At this point, they did not yet have the name "Flowing Sand."
They simply took commissions in the streets that ordinary people dared not accept, helping wronged commoners secure justice.
They had no fixed base.
Today, they met in a teahouse; tomorrow, they discussed matters in a ruined temple.
The world was vast, and anywhere could be home.
Their only unchanging rule was one Ning Yuanzhou had established-help only those in the right, and never bow to the powerful.
That day, an old man in ragged clothes knelt before the ruined temple they frequented.
His forehead was covered in bloody marks from kowtowing. "Please, good heroes, get justice for my daughter!"
Ning Yuanzhou and his companions immediately helped the old man up.
Then the old man began pouring out his grievances.
It turned out that his daughter had caught the eye of Zhao Heng, a notorious young wastrel in the Capital City, who had abducted her and raped her to death.
The old man had reported it to the authorities, only to discover that Zhao Heng had bribed them. They had picked some vagrant to take the blame and hastily closed the case.
When the old man refused to accept this, they beat him instead, breaking two of his ribs.
"He's the current prime minister's only son! The authorities wouldn't dare touch him!"
The old man sobbed so hard he could barely speak. "My daughter can't rest in peace!"
The air inside the ruined temple froze instantly.
Yin Jiuyou slammed his fist into a pillar, sending splinters flying. "Beast! Filthy officials!"
Luo Qingwan's hand trembled slightly around her medicine chest, her eyes filled with fury.
Ning Yuanzhou simply listened in silence.
But when he raised his head again, the warmth in his eyes had dropped below freezing. "The address."