62: Chapter 62 The Man in Black

By the time the drinking party ended, the moon was already high in the night sky.

Tiger Li was thoroughly drunk. Staggering, he threw an arm around Chen Mo's shoulders, insisting on dragging him to Yichun Courtyard to 'sober up'. After much persuasion and finally using the excuse of needing to go home to brew medicine for Little Grass, Chen Mo managed to extricate himself.

Watching Tiger Li being supported by two attendants through that door filled with song and dance, the smile slowly faded from Chen Mo's face.

The night wind was cold, cutting against his face like a blade.

Chen Mo tightened his collar and turned into the dark street.

The street was deserted. Only the night watchman's wooden clapper sounded intermittently, his half-hearted calls echoing: 'Dry weather, beware of fire.'

Chen Mo walked slowly.

He was sorting through the information he'd gathered tonight.

Ye Zhiqiu was a cloud in the sky; Liu Feng was a tiger on the ground.

Caught between them, the slightest misstep would mean being crushed to dust.

'West City constable...'

Chen Mo touched the wild goose feather saber at his waist. The hilt was cold, cooling his heated mind considerably.

This position was dangerous, but it was also an opportunity.

West City's chaos meant more 'strange' occurrences.

Those evildoers, those cultists who dealt in superstition and deceit—they were trouble in others' eyes, but in his, they were walking 'lifespan' and 'potential points.'

With proper handling, West City would be his hunting ground.

As for the Liu Family...

A cold glint flashed in Chen Mo's eyes.

He didn't go looking for trouble, but he wasn't afraid of it either. If Liu Feng really intended to treat him like a soft persimmon to be squeezed, he didn't mind chipping a few of the other's teeth.

After all, the barefooted fear not the shoe-wearer.

Just as he was thinking this, a series of hurried footsteps suddenly came from ahead.

Chen Mo instantly halted, his body tensing instinctively, his right hand resting on his saber hilt.

His breathing slowed, his heartbeat steady.

His entire being was like a fully drawn bow.

The footsteps grew closer, accompanied by ragged, heavy panting.

One person.

Judging by the sound, the steps were unsteady; likely injured.

Chen Mo slipped into a dark alley beside the road, holding his breath.

A moment later, a dark figure stumbled into view.

By the faint moonlight, Chen Mo could make out the person's appearance.

Dressed in black night clothes with a face covering, but a large gash had been torn open across the chest by a Sharp Weapon. Blood was gushing out, soaking the clothes.

The person reached the mouth of the alley, seemingly out of strength, leaned against the wall, and coughed violently twice. What came up were flecks of blood.

He glanced back warily, then pulled an oil-paper package from his robe, looking as if he wanted to find a place to hide it.

Chen Mo narrowed his eyes.

This scenario felt somewhat familiar.

A dark and windy night, a severely injured man in black, a mysterious package.

This usually meant trouble.

But it could also mean opportunity.

Chen Mo didn't move. He waited.

He waited for the man in black to make his next move, and he waited to see if there were pursuers behind him.

Sure enough, in less than the span of three breaths.

The sound of dense, whistling projectiles came from the distance.

'Over there! Don't let him escape!'

'The Young Lord's orders: we must see the man alive or dead! The item must be recovered!'

Young Lord?

Chen Mo's heart stirred.

In Qingyang City, who else could be called 'Young Lord' and stage such a large-scale pursuit besides that Liu Feng?

Hearing the voices, a flash of despair crossed the eyes of the man in black. He looked at the oil-paper package in his hand, gritted his teeth, and, instead of hiding it, turned and rushed into the alley—the very alley where Chen Mo was hiding.

Chen Mo: "..."

This luck was truly something else.

The man in black had taken only a few steps into the alley when he spotted Chen Mo pressed against the wall in the shadows.

Their eyes met.

The air seemed to freeze for an instant.

Clearly not expecting someone else to be hiding here, the man in black was startled. He instinctively raised the short sword in his hand.

But his injuries were too severe. The motion aggravated his wounds, his body went limp, and he collapsed to his knees.

'S-save... save me...'

The man's voice was hoarse, his gaze unfocused. He pushed the oil-paper package toward Chen Mo. 'This... give... give it to Ye...'

Before he could finish, his head lolled to the side, and he fell unconscious.

Chen Mo looked at the man in black on the ground, then at the blood-stained oil-paper package.

Give it to Ye?

Ye Zhiqiu?

The corner of Chen Mo's mouth twitched.

This was no windfall; it was a hot potato, and one freshly fished out of lava at that.

Footsteps from outside the alley had already reached its entrance.

'He went in! Search!'

The light of torches illuminated the mouth of the alley.

Chen Mo sighed.

Was it really so hard to just go home quietly?

In the instant the man in black lost consciousness and the pursuers' footsteps closed in, Chen Mo immediately activated the Turtle Breathing Technique.

His heartbeat plummeted, his breathing nearly ceased. His entire being became like a cold stone. Holding the oil-paper package, he slid along the shadow at the base of the wall.

The pursuers rushed into the alley, finding only the unconscious man in black. They completely failed to notice Chen Mo clinging to the overhead roof beam like a gecko.

Better to avoid trouble. That was a fight between immortals; he, a mere shrimp, had no desire to become cannon fodder.

...

The next day, as dawn was just breaking.

West City, City Guard Department branch office.

Compared to the General Bureau yamen in the Inner City, this place was practically a refugee camp. The paint on the gate was peeling, revealing the dull, grey wood beneath. The two stone lions at the entrance were missing limbs, looking less like Auspicious Beasts and more like a pair of mangy dogs.

Chen Mo stood at the entrance, wearing a brand-new Runner's uniform, the wild goose feather saber at his waist.

'Ah, you must be Lord Chen?'

A hunched-back old man emerged from the gatehouse, holding a steaming teapot. The old man's hair was grizzled, his face etched with wrinkles deep enough to trap flies, and he walked with a slight limp.

This was Old Ma, the old workhorse of the West City branch. He'd been holding the fort here since the previous constable's sudden death.

'Uncle Ma.' Chen Mo didn't put on airs, cupping his hands in greeting.

'You honor me too much, too much.' Old Ma hastily sidestepped to avoid the full gesture, a strained smile appearing on his bitter-gourd face. 'You're the officially appointed constable sent down from above. I'm just an old codger watching the gate. Please, come in, come in.'

Entering the courtyard, the inside was more spacious than the outside. Several dozen Runners were drilling in the yard, their shouts rising and falling. But their spirit seemed hollow. Their movements were sluggish—less like martial practice, more like calisthenics.

Old Ma led Chen Mo through the courtyard to a separate side room behind the main hall.

'Sir, this will be your office.'

Old Ma pushed the door open. A musty, stale smell wafted out.

The furnishings inside were simple: a large redwood desk, an official's armchair, and behind it, a bookshelf piled high with dusty case files.

Chen Mo walked in and ran a finger across the desk. His fingertip came away slightly blackened.

'The previous one left in a hurry, didn't have time to tidy up,' Old Ma rambled on. 'This West City... it's chaotic. The previous constable... ahem, he suffered a Qi Deviation during cultivation. Died suddenly.'

Chen Mo sat in the official's armchair. The chair let out a creaking groan.