In the shadows, the smooth darkness rippled like water.
A man dressed head to toe in black appeared like a ghost, his face hidden behind a hideous mask of a demon.
He made no sound. Even his breathing was almost inaudible, as though he were part of the darkness itself.
Lei Heng's voice turned cold as ice. "Keep a close eye on Fang Mo."
"I want to know his every move—what he eats, who he meets, even how many sheets of paper he uses when he goes to the privy. Find out everything."
"Liuxi Village is deep water. If he really has uncovered something he shouldn't have..."
Lei Heng made a slicing motion across his throat, his gaze vicious and sinister.
"Then leave him there forever, a lonely ghost."
The shadow said nothing. He merely cupped his fists, then his form twisted and melted back into the boundless darkness, as if he had never appeared at all.
Lei Heng gazed at the corner, now empty once more, and the smile on his lips grew more savage.
"Fang Mo, I hope you can surprise me. Otherwise, this whole show will be far too dull."
The western courtyard.
Fang Mo pushed open the creaking wooden door and entered the main room, thick with the smell of mildew.
He casually tossed the scroll—a death warrant in all but name—onto the dust-covered table. Instead of opening it, he closed his eyes and took a deep breath.
Still Water Mirror, activate.
His invisible awareness spread like a rising tide, covering the entire courtyard in an instant and reaching into the streets beyond.
The wind, the chirping insects, Iron Bull's hammer ringing against metal, Yan Wangchou's tobacco pipe clicking... Everything appeared clearly in his mind.
No tails.
At least, none in plain sight.
Fang Mo opened his eyes, a glint of gold flashing in them.
"Looks like that old Lei Heng has finally gotten serious."
He wasn't afraid of blades and spears head-on, because he had Golden Bones. Nor was he afraid of schemes in the shadows, because his heart was blacker than anyone else's.
"Old Yan, Iron Bull, Da Gui, get in here!"
Fang Mo called out.
A moment later, the three filed inside.
Yan Wangchou still looked half asleep. Iron Bull held his great hammer like a guardian at the gate. Only Qian Dagui looked excited, seemingly eager for the adventure ahead.
"You've all heard about this mission."
Fang Mo turned to Yan Wangchou. "Old Yan, what do you think?"
Yan Wangchou packed another bowl of tobacco, the strands crackling over the glowing embers.
He blew out a long stream of smoke. A hint of sharpness flickered in his cloudy old eyes, then he chuckled, revealing a mouthful of broken, yellow teeth.
"Boss, don't you worry. Since I've taken my bowl of rice from you, I'll risk my life to keep you safe. These old bones may be brittle, but I can still clamp down on someone's throat."
Iron Bull said nothing. He simply clasped his hands, then lowered the heavy hammer he held in one hand to the ground, sending a ring of dust into the air.
His meaning was plain—whoever laid a hand on Fang Mo would have their skull smashed.
Only Qian Dagui still had that clear-eyed, foolish look.
He glanced at Yan Wangchou, then at Iron Bull, and finally at Fang Mo. With an honest smile, he rubbed the back of his head sheepishly. "Mo Ge, Uncle Wang told me to listen to you. And I think you've got a lucky face, Mo Ge. Sticking with you is bound to make me rich. My father always said that in business, you have to pick the right people. Even if you take a loss just to get your name out there, you should first get to know the right connections."
Fang Mo nodded in satisfaction.
Though each of them had their own reasons—one wanted a peaceful retirement, one wanted to test his skills, and one was acting on the scraps of filial duty his father had instilled—their interests aligned, and this hastily assembled group had already begun to pull together.
Fang Mo had established his position as their leader. From here on, things would be easier to handle.
"In that case, let's not keep Lord Lei waiting." Fang Mo waved a hand. His Fish Scale Armor reflected a cold glint in the sunlight. "Move out!"
Outside the city, on the main road.
The setting sun was as red as blood, staining the yellow-earth road a dark crimson.
An extravagantly decorated carriage struggled along the rutted dirt road.
The carriage was absurdly spacious. It wasn't an ordinary single-shaft carriage, but one pulled by four towering white horses.
The carriage was wrapped in fine Shu brocade, with wind bells of copper hanging all around it. The horses' hooves rose and fell, and the bells clanged all the way, their sound especially grating in the silent wilderness.
Inside the carriage.
Fang Mo sat cross-legged on a thick White Tiger Skin rug, peeling a glistening grape. Across from him, Qian Dagui dabbed at his sweat with a silk handkerchief. Fang Mo's eye twitched twice.
This wasn't a trip to investigate a deadly case. It was a nobleman's spring outing beyond the city.
A small rosewood table stood in the middle of the carriage, laden with an assortment of delicate pastries and seasonal fruits. There was even a huge ice chest in the corner, packed with ice and trailing wisps of cool air that kept the heat outside at bay.
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