Chapter 976
Something Colder Than Laughter
He Liang sat by the window, several invoices spread out in front of him, a worn-out calligraphy brush in his hand, scribbling and calculating on the paper. He did the calculations very slowly, pausing to sip tea after each entry, the sound of which could be heard throughout the entire hall.
Zheng Yi sat down opposite him and pushed the letter over.
He Liang put down his pen, picked up the letter and read it. His gaze lingered on the last sentence for a moment before he folded the letter and returned it to Zheng Yi.
"Manager Meng never speaks without reason," He Liang said, taking another sip of tea. "If he says there are unfamiliar faces, then there definitely are. If he says they don't seem like business people, then they're definitely not good people."
Who do you think it could be?
He Liang put down his teacup, tucked his hands into his sleeves, and leaned back in his chair.
“Beining City is a place where all sorts of people come and go. But someone who would warrant Manager Meng writing a letter to warn you wouldn't be an ordinary hoodlum.” He paused. “Young Master Zheng, do you think the girl's family matter… could it have come here?”
Zheng Yi did not answer. He leaned back in his chair, looking out at the gray sky, where rainwater streamed down the eaves, splashing tiny droplets on the windowsill.
"Steward He, is there any news about the Shen family you inquired about for me?"
He Liang shook his head: "I asked three people, and they all said they had never heard of it. A merchant from Suzhou said that there is a family surnamed Shen who does tea business in Jiangnan, in Huzhou, but they are not big merchants, just a tea shop owner with a small shop, two storefronts. The merchant said that the Shen's Tea Shop has been open for more than ten years, and the business has always been lukewarm, and he has never heard of offending anyone."
"Huzhou." Zheng Yi repeated the place name to himself.
“That girl said she was one of the biggest tea merchants in Jiangnan,” He Liang said in a low voice, “but there really isn’t a single tea merchant in Jiangnan with the surname Shen. Either her father is just bragging, or…”
"What is it?"
He Liang hesitated for a moment, then lowered his voice even further: "Or maybe the Shen family she mentioned isn't in the legitimate tea business at all."
Zheng Yi glanced at him.
He Liang didn't say anything more, picked up his teacup, and took another sip.
That afternoon, the rain stopped.
The sky hadn't cleared; the clouds were still thick and low, shrouding the entire city of Beining in a gray haze. The air was damp and cold, as if winter had arrived early.
Zheng Yi went to Shenghe to collect the final payment and then met with Manager Meng. Manager Meng was sitting in the inner room with a pot of freshly brewed tea in front of him. The tea was dark in color and smelled of charcoal. He poured Zheng Yi a cup, said nothing else, but mentioned again, "Those unfamiliar faces haven't left yet."
Zheng Yi thanked them, left Shenghe's gate, and walked back along the main street of Beining City.
There weren't many people on the street. The rain had just stopped, and the road was still wet. Some shops on both sides were open, while others were still closed, and the shop assistants were sweeping water in front of their doors. Zheng Yi walked slowly, glancing at the shops and passersby as he went, which was his habit.
He saw two unfamiliar faces.
They didn't look like locals from Beining City, nor did they look like people from the north. The two men stood in front of a general store across the street, one tall and one short, both wearing dark short jackets with bulging waistbands, as if they were carrying something. Neither of them spoke, nor did they go into the store to buy anything; they just stood there, their eyes scanning the street.
As Zheng Yi walked past them, the tall man's gaze lingered on him for a moment before shifting away.
Zheng Yi didn't turn back and walked all the way back to the inn.
When he went upstairs to see Shen Yuan, she was sitting on the bed in a daze. Her injury had healed a bit, and the swelling on her face had subsided considerably, revealing her original features—an oval face with a pointed chin, a high nose bridge, and the crack on her lip had scabbed over, turning into a dark red line that stretched diagonally upwards from the corner of her mouth like an unfinished arc.
She saw Zheng Yi come in and sat up slightly straighter.
"Are you feeling any better today?" Zheng Yi pulled up a chair and sat down, about two or three feet away from the bed.
"Much better." Shen Yuan's voice was stronger than a few days ago, but it was still hoarse. "The old woman said that the rib injury needs to be healed for one or two months, and it can't be rushed."
Zheng Yi nodded, hesitated for a moment, and then told her what Manager Meng had said in his letter.
He didn't make it sound too serious, just said, "Recently, some unfamiliar people have come to the city, so don't go out alone."
After hearing this, Shen Yuan's face drained of color.
It didn't fade slowly; it was like someone pulled a plug—it was gone in an instant. Her lips turned grayish-white, and her hands began to tremble again, but this time she didn't shrink into the corner of the bed; instead, she stared straight at Zheng Yi.
"They're here."
It's not a question.
“It’s not necessarily what you think,” Zheng Yi said. “New faces come into Beining City every day.”
Shen Yuan shook her head, very slowly, as if denying a statement that even she herself did not believe.
“They will come,” she said. “That man said he can’t sleep until he’s completely eradicated.”
"That person? The one surnamed Qiu?"
Shen Yuan nodded, then shook her head.
“It wasn’t him. It was someone else. The one surnamed Qiu was the one who did the dirty work, not the one who gave the orders.” Her voice began to drift again, as if she were back in the scene from that day. “The person who gave the orders didn’t show up, but everyone listened to him. He said something before he left…”
She paused, closed her eyes, as if trying to recall every word of that sentence.
"The Shen family's affairs must be handled cleanly."
Zheng Yi remained silent for a moment.
The phrase "cleanliness" is very common in the business world, officialdom, and even the underworld in the south. It means leaving no future troubles, no loose ends, and no room for any possible comeback.
In the context of the Shen family, this means that not a single member of the Shen family can survive.
"Why did you run to the north?" Zheng Yi suddenly asked. "Your father told you that people can hide in the north, but the south is very big. Isn't it easier for you to hide in the mountains or the countryside than to run north?"
Shen Yuan opened her eyes and looked at Zheng Yi.
"Because when I went north, I could see them catching up."
Zheng Yi remained silent.
"When I was hiding in the mountains, they surrounded me from all sides, and I didn't even know where to run. But on the plains to the north, they came from the south, and I could see them at a glance. Once I saw them, I could run. If I couldn't escape, then we'd deal with it."
Looking at her, Zheng Yi suddenly realized that this girl, who seemed as delicate as a blade of grass, possessed something indescribable deep within her. It wasn't courage, nor strength, but something sharp as a knife that grew out of nowhere when pushed to the brink.
"Don't worry," Zheng Yi said, "No one can touch you here."
Shen Yuan looked at him, her lips moved as if she wanted to say something, but in the end she just nodded gently. That night, Zheng Yi didn't sleep well.
As he lay in bed, the words Manager Meng had said kept echoing in his mind: "Those unfamiliar faces haven't left yet."
What kind of person would stay in one place for days, doing nothing, neither buying nor selling anything, just sitting there?
He turned over in bed and heard Wu Chen turning over in the next room. Wu Chen wasn't asleep either.
The two people were separated by a wall, each with their eyes open.
In the latter half of the night, the rain started again. This time it was heavier than the rain during the day. The raindrops hitting the tiles no longer made a "shush-shush" sound, but a "pat-pat-pat" sound, like someone was pouring beans down from the sky. The wind also picked up, blowing in through the cracks in the window and making the oil lamp on the table sway precariously.
Zheng Yi decided not to sleep. He put on a robe, sat up, turned up the oil lamp, and took out paper and pen to write a letter. It was a letter to the Black Anvil Tribe, informing Uncle Mu of his situation in Beining City, reassuring him, and inquiring about the progress of the tribe's winter supplies.
He heard a voice when he was halfway through writing.
It wasn't the sound of rain, nor the sound of wind; it was coming from the courtyard—a very light sound, almost blending into the rain, the sound of footsteps on the muddy ground.
Zheng Yi stopped writing.
He didn't move or look up, but simply pricked up his ears, like a wild beast suddenly alert in the dark.
The sound rang out again.
Then came the second one.
It wasn't just one person walking; there were at least two. And they didn't come in through the main gate—the courtyard wall wasn't high, and it wouldn't take much effort to climb over it.
Zheng Yi gently put down his pen and took something out from under his pillow.
It wasn't a weapon, but a dagger. It wasn't long, less than a foot, but the blade was very sharp, the kind forged by northern craftsmen using frozen ore, three times harder than ordinary iron. This dagger was given to him by Old Wu, the blacksmith from the Black Anvil Division, before he came to Beining City, who said, "For self-defense, don't lose it."
Zheng Yi gripped the dagger in his hand and got out of bed barefoot.
He neither lit the lamp nor opened the door. He went to the window, poked a small hole in the window paper with two fingers, and peered out.
The courtyard was dark, the rain obscuring visibility. But he still saw them—two dark figures, one after the other, moving towards the guest room stairs, their shadows pressed against the courtyard wall. The one in front moved faster, the one behind lagging two steps behind, maintaining a tacit distance between them, as if they had coordinated many times before.
Zheng Yi watched for a couple of breaths and confirmed one thing—the two people were very familiar with the layout of the inn, knew where the guest rooms were, where the stairs were, and even knew who was staying in which room.
They weren't there to steal anything.
Thieves don't go straight to the guest rooms.
Zheng Yi stepped back from the window, gently opened the door to the room, and walked into the corridor.
There were no lights in the corridor; it was pitch black. He walked barefoot on the wooden planks without making a sound. This was a skill he had learned after coming to the North—walking on the snow in the North, his feet were quieter than his boots.
When he reached the top of the stairs, the two dark figures had already gone up the stairs.
The three met in the darkness.
The first shadowy figure had barely stepped onto the last step when Zheng Yi moved. He didn't use his dagger—using a knife in the dark could easily injure himself. He reached out with his left hand, precisely grabbing the shadowy figure's wrist, pressing down, and using the force of the figure's ascent to pull him forward. At the same time, he flipped the dagger in his right hand and slammed the hilt into the figure's temple.
The dark figure went limp without uttering a sound, collapsing slumped down at the stairwell like a sack of grain thrown on the ground.
The second shadowy figure reacted quickly. The instant the person in front fell, he had already reached into his waistband and pulled out something—in the dim light coming from the lobby below the stairs, Zheng Yi could see that it was a short knife, less than two feet long, with a narrow and straight blade. It wasn't a knife from the north, but something from the south.
The man gripped the knife and thrust it at Zheng Yi with clean, swift movements, devoid of any unnecessary flourishes. This wasn't a slash, but a thrust, aimed directly at Zheng Yi's chest—fast and ruthless.
Zheng Yi shifted his body slightly, the blade grazing his left arm, tearing a gash in his leather robe and revealing the cotton lining underneath. The man withdrew his blade with lightning speed, the blade tracing a half-arc in the air before slashing towards Zheng Yi's neck.
This time, Zheng Yi did not dodge.
He took half a step forward, bringing himself within the opponent's attack range. At this distance, a knife that was too long would be ineffective. Zheng Yi's left arm braced against the opponent's wrist holding the knife, while his right hand gripped the dagger, bringing the tip of the blade to a stop an inch below the opponent's Adam's apple.
The cold iron touched my skin.
The man froze. He stood there motionless, as if frozen in place, still holding the dagger, but no longer posing any threat.
The entire process should not exceed three breaths.
The corridor was dark, and Zheng Yi couldn't see the other person's face clearly, only a blurry outline—of medium build, with narrow shoulders but thick arms, the kind of arms that someone who had practiced martial arts would have.
"Don't move." Zheng Yi's voice was very low, so low that only the two of them could hear it.
The man didn't speak or move. His breathing was steady, unlike that of someone with a knife to their throat.
Zheng Yi's heart sank slightly.
This breathing, this reaction, shows that this person is no ordinary thug. When an ordinary thug is subdued, he will either panic, tremble, or beg for mercy. This person did none of that; even his breathing remained normal.
He's an expert.
"Who sent you?" Zheng Yi asked.
The man didn't speak.
Zheng Yi pushed the dagger forward a little more, the tip piercing his skin, and a drop of blood slid down the blade, flowing warmly over Zheng Yi's fingers in the darkness.
"I told you, I'll let you go."
The man's lips twitched slightly.
It wasn't laughter; it was something colder than laughter.
His left hand suddenly moved—not to snatch Zheng Yi's dagger, not to attack Zheng Yi, but to put it into his own mouth. The movement was as fast as a snake's tongue; by the time Zheng Yi reacted, the man's jaw was already clenched.
"Don't--"
late.
The man's body tensed abruptly, as if struck from within. His eyes widened in the darkness, pupils dilating to their maximum size in an instant, his Adam's apple bobbed violently, and then he began to slide down. (End of Chapter)