"Thank you, Special Envoy, thank you!"
Zhao Hongyuan bowed repeatedly, tears of gratitude in his eyes, as he backed out of the room step by step.
The courtyard was quiet.
Only when he was far from the guest room did Zhao Hongyuan straighten his back.
He glanced at the Chief Steward, Lin Guiyong, who was hiding in the shadows and discreetly raised one finger.
"One?"
Lin Guiyong was overjoyed and quickly rushed off to pack his belongings, preparing to flee.
The two jujube trees in the courtyard had lost all their leaves, the setting sun casting dappled light through the branches.
Zhao Hongyuan reached out, broke a dry twig, and rubbed it repeatedly between his fingers.
Jujube trees are hard to cultivate.
This was the fifth year since he planted them, but there was only one harvest.
He wouldn't be around to wait for next August's crop.
Zhao Hongyuan stood silently in the courtyard, exhaling deeply.
Five years ago, he was still a small-time businessman, making a decent living through clever trades—not wealthy, but comfortable enough to afford a concubine.
Everything changed with that finely dressed old man wounded on the roadside.
Driven by the idea that he found something rare, Zhao Hongyuan decided in mere breaths to secretly place the old man on his carriage and nurse him back to health.
Once the old man awoke and revealed his identity, all retreat was impossible.
Damn it, Water Baptism Sect!
Back then, Zhao Hongyuan regretted it bitterly, but now he wasn't just unregretful—he felt fortunate.
To make a fortune, you must be a little mad.
From then on, the Water Baptism Sect secretly supported him, allowing him to openly expand his business while secretly serving as a sect member.
His goal was to nurture mountain spirits in Peaceful Sun Town and surrounding areas for future harvest.
The choice of Peaceful Sun Town was less about selection and more about the town's rich environment attracting the sect.
Over two decades, the town’s population swelled, yet being a town and not a county, it lacked government oversight.
Second, the town's Martial Hall attracted many wandering martial artists, who frequently disappeared without raising suspicion, like Lu Shaohui—aloof and solitary—whose death concerned no one.
Such an environment bred mighty mountain spirits.
All the sect provided was a plantable Treasure Plant, and some covert help against rivals—achievements gained with little cost.
Zhao Hongyuan even suspected that the sect had developed many others like him, spreading like a dense jujube tree, interconnected yet independent.
In five years, things went smoothly.
The mountain spirit numbers grew, continuously harvested and replaced each breeding cycle.
Zhao Hongyuan's wealth multiplied dozens of times, with assets spread from small towns to major counties!
There was just one problem: Master Zhao didn't believe in their religion at all!
What Water Baptism Sect? Despite its righteous-sounding name, it worshipped the sinister Old Water Mother! Calamity Water God!
It should've been called Ghost Mother Sect! A long-exposed, sinking ship!
Look at Great Shun, thriving majestically! Regular bandits could live well by hiding their identities, but rebel leaders faced relentless pursuit, inevitably meeting their end.
There was no escape if he were to lead and be discovered.
Unless he spent his life hiding with the Ghost Mother Sect in the vast marshlands, living like neither man nor ghost, struggling to buy soap to wash away the fish stench.
Draining the last benefits from this sinking ship and disappearing was the best plan!
The escape opportunity came quickly with this blood sacrifice!
For half a month, from exposing Lu Shaohui’s murder to revealing the mountain spirits at the River God Sacrifice, and even outing the Dharma Lotus Temple’s hideout—Zhao Hongyuan intentionally exposed it all!
It was his excuse for being “reckless,” his ploy to push the blood sacrifice task onto the sect envoy.
Huang Zejun agreed, but Zhao Hongyuan wasn’t about to visit their main base.
Nonsense! Going meant never returning, living as a stray dog forever.
He had long greased the right palms, planning an escape by boat to the distant Huangzhou.
The sect couldn’t reach him there, far from the Jianghuai Marshlands.
Though a few businesses remained unliquidated, two Fetal Pearl Pills from the Galloping Horse Realm and four silver notes amounting to thousands were enough for a fresh start!
Lucky for him, the sect’s young ones were fools.
A Tiger-Hunting Realm Martial Artist could live up to 120 years, Perfect Manifestation even longer.
Yet 60 years post-Great Qian’s downfall, while some old-timers lived on, middle generations perished, leaving elder veterans detesting labor roles.
Born post-fall, like Special Envoy Huang Zejun, the youth formed the “core strength.” Capable yet naive, sheltered on Water Island, never venturing or witnessing the vast world.
They were constantly bathed in the past glories reminiscence by elders, forced to endure present hardships.
Living off fables of ancients' luxuries, while chewing on raw fish and periodically deworming.
Such a life warped them—impulsive, arrogant, incapable, essentially overgrown babies!
Zhao Hongyuan, a seasoned survivalist, easily manipulated them.
Huang Zejun, merely two days here, already held Zhao in high regard.
With a casual motion, Zhao planted the twig into the soil and summoned Zheng Xiang, handing him a stack of papers.
"Deliver this to that Liang boy."
Zheng Xiang was terrified.
"What are you thinking? If I planned to abandon you, would I have confided in you days ago? Didn’t you offend him before? Apologize, offer this under that pretense. Liang’s expected at Peaceful Sun Dock by dusk; when going, smear some mountain spirit blood—let him catch the scent. Afterward, head to Cloud River Dock; I've prepped a small boat to Grand Splendor County. Await me there. Join me in Huangzhou for fine dining and comfort!"
"Master!"
Zheng Xiang was touched.
Had Zhao not shared, he’d be foolishly left for reckoning.
Zhao needed manpower for his comeback.
Not informing Zheng earlier was tactical—for secrecy; now was retreat time, and trusted aides were necessary.
Zheng Xiang, adept in recruiting robust men, once mistook his own master’s preferences.
The papers were Zhao's final safeguard; minimizing Great Shun’s reckoning required maximizing misfortune upon Ghost Mother Sect.
Dusk fell, the street sporadically populated, people heading home.
Liang Qu leaned against the fishing boat’s center; a faint thud echoed as hulls touched.
He saw Zheng Xiang approaching, bundles in hand—knowing Liang’s schedule.
"You’re back, Young Master Liang.”
Liang Qu didn’t disembark, buttressing the boat with his oar, smiling slightly, “Steward Zheng, what’s your scheme?”
“Just apologizing, Young Master.”
“Oh, what for? We’re—” Liang planned to jest but caught Zheng’s eye movement, receiving the bundle.
The bundle meant little, the scent mattered—mountain spirit’s notorious stench.
Liang’s demeanor shifted, accepting the gift, “No quarrel between us; bygones be bygones.”
“Indeed, Young Master Liang, what a remarkable figure of Peaceful Sun, truly outstanding.”
Zheng, drenched in sweat, muttered empty praises before hurrying off.
Curiously, like a secret rendezvous.
Liang’s brow furrowed, discreetly taking his package back to the Martial Hall.
(End of Chapter)