Flying Fish Island was surely crawling with experts from all the major sects and lineages by now. The entire island had probably been plowed over several times; however much treasure and money there was, it would all be divided up in a frenzy.
He probably would not get anything, and more importantly, he did not want to show his face or steal the limelight over something like this. Having any faction set its sights on him would be bad news.
He would stay out of that commotion. Instead, he would watch a likely escape route and see whether he could pick up anything others had missed.
Of course, his decision to guard this stretch of intersecting waterways was based on speculation. He might gain something, or he might not. If any fish slipped through the net and headed straight downstream without stopping, there was nothing he could do.
Zhao Feng held his breath and waited quietly. Murder and arson earned a belt of gold, and when it came to that, he had plenty of patience.
This stretch of river had been silent, its surface as smooth as a mirror.
Now, however, the river wind gradually picked up, seemingly carrying the scent of blood from the distant horizon and startling the reeds into a rustling chorus.
Just then, a black speck in the distance rapidly grew larger. It was a swift boat!
"They're here!" Zhao Feng perked up. Watching closely through the gaps between the reeds, he saw a black-canopied swift boat with six oars and a rigid sail. Six sailors in short working clothes were rowing frantically aboard it.
"Eldest Young Master, we're almost at Thousand Leaf Marsh," an old man in a headscarf, disguised as a member of the Mountain Tribe, told a young man dressed in Mountain Tribe