Chapter 970 - Team Rate
"Heaven itself is collecting souls in this tribulation," sighed an older-looking rider. "I hear Hebei and Shanxi have also erupted in chaos."
"Everyone eat, drink, and rest up for the road!" The speaker was tall and imposing yet still quite young—no more than twenty-four or twenty-five. With sword-like brows and tiger eyes, he cut a striking figure. The moment he spoke, everyone else fell silent—clearly he was their leader.
They ordered provisions from the attendant: only flatbreads and hard buns, accompanied by pickled vegetables, garlic in sauce, and other coarse fare. No vegetables, and certainly no meat. In a disaster year, even the common pancakes that local farmers usually ate had become black and coarse, adulterated with heaven knew how much ground bark and grass roots. Black, hard, and dry—not just the three women, but even the other riders grimaced as they chewed, washing it down with tea.
The young woman who had spoken earlier frowned as she ate. After a few bites, she simply gave up.
"Eat." The lead young man flashed his teeth in a smile. "There's still food here—farther ahead, who knows, we might have to eat human flesh."
The words "human flesh" swept through the awning like a chill wind, making hair stand on end and driving away all sense of coolness.
"You're... you're joking..." The young woman forced a smile.
The middle-aged man with the local accent spoke up: "Ten-odd years ago, during the local war troubles, it actually happened. They used human flesh as dumpling filling. When word got out, the local magistrate had them arrested—I hear they were sentenced to death by a thousand cuts."
The young woman looked disgusted, then glanced at the food on the table. All vegetarian—so presumably no human flesh.
The group stopped talking and focused on eating. The lead young man ate while watching outside the awning, as though waiting for someone.
After the time it takes to finish a meal, another person entered—dressed like a small peddler. He surveyed the scene, then walked directly toward the two tables where the riders sat.
"Pardon me, sorry to intrude." He smiled ingratiatingly at the middle-aged man with the local accent. "Such hot weather—you've all had a hard journey."
Surprisingly, the middle-aged man didn't object, allowing the newcomer to sit.
When the attendant approached, the peddler smiled apologetically: "Just a bowl of water, please. Nothing else."
A bowl of plain water was free at the tea stall, though naturally the attendant showed no pleasant face for it. A large, coarse, black-glazed bowl filled with water was brought over. The peddler thanked him profusely, pulled a wotou bun black as mud from his pocket, and ate it with the water.
"Doing business outside in this scorching heat? Such hardship."
"If I don't work a day, I don't eat a day," the peddler replied.
"Yizhou is a dead zone right now—what kind of business can you possibly do here?" The middle-aged man sneered.
"A tiny capital-and-profit business—too embarrassing to mention," the peddler said with a fawning smile. "I get by through diligent legwork." As he spoke, his chopsticks traced a symbol on the table.
Something flickered in the middle-aged man's eyes; he glanced at the lead young man, who nodded. The middle-aged man immediately laughed heartily: "You say you're getting by, yet you can't even afford tea." He picked up the teapot and filled the peddler's bowl.
"Thank you for your kindness, sir." The peddler smiled, raised the tea bowl, and washed down the black bun in a few gulps. He expressed his thanks, rose, and departed.
The peddler followed the official road onward. After two or three li, he turned onto a side path and sat down in a small grove, fanning himself with his straw hat. Before long, the riders from the tea stall followed his trail.
Neither party spoke. The peddler led the way on foot—his steps light and swift, quickly guiding them to an ordinary farmhouse courtyard. Before he could knock, the gate swung open of its own accord.
The small courtyard was extremely secluded—trees on three sides, a small river on the fourth. Beyond the trees stretched open fields. The place was completely invisible from the main road. Once the summer crops grew tall, it would be virtually swallowed up in green.
The riders entered the courtyard. Inside stood a very ordinary farmhouse: three low rooms with thatched roofs, rammed-earth walls, straw and farm tools scattered about, a stone mill in the corner. To all appearances, this was a middling peasant household—but appearances deceived.
"Please come inside." The peddler knocked lightly at the door a few times before speaking.
Once inside, they discovered these small buildings—outwardly shabby as worn cotton—were inwardly appointed like a wealthy household's home. The so-called mud walls, broken bricks, and thatched roof were merely facades designed to fool the eye.
The floor inside sat lower than outside, so the space didn't feel oppressive.
Not only was the décor luxurious, but every piece of furniture and ornament was exquisite.
On the central redwood table, two tables' worth of fine dishes had already been laid out, with several maidservants pouring drinks. More impressive still: large blocks of ice occupied the center of the room, emitting white vapor. Coming in from the blazing sun, everyone immediately felt the delicious relief of coolness.
"A modest spread—please don't take offense." The peddler smiled. "Have some food and wine, and rest a bit. The Altar Chief will come to meet you shortly." With that, he slipped away and vanished.
"Everyone sit," the lead young man gestured to the group, acting more like a host than a guest. "Come, come, sit down—don't be polite. Eat. Those dry pancakes on the road were ruining my teeth. Come, pour tea for everyone!"
The group seated themselves. The young woman eyed the meat dishes with some hesitation. The lead young man laughed, picked up a piece of meat, and popped it into his mouth:
"Don't worry—this is premium yellow beef."
The middle-aged man said quietly: "We just eat like this?"
"It's fine." The young man nodded. "Just don't drink the wine."
They had eaten only coarse provisions along the way—barely enough to fill their stomachs. Now with such a sumptuous banquet before them, everyone ate heartily, like wind sweeping away clouds. In moments, everything was cleared.
The dishes were certainly delicious, but to prepare such a feast in this disaster-stricken wasteland demonstrated the host's resources and capability quite clearly.
After the meal, the peddler returned silently to the hall.
"The Altar Chief has arrived and is waiting for you, sir."
"Good."
"The Altar Chief will see only you, sir..." the peddler said with an apologetic smile. "Please understand."
"No problem." The lead young man nodded. "Lead the way."
The peddler brought him to a side door, knocked, and pushed it open. Inside was another elegantly appointed room. Someone already waited there. Unremarkable in appearance, around forty years of age, his face bore an unfathomable, sinister, intimidating aura.
Beside him stood a young girl in red, her hair worn in maiden's style, a long sword strapped to her back. On either side stood eight burly men—arranged like stars surrounding the moon.
"This is the Soul-Searching Sword, Min Zhanlian," the peddler reported respectfully.
"Oh." The middle-aged man's gaze swept over the visitor. "Long have I heard the name."
Min Zhanlian nodded casually. "No need for courtesy." He showed no intention of bowing in greeting.
"Impudent!" The red-clad girl scolded. "You stand before the Venerable One and don't pay respects!"
Min Zhanlian smirked, seated himself in the guest chair without a word, and addressed the middle-aged man: "You summoned me here—what exactly needs doing? Which deity is the target?"
Seeing herself ignored, the red-clad girl stepped forward, but a look from the middle-aged man stopped her.
"Young man, you have quite the nerve. But nerve and arrogance are only a hair apart." The middle-aged man spoke with forced composure. "Our sect is in need of talent, so this humble seat won't quibble over small matters with you."
Min Zhanlian's expression turned impatient. "Just tell me, old man—who do you want killed? If you keep saying useless things like this, how can I give you a quote? In our line of work, time is money. I can't just sit here chatting with you. Please understand!"
Anger flashed in the middle-aged man's eyes—but they were currently in need of talent. This Min Zhanlian, nicknamed "Soul-Searching Sword" throughout the jianghu, was a famous assassin whose starting price was one hundred taels per life. His movements were unpredictable and his work prolific—hiring him wasn't easy.
"It's this person." At his signal, someone brought a scroll.
Rendered in plain brushwork, it was a half-body portrait of Master Daoquan.
"A Daoist priest."
"Correct. His lay surname is Zhang; his Daoist name is Daoquanzi," the middle-aged man said. "He came from Jiangnan. But his accent is strange—we don't know exactly where he's from."
Min Zhanlian nodded to show he understood. He asked:
"Where is this person now?"
The middle-aged man told him about the Daoist temple where Daoquanzi was staying.
"I've already had people watching him. We know his movements every day."
"Good. Now let's talk business," Min Zhanlian said.
"One hundred taels per life. I'll pay one hundred taels."
"Hmph. That's the base price. How much this person's life is actually worth—I'll know after my people take a look." Min Zhanlian chuckled. "Killing a farmer and killing a jianghu master are both one hundred taels—wouldn't I be taking a big loss?"
"He's just a Daoist priest with some medical skills..."
"If it were that simple, why would you need to hire me? Don't you have your own desperate killers?" Min Zhanlian sneered. People who came to him to buy lives had either underestimated their target or didn't want to show themselves. The assassination target was never a simple person.
In the jianghu, monks and Daoists were generally not people to trifle with. The other side wielded considerable power in southern Shandong yet had summoned him from afar—this so-called Master Zhang was definitely no ordinary man.
"Fine. How much do you want?"
"I told you—I'll calculate after my people take a look." Min Zhanlian said. "However, starting from this moment, I'm charging fees."
"What? Charging before the job's done?" The middle-aged man finally couldn't help protesting.
"Of course. My men also need to eat and drink—they can't serve on empty stomachs." Min Zhanlian smiled. "My brothers all have special abilities. I need their assistance when I work. Starting now, seven taels and three qian silver per day. Calculated daily, charged daily."
(End of Chapter)