The coolness brought by the heavy rain quickly disappeared.
The muddy road was gradually dried up, what once left a deep pit with a single step now showed shallower footprints, while the ones left in the mud were preserved, allowing trackers to easily follow the escapee’s trail.
But now, the death warrior became increasingly uncertain.
The person he waited for did not appear.
The force he feared also did not show up.
After the corpses at the rice shop were discovered, several forces should have come to pursue the whereabouts of the account book. They would find nothing turning the shop upside down. The only clue would be the murderer of the shopkeeper and clerks. Who sent them, and how much did they know about the account book?
For the death warrior, things were supposed to be very simple. Hide the account book, kill everyone at the Si family rice shop, then at the right moment, they would bite the poison capsule, die in the wilderness or an inn, making it look like the account book was stolen and framing a certain force.
…However, an accident happened, and everything went wrong.
The death warrior stopped walking, found a dense tree, and decided to use it as a temporary hiding spot.
He felt no guilt for killing his companions, nor did they, because until the last moment, they thought it was an act of assistance.
To keep the secret, they had to die. To mislead others, they needed to die because many do not believe the living but trust corpses.
And he shamefully avoided this death, he did not commit suicide but escaped.
The country path was narrow and rugged, with few travelers.
About three hours passed, the moon slowly climbed the eastern hill, and the surroundings were filled only with the sounds of frogs and insects.
This was not right.
The death warrior curled up in the treetop, wondering how long he would have to stay there.
When the moon reached its zenith, he had to admit a frightening fact: those two mysterious experts might not be coming after him. Or perhaps, they thought he was insignificant.
Did those two think the account book they got was real? Judging by their confident expressions, maybe they really did.
“Damn it.”
The death warrior couldn’t help but curse.
Only he knew the true whereabouts of the account book. He expected to be followed, hunted, interrogated, but now, nothing? The mysterious experts who saw him kill were letting him go, and the forces that should be pursuing him were nowhere in sight.
It was like a grand joke, performing on stage in a theater only to find no audience, not even the actors to share the stage.
The death warrior was puzzled, Piaoping Pavilion would not ignore a possibly leaked account book, Fengxing Pavilion would not miss the chance to grasp secrets, and others would not refuse gold. That was glittering gold!
The death warrior, almost growing on the tree, fell into deep confusion.
At this time, twenty miles away from the tree, in a wild inn.
Mo Li, carrying a swollen pack, holding a soft, round sand rat, pushed open the half-closed fence gate of the wild inn.
The courtyard had two dogs, they leapt up, barking to alert the owner.
Mo Li paused slightly, instinctively looking at them.
The dogs suddenly sniffed, their barking softened, then they slowly approached Mo Li, circling cautiously around his feet.
Sounds came faintly from the inn, like someone turning over after being awakened, grumbling in dissatisfaction.
Mo Li waited for a while, realizing no further movements came from inside, and reluctantly bypassed the two dogs trying to cling to his feet, directly knocking on the half-open window.
After knocking for a while, an elderly voice shouted, “Lazybones, get up, there’s a guest!”
The wooden door creaked open, and a servant holding a candlestick, still grumbling, said, “Who would come at this late hour? The dogs didn’t bark, it’s probably a night owl or something pecking at the door and window…”
The dim candlelight illuminated Mo Li’s figure, startling the servant, who nearly dropped the candlestick. In his panic, he tripped over the threshold, instinctively reaching for the doorframe, but the old wooden door was so worn that a piece broke off in his hand.
“Ah!”
“What are you doing? Why are you screaming?”
The sound of a cane tapping the floor came from inside, and a wrinkled, shriveled old man poked his head out in confusion.
He saw his dogs lying by a stranger’s legs and his servant sitting beside them, making it look as if they were all subdued!
“Who?” The old man quickly grabbed his cane.
Mistaken for a robber, Mo Li: “…”
Just now, Mo Li had reached out to help the servant, letting go once the servant was steady, only for the servant’s legs to give out, leaving him sitting on the ground.
“Ahem, greetings, sir.” Mo Li pressed the sand rat in his arms, preventing it from peeking out.
The old man squinted, examining Mo Li in the faint light.
At this point, appearance played a significant role. Mo Li’s face didn’t look like a robber’s; in different clothes, he could be mistaken for nobility. However, rural folk didn’t think that far, assuming Mo Li was a scholar who had missed his lodging while traveling alone.
Such people weren’t uncommon in past years.
The old man quickly lowered his cane, patting his chest and catching his breath. “What kind of trick is this? Gave this old man a fright! Thought it was bandits from the western hills!”
“Bandits?”
“Haha, just rumors to scare the young ones.” The old man kicked the servant, glaring, “Why aren’t you heating water?”
“Grandpa, the door… the door is broken.” The servant also saw Mo Li’s face, realizing he had made a fool of himself, and said timidly.
The door of this wild inn was so decayed it looked ready to fall apart, which was why Mo Li had only dared to knock on the window.
The old man looked and immediately grabbed the servant’s ear, shouting, “I told you to be gentle, how could you be so rough? This door is older than you, did you know that? Now you’ve ruined it, see how your mother will deal with you!”
The servant looked miserable, and Mo Li, feeling partly responsible for scaring him, said, “Shopkeeper, your door is indeed old…”
“Ah, old things should be replaced by new ones, but an old man has feelings for old things.” The old man waved his hand, leading the way with his cane, though he had moved swiftly earlier, showing he didn’t really need it.
“Come, come, would you like some noodle soup? It’s included in the room charge. After a day’s journey, soak your feet in hot water, then have a bowl of noodles, and you’ll feel refreshed from head to toe.” The old man rambled on, leading Mo Li to the back yard. This wild inn had only three tile-roofed rooms, and guests had to sleep in a common area.
“Please wait, sir. I need to travel through the night and just want to buy some dry food, hot water, and some small travel necessities.”
Mo Li didn’t want to enter, fearing Piaoping Pavilion’s assassins might catch up and bring trouble to this family running the wild inn.
“Ah, it’s the middle of the night, the moon isn’t even bright enough to light the way, how far can you go? Better rest your feet, get a good sleep before continuing your journey!”
“Thank you, sir, but it’s urgent, I can’t delay.”
The old man loudly called the servant to the kitchen to get some flatbreads, the fried kind that store well in hot weather.
“…fire starters, bamboo tubes, oilcloth, and needles.”
The bamboo tubes were for carrying water, oilcloth for waterproofing. These were common travel items that could easily be lost or used up.
The old man turned to fetch them from inside.
“Needle and thread, more thread,” Mo Li hastily added.
This was the most crucial item he needed; the rest were just a diversion.
Otherwise, it would seem too strange for a young man to knock on a door in the middle of the night just to buy needle and thread.
“How much do you need, is a whole roll enough?” the old man asked from inside.
Needle and thread weren’t like fabric; they weren’t sold in smaller quantities. However, wild inns often sold their leftover needle and thread, which wasn’t much.
“Take two rolls, in case I lose one. They don’t take up much space anyway,” Mo Li unconsciously used the local dialect.
The old man chuckled as he came out, handing the items to Mo Li one by one, and casually asked, “Young man, where are you from? Are you from around here?”
Mo Li knew his accent was off. He could understand the dialect but wasn’t fluent in speaking it since he hadn’t needed it before.
He didn’t respond, instead asking about the surrounding roads.
It wasn’t uncommon for travelers to avoid discussing their personal affairs. The old man didn’t mind and started talking about the routes leading in all directions.
“Young man, are you lost?”
“Not exactly, just looking for a shortcut but don’t want to end up in a desolate area,” Mo Li replied.
In truth, he was looking for a path with no people.
“Just don’t head southwest,” the old man said, adjusting the oil lamp and giving Mo Li the total cost.
The price was naturally higher than buying directly from a peddler. Mo Li wanted to leave quickly and didn’t haggle, paying immediately.
The plump rat in his arms patted his chest with its paw, thinking the price was too high and the old man was overcharging!
Just then, the servant arrived with the oil-paper package of flatbreads, and Mo Li quickly held down the sand rat.
The old man’s eyesight was failing, but the young servant was different. If he saw the constant movement in Mo Li’s chest, he might scream.
Mo Li hurriedly accepted everything. He didn’t pack the dry food into his bag, which already contained unsewn new fabric! Even neatly folded, it took up space, making the bag bulge.
“Really not staying for the night?” the old man asked while calling the servant to escort Mo Li with a lamp, continuing to persuade him.
The sand rat snorted, thinking this shabby place was overpriced and unworthy of their stay!
“I’m not bragging, but our place is clean and tidy. It so happens there are few guests tonight, besides you just one… ahem, just one person. The rooms are spacious, with no strange smells, guaranteed satisfaction.”
Mo Li couldn’t handle such enthusiastic salesmanship and quickly took his leave.
The two dogs in the courtyard were reluctant, almost following Mo Li.
“Hold them back, grab the leash!” the old man shouted, tapping his cane as he watched Mo Li’s retreating figure, baffled.
Usually, the dogs barked from afar at incoming guests. Why were they so friendly today, ignoring their owner and almost leaving home?
“Grandpa, I think that man… isn’t ordinary,” the servant whispered.
“Stop talking and go to sleep.”
The old man scolded, and the servant pouted before walking away with the candle.
To greet possible late-night guests, the servant slept in the outer room, which was cooler in the hot weather.
As he lay down, he suddenly saw a figure standing straight behind him.
He almost fell off the bed in fright, covering his mouth to stifle a scream.
Luckily, the candle didn’t go out, and the servant barely made out who it was.
—A monk who had come for lodging in the evening.
“Master, what are you doing?”
“Amitabha, I heard the innkeeper shouting and thought there might be trouble.” The monk clasped his hands together and lowered his eyes, speaking softly, “I had heard there were bandits on the nearby mountain and was worried for your safety.”
“No, it’s nothing like that.” The servant wiped the sweat from his forehead with his sleeve, forcing a smile, “The bandits on the western mountain are from decades ago, just an old tale. But the place has a bad reputation, and drunkards often boast about going there to become bandits, so the rumor persists, making it seem real.”
The monk was very tall and appeared to be quite strong.
Despite having a long white beard and looking quite old, the servant still didn’t dare speak loudly in front of him.
Most inns didn’t cater to monks or nuns, as many believed that seeing them would bring bad luck, a superstition particularly strong among laborers and ruffians. Some even said that seeing a bald head would cause one to lose at gambling, with their money vanishing as cleanly as the monk’s head. Their wild inn didn’t adhere to these beliefs but wasn’t enthusiastic about such guests either. However, this monk looked formidable, and there had been no business today, leaving the rooms empty…
The monk chanted a Buddha’s name and slowly walked towards the guest rooms in the back yard.
“Walking without a sound, trying to scare people?” the servant grumbled, turning over to sleep.
Outside the wild inn, Mo Li walked on, suddenly stopping.
The sand rat poked its head out from his collar in curiosity.
“Just now in the wild inn, I felt like someone was watching me. Since there was no malice, I thought it was the innkeeper’s or servant’s female relatives…”
Now that he thought about it, the presence was too faint, unless it was a child.
The sand rat lazily patted Mo Li, indicating for him to relax.
Going to the wild inn was a spontaneous decision, and no one could have been waiting for them there. Even if there was a highly skilled master, it could have been a chance encounter.
“Never mind, let’s head southwest to that supposedly deserted place.” Mo Li absentmindedly petted the sand rat.
It was soft and felt great.
Too bad he couldn’t watch the fat rat sew… or rather, hold the needle and run the thread to make clothes.
Author’s Note:
By the way, in ancient times, “a-ye” generally meant father, not grandfather.
—
Death warrior: Where is everyone?
Piaoping Pavilion: I killed them.
Fengxing Pavilion: The mysterious expert from Piaoping Pavilion was intercepted by me, but unfortunately, we were also entangled.
