The morning in Qingshui Town began with a series of frantic knocks on a door.
Mo Feng had changed into an even more ostentatious set of light purple martial attire today, cinched at the waist with a gold-thread python-patterned belt.
Although the white jade fan in his hand, which had been “blessed” by the auspicious beast, was a new replacement, the motion of fanning himself was noticeably stiff and carried a hint of nervous tension.
“Get up, all of you! The sun is already shining on the Washing Sword Pool. How much longer must this steward wait?”
Mo Feng stood in the inn’s corridor, his voice laced with a lingering, unspent fury.
Lin Yue pushed open his door with a yawn, wearing only a tattered, coarse-cloth undershirt on his upper body.
The lines of his exposed shoulders weren’t exaggerated, but they held a solid, thick quality, like bluish-gray bricks.
He reached back under his bed and hauled out the iron pillar, dragging it across the floor with a grating sound that set teeth on edge.
“Steward Mo, good morning. That purple outfit really makes you look pale. From a distance, you look like a big eggplant. So spirited.”
Lin Yue rubbed the sleep from his eyes as he offered this heartfelt praise.
Mo Feng’s cheek twitched twice.
He gritted his teeth.
“Lin Yue, if you dare spout such nonsense again, I’ll shove that broken iron rod of yours into a cesspit!”
“Ah, that’d be perfect. It’d help weigh down the smell,” Lin Yue chuckled.
Wang Pangzi also scrambled out, tumbling and rolling, still clutching a half-eaten cold steamed bun in his hand.
“Coming, coming! Steward, where are we headed today?”
“Golden Abacus, Liu Fu.”
Mo Feng snapped his fan shut, his eyes icy.
“He’s the biggest grain merchant in town, and also the one who’s always the most reluctant with his annual tribute. This year, the sect is preparing for the ‘Ten Thousand Swords Grand Ceremony,’ so his quota has been raised by twenty percent. If he dares to cry poor… Lin Yue, you’ll be responsible for dismantling his shop.”
Lin Yue hefted his heavy sword onto his shoulder and sighed.
“So I’m basically the head of the forced demolition office?”
The Golden Abacus Grain Shop was located at the corner of East Street, the most prosperous area of Qingshui Town.
Even before entering, one could hear a world-shaking, dry wail from a distance.
“Immortal Master! I can’t go on! This year’s rains were unfavorable, the harvest is down thirty percent! And not long ago, we were hit by bandits! My warehouse is so empty, rats could hold races in it!”
A fat old man dressed like a round leather ball was sitting on the stone steps in front of the shop, slapping his thighs and wailing to the heavens.
A crowd of onlookers had gathered, pointing and whispering at Mo Feng’s group.
Mo Feng hated this kind of scene the most.
As a cultivator who considered himself superior, he was most afraid of losing his immortal, ethereal demeanor in front of mortals.
“Boss Liu, a poor harvest is a natural disaster, but the sect’s protection of this region is a tangible fact,” Mo Feng said coldly, trying to make his voice sound more imposing.
“Not a single grain of that twenty percent increase can be missing.”
“Then just carve it out of this fat flesh of mine!”
Boss Liu banged his head against the doorpost (the movement was slow, the force light).
“I can’t produce it anyway! This old man will just die under the hooves of the Nine Heavens Sect!”
Mo Feng trembled with anger, pointing at Boss Liu, unable to get a word out for a long moment.
“You… you old deadbeat!”
Lin Yue watched from behind, inwardly amused.
This Mo Feng might have decent cultivation, but in front of this kind of tough, shameless character, he’s as green as a spring onion.
“Make way, make way. The professional is here.”
Lin Yue, shouldering his iron pillar, swayed as he squeezed his way to the front.
He didn’t look at Boss Liu or Mo Feng.
Instead, he walked on his own to a large, red sandalwood Eight Immortals table right in the center of the grain shop.
Boss Liu’s wailing stopped abruptly.
He watched this young man carrying the “big black pole” warily.
“Immortal Master, what are you doing? Killing someone will bring heavenly retribution!”
“Who said anything about killing?” Lin Yue grinned, showing a mouthful of white teeth.
“Boss Liu, I have a quirk. Whenever I hear someone crying, I get the urge to practice my swordsmanship. But my sword… is a bit heavy. If it bumps or knocks into something, don’t mind me, old sir.”
As soon as the words left his mouth.
Thud!
Lin Yue shrugged his shoulder.
The pitch-black iron pillar landed on the red sandalwood Eight Immortals table without any warning.
There was no flashy explosion, no crisscrossing sword energy.
But the entire sturdy sandalwood table, as if crushed by Mount Tai, didn’t even have time to let out a cry before instantly turning into a pile of extremely fine, uniform sawdust.
Even the teacup on the table landed steadily on top of the sawdust pile, unbroken.
Dead silence filled the room.
Boss Liu’s mouth hung open wide enough to fit a steelyard weight.
Mo Feng was also stunned.
He had thought Lin Yue would resort to brute force, but he never expected Lin Yue’s control over his strength had reached such a level of effortless mastery.
“Ah, this table really wasn’t sturdy,” Lin Yue said with a regretful sigh, patting the iron pillar.
“Boss Liu, you were saying just now… rats could hold races in your warehouse?”
“This… this…” Boss Liu wiped the sweat from his brow.
Lin Yue lifted the iron pillar, making as if to walk towards the grain shop’s backyard.
“Perfect. This iron pillar of mine is best at catching rats. Since there’s no grain, let’s just turn over the top three feet of soil and see if the rats have hidden all the grain in the cracks.”
“No, no, no! Immortal Master, stop!”
Boss Liu was so frightened his soul almost left his body.
The backyard indeed had a hidden cellar containing three thousand dan of spirit rice harvested this year.
It was his lifeline, prepared for a secret sale on the black market.
If that heavy iron were to smash into the ground, his secret chamber would turn to rubble.
“Boss Liu has had a change of heart?”
Lin Yue stopped, planting the iron pillar half an inch in front of Boss Liu’s toes.
The ground trembled slightly.
Feeling the chill that shot up from the soles of his feet, Boss Liu’s originally ruddy old face instantly turned deathly pale.
He realized that this smiling young man before him was ten thousand times more terrifying than that posturing Mo Feng.
“I’ve had a change of heart! A change of heart!”
Boss Liu nodded like he was pounding garlic.
“It was my old eyes playing tricks on me, I remembered wrong! Actually, there’s a batch of reserve grain, just enough to make up that twenty percent increase. Immortal Master, please wait a moment, I’ll have someone fetch it right away!”
“Now that’s more like it,” Lin Yue said with a smile, putting away his heavy sword and patting Boss Liu on the shoulder.
“Harmony brings wealth, right?”
Mo Feng watched from behind, his face alternating between green and red.
Something he had struggled with for half an hour, Lin Yue had accomplished with one move: “dismantling the table.”
“Collect the grain and let’s go!”
Mo Feng snorted, leading his men to start the inventory.
Taking inventory of grain was a meticulous task.
Lin Yue found it noisy.
Using the excuse of patrolling the area for demonic cultivators, he slipped out of the grain shop alone.
The streets of Qingshui Town were still bustling, but Lin Yue could feel that thread of karma from the “grudge over stolen food” coiling around the index finger of his right hand like an invisible silk thread.
It was from that “little assassin who didn’t get to eat” last night.
Ledger, where is she?
Lin Yue asked in his mind.
In his sea of consciousness, the Ledger lazily flipped a page.
Head northwest.
There’s a ‘Zhang’s Bun Shop’ at the mouth of an alley.
She’s currently staring at a freshly steamed basket of meat buns, drooling.
But because she’s an assassin, her professional ethics tell her that when she has no money, she absolutely must not rob commoners’ things, or she’ll expose her whereabouts.
Lin Yue was amused.
A principled assassin?
That’s right.
She’s a ‘traitor’ trained by a famous orthodox sect.
Even though she’s down on her luck, she can’t let her standards drop.
Lin Yue followed the scent to Zhang’s Bun Shop.
Before he even got close, he saw an extremely gaunt figure wearing a faded blue cloth robe, holding a long bundle in their arms (no need to look, it was definitely a sword), standing with their back to him under the shade of a tree.
The person stood very straight, like an unsheathed sword.
But if Lin Yue hadn’t noticed the constantly moving throat, he might have almost believed the act.
“Boss, twenty large meat buns. The kind with thin skin and generous filling, double the oil.”
Lin Yue slapped down several large coins with an air of wealth.
The bun shop owner deftly packed two bags of steaming hot buns.
“Immortal Master, here you go. Careful, they’re hot!”
Lin Yue picked up the two heavy paper bags and deliberately walked slowly over to the figure in blue.
Fragrant.
So damn fragrant.
It was the pure scent of pork and scallions, mixed with the delicate aroma of fermented flour.
Carried by a slight breeze, it accurately wafted into the blue-robed person’s nostrils.
Lin Yue clearly heard a loud, dragon-like rumble erupt from the other person’s stomach.
Gurgle—!!!
The figure in blue stiffened, clutching the bundle in their arms even tighter.
Lin Yue pretended not to notice, taking a bun from the paper bag and taking a bite.
Oil dripped from the corner of his mouth.
“Ah, these buns are amazing. Just bought too many, though. Twenty… my stomach can only handle ten at most. What to do with the remaining ten? Seems a shame to throw them away.”
Lin Yue ate while talking to himself, but the corner of his eye kept watching that figure.
The person in blue slowly turned their head.
It was an extremely cold, even somewhat sickly pale face.
The eyes were large, but they held a murderous chill, a feeling of “I see everyone as a corpse.”
But at this moment, that murderous chill was being frantically eroded by an emotion called “hunger.”