Dream of the Red Chamber: I can see the hidden labels of the beauties.

Chang Lin felt that his master was different from usual. In the past, when the second master went out, he always had to follow him closely. Today, however, he wanted to wander around by himself.

But when he heard that he could rest and slack off, he was naturally happy to agree, nodding with a smile and readily replying:

"Alright, I'll park the car at the end of the street. Just come find me if you need anything."

Jia Can nodded slightly, standing alone at the street corner, his gaze slowly sweeping over the facades of each shop, pondering to himself.

Taverns, restaurants, fabric shops, jewelry stores, cosmetics shops, general stores...

As I looked, I quickly went through the process of elimination in my mind.

The primary purpose of the contact points left behind by the former Crown Prince's subordinates was not to make money, but to ensure safety and secrecy, so that they could exist for a long time without attracting attention.

Restaurants and eateries are crowded and chaotic, frequented by all sorts of people from all walks of life, making them unsuitable for confidential matters. Similarly, fabric and jewelry shops are mostly frequented by women, which is also inappropriate.

As for the pawnshop, although it was hidden away, the people who came and went were all poor people who were in urgent need of money, which was inconsistent with the status of the former crown prince's subordinate.

So, all that's left is...

Jia Can's gaze slowly moved across the street, eventually settling on a few shops: a bookstore, a stationery store, and an antique shop.

These types of shops, which are usually quiet and elegant with few customers, are ideal for clandestine meetings.

Moreover, the presence of scholars and literati would not arouse suspicion.

Standing at the street corner, he discreetly observed the storefronts of the shops, pondering how to probe in a way that would allow him to find the real meeting place without revealing himself.

A morning breeze swept across the street, lifting a corner of his robe. He stood there, his figure steady, his gaze piercing, blending into the bustling street yet seemingly out of place.

After hesitating for a moment at the street corner, he walked toward the bookstore called Hanmoxuan.

The bookstore's storefront is neither too big nor too small. An old plaque hangs above the door, the characters on it somewhat faded. Upon entering, a faint scent of ink wafts out, but the store is deserted, without a single customer in sight.

The bookshelf stood against the wall, with a few books scattered on it. A middle-aged man who looked like a shopkeeper was dozing off on the counter, his head resting on his arm, snoring softly.

Jia Can walked lightly and casually flipped through a few books on the bookshelf. They were all common classics and contemporary essays, nothing special.

He picked up a book casually and asked:

"Shopkeeper, how's business here?"

The shopkeeper was startled awake by the sound. He groggily raised his head, yawned, rubbed his eyes, and lazily replied:

"Just barely making ends meet."

After saying that, he lay back down, seemingly lacking even the interest to greet the guests.

Jia Can glanced around the store without making a sound, but a thought suddenly struck him: these bookshelves were made of pear wood, with fine grain and a warm luster, and were quite valuable.

Looking at the writing brushes, ink, paper, and inkstones on the counter, each piece was of superior quality and exquisitely crafted.

How could a struggling bookstore afford such items?

Most of them are backed by wealthy patrons and don't rely on the store for profit.

But this is not enough to prove that this bookstore is the meeting point he is looking for; it may just be a wealthy merchant's attempt to appear cultured.

Jia Can made no sound, put the book back in its place, and turned to leave Hanmoxuan.

After walking several dozen steps along the street, I arrived at a pen and ink shop called Wenfangzhai.

The storefront is more spacious than Hanmoxuan, and inside are displayed a dazzling array of calligraphy brushes, ink sticks, inkstones, and Xuan paper.

There were two or three customers in the shop, looking down and picking out something, while a waiter was attentively serving them.

Jia Can turned around without making a sound, his gaze finally landing on the wall behind the counter, where a calligraphy scroll hung. It was finely mounted, framed, and quite eye-catching.

Upon closer inspection, one could see four large characters on the calligraphy scroll: "The Crane Cries in the Marsh." The brushstrokes were vigorous and powerful, displaying a certain elegance and strength.

However, the signature was mostly obscured by the edge of the frame, making it impossible to discern who wrote it.

Jia Can's heart stirred slightly. These four characters came from the Book of Songs, Minor Odes, "The Crane Cries," the full line of which is "The crane cries in the marsh, its voice is heard in the heavens." It is often used to describe a virtuous minister who lives in obscurity but is concerned about the world, or a recluse who harbors talent and awaits a reward.

The characters "九皋" (Jiu Gao) are a homophone for "旧高" (Jiu Gao). Could this be a reference to the former Crown Prince's high position? Or perhaps an allusion to the former Eastern Palace?

Jia Can wasn't sure, but he wasn't willing to let it go easily either.

The shopkeeper noticed that he had been staring at the calligraphy, so he walked over with a smile and asked warmly:

"Young master, have you taken a liking to this calligraphy?"

Jia Can snapped out of his reverie, his eyes flickered slightly, and thinking he might as well test the waters, he smiled and replied:

"That's right, the calligraphy is very well done, vigorous and powerful, clearly the work of a master. It's just a pity that the signature is obscured and not very clear."

"Shopkeeper, who wrote these words? What's their background?"

Upon hearing the customer inquire about the calligraphy, the shopkeeper immediately perked up and began to speak animatedly about its origins.

Jia Can listened attentively, but his eyes were secretly observing the shopkeeper's expression. He saw that the shopkeeper spoke naturally and fluently, without the slightest restraint or strangeness, and repeatedly hinted at how good the calligraphy was, urging him to buy it.

He immediately understood that it was just an ordinary painting and calligraphy, without any hidden meaning, and the shopkeeper was just an ordinary businessman.

He made an excuse, saying that he hadn't brought enough money with him that day and would come back another day. He then politely said goodbye and left the study.

After leaving the house, Jia Can stood on the street for a moment, his gaze fixed on the antique shop a little further across the street, named Baoguzhai.

The storefront was older than the previous two, with a black lacquered signboard and much of the gold lettering peeled off, looking quite old.

Take a deep breath, step across the street, and push open the door.

As soon as you step into Baoguzhai, a faint sandalwood scent wafts over you, refreshing yet carrying a touch of melancholy.

The shop is dimly lit, and all around are various antiques such as porcelain, calligraphy and paintings, bronzes, and jades, arranged in a staggered manner among the antique shelves and display cases. Each piece looks quite old, with a warm luster that comes with the passage of time.

A thin man in his forties came out from the inner room. He was wearing a worn blue cloth long gown with the cuffs rolled up halfway. He was holding a soft cloth in his hand and carefully wiping a celadon bottle.

Seeing a customer arrive, unlike the previous two establishments, they didn't enthusiastically solicit business. Instead, they politely nodded and asked in a composed yet respectful manner:

"What would you like to see, sir?"

Jia Can casually glanced at the shop's furnishings, his gaze landing on a white porcelain bowl. The bowl had an antique shape and a lustrous glaze, and it looked like an object with some history.

He pointed and asked, "How much is this?"