Xuanqing Guard

No one knew how long had passed before Ma San regained consciousness and found himself locked in a set of board locks, his whole body immobilized and tied to a thick stone pillar. Around him was a gloomy room, with a large brazier placed in the center, coals burning inside it, skewered with a few rods of Luo Tie.

But after looking at his surroundings, Ma San actually felt somewhat relieved—this was neither the Xuanqing Guard’s dungeon nor a cell in the military. By the look of things, this was a privately set place.

"You’re awake?"

Ma San’s eyes darted forward, and there sat a bald man with a face full of flesh. Ma San recognized the man; it was none other than Flying Dragon, currently the most powerful figure in the Jingxi Territory’s Black Market.

And behind Flying Dragon stood the man who had left Ma San a deep impression—Iron Washer Zhang Lie.

Only those who have actually suffered from Zhang Lie’s palm force would understand the agony of Five Elements Fire Attribute True Qi corroding one’s body—almost as if one’s organs were burning alive, blood and qi churning, meridians spasming in unbearable torment. Even now, Ma San still felt his arms blazing with pain, and so were his ribs and armpits. The internal injuries were no joke.

Hearing Flying Dragon’s question, Ma San blinked his eyes. With the board lock restraining him, he couldn’t move anything but his eyelids.

Flying Dragon didn’t let anyone undo the board lock on Ma San but continued: "The first time you came to us wanting to take goods south, we didn’t think much of it. Who knew your own people would leak the news, leading the Xuanqing Guard to ambush and arrest you—and my own men almost got trapped too. Then you came again and took another batch of grain from me, still heading south."

Tsk tsk, I didn’t mind at the time. After all, I’m not exactly in a respectable business, and what you lot are gathering for the south is none of my concern. But now things are about to blow up in the south, and you still want me to help you gather goods. What are you playing at? Heh, are you trying to drag me, Flying Dragon, onto your sinking ship?

These days that’s a capital crime—treason! Extermination of nine generations! Ma San, you don’t take Flying Dragon for a fool, do you?

Maybe turning you over to the Xuanqing Guard will earn me a fat reward, who knows."

Ma San blinked repeatedly, clearly wanting to speak.

Flying Dragon grinned, waving a hand to signal someone to remove the iron walnuts stuffed in Ma San’s mouth. He had to hear what this man had to say.

"Flying Dragon, is this how you treat your guests? Surely news of your hospitality would scare off half your business, eh? Ugh, ugh, ugh..." Barely two sentences, and Ma San felt a sharp pain in his chest—violent coughing cut him off mid-speech.

"I heard Zhang Lie smacked you twice. Didn’t go down easy, did it? But that’s nothing. If I hand you to the Xuanqing Guard, then you’ll truly know what it means to wish you were dead."

"Cough, cough... Heh, Flying Dragon, you’re not actually going to hand me over to the Xuanqing Guard. They’ll play by neither reason nor reward. All they’ll do is count you as my accomplice and toss you right in alongside me for a good round of torment." Ma San was laughing, confident he’d seen through Flying Dragon—through the greed and the fear tangled up in the man’s heart.

No surprise there—given how tense things are in the south, and after that recent purge in the Black Market a few months back, staff’s been decimated. There’s barely anyone left who can pull together big shipments, let alone dare to trade. Ma San could only turn again to Flying Dragon. Given all this, Flying Dragon’s reaction made perfect sense to Ma San on second thought.

Wanting to make money, yet terrified of losing his head—of course the man would tread carefully. Dragging him here for questioning was only natural.

Everything was under control; these were just minor twists at the starting line—nothing Ma San couldn’t handle. That’s what he told himself.

Flying Dragon was, of course, putting on a show. Earlier, Zhang Lie had given Ma San a "power play" back in Guangshun City, and now Flying Dragon had to follow through—to make Ma San drop his guard, so the rest of their plan could unfold cleanly.

If he was honest, Flying Dragon increasingly felt these jobs he was handed were like working puppets on strings. He barely needed to think; just follow the steps laid out. No detail left unaccounted for—the task script had already anticipated almost every reaction Ma San might have. Were all these shenanigans Lord Shen’s doing? Or was someone else pulling the strings?

Flying Dragon didn’t know that his so-called "steps" weren’t devised by any one man—but hammered out collectively by Little Ghost, Ghost Gate, and Judge.

"I like talking with smart people. You’re right, handing you to the Xuanqing Guard gains me nothing. But killing you? At least I save my own skin. So, you’d better spill what you know—otherwise, for our safety, we won’t hesitate to finish you off."

Suppressing the pain in his lungs, Ma San grinned: "I’m just a vanguard. Kill me and your troubles get bigger, not smaller. Here’s the deal—we have our reasons for selling supplies to the barbarian race. It goes too deep for you. Are you sure you want to know? Besides, your job is to gather the goods; we still handle delivery ourselves. You don’t need to meddle. As for the price, we’re willing to go thirty percent over last time!"

"Heh, so you really don’t want to talk! Then we’ve no choice but to rough you up a bit." The flesh on Flying Dragon’s face trembled—he looked ready to erupt. Zhang Lie, lurking behind, waved a hand, and two shadowy fellows started rolling up their sleeves for the dirty work.

"Wait! ...Cough, cough... Flying Dragon, you’re sure you want to know?"

"What, you think I don’t have the balls?"

"This involves the military and evil cultivators—dare to meddle with that?"

Flying Dragon’s reaction was spot on—a brief stupor, a trace of fear twisting over his face, then forced calm, but the panic and hesitation in his eyes weren’t missed.

Ma San caught all of this without missing a beat, and his last ounce of worry dropped away. Hmph, as expected, this Flying Dragon’s all bluster—soft on the inside, nothing but posturing.

After a long silence, Flying Dragon waved everyone else out, leaving only himself, Zhang Lie, and Ma San tied to the pillar in the room.

"Brother Ma San, don’t blame me. In our line of work, we all live with our heads tied to our belts—take one wrong step, and it’s gone. We have to be careful with everything. Your reasons? None of my business, and I don’t want to know. But I do know I’ve got a gang of brothers to feed. I’m in it for the money. Matters of state—hell if they mean a thing to us.

So, adding thirty percent to last time’s price is still too little. Different times, different rules—you know the situation better than I do. I’m guessing in all of Jingjiu Dynasty, I’m the only one with the balls left to sell you bulk goods down south? Doubling the price wouldn’t be too much, would it?"

Double the price? Not too much? Ma San cursed inwardly, but he couldn’t deny it—Flying Dragon was telling the brutal truth. Right now, across the whole Jingjiu Dynasty, only this one had the guts to move big shipments south. And the fact that Flying Dragon, though calling him "Brother Ma San," still hadn’t removed his board locks meant only one thing—if terms couldn’t be reached, blood would spill.

Ma San seemed to have no other options.