Chapter Thirty-Six: A Thousand Taels Reward

Qin Xiaomo leapt from the carriage in a single bound, seized the lapels of the mustachioed medicine peddler, and dragged him into a secluded alley. “You little weasel!” she demanded. “Not only did you sell me fake medicine, but you’re running around peddling information about my whereabouts. Are you tired of living? Give me back my money!”

“Miss, please! What are you saying? I’m an honest merchant—how could I sell fake medicine? Besides, I don’t even know who you are. How could I possibly be selling your whereabouts?” The mustachioed man squinted ingratiatingly, a fawning smile plastered across his face.

Qin Xiaomo thought to herself, That’s true. He doesn’t know who I am—how could he be selling my information? She was just about to loosen her grip when Red Mole shouted from the mouth of the alley, “It’s him! He’s the one who told us where you’d be—I paid a hundred taels of silver for it!”

“How many times did you sell me out?” Qin Xiaomo asked through gritted teeth.

With a grand gesture, the mustachioed man said, “Not many, not many. Just…” He began counting on his fingers, then after a long moment, “Seven or eight teams at most.”

Qin Xiaomo’s teeth ached with anger. “You unscrupulous peddler! If I don’t thrash you today and get my money back, I’ll never be satisfied.” Her teeth ground audibly as she spoke.

“You…you people—” The mustachioed man, seeing the group behind her, realized he could no longer deny it. His bravado vanished, replaced by a sycophantic grin. “Life’s not easy, you know. I’m just trying to make a living.”

“Listen to you, so cultured! Is it because your wife despises you?” Qin Xiaomo sneered.

“Heh, that’s impossible! I’m the backbone of my family—how could she dare look down on me?” The mustachioed man puffed out his chest, feeling mighty and imposing despite his short stature.

“Hmph! With our money, no less,” Red Mole said, looking at him with utter contempt.

“I don’t have time to banter with you. Pick an arm or a leg—quickly!” Qin Xiaomo brushed dust from her sleeve, impatience clear in her voice.

“What? Arm or leg?”

“Hurry up and choose. Once I break one, our accounts will be settled.”

“There’s no need for violence, miss. Let’s talk this over,” the mustachioed man said, wearing the sly expression of a haggling merchant, as if he could easily fool a naive girl.

Qin Xiaomo was thoroughly annoyed by his slick tone; he reminded her of the roast chicken seller back home, always shortchanging customers and feigning innocence when confronted. To cut to the chase, she reached for a wooden door bolt nearby and snapped it clean in two.

The mustachioed man was stunned, rendered speechless, his hands trembling within his sleeves.

“Shall I see whether your leg is tougher than this bolt?” Qin Xiaomo dusted off her hands.

He shook his head desperately.

She found his reaction most satisfying—nothing like killing a chicken to scare the monkeys. “Either return the money or lose an arm or a leg. Make your choice.”

“Oh, miss, you can’t! In my line of work, I rely on my legs to run and my hands to trade—without them, my whole family would starve! Heroine, have mercy!” He was about to fall to his knees.

“Then return the money.”

“Uh…uh…” He twisted his sleeves, stammering.

“Not talking? Tie him up!” Qin Xiaomo ordered Red Mole and Cold Face.

“Yes, Miss Qin!” they replied, moving to seize him.

“Wait, wait! I’ll talk! I’ll talk! I spent it all…all at the Qianchun Brothel a few days ago…” The mustachioed man’s voice grew softer and softer, like a child caught without homework.

“Despicable!” Red Mole scoffed. “That won’t do! What about my money? So you mean you can’t pay us back?” He lunged to grab the man.

“I can! I can!” The mustachioed man yelped in terror.

“How?” Qin Xiaomo gestured for her companions to hold back.

“I’ll trade you information about the Golden Valley! It’s worth a fortune!” He spoke as if making a great sacrifice.

“Let’s hear it.” Qin Xiaomo propped her foot on a stone, squinting and stroking her chin, the very image of a female ruffian extorting a protection fee.

“The young master of Golden Valley has fallen ill in a most peculiar way,” the mustachioed man began, his expression as gossipy as the neighborhood aunt. “Normally, he’s sharp-tongued and quick-witted, but these past days, he’s suddenly frozen mid-sentence, his mouth twitching and stiff, completely out of control. Stranger still, mysterious bruises have been appearing all over his body—none one day, covered the next. You have to understand, he’s the Valley Master’s favorite son, always surrounded by guards. Even if someone wanted to beat him, who could get close?”

Qin Xiaomo recalled the games she’d designed before—Golden Valley wasn’t one of her creations, so she knew little about it.

“Even the best physician in the three counties has been stumped. The Valley Master dotes on his youngest son and, in desperation, has offered a bounty of a thousand gold taels to anyone who can cure the young master. What’s more, he’s promised to grant any wish to the healer who succeeds!”

Qin Xiaomo’s heart leapt for joy. Finally, an opportunity! She feigned indifference and prompted him, “But…?”

“Miss Qin, you are truly clever! Even with such a tempting reward, few dare to try. Do you know why?” The mustachioed man’s tone was that of a storyteller, needing only a fan and a gavel.

Red Mole and Cold Face listened intently, shaking their heads in unison. The mustachioed man, pleased, continued, “Because there’s a catch—only those who cure the young master will receive the reward. If you fail, the punishment is death.”

Qin Xiaomo thought, Of course. Curing illness is never a sure thing. A single misstep and you could be responsible for life or death. Success brings fame, fortune, and status; failure means a thousand cuts and an unmarked grave. Unless you have absolute confidence in your medical skills, who would dare take such a risk?

“That’s why,” the mustachioed man concluded, “even with a thousand-tael bounty, few have come to treat the young master. Only Physician Xue remains, tending him alone.” Leaning in, he whispered, “Many say the young master won’t live past tomorrow. It’s rumored that Physician Xue’s family has already prepared a coffin for him, just in case. Even Xue himself doesn’t know what the illness is—he’s been trying every remedy, but the more he tries, the worse it gets.”

“Poor Physician Xue,” Red Mole said with genuine sympathy.

“This information isn’t worth the price,” Qin Xiaomo said, preparing to act. “Red Mole, Cold Face—”

“Yes!” The two responded, grabbing the mustachioed man.

“Wait, wait! I have something important to say!” he protested desperately.