Chapter Forty: Bargaining

After discussing their plan with the other three bosses, Mr. Wu left the Ten Mile Fragrance Inn and made his way to the Chu Family Town, arriving at a secluded alley.

The darkness of the night made the alley appear especially gloomy. To add to the eeriness, there was a coffin shop in the alley, filled with straw mannequins. In the dim light, they looked like rigid corpses standing sentinel, intensifying the sense of dread.

Mr. Wu took several deep breaths before he finally arrived at the back gate of the coffin shop. He knocked on the door ten times in a rhythmic pattern.

Soon, the shop owner appeared—a bent old man with a head full of white hair, dressed in tattered hemp robes, and blind in one eye.

Upon seeing Mr. Wu, the coffin maker showed no deference, despite the difference in their attire: his own rags compared to Mr. Wu’s silk and brocade. His one good eye glanced at Mr. Wu with disdain. “Looking to hire someone?”

Mr. Wu nodded. “Yes, I need your help to deal with someone.”

The old man asked, “What kind of killer do you want from the Hall of Yama?”

“How much is your cheapest?” Mr. Wu inquired.

“Five taels of silver,” replied the old man.

“That expensive? Nothing cheaper?” asked Mr. Wu.

The old man countered, “Is the target from Chu Family Town?”

“Yes,” Mr. Wu answered.

“Then it’s four hundred and fifty copper coins—no less.”

Mr. Wu tried to bargain. The old man wouldn’t budge. In the end, Mr. Wu reluctantly handed over four taels of silver and fifty coins. “Count it.”

After counting, the old man asked, “Who’s the target?”

“Chu Yun,” Mr. Wu replied.

To his surprise, the old man immediately returned the money. “Sorry, the Hall of Yama won’t take this job.”

Mr. Wu was taken aback. “What’s wrong? Even the Hall of Yama is afraid to cross Chu Yun?”

The old man snorted. “Nonsense. We’re not afraid of him. But Chu Yun is highly skilled, and he’s already left Chu Family Town. Killing him would be troublesome. The silver you’re offering is far too little. Not a penny less than twenty taels.”

Mr. Wu waved his hand. “I don’t need you to actually kill him. Just send someone to give him a good scare.”

The old man replied, “Then even four hundred and fifty coins won’t do. Contacting killers from other areas just to handle him will cost at least three taels of silver.”

“How much do you want, then?” Mr. Wu asked.

“At least seven taels,” said the old man.

Mr. Wu calculated: Li Duofu, Chu Shiniang, and Chu Fugui had given him a total of nine taels. If he paid seven, he could still pocket two.

He agreed, “Fine, seven it is. But you have to make sure people know an assassin was sent after Chu Yun.”

“No problem,” the old man answered, “but you need to add one more tael.”

“Don’t get greedy,” Mr. Wu retorted.

The old man replied, “You’re not really trying to kill Chu Yun, just want everyone to know an assassin went after him. So you’re doing this as a favor for someone else, aren’t you? With that in mind, can’t you take a smaller cut?”

“But they only gave me seven taels! I can’t lose money on this,” Mr. Wu protested.

The old man shook his head. “Impossible. There’s no way you only got seven taels. Everyone knows you’re ruthless—herbs you buy for a few coins, you sell for tens, making ten times the profit.”

Mr. Wu was speechless but had no choice but to agree. “Fine. Eight taels it is.”

He handed over eight taels, reminding the old man, “Do a good job.”

“Don’t worry,” the old man replied softly.

He was delighted—this deal would net him at least three taels, a tidy profit.

...

Meanwhile, Chu Yun and Luo Feng had ridden hard all day, arriving at a town called Qinghe, where they checked into a local inn.

The Hall of Yama’s assassin in Qinghe had already received a message by carrier pigeon from Chu Family Town: they were to frighten a man named Chu Yun.

Though they had never seen Chu Yun, assassins from the Hall of Yama had their own ways of identifying their targets. This was precisely what made their organization so formidable.

Deep into the night, Chu Yun lay in bed when suddenly his window was gently pushed open.

A cold wind swept in, chilling him to the bone. As a former special forces field medic, Chu Yun remained alert even in his sleep, and the breeze woke him instantly.

Opening his eyes, he saw the window ajar, and a head dangling down from above. The head was covered in white, with only three black holes—at first glance, it looked like a faceless ghost, terrifying to behold.

But Chu Yun was unfazed. He didn’t believe in ghosts.

He sprang from his bed and rushed toward the window, throwing a punch at the hanging head.

It was, as expected, not a ghost but an assassin from the Hall of Yama. The killer was surprised by Chu Yun’s swift reaction and quickly twisted his waist to dodge the punch—his agility was just enough to avoid it.

The assassin then scrambled onto the roof and darted away.

His original plan had been to reveal himself as a hired killer and offer Chu Yun a chance to buy him off. That way, Chu Yun would be frightened, and he could pocket some extra cash—a win-win.

But now, all he wanted was to run for his life.

From the instant Chu Yun detected him and counterattacked, the killer realized this was not someone to be trifled with. If he didn’t escape quickly, he might meet a grisly end.

Hearing the footsteps pounding across the roof tiles, Chu Yun knew the intruder had fled far, but he still gave chase.

Before crossing into this world, as a special forces field medic, he had zero tolerance for evil; whenever he encountered thieves or bandits, he would always intervene.

Now, since the villain had come knocking at his door, how could he possibly let him escape?