Qiu Yan could not figure out the reason behind it, nor did he dwell on it. Court struggles were too far removed from him; he still had many matters at hand.
In the woods, he had sensed someone watching him, yet he had failed to discover any trace of the other party. He had thus raced all the way back, taken a detour before returning to the city, then first gone to a pharmacy to buy a porcelain bottle and store the Blood Pill. Only afterward had he noticed the strange situation at the city gate and come over, where he heard the bailiffs' conversation.
The fact that news of the Emperor's death had only arrived now did not surprise him. Such news naturally had to be uniformly controlled and could not be leaked casually. Even if the authorities had received word in advance, without an official formal notification, they could not begin the state mourning procedures. Rituals were involved, and they had to be handled with utmost care.
Shaking his head, Qiu Yan turned and left.
Not long after he departed, the old man's carriage convoy entered the city.
Such a procession, with carts large and small, was bound to draw the attention of everyone in the city.
The scattered starving refugees nearby had been driven elsewhere by men sent by the county magistrate. However, some thieving hooligans and ruffians had been drawn over.
These men were as slippery as loaches. Though the convoy had guards, they could not keep ruffians from slipping through every crack. Before long, someone had crept up beside a cart, reached inside, and pulled out two items as though plucking bird eggs from a nest—two books.
"Why is it this?"
The man froze for a moment, then cursed his bad luck and tossed the