Chapter Forty-One: Old Huang’s Donkey Cart Sweeps Up Corpses; Disguised Faces Tease the Miao Maiden

At the hour of the afternoon, two donkeys were tied to willow stumps by the back gate of the Zhang family estate. Old Huang, the coachman, wore a conical hat for both sun and shade. His brown long robe was not particularly clean, and his trouser legs were splattered with mud—such was the usual attire of a carter.

The back gate opened, and two middle-aged servants carried out a rolled-up bamboo mat, placing it onto a wooden cart. Old Huang glanced over; the bamboo mat was new, still bearing a greenish hue from not yet being toasted by fire.

A servant handed over an old coin pouch. Old Huang took it and gave it a shake. The clinking inside was thirty copper coins.

"Just as we agreed. If anything goes wrong, none of us will be able to save face," the servant said, his tone edged with threat.

Old Huang nodded, untied the donkeys, and drove the cart away.

The Zhang family paid handsomely, but this job was nothing to boast about—it was to ferry a corpse.

In Changning County, no carriage house specialized in transporting the dead; only market porters were willing to take on such dirty work. But recently, the county had been far from peaceful, with several murders rumored to be the work of monsters or evil spirits. Even the itinerant porters had grown reluctant to accept such tasks.

Old Huang, however, had an ancestral altar at home and dared to take the job, mustering his courage.

The county road was tranquil, with hardly a soul along the way. Old Huang swung his long whip, though not a single lash landed on the donkeys. After all, donkeys weren't horses—no matter how hard you beat them, their strength was limited.

Coachmen were quick to share news. Old Huang knew well about the recent deaths in the county: a night watchman, a buyer in white, a hunter—all had met untimely ends. The unease gnawed at him, and he couldn't help but glance at the bamboo mat on the cart, wondering just how the Zhang family’s old steward had died. Was it truly something unusual?

The thought gnawed at him like a cat scratching at his heart, irresistible.

Just then, the cart jolted into a deep rut. The sudden bump sent the bamboo mat rolling off the cart.

Old Huang snapped out of his thoughts and looked down, stunned.

The bamboo mat had not been tightly bound, and with the fall, the hemp rope came loose and the mat unfurled. Out tumbled a corpse, missing its left hand...

...

In the late afternoon, warm sunlight slanted over the back wall, and a gentle breeze stirred.

Ever since eating the ginseng fruit and the mighty strength pill, Song Mo could feel his body surpassing ordinary men. Simply put, his back didn’t ache, his legs didn’t hurt, and he walked with boundless energy...

Nibbling on half a piece of crispy, fragrant sesame cake, Song Mo strolled leisurely, admiring the autumn scenery.

Passing through alleys and markets, he found himself, almost unconsciously, in Yunying Lane of the western market.

Beneath the grand bridge, street performers had already staked out spots to show off their tricks.

One wore a mask painted with flowers, another spat fire, here a strongman smashed his chest with a giant hammer, there a monkey climbed an iron tree...

It was lively indeed, a perfect place for amusement.

Song Mo looked around and saw a large crowd gathered on an open patch beneath the bridge.

To see the most wondrous tricks, one had to squeeze into where the crowd was thickest. Why? It was simple—the eyes of the public miss nothing.

There were neither too few nor too many pleasure-seekers here. If you wanted to make a name for yourself and earn tips in this competitive arena, you had to outshine your peers.

Song Mo squeezed into the crowd and peered in, only to be mildly disappointed.

The performer was a Miao girl wielding a long whip. She was strikingly beautiful, with sharp, elegant features, dressed in rough homespun Miao attire adorned with delicate bamboo tubes. Her greenish-blue blouse was as light as mist, her figure slender, her skin fairer than snow, radiating a sense of airy grace.

So, it was just a bunch of people judging by looks, Song Mo thought, casting a disdainful glance at the gawking crowd.

Then he wiped a bit of drool from the corner of his mouth...

Before the Miao girl lay two hundred-pound stone locks. Song Mo mused, "Is she going to balance those on her chest? Wouldn’t that flatten her?"

He watched, thoughts running wild.

His gaze landed, with perfect aim, on the proud peaks of the Miao girl’s bosom.

"What a pity," Song Mo clicked his tongue in regret.

Most in the crowd were here for the Miao girl’s looks, some of them lechers, but none stared as openly as Song Mo.

The Miao girl shot him a glare. With a crisp shout, she cracked her whip.

The whip, as agile as a black serpent, wound perfectly around one of the stone locks, which spun in circles, suspended from the whip.

The crowd applauded—such a feat was rare indeed.

But there was more. With a flick, the Miao girl threaded the whip through the other stone lock. Now, two hundred-pound stone locks were linked in the air by a single whip.

The Miao girl managed it all one-handed, without breaking a sweat—clearly, she had real skill.

Song Mo now understood the act, but his mind couldn’t help conjuring up the image of the stone locks pressed upon her chest.

His thoughts showed plainly on his face, and soon he was grinning.

That smile didn’t go unnoticed. The Miao girl, thinking he was mocking her, flared up.

With a bang, both stone locks crashed to the ground.

She withdrew her whip and fixed Song Mo with a cold stare. "What are you laughing at?"

Song Mo hurriedly stifled his laughter and apologized, but the Miao girl was still angry. "You rascal, you’re asking for trouble."

Song Mo saw a flash of the whip coming at him and quickly jumped back.

The whip brushed his nose and struck the stone pavement, leaving a long white mark. Had that landed on him, it would have been serious.

Song Mo suppressed his own rising anger and said in a deep voice, "Miss, isn’t that going a bit far?"

The Miao girl withdrew her whip and turned away, refusing to look at him.

Song Mo, feeling the whole thing was pointless, struggled to stifle his irritation and, after a moment's thought, turned to leave.

Not long after, a burly, square-faced man pushed into the crowd and shouted, "Such clumsy tricks! Do you take us gentry of Jian’an’s capital for fools?"

At these words, the crowd erupted.

There were unspoken rules among street performers: skill was their livelihood, and cheating was despised. If exposed, one couldn’t survive in town.

So, as soon as the square-faced man spoke, the Miao girl’s expression soured.

"If you say her act is fake, then explain yourself," an old man in the crowd called out, and others joined in, egging him on.

The burly man feigned reluctance. "It’s not easy making a living on the road—let’s not make things hard for a young lady."

Even as he spoke, he glanced at the Miao girl, seemingly concerned for her.

It was a clever move—on the surface, defending her, but in truth, stirring up the crowd.

A naked tactic.

The Miao girl fell for it, her face cold. "If you’re so sure, then prove it—or don’t blame my whip for being merciless."

Her aggressive manner did little to win favor, while the burly man seemed the picture of honest decency.

"If the Miao girl won’t listen to reason, then go ahead and expose her trick," the old man urged.

Feigning reluctance, the burly man stepped forward, and with just his forefinger and middle finger, lifted the stone lock easily.

The crowd was stunned, then burst into laughter.

The burly man strolled around as if it were nothing, confirming to everyone that the stone locks had been tampered with.

"My apologies," he said to the Miao girl, bowing with a look of regret.

The crowd soon dispersed, leaving only a few. The Miao girl wanted to argue but realized it was pointless.

"Fine. Very well," she bit her lip, staring daggers at the burly man.

He smiled, his gaze lowering.

"Scoundrel!" the Miao girl suddenly realized his intent, but he had already slipped away into the crowd.

Fuming, she had no choice but to gather her things and leave.

Among the onlookers, two young gentlemen exchanged glances and quietly followed the Miao girl.

...

Above the bridge, green waters mirrored the clouds, and emerald ribbons encircled the red river.

In a secluded corner, the burly man wiped his face, instantly revealing his true appearance.

It was Song Mo, having shed his disguise.

"Interesting," he murmured, clicking his tongue and watching the Miao girl’s departing figure.