"Many thanks, Emissary! Many thanks, Emissary!"
Zhao Hongyuan kowtowed repeatedly, overcome with apparent gratitude, before backing out of the room step by halting step.
The courtyard was dead silent.
Only after he had put sufficient distance between himself and the wing room did Zhao Hongyuan straighten his back. He glanced toward his head steward, Lin Guiyong, who was lurking in the shadows, and quietly held up a single index finger.
"One?"
Lin Guiyong was overjoyed. He scurried off at once to pack up their valuables and prepare to flee.
The two jujube trees in the courtyard had shed all their leaves. The setting sun filtered through the bare branches, casting dappled patches of light over the ground.
Zhao Hongyuan reached out, snapped off a withered twig, and turned it over in his hand, rubbing it between his fingers.
Jujube trees were notoriously difficult to tend. This was already the fifth year since he had planted them. Sadly, he had tasted their fruit only once, and he wouldn't be around to see next August's second harvest.
Standing in the courtyard, Zhao Hongyuan let out a long breath.
Five years ago, he had been nothing more than a petty merchant. Relying on his wits to peddle small-time wares, he hadn't been fabulously wealthy, but his life had been far better than that of ordinary folk—he had even scraped together enough spare coin to take a concubine.
It had all begun with the injured old man in fine robes whom he found slumped by the roadside.
Thinking to turn the stranger into a lucrative investment, Zhao Hongyuan had made up his mind in the span of a few breaths. He secretly stowed the old man in his carriage and brought him home to recuperate. But once the elder regained consciousness and revealed his true identity, there was no turning back.
Damn it all—a fiend from the Shuimu Cult!
Back then, Zhao Hongyuan had been filled with regret. But now, far from regretting it, he felt remarkably fortunate.
If you wanted to strike it rich, how could you do so without taking crazy risks?
From that point on, the Shuimu Cult had secretly provided support, allowing him to expand his legitimate businesses out in the open. Behind the scenes, he acted as a cult disciple, traveling to Pingyang Town and the surrounding large townships to breed mountain ghosts and await harvest.
Rather than saying Pingyang Town had been chosen, it was more accurate to say that its uniquely favorable environment had drawn the cult's eye.
Over twenty years of growth had turned Pingyang Town into a bustling place with a massive population. Furthermore, it was merely a town, not a county seat, meaning there were no government authorities to get in the way.
Second, because of the martial halls, there was a steady stream of transient martial practitioners. If one or two went missing each month, nobody would ever notice.
Take Lu Shaohui, for instance. He had been so sullen and aloof that not a single soul cared when he died.
In such an environment, the mountain ghosts bred were exceptionally robust.
All the Shuimu Cult had to provide was a single cultivateable treasure plant, along with a few discreet underhanded tricks whenever he ran into business rivals—giving much at little actual cost.
Zhao Hongyuan even suspected that the Shuimu Cult had cultivated many people like him in other places, spreading like the dense, tangled branches of that jujube tree, crowded close together yet never intersecting.
Over the past five years, everything had gone smoothly.
The mountain ghosts multiplied, and the process was renewable—once harvested, the brood could be carried away to await the next breeding cycle.
Zhao Hongyuan's personal fortune had grown dozens of times over, his assets spanning from small towns to major county seats!
The only problem was—
Squire Zhao had never believed in the cult for a single day!
What kind of name was Shuimu Cult? It sounded righteous and decent enough, yet the deity they worshipped was the Venerable Mother of Dark Slaughter!
A calamity water god!
They ought to be called the Ghost Mother Cult!
Something slaughtered and battered decades ago was nothing more than a rotten, sinking ship!
And what about Dashun?
It was in its prime, blazing like the midday sun!
Mountain bandits who committed every evil under the sun could survive easily enough—change your name, lay low, and you could live comfortably.
But a rebel ringleader? Even fleeing to the ends of the earth wouldn't save you. They would hunt you to the death!
If he truly spearheaded everything here, he could forget about escaping afterward.
His only alternative would be spending the rest of his days hiding in ten thousand li of marshland alongside the Ghost Mother Cult, living like neither man nor ghost, gnawing on raw fish every day, and struggling just to buy soap to wash off the stench.
Prying the last three nails loose from this rotten ship before slipping away was the only smart move!
His chance to break free had arrived swiftly—namely, this blood sacrifice!
Over the past half month, Lu Shaohui's death, the mountain ghost at the River God Sacrifice, the den at Fahua Temple—
Every single one of them had been deliberately exposed by Zhao Hongyuan!
He had done it to make himself look like a blunderer, to appear clumsy and incompetent, so that the entire blood sacrifice could be dumped onto the cult's emissary.
Huang Zejun had indeed taken the bait. As for going to their stronghold, Zhao Hongyuan had no intention of setting foot there.
Bullshit. Once you went, you never came back, reduced to living like a wild dog for the rest of your life.
He had long since greased the palms of everyone up and down the line to take a boat detour straight to Huangzhou! As the saying went, the whip couldn't reach that far.
Huangzhou lay far from the Zeye Marsh of Jianghuai, situated squarely in the Central Plains. The wheezing remnants of the Ghost Mother Cult would be utterly powerless there.
Although he wouldn't have time to liquidate many of his shops, two Galloping Steed realm Fetal Pearl Pills and four one-thousand-tael silver banknotes were more than enough for him to stage a comeback!
Fortunately, the people of the Ghost Mother Cult were thoroughly foolish.
Tiger Hunter realm martial practitioners could live to a hundred and twenty, and Attaining Elephant experts even longer. Yet sixty years had already passed since the fall of the Great Qian.
The older generation was one thing—those old bastards truly refused to die—but the middle generation had perished long ago, and the surviving Attaining Elephant veterans couldn't bring themselves to stoop to running errands.
Thus, the newborns who came into the world after Great Qian's collapse had become the "backbone" of the cult, just like Emissary Huang Zejun.
They had strength; even an emaciated camel was bigger than a horse.
Yet they had been cooped up on water islands since childhood, having never ventured out or seen the vastness of the world. Within the cult, they were steeped in the elder generation's tales of past glory while being forced to endure their current squalor.
They dreamed of their forebears feasting on delicacies while they themselves chewed on raw fish and had to take deworming medicine on a regular schedule.
Living like that for too long warped a person completely.
Impulsive, arrogant, yet utterly incompetent—they were nothing but a pack of giant infants!
Having tumbled through the world for so many years, Zhao Hongyuan found dealing with them child's play. Huang Zejun had only arrived two days ago, yet he was already singing Zhao's praises.
Casually planting the dry twig into the soil, Zhao Hongyuan summoned Zheng Xiang and thrust a stack of papers into his hands. "Take this and give it to that Liang kid."
Zheng Xiang looked horrified.
"What are you thinking? If I wanted to abandon you, would I have let you in on the plan a few days ago? Didn't you offend him before? Go under the guise of offering an apology and sneak it to him. It'll look completely natural.
"That kid should be arriving at Pingyang Wharf around dusk. Before you go, remember to smear a little mountain ghost blood on yourself so he catches the scent.
"Once it's done, head straight to Yunjiang Wharf. I've arranged a small boat for you heading to Huahong County. When you get there, stay put. I'll come find you, and from then on, you'll follow me to Huangzhou to feast and live large!"
"Master!"
Zheng Xiang was deeply moved. If Zhao Hongyuan hadn't told him, he might truly have stayed behind like an idiot to face the reckoning.
Zhao Hongyuan hadn't lied to him; staging a comeback required capable hands.
He hadn't told Zheng Xiang earlier because loose lips sank ships, but now that they were departing, he naturally had to take his trusted confidant along.
Zheng Xiang was capable. Many of the sturdy men they procured had been painstakingly "earned" through his efforts; for the longest time, the man had even thought his master truly had a taste for young men.
As for the notes, they were Zhao Hongyuan's final layer of insurance.
If he wanted to avoid being hunted down by Dashun, minimizing the disaster was the safest route.
The Ghost Mother Cult would just have to bear the brunt of the suffering.
Night fell, and pedestrians drifted in twos and threes along the street, heading home.
Liang Qu leaned quietly amidst the fishing boats, the bows gently bumping together with dull thuds.
He spotted Zheng Xiang hurrying toward the wharf laden with large and small parcels, looking as though he had known exactly when Liang Qu would return and had been waiting specifically for him.
"Young Master Liang, it's been a long time."
Liang Qu didn't step ashore. Resting his weight on the scull, he straightened his back, narrowed his eyes, and smiled. "Steward Zheng, what kind of medicine are you peddling in that gourd of yours?"
"Young Master Liang jokes. Aren't I here to make amends and apologize?"
"Oh? What is there to apologize for? Weren't we—" Liang Qu was about to mock him with a few sharp words when he noticed Zheng Xiang winking frantically as he offered the parcel.
The parcel wasn't the point. What mattered was the smell he caught—
A stench unique to mountain ghosts.
Liang Qu smoothly changed his tune and accepted the gift. "What grievances could there be between us? Let bygones be bygones."
"Yes, yes, of course! Young Master Liang is truly a magnanimous gentleman, a fine young talent of Pingyang, dashing and capable."
Zheng Xiang was dripping with sweat. With his life hanging in the balance, all of his usual slick charm had evaporated. After rattling off a few dry pleasantries, he turned and fled.
*How strange.*
*Acting just like an underground operative making a secret drop.*
Frowning, Liang Qu carried the items and made his way back toward the martial hall without showing any reaction.
Chapter 84