To be honest, Old Ba felt awful. How had a place this good been found by a few Mushroom People? He'd sent out so many trusted subordinates and capable men, yet they'd come back empty-handed.
What kind of damn luck had these Mushroom People had? They'd actually found such a good place, one that was hard to fault in any respect.
If the place were scored out of ten, then aside from the possibility that it belonged to a local powerhouse and would have to be rented, there was almost nothing to criticize. It deserved at least a five.
Meanwhile, all the other teams he'd sent out still hadn't found a single place that even rated a two or a three. They couldn't have been more useless.
There was no pain without comparison. Compared to them, Old Ba looked like he couldn't judge people at all. The elite men he'd sent out earlier, the ones he'd trusted and relied on, had found nothing.
Instead, the few Mushroom People he'd dismissed as shirkers—and who'd only set out after Master Qian had repeatedly encouraged and persuaded them—had achieved remarkable results and found such a suitable place.
And Master Qian was watching him, waiting for him to speak.
Old Ba knew full well that if he had the gall to say this place was no good, Qian would turn on him right there.
Besides, Old Ba knew exactly what this land meant to both sides. Even if he wanted to lie and say it wouldn't work, he had to consider the consequences of delaying the transplant of the spirit herbs.
If the spirit-herb transplant plan were delayed because of Old Ba's petty scheming, Master Hu would skin him alive with his own hands, tearing him to pieces one strip at a time.
Sure