Chapter 118: Buying Information

Autumn had arrived, and the late-summer heat raged unchecked; the night air in Jingcheng remained stiflingly hot.

Deep into the night, the gambling den buzzed with noise.

Chen Guanlou, disguised as a middle-aged man, walked boldly through the front gate of the gambling den.

Aside from the two bouncers at the entrance who glanced at him twice, no one paid him any attention—he was just another unfamiliar newcomer. All eyes were fixed on the gambling tables, the undisputed center of the gamblers’ universe.

Chen Guanlou played two hands and lost a small sum, then walked to the staircase and told the bouncer stationed there: “I wish to see Old Zhao Feng. Kindly announce me.”

The bouncer, seeing a stranger’s face, clearly grew impatient.

Chen Guanlou smoothly pulled out a corner of silver and slipped it into the man’s hand. “Whether Old Zhao Feng sees me or not, please just announce me. Tell him I want to buy information.”

The bouncer took the money and finally went upstairs to report. Moments later, he waved Chen Guanlou up to the second floor.

On the second floor, seeing Old Zhao Feng again, Chen Guanlou felt a wave of emotion. If not for Old Zhao Feng’s information, Yaya would never have been found in time. He had to admit: though the hundred taels of silver spent on the information were expensive, they were worth every bit.

He stepped forward, bowed respectfully, and performed a junior’s salute. “Your humble servant greets Old Zhao Feng.”

“I hear you want to buy information?”

Old Zhao Feng cut straight to the point, studying him. “You’re unfamiliar. First time here.”

Chen Guanlou nodded, offering no denial. “I was told by fellow travelers that you’re the most well-informed man in the Jianghu. That’s why I’ve come.”

Old Zhao Feng laughed heartily, clearly pleased. He gestured for Chen Guanlou to sit.

“It’s only the Jianghu friends being kind—nothing to speak of, nothing at all. I’m old, old. Can’t match the boldness and drive of today’s young men. Friend, what information do you seek?”

At Old Zhao Feng’s place, the rule was simple: never ask origins, never ask destinations—only provide information. Fair trade, no deception, for young or old alike.

Chen Guanlou smiled faintly. This time, he played the role of a wealthy traveling merchant—dressed in brocade and silk, speaking with a foreign accent. Ah, sometimes having too many disguises was a nuisance. So much preparation required. Today, to meet Old Zhao Feng, he’d specifically bought this outfit—and spent a good deal of silver.

“May I ask, sir, who is Qi Laoda?”

He had only one goal: uncover Qi Laoda’s true identity.

At these words, Old Zhao Feng’s expression shifted slightly; his eyes narrowed into slits, piercing Chen Guanlou like blades.

He was weighing Chen Guanlou’s identity and background. Recalling recent rumors of the nameless hero, he harbored a quiet suspicion. Then he said: “I’m sorry, but I cannot provide any information on Qi Laoda. However, I do have another piece of news you might find interesting. If you doubt my reliability, you need not pay.”

Chen Guanlou raised an eyebrow. Was Qi Laoda truly that mysterious—even Old Zhao Feng refused to speak? What kind of background, what kind of status, made even Old Zhao Feng hesitate and flatly refuse?

He arched an eyebrow and followed the man’s lead. “What news is this? Regardless of its usefulness, I will pay the full price.”

Old Zhao Feng cleared his throat, leaned back in his chair, and spoke slowly: “Lately, more people have appeared in Jingcheng, asking about the identity and origins of the nameless hero. Beware—these people are not here for peace. Those who come with good intent don’t come at all.”

Chen Guanlou’s eyebrows lifted slightly.

No matter what was said, he would never admit he was the nameless hero.

He played the part of an ordinary bystander, continuing the conversation: “I’ve heard too. Recently, Qi Laoda had a deal ruined—rumor says the nameless hero did it. Do you truly have no information on Qi Laoda? I’ll double the payment.”

Old Zhao Feng waved his hand repeatedly, his tone and expression grave. “Friend, you misunderstand. This isn’t about money. I truly have no information on Qi Laoda. I’ve only just heard of him myself. He must be an outsider, a powerful newcomer. Beyond that, I know nothing.”

Chen Guanlou didn’t believe a single word. Old Zhao Feng’s reputation rested on being all-knowing, never failing. For years, he had never let down a paying customer.

Anyone who came here with silver always walked away with the answer they sought.

There was no reason Qi Laoda should be an exception.

Clearly, Qi Laoda’s identity was not just hidden—it was backed by formidable power. So formidable, even Old Zhao Feng feared him.

Others believed the child-trafficking case was over. But for Chen Guanlou, it was far from finished.

Far away in the Hu family, and the mysterious Qi Laoda—they were both on his death list.

Had he possessed greater strength, he would have already stormed the Hu estate. Not yet, not yet—he told himself. Wait until he reached the third chapter of the Sheng Tian Lu, then he would settle accounts.

This was not for himself, but for the countless innocent children and women trafficked, to demand justice for the world. He had no hero complex—he simply believed a man must have principles. Other evils he could ignore, but traffickers must die.

Clearly, Qi Laoda was the Hu family’s superior. As long as he lived, more victims would appear. And the only source of information was Old Zhao Feng—yet he refused to speak.

Chen Guanlou smiled coldly inside.

People were all cowards, afraid of death, bullying the weak and fearing the strong. Of course, he was no different—he sometimes bullied the weak too, and he feared death even more. He had barely gained immortality; all he wanted was to live. So he must grow stronger, stronger, strongest.

He acted decisively, pulling out an envelope. Inside were five hundred taels in silver notes.

Old Zhao Feng’s maid dared not take it. She glanced at him, silently asking what to do.

Old Zhao Feng reached out and slowly pushed the envelope back across the table. The money was too hot to touch.

The older one grows in the Jianghu, the more timid one becomes.

Old Zhao Feng wanted to live longer. He didn’t want trouble.

“Forgive me—I cannot provide the information. Let today be the making of a friendship.” With that, he raised his tea cup as a dismissal.

Chen Guanlou chuckled, pressing his hand on the envelope. “Why push me away so coldly, sir? I only need one piece of information.”

“I cannot provide it,” Old Zhao Feng repeated. His stance was clear: Qi Laoda was locked in a black room, never to be mentioned again—no matter who asked.

Chen Guanlou frowned slightly, displeased. He couldn’t get information here. Where else could he find news of Qi Laoda? He couldn’t force the man, so he asked: “Please, sir, guide me—where should I go?”

He refused to accept defeat.

Old Zhao Feng hesitated, then suggested: “Earlier, I mentioned the newcomers in Jingcheng. Why not start there? You might find something. May your wishes come true—but be careful. Don’t lose your life.”

Chen Guanlou smiled. “Thank you for the advice, sir. I’m a merchant—I only do business. I don’t do fighting or killing.”

“Excellent! Excellent!” Old Zhao Feng said eagerly. He was desperate to see the man leave.

This guest was too hot to handle.

Chen Guanlou, ever perceptive, rose and took his leave.