Peddler

Peddler

Seeing Li Banfeng's body go rigid, the carriage driver backed away two steps.

Li Banfeng found it exceptionally hard even to breathe. Before he could figure out what had happened to his body, two people emerged from an alley not far away.

They wore shirts and vests, with Forward Hats pulled low over their faces.

Seeing that they were coming for Li Banfeng, the carriage driver gave a start, lifted his cart, and prepared to leave.

What were these two?

Li Banfeng did not know them.

Were they after me?

They really were after him.

They had been stationed by Xiao Zhengong and had followed Li Banfeng ever since he left the train station.

Their task was to kill Li Banfeng and take the Copper Lotus from him.

Li Banfeng wanted to reach for the spicy strips in his pocket, but his hand would not move.

One of the Forward Hats drew a dagger from his sleeve, while the other viciously swept his gaze around, warning everyone not to meddle.

He could not resist, could not defend himself, could not run. Li Banfeng could not even move.

In all his life, Li Banfeng had never felt such despair.

Just as the two men drew nearer, he suddenly heard someone speak beside him:

"You take the child to get something to eat first, then wait for me at the clinic."

The lanky man, nearly six and a half feet tall, settled his wife into another rickshaw. Then he turned and came over to Li Banfeng, one hand in his pocket and the other supporting Li Banfeng.

At the sight of the lanky man, the two Forward Hats did not immediately approach Li Banfeng. They did not know the man's strength, nor did they know his background.

One of the Forward Hats stepped up and called out, "Brother, what line do you run? Give us your code and let us know who you are!"

Li Banfeng froze. What foreign language was that?

It was not a foreign language. It was underworld cant.

What the Forward Hat meant was: Friend, what road are you on? Tell us your background.

Monkey Qiu understood, but he paid them no mind and directly ignored the two men.

Seeing that talk had failed, the other Forward Hat began threatening him. "Friend on the same turf, we're from the Jiang Xiang Gang. You've heard our banner, and you know the rules. We're taking this mark for sure. Blades have no eyes, so keep your feet wide of this."

Friend from the streets, we are killing this man no matter what. Weapons have no eyes, so do not stick your nose into this.

The lanky man furrowed his brow slightly and glanced at the two Forward Hats.

The two Forward Hats suddenly felt their hearts tremble. Their heartbeats slowed, but each thump grew heavier.

Thump! Thump! Their hearts seemed ready to burst apart at any moment.

One Forward Hat lowered his voice. "He's a Joy Cultivator! And not a low-level one!"

"Run!" The other Forward Hat also realized how grave things were and prepared to retreat.

The lanky man's strength was far beyond what the two of them could touch. Without a shred of hesitation, they turned and fled, vanishing in the blink of an eye.

The lanky man did not pursue them. Supporting Li Banfeng, he asked the carriage driver directly, "Is your cart fast?"

"Not especially fast." The driver kept his distance from Li Banfeng, unwilling to carry him.

Anyone who had been exposed to daylight could suffer a disaster at any moment, and he had even gotten tangled up with underworld people. Who would want to get involved with him?

"Do you have fire wheels under your feet?" the lanky man asked again.

The driver shook his head. "If I had fire wheels, would I still be scraping together a living from this petty business?"

"Are there any with fire wheels near the station?" The man took out a ten-yuan banknote and handed it to the driver.

The driver accepted the note and broke into a smile. "There are, sir. I'll take you there."

No work required, and ten yuan earned for nothing. He was certainly willing to take that money.

The driver led the way ahead, while the lanky man kept one hand in his pocket and carried Li Banfeng with the other as they passed through an alley.

At the mouth of the alley, a short, sturdy carriage driver was squatting on the ground and smoking.

The smoke was pungent. It was home-rolled tobacco.

"Sir, this is the one with fire wheels." Having brought them there, the previous driver hurried away.

The lanky man went up and asked the short, sturdy driver, "What grade are your fire wheels?"

The driver looked up. "I'm fucking pulling a cart. What grade do you think? Earth Skin First Layer, of course!"

The lanky man nodded. "Do you know where the Peddler is?"

The driver smacked his lips. "I saw him this morning. It's a fair distance, and I don't know if he's still there."

"I don't care if it's far. Name your price."

The driver held up five fingers. "Five hundred Huan Country Notes. No haggling."

The lanky man put Li Banfeng onto the cart, rummaged in his clothes a few times, and produced five one-hundred Huan Country Notes, which he gave the driver.

Seeing the lanky man take out the money with one hand, the driver glanced at the man's left hand, which had remained in his trouser pocket the entire time. He found it strange, but did not ask.

After counting the notes and confirming not one was missing, the driver snuffed out his cigarette. His left wrist turned upward to support the left shaft of the cart, while his right wrist turned downward to press on the right shaft.

Li Banfeng thought the way he held the handles looked strange. One hand faced up and the other faced down. Why did it look so awkward?

What he did not understand was that this was the yin-yang grip, the most standard hand position for pulling a rickshaw.

The rickshaw drivers Li Banfeng had seen on television all raised both handles together. If their force was uneven, the passenger would lurch back and forth in the cart, perhaps even fall out.

If a driver pulled a cart like that, at best he would not get paid; at worst, he would get a vicious beating.

With the yin-yang grip, one hand up and one hand down, the driver steadily lifted the cart and shouted, "Off we go!"

Before the words had even faded, the driver had pulled the cart out of the alley.

Li Banfeng was still conscious. Wind howled past his ears, while the houses and trees by the roadside flew backward.

Perhaps because the alley was so narrow and the buildings on either side were so close, Li Banfeng was experiencing a visual illusion.

What kind of speed was this?

This driver had somehow made a rickshaw feel like a car.

Monkey Qiu also found the driver somewhat unusual. "With skills like yours, you don't look like you're only First Layer."

The driver chuckled. "You pay, I pull the cart. It's not like we're living together, so why ask so much? Let's make this clear first: the person beside you looks like a White Lamb exposed to daylight. I'm only responsible for taking you there. Whether this fellow lives or dies has nothing to do with me!"

"Don't worry. He won't die," said the lanky man. "This little brother is lucky. He normally would never have run into the Peddler, but the train was delayed for three days, and that let him catch up."

The driver was startled. "Really? He's that lucky? Could he have met a Lucky Star?"

Li Banfeng could not move his neck, so he could not see what was happening with the driver's legs and feet.

From his fixed angle, he could only watch the scenery pass by.

The town's buildings were strange. Brick and stone interwove in orderly cleanliness, with no sense of desolation or decay, yet they carried a weathered quality that deeply moved Li Banfeng.

It was not the weathering of age, but something uniquely weathered. Broad entryways stood between brick and stone walls, along with grand raised beams and flying eaves, steeped in an ancient charm.

Yet the carvings and porthole windows that occasionally appeared on the walls carried a touch of Western air.

Especially the two- and three-story buildings along the streets and alleys: their protruding balconies and corridors, the distinctive arches over their windows and doors, the roses and creeping ivy climbing the walls—all of it made Li Banfeng feel as if he had entered a peculiar age, an age caught within the cracks of history.

Li Banfeng had no time to consider what age it was. The difficulty of his heartbeat and the sluggishness of his breathing made him feel the threat of death itself.

Listening to the driver and the lanky man chat along the way, they ran from the town into the outskirts. When they reached a patch of wilderness, the driver stopped and wiped away his sweat.

"He really is lucky—the Peddler hasn't left!" After panting for a while, the driver looked back at the lanky man and Li Banfeng.

The lanky man carried Li Banfeng down from the cart. Beneath a willow tree ahead stood a handcart, with a large two-tiered wooden cabinet on it and a red lantern stuck atop the cabinet.

Someone was squatting beside the handcart—a man in his thirties, dozing beneath the tree.

The driver called out to him, "Hey! Still doing business?"

The man lifted his eyelids, got up, stretched lazily, and took out a Pellet Drum, which he began to shake.

Jingle-clang, jingle-clang!

"Imported Soap, Snow Cream, Silk Scarves and Handkerchiefs, Sewing Kits, Leather Buckets, Iron Water Ladles, Matches, Imported Candles, Imported Iron Shovels! Pickle Jars, Soy Sauce Pots, Rice Ladles, Water Scoops, Kitchen Knives! A cart full of fine goods, an old trusted brand—everything sold cheap, so take your pick!"

The Peddler?

This was the Peddler?

The Peddler yawned at the lanky man. "Monkey Qiu, what are you buying?"

This lanky man was called Monkey Qiu, and the Peddler actually knew him.

Monkey Qiu said, "A White Lamb has been exposed to daylight."

The Peddler took out a key and opened the first tier of the wooden cabinet. "If a White Lamb has been exposed to daylight and doesn't want to die, he must enter a path. How do you want to settle the bill? Huan Country Notes or silver dollars?"

Monkey Qiu said, "Huan Country Notes."

The Peddler opened a drawer in the cabinet. "I have five kinds of medicinal powder left. Farming Cultivator, thirty thousand; Joy Cultivator, fifty thousand; Food Cultivator, sixty thousand; Travel Cultivator, eighty thousand; House Cultivator, one hundred sixty thousand. I can see he can't speak anymore. Does he choose for himself, or do you pick for him?"

PS: Thanks to Distant Snowy Peak.

Dear readers, have you ever used Snow Cream?

Which cultivation path do you like?

(End of this chapter)