Crunch, crunch.
The unpeeled radish strips made a sound in Sun Shaozong's mouth like a dull knife chopping meat. It was hardly pleasant to hear, yet it lent a touch of life to the carriage shrouded in darkness.
These radish strips had been pickled by Old Taoist Zhang himself. Though they looked crude, the seasonings were all rare delicacies, making them exceptionally crisp and refreshing.
Of course, that was only for young people with strong teeth.
Anyone a little older would likely have to pay a price to savor their flavor.
As for someone like Old Taoist Zhang, already past seventy, even if he gave it his all, he might not be able to do much against these pickled radishes.
Yet Old Taoist Zhang still pickled them every year, filling several large jars at a time. Sometimes he gave them away; other times, he simply let them spoil.
For anyone else, that would have been called an eccentricity—or wasting food.
But because they were associated with Old Taoist Zhang, these pickled radish strips took on a mysterious aura. Some wealthy families in the city even offered high prices for them.
Naturally, Sun Shaozong had carried off two jars today only because they suited his taste—though they would have been even better with more spice.
As he chewed Taoist Zhang's pickled radishes, the old fox's seemingly carefree yet subtly barbed words kept echoing through his mind.
Sun Shaozong had sought out Old Taoist Zhang this time for two reasons. First, to further narrow the scope of the investigation into the headless corpse; second, to learn more about the inner workings of Tianshi Mansion through the mouth of one of its rivals.
For the first matter, Old Taoist Zhang had given him a precise answer: there was nothing he could do.
Though