Retainer

"Does The Proprietor suspect I did it?"

Chen Cheng did not evade the question and bluntly asked in return.

Shen Mi stared into his eyes. After a moment, she shook her head with a smile.

"You've only just cultivated Blood Qi; your foundation is still unsteady... Besides, I have always believed in seeing things with my own eyes. Without irrefutable proof, I will not wrongfully accuse anyone."

Her tone paused slightly as she leaned forward a little. The enormous fullness before her chest was pressed by the table's edge into a startling curve.

"However, there are two people you need to watch out for. One is Zhao Hai, the Head Caravan Master of our caravan. The other is Zhao Chuan, the patrol chief of the South Third Guard Patrol Guard Bureau..."

"Thank you for the warning, The Proprietor."

Chen Cheng nodded faintly, and two figures immediately surfaced in his mind.

Naturally, he knew Head Caravan Master Zhao Hai.

He was the brains and stabilizing pillar of the entire caravan, a seasoned veteran who had spent decades battling his way through the trading firm.

The caravan routes, stopping points, social ties with powers in other regions, placating the outlaws along the way, handling emergencies... all rested on him alone.

Back when he had been a menial servant, Chen Cheng had vaguely sensed that even Shen Mi, the Proprietor, sometimes had to borrow Elder Wen's influence to keep Zhao Hai under control.

No wonder Laitou had killed and robbed before, yet Shen Mi could only smooth things over.

As for Zhao Chuan, Chen Cheng could basically determine that he was the blue-robed constable he had encountered in Bitter Locust Village that day.

To hold the position of patrol chief in the Patrol Guard Bureau, his skills could not possibly be weak. At the very least, he was a Martial Artist who had condensed two wisps of Blood Qi.

At present, Zhao Hai was away on a trading run and would still need more than a month before returning.

And that Zhao Chuan... though Chen Cheng did not know the depths of his ability, this thorn had been planted clear as day.

Chen Cheng's expression did not change, but the strings in his heart had silently drawn taut.

"All right. Have Zhang Ping take you to the accounts room to collect this month's salary... You're familiar with the warehouse too. Decide for yourself when to stand watch; morning or evening, it doesn't matter. Just make sure you put in two hours a day."

Shen Mi gave one final smile, then lowered her gaze back to the account books piled on her desk.

One hand lightly supported her temple, and in an instant, a layer of weary, difficult lines settled between her gentle brows.

Chen Cheng did not disturb her further and silently withdrew from the study.

There was another benefit to holding a post as a Martial Artist: money came before labor.

Zhang Ping led Chen Cheng next door to the accounts room.

The room was filled with the scent of old paper and inksticks.

Zhang Gu, the old accountant with grizzled white whiskers, was squinting as he reclined in a grand chair, leisurely sipping tea. Two young apprentices attended him thoroughly, one kneading his shoulders and the other pounding his legs.

Hearing the movement, Zhang Gu lifted his eyelids. Once Zhang Ping explained their purpose, his expression abruptly turned serious. He waved away the two apprentices, rose with a face full of smiles, and said, "A-Cheng! It really is you! Good lad! Incredible! Truly incredible! You've really made something of yourself now!"

"You're too polite, Master Zhang."

Chen Cheng replied calmly, though a trace of imperceptible coldness flickered in his eyes.

Chen Cheng knew Zhang Gu as well. He put on great airs and had a foul temper. Whenever it came time to hand out monthly wages, he always loved finding ways to make things difficult for and humiliate the lower servants, treating it as entertainment.

Even Zhang Ping, who had always been the harshest toward the menial servants, had a far better reputation among them than Zhang Gu did.

Zhang Gu was adept at reading faces. Seeing Chen Cheng's indifferent response, he quickly abandoned any thoughts of flattering and winning him over.

He returned to his seat, opened a yellowed ledger, scribbled down a few entries, then took out a key and opened the huge ebony cash chest behind him.

He took out five taels of loose silver, tossed them onto the table, casually pushed them toward Chen Cheng, then leaned back in his chair without another word.

Zhang Ping watched the loose silver with cold eyes, his throat bobbing involuntarily.

He had worked as a menial steward at the trading firm for many years, yet his monthly income was only one tael of loose silver.

And Chen Cheng had only just risen to prominence, yet his monthly salary was a full five times Zhang Ping's, even two taels more than the full-time Martial Artist guards in the firm.

Yet the moment that thought arose, Zhang Ping secretly spat at himself.

Could they even be compared?

Most of those full-time guards had either poor natural aptitude or suffered hidden injuries in their early years, leaving them unable to advance any further on the martial path.

But what was Chen Cheng?

A newly promoted Middle Academy disciple of Dragon Mountain Hall, with a future stretching beyond sight!

Those extra two taels Shen Mi had given him—how could they be wages? They were plainly chips wagered on the future!

Thinking of it that way, Zhang Ping felt much more comfortable.

Then he thought of the menial servants under him. They worked themselves to death every month, their sweat smashing into eight petals when it hit the ground, yet earned only a meager two hundred copper coins, merely one-fifth of his own income. That made him feel even better.

That was how the world worked: one layer pressed down upon another. When one could not measure up to those above, one could always look below for a little comfort.

Chen Cheng tucked the silver into his clothes. Its weight against his chest gave him a rare sense of solidity.

As for Zhang Gu, Chen Cheng had no desire to make a false-hearted friendship with him. After a brief farewell, he left.

Leaving the compound and going around through a narrow alley beside it piled with miscellaneous clutter, he arrived at the Yongsheng Trading Firm's warehouses.

A long row of warehouses with tall ridges and gray tiles stood connected together. Their walls were thick, their window openings high and narrow, and their heavy wooden doors were clad in Iron Skin and hung with weighty locks.

The air was thick with the mingled scents of tea, leather, medicinal herbs, and aged timber.

A separate room had been partitioned off along the street-facing side directly beside the warehouses.

Zhang Ping opened its door, then respectfully presented the key to Chen Cheng with both hands.

"Master Cheng, this room will belong to you from now on... Elder Wen used to rest here and drink tea. I regularly had people come clean it, so it's quite tidy."

Chen Cheng took the key and stepped inside.

The room was more spacious and brighter than he had expected. The tables and chairs were all made of solid hardwood, their edges and corners worn smooth as jade from years of use, carrying a faint woody fragrance.

There was a tea caddy on the table, while a warming brazier and an iron kettle for boiling water stood by the wall. Winter was soon approaching, and being able to drink hot tea was a comfort Chen Cheng had never dared to hope for before.

"Not bad."

Chen Cheng nodded in satisfaction. "Go tend to your work. I'll stand watch until noon today, then return to the Martial Hall."

Zhang Ping cupped his hands in a deeply respectful salute, backed away two steps, and only then turned to leave.

Outside this room was a fairly broad street, though there were usually not many pedestrians.

Chen Cheng simply began tempering his Crouching Dragon Fist at the doorway.

From time to time, porters carrying shoulder poles, women with vegetable baskets on their arms, or well-dressed stewards and shopkeepers hurried past. They could not help stealing glances at him, and upon spotting his Waist Token and training clothes, every one of them revealed expressions full of awe.

Before noon, news that Yongsheng Firm had hired a new Dragon Mountain Hall retainer spread through the surrounding neighborhood.

Those with intentions naturally weighed the matter carefully, while ordinary people understood even more clearly that another Martial Artist lord had appeared in the area—someone they had to cautiously avoid and absolutely could not offend.

At noon, Chen Cheng hurried as fast as he could and finally entered the Martial Hall dining hall just in time for the meal.

Though he had just received five taels of salary, there were too many money-devouring holes to fill. Saving one meal was one meal.

The food had just been served, and he had barely taken a few bites when a familiar voice suddenly rang out in the distance.

Qian Baolu was fiercely cursing at a tall, skinny disciple with dark skin.

"Xiao Yi! I'll fuck your ancestors!"