Chapter Four: The Guest

"Gold coins, gold coins, my dear gold coins!" Lin Qi lay intoxicated atop the pile of coins, nearly hysterical as he shouted, "My dear gold coins, my little sweethearts, how lovely you are! Oh, oh, another small piece of my life's dream has come true!"

Enzo and the Cripple both tilted their mouths in a wry smile.

Lin Qi had described his life's dream to them countless times—when he died, his tomb would be filled with gold, so he could rest forever in comfort, surrounded by endless gold. For gold, he was willing to do almost anything.

The Cripple coughed lightly and slapped the square table hard.

"Six finely crafted rapiers, three gold coins each."

His voice was severe, carrying an authority that brooked no argument.

Lin Qi lifted his head angrily, glancing at the dozen or so gleaming coins on the table, and roared in frustration, "Uncle Cripple, is this a black market? With such quality, just the cost of materials is more than three coins! Ten coins per rapier, or I'll take my business elsewhere!"

The Cripple shouted even louder, "Damn brat, ten coins? Why don’t you just rob me? Three coins, my profit is already thin. Remember what kind of business we're in—if the Empire were buying these rapiers, they'd be worth what you say, but ours is a business that never sees the light!"

Lin Qi deftly scooped up the coins from the table, and with each one that touched his palm, it vanished without a trace. This uncanny skill left Enzo and the Cripple in awe—it must take an extraordinary innate talent to possess such a technique.

In the blink of an eye, all eighteen coins and a silver piece were gone. Lin Qi slammed his hands onto the table and glared at the Cripple, shouting, "Yes, dear Uncle Cripple, our business is always in the shadows, so bargaining is expected. But your price is outrageous! It's not just an insult to these six exquisite rapiers—it's an insult to me!"

Eyes wide, Lin Qi roared, "Do you think I'd trek ten miles in the dead of night, losing sleep, just for a measly eighteen coins? I deal in big business—I wouldn't work so hard for such a paltry sum!"

The Cripple snorted coldly. 'Measly eighteen coins?' Lin Qi was the sort of scoundrel who’d bash someone’s head open for a single copper. Having known Lin Qi for three years, he understood the boy even better than Lin Qi's own father—his old friend Blackbeard. Eighteen coins? Lin Qi would walk a hundred miles for eighteen coppers.

Three coins a rapier—yes, the price was a little low, but then he remembered the wine Lin Qi had just drunk!

The Cripple’s heart hardened, and he gritted his teeth, "Three coins a rapier, no room for negotiation. But the batch of eastern herbs you took last month—the cost of those can offset the difference. If you don’t accept my terms, you can go to that dead camel and see what price he offers!"

"May the great gods bless your ancestors!" Lin Qi beamed, glancing at the bronze wine bottle on the floor, and smiled easily. "Deal, then. Let this bottle of wine be our celebration for another successful transaction. Ah, tonight’s wine, by the usual custom, is on you, isn’t it?"

The Cripple grunted, walked to the table, wrapped the six rapiers in cloth, and opened a hidden compartment in the wall, tossing the bundle inside. A sound of metal clashing echoed away, its destination unknown.

He pointed his thumb towards the tavern and snorted, "The usual rules—drink if you like, but if you cause trouble, I’ll break your legs! Hey, Wick, you can come out now. Is this how you treat your dear Uncle Cripple?"

The candlelight flickered and, from a shadowy corner, a thin, wiry figure slowly stood up. Dressed in tight black clothing, the small and monkey-like Wick emerged, holding a crossbow. He carefully removed the black-tipped bolt, then pulled the trigger, releasing a ‘twang’ from the empty string.

Lin Qi swayed joyfully, his arms swinging gently at his sides, bantering in his oily, glib tone, "Oh, oh, dear Wick, you mustn't do that—how can you aim a crossbow at our beloved Uncle Cripple? Next time, don’t do that. Especially since your bolts are poisoned—you’re such a naughty little devil!"

He sniffed, detecting the faint tang in the air, and his laughter grew even brighter. "You actually smeared my seven-step serpent venom on that bolt—the stuff I got from that old man last time. Wick, you really are a naughty little devil."

Wick bared his teeth in a grin at the Cripple, who was sweating coldly. He carefully hung the crossbow at his belt.

The Cripple shot Lin Qi a sidelong glance, his wariness of the boy growing. Seven-step serpent venom—damn them, they actually put that monster’s poison on the bolts! The crossbow was already a shameful assassin’s weapon, but combined with that venom, these youngsters were more cunning and ruthless than any in the Seventh Empire’s underworld. How had such prodigies emerged here?

"Worse still, they're on my turf!" The Cripple took a deep breath, feigning generosity as he said, "Alright, alright, my dear children—you may go enjoy yourselves. Eighteen coins is a tidy sum; you should spend a little here. Otherwise, it’s not wise for young folk like you to carry so much money around!"

"I’ll cover the wine, but Uncle Cripple has plenty more fun things here. Go spend a little, or I’ll be heartbroken—my gold coins, my poor coins!" He wiped at his eyes with a filthy sleeve, lamenting, "Those coins were earned one copper at a time, and you just walk off with eighteen at once!"

Lin Qi paid him no further heed—the deal was done, and the Cripple was no longer of any importance. Now it was time to drink, to make merry, and in the midst of revelry, to seek new opportunities for profit.

The Cripple’s shop was a fine place; Lin Qi always found plenty of ways to make money here and would never miss a chance.

They opened the secret door, ready to head to the tavern for a night of drinking and fun, when a tavern maid appeared from the darkness like a ghost.

"Boss, a few strange guests have arrived—Lisa slapped one of them."