Notice of Leave of Absence

The street of weapon workshops was not very long. After all, situated on the shores of the East China Sea, it seemed far removed from warfare, or at least it was not the epicenter of conflicts. Consequently, wealthy families preferred to spend more money on precious, connoisseur-grade items to display their refined taste, while ordinary citizens were more inclined to buy household essentials that provided security for their daily lives. Very few people actually purchased weapons, so there were not many weapon shops in operation.

Unlike the State of Wei, where people received militarized training from childhood and were instilled with the notion that the people of Wei were a superior race, the State of Yan was quite different. The fanatical passion for weapons and fine steeds found among the people of Wei was something other nations could scarcely compare to.

At the head of this street was an open space, usually a gathering spot where idlers sat to brag and chat. Beneath several towering trees, a group of people would always be congregated. Some minor peddlers, unable to afford a proper storefront, would squat in this area to set up makeshift stalls and sell various wares. Under normal circumstances, the bailiffs did not bother with them; they understood that no substantial bribes could be squeezed out of these peddlers.

When Han Qing led Han Mo to this location, they saw that the area beneath a large tree was already packed with people. Three or four circles of onlookers had formed, from the center of which came the neighing of a fine horse. The sound was exceptionally loud and full of vitality; simply by hearing the horse's voice, Han Mo knew it was an outstanding steed.

The surrounding crowd burst into cheers from time to time. These outbursts of admiration were evidently spontaneous, which puzzled Han Mo, leaving him wondering what kind of marvelous spectacle awaited him inside.

Relying on the fine physique he had cultivated over a dozen years, Han Qing easily carved a path through the crowd for Han Mo. Once Han Mo squeezed through, he discovered that amidst the gathering, a man was performing equestrian feats.

The steed possessed a thick mane and a coat of glossy, sleek black hair; it was robust and tall. Darting lightly back and forth upon its back was a thin, diminutive fellow, around twenty-three or twenty-four years of age. His skin was dark and weathered, suggesting a impoverished background, and the clothes he wore were such that only beggars in East China City would don—slovenly and tattered beyond recognition.

Yet, this disheveled beggar's horsemanship was truly breathtaking. The horse charged forward and backed away, performing various ultra-difficult maneuvers under the beggar's command. Some of the movements were almost unimaginable; he even managed to hang by his legs from the horse's neck, engaging in a staring contest with the beast, which drew roaring laughter from the surrounding onlookers, followed by involuntary applause.

There were not many people Han Mo held in genuine esteem; those who earned his admiration invariably possessed unique mastery and capability in a certain field. This diminutive, horse-riding beggar truly elicited a measure of respect from Han Mo, prompting him to join the crowd in applauding.

Just as the spectators were dazzled and thrilled beyond measure, the little fellow suddenly reined in the horse, dismounted with a graceful flip, and cupped his hands in a salute to the surrounding crowd.

Only then did Han Mo clearly see the beggar's face. His sharply contoured features were devoid of expression, like a block of stone, and even his deep, dark eyes held not a flicker of emotion, projecting an air of profound chilliness.

Han Mo had assumed that after cupping his hands, the beggar would launch into a practiced speech begging for rewards. Contrary to his expectations, however, the beggar seemed remarkably poor with words. After the salute, he turned back, picked up a bamboo hat from the ground, cradled it in his hands, and walked to the edge of the crowd. With a dull yet somewhat hopeful expression, he looked at the patrons before him, silently hoping to receive a few copper coins in reward.

In this day and age, everyone was eager to crowd around a lively spectacle, but when it came to parting with money, everyone vanished as quickly as possible. The moment the beggar picked up his hat, quite a few people dispersed. When he extended the hat to solicit tips, the excitement that had just gripped the crowd instantly evaporated. After all, the common folk of East China City were far from wealthy; they begrudged themselves food and clothing, let alone spare coins to hand out as rewards to others.

After making a full circle, the beggar had collected no more than twenty copper coins.

"Tamer, how much silver for this horse?" asked a young master who appeared somewhat affluent. "Name your price, and I'll buy it with silver."

The beggar simply shook his head with an expressionless face. Cradling his hat, he made one more circuit among the dwindling crowd and finally stopped in front of Han Mo, extending the bamboo hat.

His complexion was a sallow dark, his frame remarkably slender, making him look somewhat malnourished. His brow protruded slightly, and his features were utterly ordinary—the kind of face that would never attract notice in a crowd.

Han Mo asked with a smiling expression, "You are a grown man with plenty of skills. Doesn't it feel beneath your dignity to perform on the streets like this just to beg for tips?"

The beggar raised his head, glanced at Han Mo, and replied in a voice as cold as ice, "I rely on my own labor and honest effort; the money I earn is not disgraceful!"

"Splendid!" Han Mo chuckled. "Interesting, very interesting." Just as he was about to feel for his silver, he suddenly remembered that he had given all his money to Shopkeeper Han earlier. He turned to Han Qing and said, "How much silver did you bring? Give it all to him!"

Han Qing was momentarily startled, but quickly produced a tael of fragmented silver and said, "Young Master, this is all I have." He dropped it into the beggar's bamboo hat.

The beggar said nothing further. He merely glanced at the Yin-Yang staff in Han Mo's hand, his brow twitching slightly before he turned and walked away.

"Young Master, why did you give him so much silver?" Han Qing asked in a low voice.

Han Mo stroked his chin and said, "He is a man of backbone. Having fallen to such a state, he must have encountered misfortune. A tael of silver might help him through a difficult time." In his mind, however, he was deliberating whether he should bring the beggar back to the estate. After all, horsemanship masters with such miraculous skills were exceedingly rare; taking him back to teach him riding techniques would be an excellent idea.

Just as he was about to step forward and invite the beggar to sit down at a tavern, he heard someone shouting from behind, "Warden Huang is coming!"

The onlookers scattered instantly. The crowd, which had been packed tight as a wall just moments before, was now reduced to a mere scattering of a few individuals.

A cold smirk touched the corner of Han Mo's mouth. This Warden Huang was the head guard of the East China Prefecture Yamen, practically a confidant of East China Commandery Governor Xiao Muzan. Furthermore, Huang himself was originally brought from Yanjing by Xiao Muzan when the latter first assumed office.

Han Mo tugged at Han Qing's sleeve, and the two retreated behind the large tree, looking out into the distance. They saw Warden Huang clad in official robes, leading three or four bailiffs clutching heavy justice-enforcing staves, strolling leisurely toward them.

Among the crowd, a kind-hearted person called out softly to the beggar, "Horse tamer, hurry up and ride away. If you wait a moment longer, you won't be able to leave at all."

The beggar was in the midst of packing up his things. Hearing the warning, he actually turned his head and offered a faint smile to the person who had spoken. His normally icy countenance grew remarkably gentle because of that single smile.

As the beggar finished packing, Warden Huang and his men arrived. Several bailiffs immediately surrounded the beggar with malicious grins.

Warden Huang wore a saber at his waist, swaying two steps for every three he walked. His eyes remained fixed on the fine steed, filled with undisguised greed.

Having seen the world, he recognized at a glance that this was an authentic horse from Wei, and moreover, a top-tier specimen among Wei steeds, possessing exceptional stamina and speed. If taken to the horse market, even if sold at a steep discount, it would easily fetch two or three hundred taels of silver. It was an absolute treasure.

"Where are you from?" Warden Huang glanced at the beggar and asked indifferently.

The beggar remained motionless like a stone, his face devoid of emotion, and replied coldly, "The State of Wei!"

"I knew you were from Wei!" Warden Huang let out a cold, mocking laugh. "Those tattered boots on your feet are something only people from Wei are accustomed to wearing."

The boots the beggar wore were indeed quite worn out, but they were vastly different from the footwear of Yan. Aside from being tall and deep, their most conspicuous feature was an arc-shaped curve at the heel resembling a crescent moon, which looked rather aesthetic.

Warden Huang sized the beggar up a few more times before continuing, "What brings you to East China Commandery?"

"To make a living!"

"Make a living?" Warden Huang sneered. "Could you no longer survive in Wei?"

The beggar raised his head, his brow tightening slightly, and said coolly, "Sir, have I violated any laws of Yan?"

Warden Huang gripped the hilt of his saber and said coldly, "You are a man of Wei, dressed in rags, yet you possess such a top-grade horse. What are you plotting in my East China Commandery? Heh, could you be a spy from Wei? I have heard that there is an agency in Wei called the 'Black Flag.' The Black Flag operatives permeate various countries, gathering intelligence and covertly disrupting order elsewhere. I reckon you are one of those Black Flag operatives."

"I am not!"

"Not?" Warden Huang stepped forward to grab the horse's reins. "That is not for you to decide. Come with us to the yamen; whether you are or not, you can explain it to the Commandery Governor."

Before his hand could touch the reins, the horse suddenly snorted, let out a long neigh, and reared up on its front hooves, preparing to trample Warden Huang.

Warden Huang was startled. Fortunately, he possessed some martial skill; he threw himself into a roll on the ground, narrowly dodging the horse's lethal stamp. Even so, a heavy rain had just fallen, leaving the ground slick with mud. His dive left his robes completely caked in filth, making him look utterly wretched.

"Damn it!" Warden Huang flushed with anger and humiliation. "Brothers, beat this Wei spy to a pulp!"

Several bailiffs shouted in acknowledgment and lunged toward the beggar without hesitation. Swinging their heavy staves, they rained blows down upon the beggar's head and face. The beggar, however, stood like a stone without offering any resistance, letting the staves batter him like a storm. After just a few blows, the beggar's forehead split open, and fresh blood immediately began to trickle down.

"Young Master!" Han Qing clenched his fists, preparing to charge forward, but Han Mo pulled him back and whispered, "Wait. I want to see just how much endurance this fellow has!"