Initially, Zhang Quan was extremely cautious. After some time, seeing that the Young Master had not discovered anything, he sold more and more raw silk and finished products from the warehouse.
One day, just after waking up and still drowsy, he saw a piece of paper on the ground. Curiously, he picked it up and read the text, instantly becoming fully awake.
The paper read: “Stealing and selling silk, substituting inferior goods for good ones, lining your own pockets.”
Zhang Quan carefully read the note again from beginning to end. The handwriting was elegant yet unfamiliar, something he had never seen before.
Cold sweat began to pour down Zhang Quan’s back as he looked around. He was the only one living in this room, the door was closed, but the window was open for ventilation. The note was likely thrown in through the window.
Zhang Quan trembled as he burned the note. He could not calm down all day, and when others spoke to him, he would pause before responding. Looking at everyone in the workshop, he wondered if this person had left the note. There were few literate people in the workshop, and even fewer who could write so elegantly. Zhang Quan felt none of them seemed likely.
What made him uncertain was the intention behind the note. If it were someone from the Xu family, they would have arrested him and reported him to the authorities. If it were a well-intentioned warning, the tone did not seem like that. Could it be an attempt to blackmail him for money?
After thinking all day, Zhang Quan finally decided to run away. Regardless of who wrote the note, their intentions were not good. He had already made a lot of money from the workshop, and he would grab one more sum before leaving. This money would be enough to buy many fields back home and become a small landowner.
After nightfall, he stole the silver from the accounting room and escaped with his distant relative, the small manager.
Leaving the weaving workshop, there were two routes.
