The Freight Depot seemed like an enormous maze, its warehouses packed together like fish scales and comb teeth. All around was quiet, broken only by the occasional voice, barking dog, or sound of goods being moved.
The steward stopped outside a warehouse and bowed. "Young Master, we're here."
Wang Yang took out a string of coins and smiled. "Thank you for your trouble, Steward Liu. We'll go in ourselves."
Though the steward had known Wang Yang would tip him, he still accepted the money with an anxious air. "Please, Young Master! You honor this humble servant far too much!"
For some reason, the sight made Poker Face loathe Wang Yang even more.
The warehouse was huge. As soon as they stepped through the door, a stale, musty odor washed over them. Crates of goods stood in numerous square formations, with aisles crisscrossing between them.
It was so dark that Poker Face could not tell how far those formations extended. Only the moonlight falling through the skylight and the lantern in Wang Yang's hand shed a little light on their immediate surroundings. Everything farther away lay swallowed in darkness, barely visible as the outlines of little mountains.
"Where's the grain?" Poker Face asked.
"Ahead. Right there." Wang Yang pointed.
Poker Face narrowed his eyes and approached. The grain sacks were stacked higher than a man's head. The Golden Short Sword slipped from his sleeve and slit one of the sacks. Its contents poured out like running water...
It was not grain.
It was sand and dirt.
Pfft!
The lantern abruptly went out!
Darkness surged in like a tide, engulfing everything around them in an instant!
Poker Face realized something was wrong. Locating Wang Yang by sound, he darted like a flying shadow toward the direction of his retreat!
One more step,