"What did those two pass to each other?"
Meng Chao noticed a faint twitch in Three Hands's shoulders and arms.
It was as though he had slid some object from where it was tied near his elbow down to his wrist, then flicked it into A Tuft of Hair's hand across from him.
Perhaps Three Hands's arms had yet to fully recover from over a decade of atrophy.
When he made the sliding and flicking motion, he strained slightly, making the movement a little too broad.
In the eyes of a Clan Warrior with no counterespionage experience, this naturally was no flaw at all—not even an oversight.
Yet Meng Chao's Fiery Eyes and Golden Gaze caught it red-handed.
"So this butcher shop is a message Transfer Station for the Ratfolk Rebel Army?"
Meng Chao surveyed the surroundings with great interest.
After passing along the message, Three Hands soon left the market with his two companions.
Meng Chao had no interest in continuing to follow him.
The reasoning was simple. Three Hands was a native of Black Horn City and had been here for more than a decade. It was unlikely that he had been a hidden stake planted by the Ratfolk Rebel Army so long ago. At most, he was a small fry recruited only recently.
As for A Tuft of Hair, the butcher shop's owner, Meng Chao did not think he was the person he was ultimately looking for either.
Someone like him had every reason to remain in a market where people from all Nine Streams of Three Religions mingled, often playing tricks of sleight of hand with others. It would be far too wasteful not to use him as an intelligence relay station.
The thing Three Hands had passed from his sleeve should not have been meant