumpling the newly written paper in their haste.

The next moment, a puppet shell half the height of a person burst out of the door.

The creature had a bronze box embedded in its chest, and its shell was older than the one from last night. A string of fragments hung from its shoulder and back. As soon as it landed, the bronze box popped open on its own, revealing a thin, long tick mark inside, with a red glow swirling around its tip.

A sharp, jagged sound immediately rang out from the sand.

"Re-reporting code for the old order regarding the unnamed island—"

Before he could finish speaking, Wukong had already come down.

He didn't use the stick; he just stomped on it with his foot.

With a thud.

The puppet's shell collapsed in two from the chest down, the bronze box flew a long way, and the code slip trembled in mid-air before he slapped it to pieces. The fragments fell to the ground with a crackling sound, the red light flashed twice, and then went out.

The people below all held their breath.

Wukong shook his hand, as if brushing off dust: "Go tell your mother."

The lower half of the puppet's shell was still twitching, its wooden legs kicking wildly into the sand. Bai Long immediately stepped forward, flicked his shoe, and pulled out the code core that was still connected to the wire. The core was thin and long, like a fish spine, with densely packed small commands engraved at the top.

Si Mo's face darkened after just one glance.

"This is a re-reporting of the numbers," she said. "Once the old accounts are burned, a new set is set up. Whoever doesn't have a new name is still considered a fraud."

Chen Fan took the wick, didn't examine it closely, and tossed it into the stove.

When the core is heated, it first curls, then cracks, releasing a pungent, acrid smell.

Wukong, finding the smell too strong, grabbed the top half of the puppet shell and smashed it, along with the copper box, into the fire. A flame leaped from the stove, and the oil inside the shell crackled and popped. Several unburnt copper teeth bounced out and rolled to the old woman's feet. The old woman bent down, picked one up, looked at it, and tossed it back into the fire.

"Old teeth," she cursed, "used to biting people."

This smash actually made the team more stable.

Those who had been hesitant seemed to suddenly realize that there was nowhere left to return to under the old order. Some, fearing they might forget the characters, simply squatted down and wrote their new names twice on the sand with twigs before reporting back. Others went to ask their elders, returning sweating profusely, reciting their grandfather's surname, their mother's nickname, and the name of the village where they had lived for generations, all for Xuanzang to choose from.

As the sun began to set, the last page of the new account book was finally completed.

Xuanzang flexed his wrists, his fingers stained with ink. Si Mo straightened the papers in order, then pulled out the last blank supplementary booklet from the old ledger, turned it face down on the corner of the table, and would not use it again.

Chen Fan picked up the new account book and flipped through it from beginning to end.

The first page features Jiang Chao.

The last page is Mo Chi.

A string of new characters was densely packed in the middle, some crooked and some straight. Some were written by Xuanzang, and some were supplemented by Si Mo. There were also a few red clay dots with handprints mixed in. Although they looked uneven, they were much easier to recognize than the old accounts.

He closed the ledger and patted the cover.

"One copy is hung in the tower, one copy is sent to the stove, and one page is copied from each beach and cave on the island," he said. "If a family has a new member, they can report it themselves. If a family wants to change their name, they can do so as well. Old debts are not recognized, but new debts are recognized based on the person."

Si Mo responded and hugged the tent to his chest.

Xuanzang got up, picked up the wooden board with the inscription "Announce the New Name", thought for a moment, and then added a line of small characters below it.

Once changed, it becomes valid.

He blew on the ink and handed it to the child next to him.

The child, carrying the plank, ran all the way to the center of the tower gate. The wooden nails were driven in, making two dull thuds.

The wind came from the sea, the plank swayed, but then stabilized.

The people still gathered in front of the tower looked up, slowly trying to pronounce the names they had just given. Some pronounced them smoothly, others stumbled over them, and corrected themselves after a couple of tries. Jiang Chao put the child down and taught him to recognize his mother's surname. The child couldn't recognize all of them, only pointing to the first character and calling out "Jiang."

When the old woman Kuchun heard this, she turned around, spat out a mouthful of sand, and then laughed, her face full of wrinkles.

Wukong sat back on the top of the door, swinging his legs as he looked down.

"Chen Fan," he said, "is this island famous now?"

Chen Fan didn't look up; he simply kicked the last old patch into the fire.

"Let's call it Lost Island for now," he said. "They can change it later if they find the name unpleasant."

With a crackling sound from the fire, the replacement card was flipped over, and a wisp of black smoke rose up, obscuring the words.