Hooves clattered as Chen Chong sat in a corner of the carriage.
The carriage was cramped to begin with, and Zhang Yide's goods took up most of it: bolts of cloth, ironware, rouge and face powder, several jars of pickled vegetables, and a live chicken with its feet tied together. The chicken clucked and flapped its wings now and then.
Chen Chong huddled in the corner, his knees pressed against a wooden crate and his back against the carriage wall. At least he could still move a little. Across from him, Zhang Yide was wedged so tightly he could not move at all.
Broad-shouldered and thick-backed, Zhang Yide sat pinned between the goods like a stone stuffed into a box, yet he still wore that guileless grin.
"Senior Brother," Chen Chong said, "is this what you meant by bringing a little merchandise back to sell at the sect?"
Zhang Yide struggled to free his hands from the pile and scratched the back of his head. "These things sell well. Plenty of people in the sect devote themselves to cultivation and don't like going down the mountain. Bring back a few novelties, and you won't have to worry about finding buyers."
Chen Chong glanced at the small patch of space where he could still move, and his eyebrow twitched. Fortunately, the journey was not long.
Zhang Yide started talking about their encounter at the Moon-Pillow Pavilion the night before, waggling his eyebrows at Chen Chong.
His thick brows rose and fell, and his grin turned knowing. "Junior Brother, that young lady Xiao He was quite pretty. When she took your arm, I saw her slow her steps. And you? You sent her off with a banknote."
Chen Chong did not know whether to laugh or cry. "You've misunderstood, Senior Brother. We