Xu Qinghuan needed to take the documents to the border market as soon as possible; the shortage of rations and pay in the Northern Frontier could wait no longer.
After telling her second brother to rest well in the manor and handing over the extraterrestrial meteoric iron to Jenny for forging, she took Li Sheng and left the estate.
When the convoy exited the North Gate, the streets were eerily deserted.
In the borderlands of May, the wind carried no moisture, and the hard, dry yellow sand scraped against the carriage like sandpaper.
The streets were desolate, with only two breakfast stalls braving the wind. The mixed-grain flatbreads were covered in a layer of dust, and the old man selling them shrank his neck, sparing even the effort to brush the dust off.
Outside the city gates, the official road was like a long earthen blade cleaving through the wilderness, piercing straight into the depths of the Gobi.
On both sides were dead tamarisk and camel thorn. The May sun had just peeked out, yet the roasting heat was already drilling down the back of one's neck.
Xu Qinghuan sat alone in the second carriage.
With the curtain half-rolled, she let the dry, sand-filled wind blow against her face, her gaze fixed straight on the horizon.
A short-legged mule approached the side of the carriage.
The clip-clop of hooves drew near.
A skinny, short-legged mule pressed close to the carriage shafts. On its back sat a walnut-faced old man, his deeply wrinkled face filled with the wind and frost of the frontier, save for his eyes, which gleamed with a rat-like shrewdness.
This was the local snake guide assigned by Zhao Hu, Old Ma.
Old Ma wiped his face with a greasy sleeve and shouted against the wind in a raspy voice, My Lord! If we keep pushing at this pace, we will see the earthen walls of the border market in another half hour!
Xu Qinghuan bent her knuckles and tapped lightly on the small table twice, without saying a word.
Old Ma, who had mingled with people from all walks of life all year round, was a slippery character who loved to make small talk out of nothing.
He gave two dry chuckles, leaning forward on the mule's back: But my Lord, I must give you the bottom line. Inside this border market... it is muddy waters right now.
Speak, Xu Qinghuan spat out a single word.
It is all because of the Northern Di barbarians causing trouble!
Old Ma pointed due north: Half a month ago, Helian Khan's vanguard set up camp at Wild Fox Ridge, and their roaming cavalry even scouted as far as White Horse River. The major merchants in the market were scared out of their wits. They packed up their gold and silver overnight and fled south, emptying out more than half the place.
He smacked his lips, a look of disdain appearing on his face.
But guess what? In less than five days, these bastards all shamelessly slinked right back.
Xu Qinghuan's knuckles paused slightly: Profit leads the way.
Exactly! Old Ma slapped his thigh. With a knife at their necks, they are truly scared; but with shining white silver piled up in front of them, even their lives mean nothing! Live horses and pelts from the grasslands triple in price once they pass this checkpoint.
That is all blood-stained windfall wealth. Who could bear to let it go?
Profit-seekers were like scavenging vultures; as long as the opening was not sealed, they would dare to dig out two copper coins even from a pile of corpses.
Old Ma smacked his lips: A top-grade Hequ horse can be traded from the herdsmen for just two catties of crushed tea bricks. Once it is brought through the pass, it sells for at least thirty strings of cash!
Not running when a knife is at your neck is just lacking sense. But not picking up the shining silver right in front of your eyes, that is truly stupid! Old Ma sneered. Merchants, you see, are folks who want money more than their lives.
Xu Qinghuan listened quietly, her fingertips tapping lightly on her knee.
This was exactly her bargaining chip to break the deadlock.
Right now in the market, how many families are in charge?
Old Ma lowered his voice, almost lying flat on the mule's back to get closer to the carriage window.
My Lord, on the surface, this border market is run by the seventh-rank supervisor, Qian Fugui. But he is just an empty shell to fool ghosts, a mere rubber stamp! The ones who truly hold the lifeblood are the three great managers.
Demao Firm's pelts, Wantong Shop's medicinal herbs, and Jufeng Manor's livestock! These three managers have carved up the market cleanly; even the brokers underneath them are domestic slaves they raised.
Old Ma snorted coldly: As for that Supervisor Qian Fugui, to put it bluntly, he is just a puppet who stamps seals for them.
Demao Firm.
Wantong Shop.
Jufeng Manor.
The three commercial firms Xu Zhan had named, the money bags for He Minghu's smuggling and wealth accumulation.
...
We have arrived.
The yellow sand dissipated.
At the end of the flat, desolate Gobi, a square rammed-earth fortress rose from the ground.
The city walls were less than two zhang high, and its circumference was no more than three thousand paces. On the wall, the border defense flags of the Great Qian Dynasty flapped fiercely, torn by the gale. On the watchtower at the southeast corner, three or five soldiers were wandering back and forth with their arms crossed.
This was the only lawless land within a hundred miles that swallowed and spat out massive amounts of wealth.
The convoy came to a sudden halt at the South Gate.
Xu Qinghuan stepped onto the footstool and landed, her brocade boots crushing against the hard saline-alkali soil with a crisp, crunching sound.
Li Sheng stood guard at her side, his hand on his saber. His almost tangible murderous aura swept out, startling the guarding soldiers at the gate so much that they could barely hold their spears steady.
Old Ma bowed his back, leading the way with quick, small steps.
The moment they stepped through the South Gate, a wave of foul noise smashed down on them.
On both sides of the crowded and narrow dirt path, wooden racks stood in large numbers, with strings of fox and sheep pelts swaying in the wind.
Top-grade silver ermine! Look at this fur— A short, fat merchant waved a pelt and roared his pitch, but failed to get even half a passerby to stop.
Ignored, he was not annoyed, merely turning his head to pester the next potential customer.
Walking further ahead, a pungent musky smell rushed straight to the head.
The stench of forage mixed with manure fermented in the heatwave.
In a livestock pen enclosed by thick wooden stakes, dozens of mixed-color horses and hundreds of sheep were crammed together. The flock of sheep rooted around wildly, splashing muddy water and causing passersby to dodge in succession.
A grassland herdsman cursed and cracked a loud whip, startling a horse into neighing and nearly knocking over the wooden fence.
Outside the fence, a barbarian wrapped in a leather robe was prying open a horse's mouth to check its teeth. The broker behind him held a wooden stick, quickly scratching numbers into the sand.
The broker suddenly blew a short whistle.
Three zhang away, another broker answered loudly, leading a buyer in a gray cloth shirt over at a trot. The two put their heads together and muttered for a moment, and the buyer immediately crouched down to feel the horse's legs.
Xu Qinghuan's footsteps did not stop; her gaze was like a torch, taking in everything around her.
Ahead, two yamen runners with wooden plaques at their waists were using sticks to rummage through a peddler's bundle.
The peddler bowed and scraped, seamlessly slipping over a few pieces of broken silver along with his documents.
The runner weighed the silver in his hand, used the stick to poke open the bundle to glance at the coarse silk, snorted coldly, threw the document back into the peddler's arms, and pointed forward with his stick—letting him pass.
The peddler, acting as if granted a great amnesty, hugged his bundle, shrank his neck, and slipped away.
Filthy and chaotic, yet it operated on a strict, man-eating set of rules.
...
It was not until they crossed the central courtyard that the market clamor abruptly ceased.
Several spacious grayish-white large tents were entrenched here. Outside the tents stood burly guards holding sentry sticks.
The undercurrent of clicking abacuses and low whispers seeped out through the thick felt.
This was the territory of the major clients, the true heart of the border market.
Xu Qinghuan stopped in front of a broken horse-tying post.
A broker carrying a thick ledger slipped out of a tent and walked toward the one next door, a copper whistle in his mouth, blowing a secret signal of one long and one short note.
A moment later, a middle-aged man wearing a satin riding jacket poked his head out of the neighboring tent and waved.
This was the territory of the three great commercial firms.
Her expression was as deep as an abyss as she extended two fingers from her wide sleeve.
The mutual trade coordination document, stamped with the bright red seal of the Commander-in-Chief's Office, was casually pinched out and handed into the palm of Li Sheng beside her.
Pinching this death warrant between her two fingers, she handed it to Li Sheng beside her.
To the Supervisor's Yamen.
Go straight in? he asked for instructions in a low voice.
"Just kick the door open."
Xu Qinghuan's gaze pierced through the crowd, resting on the mottled, dilapidated plaque of the government office.
The moment the words left her lips, Li Sheng shot forward like an arrow released from its bow. Channeling strength into his legs, he planted a vicious kick squarely against the office's decaying wooden doors!
With a deafening crash, a thick cloud of dust billowed through the room.
In the center of the main hall, a pale, plump official was slumped behind a black-lacquered desk. Sporting a goatee and a seventh-rank green robe speckled with grease stains, he was none other than the supervising official, Qian Fugui.
To the left of the desk sat three imposing figures.
The first on the left was a heavy-set man with large ears, swathed in a thick brocade robe adorned with floral medallions, casually rolling a string of red agate beads in his hand.
The man in the middle was painfully thin, his eyes sunken deep into his skull, radiating the ruthless malice of a venomous snake.
The youngest sat on the right, dressed in a crisp, unrestrictive martial outfit. A noticeable bulge at his waist made it clear he was carrying a concealed weapon.
These three were the formidable chief managers who held the border market in the palm of their hands.
As the great doors burst wide open, four pairs of eyes, gleaming with a mix of cunning and sheer shock, snapped toward the entrance in unison.
Their gazes bypassed Li Sheng's imposing, burly frame, colliding straight into the cold, aloof figure standing just beyond the threshold.
Xu Qinghuan stood there with her hands clasped behind her back. The daylight cascaded over her shoulders, illuminating her breathtakingly beautiful face, a face now etched with an aura of absolute, chilling lethality.
