Chapter 132 Hostile Examination
The market was bustling with noise, a cacophony of various languages.
A ruddy-faced man from northern China led a lean camel and a sturdy horse, his voice rough and loud. This was the hardest currency in the desert, ensuring he could always find a way out.
Several vendors from the Central Plains carrying their wares crossed the roadside, and the children swarmed around them like a flock of birds, their eyes glued to the ingenious gadgets inside.
The air was filled with the smoky aroma of roasting meat, the sour smell of milk, and the fishy odor of leather. A bag of salt could be exchanged for a sable pelt, and a bolt of silk for a horse; such nodding transactions were common in the desert.
Strongly scented spices, whether used for seasoning or incense, were mostly affordable only to wealthy foreign merchants, itinerant traders, and settled merchants.
It has absolutely nothing to do with a clothing vendor who sells leather goods in a felt tent next to a dirt slope.
His cold, dark eyes lifted the curtain.
.
There are many caravans coming and going in the desert, so it's not difficult to do some small business. Sang Laoqi specializes in buying and selling hides, and occasionally makes a little extra money. He also sells some silk garments from the Central Plains.
But in the end, it's just a small stall made of a gray-brown felt tent. Customers with real money wouldn't even glance at this nook and cranny.
He might not find a single sucker among the silk garments he smuggled around for a month or two.
He finally had a stroke of good luck a few days ago, but before he could even enjoy the money, this murderer came back to kill him.
Sang Laoqi swallowed hard, and when he looked up and met the gaze of the person in front of him, his red face, which was covered in sweat, gradually turned pale.
It wasn't that he was a coward, but rather that this person hadn't uttered a single word since entering, only staring intently at him with those cold and wild eyes, as if trying to pierce through him.
Almost instinctively, Sang Laoqi's heart skipped a beat, as if he had been hit by a sharp arrow.
In that moment of pounding fear, all I could do was hold my breath and calm myself down.
The visitor neither exchanged pleasantries nor set any traps, nor offered any explicit advice. Instead, he seemed like a wolf eyeing its prey, circling around and waiting for the visitor to reveal a weakness.
Outside the tent, there was a cacophony of voices, but inside, he remained silent as a cicada in winter.
Under that fierce gaze, he almost silently counted his own heartbeats.
The oppressive silence made him feel suffocated, and the prolonged pressure brought out countless feelings of guilt and fear, which stared at him like a bottomless pit.
Sang Laoqi's eyes flickered, and he felt as if he had a water balloon about to burst in his heart, causing him to break out in a cold sweat.
What is the purpose of this person's visit?
When he was young, Sang Laoqi was considered a semi-江湖人 (jianghu person, a person who walks the martial arts world), and he did business in a place like Mobei. His hands were never too clean. This evil god had a sheathless sword at his waist, his eyes were as sharp as knives, and he smelled of blood all over his body. How could he not be terrified?
His mouth tasted bitter, and he was so regretful that his bones were trembling. Why did he have to be so foolish as to sell the clothes to this King of Hell at a higher price? How could he earn money to buy his life so easily?
Just as I was catching my breath and about to grit my teeth and ask a question, the other party spoke first, getting straight to the point.
"Where is the scent of spices from your sleeves coming from?"
The question was extremely brief and direct. Sang Laoqi hadn't expected that this was the reason for his visit. He subconsciously breathed a sigh of relief and denied it, saying, "I'm just a rough guy, what fragrance would I have on me?"
He lifted his outer garment, sniffed, and croaked, "It smells strongly of sweat, and quite sour. Young hero, you've probably come to the wrong person..."
Cold-blooded ignored his attempts to cover up and interrupted him directly: "Three days ago, he wore a blue cross-collar linen shirt, ochre trousers, and black cloth shoes."
Sang Laoqi's heart skipped a beat. Even he himself had forgotten which clothes he was wearing three days ago, yet this person remembered him from head to toe so clearly.
Three days ago...
He removed his hand from his nose, rubbed it together, and recalled, "Back then, I probably chatted with some rich old man for a bit, and before long, the scent had seeped into my clothes. How could someone like me be so lucky as to use spices?"
He scratched the back of his head, his face crinkling with laughter.
Leng Xue suddenly stepped forward, getting very close to him, his eyes fixed on him.
"to be honest."
Sang Laoqi's heart skipped a beat. Facing that sharp, icy gaze, he paused briefly before calmly explaining in detail. At first glance, there weren't any major flaws. After all, it was adjacent to a trade route, a place teeming with all sorts of people; relying solely on a mere fragrance wouldn't be difficult to explain.
As long as he doesn't make any mistakes, even the constables can't do anything to him.
However, when dealing with cases, a cold-blooded person tends to trust their animalistic instincts more than logical clues, just like now.
His gaze fell on the other man's sweaty neck, where the veins throbbed rapidly beneath the skin.
His nose twitched slightly, and his voice was cold as he said, word by word, "Your scent has changed."
"—You're lying."
Sang Laoqi's pupils suddenly contracted, and his nostrils reflexively opened and closed.
How is that possible! Is it really possible for someone to judge a person by their scent?
This person had blue hair and eyes, and a sharp, wild nature. Strangely enough, this seemingly supernatural pronouncement sent a chill down Sang Laoqi's spine.
These are turbulent times, with rumors of demons and ghosts harming people spreading like wildfire throughout the city. His heart skipped a beat, and he shook his head hastily, his face pale. He pretended to be busy sweeping, his wrists trembling as he held the broom.
He avoids the topic, but his cold-bloodedness won't give him a chance.
Once he has determined that someone is problematic, he can go without eating, drinking, or sleeping, interrogating and pressuring them repeatedly, like a wolf gnawing on a bone, until the other party breaks down.
It was more like coercion than interrogation.
Sang Laoqi quickly gave in and vomited everything up.
He was originally a nobody, but he got involved because one of his brothers was doing the job of making contact and keeping watch.
He had no choice but to explain with a pale face: "Go east, past Xiangsha Road, there's a Fengquan Alley inside. You'll find a lame man selling medicinal herbs there, just ask him..."
"Shopkeeper, how is the quality of this Panax notoginseng? Are the roots still intact?"
The lame man glanced at the two men, his gaze subtly sweeping over the cold-faced swordsman, before speaking fluently: "Sir, you have a good eye. This is top-quality goods from the Central Plains; there's no doubt about it!"
Qi Tang glanced at Song Ju's deadpan face, patiently picked up the angelica root, and said as if to suggest, "Let's add some astragalus root to replenish qi and strengthen the spleen."
The lame man understood and pulled a cloth bag from under the vendor's stall. "Astragalus is good. If your spleen and stomach are weak, you need to strengthen them, support your body's resistance, and expel pathogens. Cash payment?"
Before Qi Tang could reply, with a clatter, several gold ingots fell into the hidden compartment behind the stall.
He drew his longsword, picked up the bundle, and turned to leave.
Qi Tang was speechless, inwardly cursing Song Ju, but she skillfully forced a sweet smile onto her face, nodded to the lame man, and quickly followed.
Seeing the cold, indifferent back, Qi Tang angrily shouted, "Song Ju, am I your servant?"
"Couldn't you have waited for me? I still have questions for him!"
Song Ju didn't stop walking. Upon hearing this, he turned his head slightly and raised his eyebrows almost imperceptibly, as if to sarcastically ask, "What brilliant ideas could you possibly have?"
...I wanted to snatch the bundle and throw it in his face.
Qi Tang bit her cheek and grabbed him, snatching the gray cloth bag from him. As she unwrapped it, she struggled and said, "He was going to hand it to me."
He's like a saw-off gourd, never uttering a sound, just always stealing her credit.
For the two of them, dealing with demons and ghosts was commonplace, and Qi Tang naturally knew that acting so hastily on the street might alert the enemy.
In the past, she would have long since retreated into her sword and remained indifferent, but this time, she felt she had to take the lead.
The dusty cloth bundle was haphazardly untied, and Song Ju remained silent with a cold face. Hesitation and timidity were never his style; after a lifetime of demon-hunting, was he really going to hesitate over a mere minor demon?
He simply stopped and watched the sword spirit act foolishly.
The knots were loose, and inside the bundle was a neatly folded black cloak, with a wooden mask at the bottom.
Qi Tang lowered her head and sniffed twice, then examined the cloak thoroughly, turning it inside out, but found nothing unusual.
His bright eyes quickly dimmed, and he couldn't help but stroke his mask and say discouraging things.
Song Ju glanced sideways at her sunken cheeks, hummed a little laughter through his nose, and was about to speak when he suddenly felt a chill behind him, a sharp killing intent like a drawn sword pressed against his back.
The visitor is not friendly.
His previously indifferent eyes instantly turned icy, and he turned to the side, returning the look with his eyes.
These were bloodshot blue eyes, filled with undisguised hostility and scrutiny, like a wild beast eyeing an intruder. Perhaps there was something deeper, but that was beyond Song Ju's consideration.
He could already smell the spiritual energy of the Qiongju Sword on the other person.
Song Ju's gaze shifted downwards, landing on the sheathless sword clenched tightly between his pale fingertips.
The thickness of the blade and the engravings are exactly the same.
Tsk.
He narrowed his eyes, and after a moment, lowered his gaze, his eyes devoid of any emotional fluctuation.
Sensing the sudden stillness, Qi Tang raised her head as if guided, and met those emerald eyes for a moment.
Before one could discern the inner turmoil of emotions, the newcomer abruptly averted their gaze, standing motionless like a cold, hard stone, their back ramrod straight.
As if stung by something, Qi Tang unconsciously curled up her hand.
She knew that the other party was a constable who had come for the case in Mobei, and that it was only a matter of time before they met. However, the speed of their encounter was still beyond her expectations.
Qi Tang was completely unprepared; in fact, she didn't know what she should prepare.
All she knew was that the closer she got to the truth, the closer she got to danger. Even though constables could manage worldly affairs and save lives, how could matters of demons and ghosts be decided by humans?
At least until this matter calms down, it's best not to involve him. Besides, Leng Lingqi is definitely not unaware of the unusual things happening to her.
That's why he left without saying goodbye.
Her heart seemed to writhe with a scorch mark, and her eyelashes trembled as she lowered her eyes.
In the instant their gazes met, the sharp and capable young man suddenly moved. His knuckles protruded, his steps were powerful, and he reached them in a few strides, standing between the two of them, interrogating them like a criminal: "Where were you three days ago?"
His eyes were like knives, scrutinizing Song Ju from head to toe, as if searching for the fastest place to strike, but his gaze kept drifting to the purple sword at the white-clad swordsman's waist, his knuckles turning white.
"Why are you two here? Are you old friends?"
He turned his gaze, staring intently into those bewildered doe eyes, and coldly demanded, "Why are your eyes bluish?"
Qi Tang was still in shock, and subconsciously touched her eyes, looking bewildered and helpless.
Song Ju, however, was completely unceremonious, his voice even colder, as he said, word by word, "What does this have to do with you?"
With a cold, hunched back, he didn't waste any words. He pulled out the Pingluanjue from his chest and said in a tone as hard as iron, "Investigate the case."
"I have no criminal record."
Before the words were even finished, with a 'clang,' the sheathless thin sword was drawn. "You have the right to refuse."
After a brief pause, the sword tip suddenly pointed at the opponent's throat, his cold-blooded eyes filled with icy killing intent, "I also have the right to kill."
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