The city had not yet woken.
The streets were blue with the last hour before sunrise, when even stray dogs curled beneath carts instead of wandering. Rainwater clung to tiled roofs, dripping steadily into narrow gutters below.
Yulan pulled his coat tighter and walked with measured steps.
The folded letter rested inside his sleeve.
Come to Warehouse Nine before sunrise. Come alone.
He had obeyed only half of the instruction.
He had come.
Whether he would remain alone... that was another matter.
Warehouse Nine stood farther downriver than the newer buildings.
Unlike the renovated warehouses lining the commercial district, this one leaned ever so slightly toward the river, its weathered bricks stained dark by decades of damp air.
Most of its windows had been boarded shut.
The painted number 9 above the entrance had almost completely faded.
Only a rusted iron lock remained on the main doors.
Yulan slowed.
The place felt abandoned.
Too abandoned.
The silence wasn't peaceful.
It was expectant.
He walked around the side of the building.
Broken weeds pushed through cracked stone.
Someone had been here recently.
A set of footprints remained in the soft mud.
Not one person.
Three.
One pair of polished leather shoes.
Two pairs of work boots.
Fresh.
A quiet scrape echoed from inside.
Yulan instinctively stepped behind a stack of old timber.
The side door creaked open.
Three men emerged carrying a long wooden crate between them.
No company markings.
No conversation.
Only quick, practiced movements.
One of the men glanced over his shoulder.
"Hurry."
Another muttered,
"They're changing shifts."
The crate disappeared into a waiting truck covered with a grey canvas.
Within moments...
They were gone.
Only after the engine faded into the distance did Yulan move again.
The side door had not fully closed.
He slipped inside.
The smell struck first.
Old wood.
River water.
Dust.
Something faintly metallic.
Sunlight forced its way through gaps in the roof, illuminating thousands of drifting dust particles.
The warehouse was almost empty.
Almost.
Against the far wall stood dozens of shelves.
Most had collapsed years ago.
One remained standing.
Its lowest drawer hung slightly open.
Yulan knelt.
Inside lay old shipping tags tied together with string.
Many had been ruined by water.
Others remained perfectly readable.
Each carried the same small swallow stamp.
The symbol Li Wei had found.
Yulan frowned.
Why would ordinary cargo tags all carry the same mark?
A floorboard creaked.
Not his.
Someone else's.
He froze.
The sound came from upstairs.
Slow.
Careful.
Whoever it was...
They had also stopped moving.
For several long seconds, neither side made another sound.
Then—
A loose nail snapped beneath someone's foot.
Without thinking, Yulan bolted toward the staircase.
The figure above ran.
Wood thundered beneath hurried footsteps.
Yulan reached the landing just in time to see a dark coat disappear through a shattered window.
"Wait!"
No answer.
He climbed onto the windowsill.
Outside, the stranger landed hard in the alley below before disappearing between two buildings.
Yulan jumped after him.
His shoes hit wet stone.
Pain shot through his ankle.
He ignored it.
The chase lasted less than a minute.
The stranger knew the alleys better.
By the time Yulan reached the next intersection...
No one remained.
Only a single envelope lying in the middle of the road.
Almost as though it had been dropped on purpose.
His breathing slowly steadied.
He picked it up.
No name.
No seal.
Inside...
One photograph.
Not a warehouse.
Not the docks.
A banquet.
Chairman Li.
Yulan's father.
Li Wei's uncle.
Three city officials.
All seated at the same table.
The date written neatly on the back made Yulan's stomach tighten.
Three weeks after the Dock Fire.
"They became friends afterward..."
he whispered.
Or perhaps...
They already had been.
A bicycle bell rang nearby.
Yulan looked up sharply.
The morning market was beginning to wake.
People would soon fill these streets.
He tucked the photograph safely inside his coat.
Then limped home.
Li Estate
Li Wei had barely slept.
The swallow mark refused to leave his thoughts.
Warehouse Nine.
Pier Seven.
The Dock Fire.
Each answer uncovered another question.
A servant knocked softly.
"You have a visitor."
Li Wei looked up.
"I wasn't expecting anyone."
The servant hesitated.
"He says he won't give his name."
The visitor entered wearing an old felt hat pulled low over his face.
His coat was soaked from the morning rain.
Without speaking, he placed something on the desk.
A worn brass whistle.
Li Wei stared at it.
"Where did you get this?"
The man finally spoke.
"I found it near Warehouse Nine."
Li Wei's expression changed.
The whistle belonged to...
Chen Hao.
The stranger tipped his hat.
"If your friend wants to stay alive..."
He looked directly at Li Wei.
"...tell him to stop searching for ghosts."
Then he turned and walked away before Li Wei could stop him.
Li Wei picked up the whistle.
Rainwater still clung to its surface.
His hand tightened around the cold metal.
For the first time since this investigation began...
Fear outweighed curiosity.
End of Chapter 48
Across the city, Yulan reached into his pocket for the folded letter.
It was gone.
Only the photograph remained.
Someone had taken the letter...
while leaving behind something far more dangerous.