"Have some tea first... take your time."
Under the tree in the courtyard, Wei Sheng had Ding Ying sit down. Wei He brought him a cup of tea, and Ding Ying rose to thank him before taking a sip.
Perhaps infected by Wei Sheng's calm composure, Ding Ying settled down considerably.
"Boss, here's what happened..."
As Ding Ying recounted the events, Wei Sheng's expression gradually grew grave.
It turned out that a strange customer had come to the Zhenglong Gambling House yesterday.
He had been bundled up tightly from head to toe, his arms and face hidden beneath thick clothing.
At first, Ding Ying had merely been curious and given him a few extra looks. Seeing that the man wasn't cheating, he hadn't paid much attention.
Later, driven frantic by his losses, the man had actually grabbed for the money on the gambling table. When the gang members guarding the premises moved to stop him, they discovered that his arms, wrapped in thick layers of tattered cloth and ragged clothing, were covered in dense yellow pustules. The yellow fluid that spattered out when they burst was foul beyond belief.
And it was extremely contagious!
Several gang members who had grappled with him were infected that very night. Yellow lumps began growing on their arms, and they developed fevers, vomiting, and diarrhea.
They had summoned a physician, but even after several doses of prescribed medicine, there had been no improvement.
"Where is that man now?" Wei Sheng asked.
"He lived in Bitterwater Lane on Gatehouse Street..."
Ding Ying hurriedly answered:
"After he stole the gambling house's silver, I took some men to his home. He was lying dead in bed, his whole body rotting away. But where the yellow pustules had originally grown, a blood-red fleshy growth had faintly begun to