Chapter 60: You Have Disappointed Me

The night was as black as ink.

At the entrance to the black market.

Several heads moved about.

“Boss Sun, why haven’t the Salt Gang arrived yet?”

A gaunt, monkey-like man scratched his ear.

Sun Ming was also growing impatient, but as their leader, he could only grunt: “If I say wait, you wait. Why so many complaints?”

Qinghe had many gangs.

The Firewood Gang, the Fishing Gang, the Horse Gang—most were poor folk banding together for survival, gradually forming organizations that grew stronger and gained influence in the region.

But the Salt Gang was a special case.

Salt and iron were state monopolies; the Yu Kingdom enforced state procurement of both.

In other words, these two trades were too profitable, so the imperial court wanted the money for itself.

Thus, compared to other gangs, the Salt Gang consisted entirely of lawbreakers.

The Salt Gang’s leader’s name was always on the government’s wanted list.

Yet smuggling salt persisted despite repeated crackdowns, simply because the profits were enormous.

A twenty percent profit could entice someone; fifty percent made people willing to risk their lives; a hundred percent drove them to madness.

And the profit from selling salt was more than a hundredfold!

The gaunt man rubbed his hands: “Finally, a sale! This time we’ll make at least a hundred taels!”

Sun Ming also felt anticipation.

“After tonight, I’ll take you all to Hua Yelou for some fun.”

Lately, he’d worried Li Rui wasn’t on board, so he’d shut down all illicit businesses.

His income had dropped by more than seventy percent.

His underlings had been starving and whining.

Seeing that Li Rui had accepted the goods and reviewed the ledgers without further action, he finally dared to resume black-market dealings.

If you asked what was most profitable—

It was undoubtedly salt.

So he didn’t hesitate to approach the Salt Gang.

To ordinary people, the Salt Gang was a terrifying, forbidden presence.

But to the upper class, they were gods of wealth.

In the households of officials and wealthy families, it was an unwritten rule.

If Deputy Captain Zhao Wei hadn’t permitted it, how would he dare act so brazenly?

Soon—

Several figures appeared in the distance.

“They’re here!”

A few thin, poorly dressed men approached Sun Ming. The leader, a short-eyed middle-aged man, kept one hand tucked in his chest. He glanced around, then pulled out a sack nearly half a man’s height.

No one could figure out how he’d hidden such a large sack on his person.

Sun Ming knew the Salt Gang’s ways well.

No words—just deliver the goods.

Or rather, they were men of few words but deadly intent.

After all, these were men who lived with their heads on their belts; there was no room for cheerfulness.

Anyone who’d bought smuggled salt knew: the more you talked, the faster you died.

“Eighty taels.”

The short-eyed man spoke in a hoarse voice, extending his hand for silver.

Sun Ming sneered: “Hold on. I need to inspect the goods first.”

Salt was a nuanced commodity—the price difference between coarse and fine salt was vast; experienced salt traders could tell quality by a single taste.

He untied the hemp rope securing the sack.

Glistening, slightly dark white granules appeared before him.

Sun Ming pinched a few and tasted them.

First came saltiness, then a faint bitterness.

“Good.”

He nodded in satisfaction.

Ancient salt-making didn’t use sea salt but salt mines, full of impurities and lacking purification techniques—so this quality was already quite good.

“Eighty taels is fair.”

Sun Ming knew: when dealing with the Salt Gang, you didn’t haggle.

Smuggling salt meant losing your head.

If you tried to steal even the death money, you were worse than an animal.

Sun Ming considered himself quite honorable.

But the moment he pulled out the banknote—

Torches suddenly flared all around.

“Who’s there?!”

He turned his head.

A familiar face stepped out from the darkness behind the torches, grinning with yellowed teeth.

“Little Sun, you’ve disappointed me.”

Sun Ming recognized the old face—his expression darkened instantly.

“Damn it! We’ve been had!”

He stared at Li Rui’s radiant smile, wanting to grind his teeth to dust—but quickly drew a deep breath and forced a smile: “Brother Li, what’s this? Don’t let water flood the Dragon King’s temple.”

Li Rui shook his head slightly in regret:

“Little Sun, I always thought you were a decent young man.”

When Captain Deng first told me someone in our black market was smuggling salt, I didn’t believe him. I never imagined it was you.”

“How am I supposed to explain this to Deputy Captain Zhao?”

He added self-reproachfully:

“It’s my old eyes that failed me—I misjudged you.”

Then he turned to the lean, middle-aged man beside him, clad in the black-blue uniform of the government office.

“Captain Deng, thank you for your efforts.”

Captain Deng bowed to Li Rui: “Brother Li, you’re upholding justice even against kin—we’re grateful, no effort is too much.”

His eyes gleamed.

Liu the Captain was dead; he had taken his place.

He’d been desperate for a case—and now Sun Ming had walked right into his lap.

Arresting salt smugglers was a major achievement, reportable to the prefecture—no doubt the County Magistrate would be pleased.

“Take them away!”

Captain Deng waved his hand; several constables rushed forward. Sun Ming and his men dared not resist. The Salt Gang members had no such restraint—they drew their blades and clashed with the constables.

The outcome was inevitable: all were slain on the spot.

Sun Ming was dragged away by constables, eyes blazing as he glared at Li Rui and Captain Deng: “You’ll remember this—this isn’t over!”

Captain Deng sneered:

“That’s right—it’s not over.”

The imperial court is currently cracking down hard on salt smugglers; he needed heads, and this fat man was perfect.

He turned to Li Rui and bowed: “Brother Li, I’ll take my leave.”

With that, Captain Deng led his men away.

He saw clearly: Sun Ming had been sold out by Li Rui.

But so what?

Smuggling salt was proven fact—enough to condemn him.

One thing at a time.

Even the Heaven and Earth Alliance couldn’t interfere with the government.

Besides, who says he doesn’t have powerful backers?

Captain Deng glanced at Sun Ming’s defiant face and laughed coldly.

“Blame Zhao Wei—he’s drawn too many enemies by showing off.”

Sun Ming was dead.

He died in prison—from fright, never even reaching the execution ground.

At first, Sun Ming would shout threats; later, he grew silent, and finally went days without speaking a word.

The more vicious a man, the greater his terror at death.

Sun Ming died in his own fear.

Zhao Wei never showed his face throughout.

Buying smuggled salt, once brought to light, is useless even if Yuan Xiong intervenes—unless the County Magistrate doesn’t want his head.

Some things, once touched, demand a price.

In the black market.

Li Rui flipped through his book as usual, as if Sun Ming’s affair had never happened.

He pinched a green teacup between his fingers.

He sipped the tea.

“Pity he’s dead—the tea was truly excellent. I should’ve asked sooner.”

(End of Chapter)