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For all that the old woman’s house looked like a garbage heap, her memory was terrifyingly sharp. She knew exactly which piece of junk was stuffed into which nook or cranny.
It did not take long for her to unearth the black-and-white jars. There were eight of them.
He Lingchuan carefully pried each one open and checked the contents. Satisfied, he broke into a relaxed smile. “Excellent. Not damp.” He then swept them all into his storage ring.
In moments like this, the advantages of spatial storage truly shone.
Shan Youjun produced a silver ingot and handed it to the old man. “Let’s go.”
* * *
Northwest of Bailu Town lay an abandoned mine.
It had been a poor ore vein to begin with, small in scale, with only a little over a decade of active digging. The mine shaft itself had long since flooded and turned into a green, shimmering pool where fish darted in the depths. As for the shacks where miners once lived, they had found new occupants.
A whole band of warhorses grazed in the surrounding woods, while sentries kept watch around the pit. Inside the dilapidated huts, army medics were busy trying to save Baili Qing’s life.
After losing his arm to He Lingchuan’s blade, he had still stubbornly commanded the fight and the retreat. By the time reinforcements dragged him back, he had lost so much blood that he drifted on the edge of c...
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