The floodwaters receded, and the road had been repeatedly trampled flat by the vehicles and people ahead, making it not too difficult to walk.
The scorching sun hung back in the sky, and the temperature gradually rose. This alternating cold and heat caused many to sneeze.
Therefore, before setting out today, they all bought a bowl of ginger soup, and those with severe symptoms had already taken medicine. The caravan steward disliked the fact that the drivers were sick, but the nearest town was still a day’s journey away. While there were many laborers in the rural mountains, none would be hired without the guarantee of a coach and horse business.
The coachman, Lao Qi, had lain in a pile of weeds for an hour that day, and when he got up, his neck faintly ached.
Someone saw it and cried out that he had been touched by the “ghost hand,” pointing out the blue finger marks on both sides of his neck.
Lao Qi suspected that the person who attacked him was in the village, but there were too many outsiders. People bought medicine every day, and as soon as they bought it, they would row away, making it impossible to investigate. He had also kept an eye on Mo Li and Meng Qi, but he hadn’t seen them since.
Lao Qi didn’t dare say that he had been attacked, so he pretended to be ignorant.
Feeling distressed, he spent twenty copper coins on a “demon-repelling knot” made by a villager in Lingyao Village.
That thing was similar to the five-colored threads children wear during the Dragon Boat Festival, and wearing it on his wrist felt awkward.
These days, the knots in the village were selling particularly well, originally sold for ten copper coins, but the price had doubled. The villagers wanted to ask for even more, but they knew if it got too expensive, no one would buy it. The people of Lingyao Village were disgruntled, constantly thinking about taking the ointment and knots outside to make a fortune.
Indeed, taking advantage of the flood, several people used the excuse of visiting relatives in neighboring villages to secretly pack jars of ointment in their bundles and follow the caravan, determined to flee at the first sign of bandits.
Lao Qi chuckled inwardly.
Sure enough, when they reached the town, the people of Lingyao Village went around trying to sell their wares, but no one paid them any attention.
These farmers, with their muddied faces and broken Mandarin, carried jars of ointment, claiming it was from Lingyao Village. But who could guarantee it was real?
The drugstores and shops were selling their ointments in porcelain bottles (the caravan had repackaged the ointment into smaller containers), clearly the good stuff from Peng Xianren. Besides, the city shops were trusted by the townspeople—if something went wrong, the shops wouldn’t run away. Who would dare buy from these street hawkers?
When the Lingyao villagers saw this wasn’t working, they had to lower the price. After all, the city sold for much more!
Some people, hearing the cheap price, came over. However, when they saw the cheap goods, everyone wanted an even better bargain. The haggling wore the villagers out, and as they watched the price drop, they refused to agree. But then the buyers called over the nosy neighbors, confidently claiming that if the price dropped just a little more, they would buy everything.
When the villagers gritted their teeth and agreed, the haggler, smiling, went home to fetch a scale, scraped a layer off the top of the jar, and left one copper coin before walking away.
The Lingyao villagers were dumbfounded. When they tried to stop him, he cursed, saying that he had already bought it, and if others didn’t want to buy, that was their business.
One villager, who had just sold an entire jar of ointment, barely had time to celebrate before a few burly men arrived, carrying an old woman who was wailing in agony. They grabbed the villager, accusing him of selling fake ointment, which had caused a fatal injury. The woman wailed to the heavens, and the burly men beat the ointment seller, took his money and goods, and fled.
By the time the villager got back on his feet, the old woman was long gone.
——If business were that easy, what would the street hooligans eat?
The local authorities were understaffed and couldn’t keep an eye on everything. They only patrolled during the annual market festivals. It wasn’t just about bringing a bundle into the city and selling goods recklessly; even itinerant merchants dealing with shops had to know the right connections.
Lao Qi watched the caravan unload the goods, then found an excuse to go pray at the City God Temple. He quickly weaved through the streets, making sure no one was following him. On the way, he saw the dejected, bruised, and battered villagers from Lingyao walking out of town, and he almost laughed out loud.
He yanked the knot off his wrist and threw it into the dirty water.
The floodwaters had severely affected the town. Some alleys were still submerged, and the outer walls of buildings bore half-wall-high watermarks. People were busy scraping off the mud and moss from the walls and removing things that had been damaged by the storm. Every street had people fixing roofs and laying tiles.
For someone intent on staying hidden, this was far from ideal.
Lao Qi simply found a tea stall to hide in until dusk. Once the roof repairers had left, he went to find the Fengxing Pavilion’s branch in this town.
It was a rice shop, with laborers going in and out of the warehouse behind the shop. Lao Qi walked along the base of the wall into a dark alley, checked to see if anyone was around, and followed a specific pattern as he stepped on certain green bricks, walking through the narrow passage. Then he reached out and forcefully pushed a spot on the wall, opening a secret door.
Lao Qi hunched over and slipped inside, and the door quickly clicked shut behind him.
Before entering, Lao Qi tensed his back.
Sure enough, a sharp blade slashed toward him, and Lao Qi squeezed his eyes shut, not daring to move.
The cold air rushed at him, stopping just before his nose.
“Bao… Bao shopkeeper, what are you doing?” Lao Qi stammered, looking terrified.
The one holding the knife was a man in his seventies, his eyes sharp. The blade was wide and thick, unlike the weapons commonly used by people in the Jianghu. It looked more like the large, gold-backed ring knife used in battlefield combat.
“Yesterday, a malevolent star caused trouble, specifically asking to see ‘Chushanhu’ to inquire about the bandits of Peng Ze.” The shopkeeper, Bao, though old, still had a booming voice as he sternly asked, “Tell me, was this your doing? Did you bring this trouble?”
The coachman, Lao Qi, immediately knelt on the ground, begging for mercy: “How could anything escape your sharp eyes? I had no choice but to do it to save my life! Besides, this was all because of Prince Ning, who shirked responsibility. The officials didn’t want to deal with the water bandits themselves and pushed the task onto us. This trouble… heh heh, surely you won’t cover for them?”
The old man tapped Lao Qi’s cheek with the back of his knife and snorted: “Don’t act too clever. I know who you’re working for.”
Lao Qi smiled obsequiously and cautiously said, “Ah, I’m just trying to make a little extra by working for both sides. If I had any real wicked thoughts, wouldn’t you have cut me down already? Honestly, Prince Wu’s people are just easy marks compared to Fengxing Pavilion. They’re more reliable…”
“Enough!” The shopkeeper, Bao, interrupted impatiently. “I don’t have time for your nonsense. Who else did you tell about the water bandits?”
“Do I even need to say?” Lao Qi mumbled nervously, “There are dozens of Fengxing Pavilion runners in this area. Anyone with half a brain could figure it out. This isn’t just about eliminating the bandits. The government granaries are full of grain, and they’re secretly sending people to the countryside to buy from Wu’s region… Even though they’re disguised as King Jing’s men, how could they fool us at Fengxing Pavilion?”
The shopkeeper, Bao, frowned and kicked Lao Qi hard on the backside.
“Get lost if you’ve got nothing else.”
“Right away, right away!”
Lao Qi’s eyes darted around, and with a sly grin, he shuffled over to a low table. He had an assistant jot down a message about the two scholars he had met in Lingyao Village, describing Meng Qi and Mo Li in great detail. The assistant, skilled at his craft, quickly sketched two portraits for Lao Qi to confirm.
“No, no, the eyes… and the nose… that aura…” Lao Qi muttered, slapping his thigh as he added, “They could easily rival the top scholars of Suzhou or the famous literati of Qinhuai. I hear they’re from Qiantang Prefecture.”
The assistant worked hard to capture the likeness but eventually stopped drawing and simply added a few annotations on the side.
“Two portraits for a hundred copper coins each.” The assistant tallied Lao Qi’s bill.
Lao Qi didn’t care, grinning as he said, “Someone’s bound to buy their information. Forget a couple hundred coins, we could probably make twenty taels of silver.”
Shopkeeper Bao said nothing, watching Lao Qi hum a tune as he left.
He rubbed his forehead and found an excuse to send the assistants away, locking the door behind them.
A shadow dropped silently from the rafters, casually strolling to the table to examine the drawings with interest.
“General Meng.”
Shopkeeper Bao bowed deeply, nearly kneeling, but Meng Qi raised a hand, and Bao’s waist could no longer bend.
In truth, Meng Qi hadn’t expected to encounter an old acquaintance here.
Shopkeeper Bao was unknown in the Jianghu, but he had once been a military instructor for the border troops of the Chu Dynasty, with impressive martial arts skills. He was formidable both on horseback and on foot. But that wasn’t the point—he had been fighting on the battlefield since he was fourteen and had once served as a half-baked vanguard officer under Meng Qi.
At the time, Marquis Jingyuan, valuing talent, had refused to let the young officer take risks and had ‘thrown’ him to Meng Qi, who was in charge of transporting and guarding supplies.
Many years had passed in the blink of an eye, and when Meng Qi first saw him yesterday, he hadn’t recognized him at all.
It was Shopkeeper Bao, though, who nearly rubbed his eyes raw upon seeing the ‘forty-something’ Meng Qi come to his door looking for trouble.
Shopkeeper Bao’s full name was Bao Guanyong. As a young man, he longed to be crowned as the bravest in the army, but before he even reached adulthood, the world had already been unified.
Fortunately, he caught the campaign to conquer Xiliang and had since served on the border troops, unwilling to return to Taijing. The Chu Dynasty had too many talented generals. If this had been during chaotic times, Bao Guanyong would certainly have been a top general. However, he was born too late. By the time he had fully grown into a fierce warrior, there were no wars left to fight for Chu, aside from border skirmishes with barbarians.
Now, Bao Guanyong was seventy-two years old.
Unlike the fortunate old general Lian Po, who remained respected, Bao Guanyong, who served as a rice shopkeeper, had not been so lucky.
When Qi Emperor Lu Zhang served as Grand General, civil and military factions vied for power, and the court was in chaos. It was during this time that Bao Guanyong met misfortune, being casually accused of “selling military supplies and colluding with barbarians.” He was demoted and exiled to serve in the military in the marshlands of Dongting and Yunmeng, fighting local tribes.
Not long after, the Qi Dynasty replaced the Chu Dynasty.
“…Back then, I fled to Luling County, hoping to find one of the three feudal princes to serve, to fight across the Yangtze River, reclaim the northern territories, and restore the Chu Dynasty. But who knew… they were all short-sighted fools, full of self-importance!”
After enduring these many years, Bao Guanyong had no one to confide in. Seeing Meng Qi was like seeing a long-lost relative, and he was just short of bursting into tears and hugging him.
Meng Qi felt a headache coming on: “You’re over seventy, why are you acting like a child?”
Meng Qi regretted not bringing Mo Li along. If he had, Mo Li could have handled the situation. With just a glance, Bao Guanyong would have been stunned and immobilized.
Yesterday, both Meng Qi and Mo Li wore masks.
——They had casually swiped a couple of Zhong Kui masks from the City God Temple, where they were hung outside as offerings to ward off the ‘plague demons.’
The two of them had staged a mock fight, then snuck back to capture the true overseer of Fengxing Pavilion in the area.
It wasn’t the “Chushanhu” that Lao Qi had mentioned, but rather his master, the seventy-something rice shopkeeper.
When they took off their masks, it was a surprise for Meng Qi and a shock for Bao Guanyong—a reunion neither had expected.
When fortune arrives, there’s no stopping it.
Bao Guanyong not only knew all of Fengxing Pavilion’s secrets but more importantly, he was one of its founding elders, invited out of seclusion by Mr. Qiu, Prince Ning’s strategist.
Bao Guanyong still harbored loyalty to the Chu Dynasty.
But his actions were quite amusing to Meng Qi.
Instead of leading troops or returning to the military, Bao Guanyong remained hidden within Fengxing Pavilion.
He had trained several disciples, all of whom had gone on to mix with the Jianghu underworld.
In truth, with Bao Guanyong’s sturdy physique, he could easily emulate General Huang Zhong and return to the battlefield even at his age.
“That coachman, Lao Qi, is a spy for Prince Wu. You’re not concerned?” Meng Qi asked with amusement.
“There are too many spies like him. Fengxing Pavilion is full of people from different factions, including other guilds and sects, but they’re all like Lao Qi—just errand boys. They gather information, connect people, and buy and sell news, but they have no access to any real secrets. Lao Qi is greedy for money, while others are just underlings oppressed by their guilds, sent here for this bitter task…” Bao Guanyong, who hadn’t dealt with the Jianghu before the age of fifty, now had a thorough understanding of its dynamics. He sighed and shook his head, “General Meng, I’m old. I’ve seen too much injustice in this world. Who among us can live a carefree life? Sometimes, I just let things go.”
Meng Qi was silent for a long moment before suddenly asking, “I met someone in Taijing called ‘Zhenshanhu,’ also from Fengxing Pavilion. Your disciple goes by ‘Chushanhu.’ Is there a connection, or is it just a coincidence?”
Bao Guanyong laughed upon hearing this: “The intelligence from Taijing came in half a month ago, and when I learned of your return, I was so happy I couldn’t sleep. That Zhenshanhu is indeed one of my disciples. I have eight in total, all with similar titles. But there are many with similar names in the Jianghu. What made you think of this?”
Meng Qi: “…”
It was really just a gut feeling.
Author’s Note:
Bao Guanyong: These are my eight disciples, known in the Jianghu as—Duanshanhu, Chushanhu, Jingshanhu, Pishanhu, Dangshanhu, Jieshanhu, Hanshanhu, Zhenshanhu.
Meng Qi: …
Why do you all have to pick fights with mountains?
Translator’s Note:
Well to summarize, the words ‘shan’ mean mountain while ‘hu’ means tiger. The first letters are verbs.
So if we were to translate them, it’d be: Mountain Breaking Tiger, Mountain Emerging Tiger, Mountain Startling Tiger, Mountain Splitting Tiger, Mountain Sweeping Tiger, Mountain Splitting Tiger, Mountain Shaking Tiger, Mountain Quaking Tiger.
Not so good to the ears when translating them so let’s keep it as is.
