Andy slept straight through to noon the following day. He drew a few deep breaths of fresh mountain air, feeling himself again, then rolled the white tiger hide into a bundle, slung it across his back, and set off into the forest. The journey passed without incident. He encountered no rare beasts and none of the fire-breathing, ice-spitting spirit beasts he had been half-dreading. Relying on the physical endurance that set cultivators apart from ordinary mortals, he pushed on day and night, resting only once every two or three days. Ten-odd days later, he finally emerged from the Nanhua Mountains.
At the foot of the range, he crossed paths with a wrinkle-faced woodcutter of sixty or seventy years, confirmed his direction, and pressed on until he reached his first destination: Xuanyuan City—the nearest mortal settlement to the Nanhua Mountain valley where the Jian clan made its home.
The Baoli Pawnshop stood on Chang'an Street, the busiest stretch in all of Xuanyuan City, and was the largest pawnbroker in town. Six broad-shouldered men stood permanent guard at its entrance—a clear signal that not just anyone was welcome inside.
Li Liuzhi—so nicknamed because he had been born with six fingers on his right hand—was currently behind the counter. He had come to this shop as a boy through a relative's introduction, done odd jobs for thirty-odd years, and worked his way up to shop manager. These days, aside from reporting to the owner and receiving important guests, he rarely needed to handle anything personally. The nickname "Liuzhi" had grown less common over the years; in Xuanyuan City, anyone outside the upper echelons addressed him as "Lord Liu." His usual counter attendant, young Liu San, had gone home for his own wedding these past few days, leaving the shop short-staffed—which was how Lord Liu found himself sitting the counter in person.
Business was slow in the late morning, as usual. He reclined in a comfortable slanted cane chair with his legs crossed, humming snatches of a tune under his breath. Before long his thoughts drifted to his fourth concubine—her soft, lilting voice, her graceful figure, her faint feminine fragrance—and presently, Lord Liu drifted into a doze.
"Is this the pawnshop? I want to pawn something."
A hesitant young male voice pulled Li Liuzhi from his pleasant dream. He cracked one eye open in a lazy squint. Leaning over the counter was a rather clean-featured youth, barely tall enough to see over the top, wearing a yellowed robe with several tears in it. He had the look of someone who had just walked out of the countryside. Li Liuzhi sized him up in an instant and said without enthusiasm: "This shop doesn't handle transactions under five taels of silver."
"I want to sell a white tiger hide. Someone told me to come here." The country youth hesitated briefly, his tone uncertain, clearly lacking confidence.
"What—a white tiger hide?" Li Liuzhi was immediately wide awake.
The youth said nothing more. He set the rolled bundle down on the counter. Li Liuzhi unrolled it with a skeptical hand. A complete white tiger hide, over two meters in length, spread out before him. Even a man as accustomed to fine goods as he was found his breathing quicken. But he was an old hand. A few steadying breaths later, he spoke in a casual tone: "Hmm. White tiger hide, yes—though it's rather on the lower end, as white tiger hides go. Would you like to sell it outright, or pawn it with the option to redeem it later?" His manner suggested he was discussing a perfectly ordinary piece of sheepskin, and the distinction between high- and low-grade white tiger hides was entirely something he had made up on the spot.
"Sell it outright."
"In that case, this shop will offer five hundred taels of silver." Li Liuzhi deliberated briefly and named a very low figure.
"I don't want silver—I want gold. And five hundred is far too little. Someone told me it's worth at least three thousand taels." The youth's brow creased. The moment he heard those words, Li Liuzhi understood that the boy had no real idea of the hide's true value—which was upward of five thousand taels. To have such an easy mark walk in was genuinely delightful, though his expression only grew more grave, as though wrestling with a difficult decision. After a pause he said: "Very well. Twenty-five taels of gold—the equivalent of two thousand five hundred in silver. Any more and this shop makes nothing."
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"Fine. Deal." The youth's answer came without the slightest hesitation. Li Liuzhi blinked—he had been fairly confident the boy would accept the price, but not quite this quickly. "Here are your twenty-five taels of gold—please count them. Might we arrange an escort for you, wherever you're headed?" Li Liuzhi's face had transformed into an ingratiating smile, the earlier laziness nowhere to be seen. "No need." The youth pocketed the gold and left without another word.
A sly thought took shape in Li Liuzhi's mind. He flicked a hand signal toward the guards at the entrance. Two of them—brothers, by the look of them—stepped quietly forward. One had a blue dragon tattooed on his arm; the other, a blazing qilin. The blue dragon spoke in a low voice: "Lord Liu—what are your orders? Should we take care of him and bring back the gold?"
"Don't rush. Follow him a while and find somewhere out of the way to do it. Not in front of the shop—bad for the reputation. And make sure no one sees. If there are witnesses, there'll be officials to pay off." Li Liuzhi gave the instructions in an even tone. "Understood, Lord Liu. You needn't worry—between the two of us it'll be clean as a whistle, no trace left behind." The tattooed man thumped his chest in assurance and slipped out. By then the country youth had barely gone fifty meters from the shop.
That youth, of course, was Andy. With his current spiritual sense, the conversation between the shop manager and the two thugs had reached him as clearly as if it had been spoken at his shoulder. He smiled inwardly and turned the situation over in his mind. As a cultivator dealing with a handful of mortals, this was about as straightforward as things could get. Those two men could have a hundred surprise attacks and still not land a mark on him.
He deliberately chose less-traveled streets, ducking and winding through lanes until he arrived at a deserted alley. The two men following him were quietly pleased—the country fool had obviously gotten lost and wandered into a dead end all on his own, saving them a great deal of trouble. They turned into the alley after him, ready to act—and found it completely empty. Both men blinked hard. The one with the blue dragon tattoo rubbed his eyes. They looked at each other, bewilderment plain on both their faces.
Crack! The blue dragon man caught a sharp slap across the face. He spun around furiously—and saw the qilin man standing there with his right arm raised high, looking utterly baffled. "I—it wasn't me. I don't know—it wasn't me." Under the blue dragon man's glare, the qilin man stumbled over his words. Something had struck his right wrist a moment ago, jerking his arm up—and then out of nowhere there had been the clear sound of a slap. The one thing he was grateful for was that it hadn't landed on his own face.
The two continued searching every corner of the alley, barely three to five meters across—a water vat, a wicker basket, even a battered old basin too small to possibly conceal anyone, nothing went unchecked.
Crack! Another loud slap landed on the blue dragon man. The qilin man's arm was raised again.
The blue dragon man, already rattled from the youth's inexplicable disappearance, lost his temper entirely. Without giving the other man a chance to explain, he threw a punch straight at the qilin man's face. The qilin man, already confused, had no time to properly dodge—he jerked his head back on instinct, sparing his eyes from the full impact, though the bridge of his nose took a solid hit and immediately began streaming blood. Pain or no pain, he swung a leg up into the inner thigh of the blue dragon man—
Andy, Concealment Art still active, watched the two men collapse into a brawling heap with satisfaction, then slipped quietly away. Some distance from the alley, he dropped the Concealment Art and made his way to a courier station. As far as he knew, horse-drawn carriages were the most convenient means of transport available in the mortal world, and courier stations were the places to rent or hire them.
The station's manager was a wiry man of around forty with a thin mustache bracketing his mouth, who was currently looking at Andy with an expression somewhere between amusement and skepticism—clearly not expecting this raggedly dressed country youth to mean any business. Having had his fill of mortal snobbery for one day, Andy reached directly into his pouch, pulled out a gleaming gold ingot, and dropped it on the counter. "Your fastest and best carriage," he said. "Two of your most experienced drivers. And have some quality provisions and a few sets of clean clothes prepared for me. Do it right, and whatever's left over is yours to keep."