Chapter 449: Seizing Prohibited Salt

He had barely started speaking when someone covered his mouth. Cheng Qiangqi drew a large blade, and the Cheng family men all produced their weapons, yet the strangers made no move to attack.

"Pi Dazui, my apologies, brother. Master Jin sends his regards!" Cheng Qiangqi said a few words, then swung his blade down to strike.

The attack on Pi Dazui's side was carried out entirely by the Cheng family's own men; the people Zhao Jin had sent merely stood watch. Cheng Qiangqi understood why — a pledge of loyalty was required.

By the twentieth day of the first month, apart from a few pleasure-loving wealthy households, everywhere had returned to normal, and everyone was busily occupied with making a living.

The official roads, deserted for several dozen days, gradually grew lively again — traveling merchants doing business, people returning home or heading back to the city to work, all manner of things.

At this time, as usual, a large merchant convoy entered from the direction of Huai'an Prefecture. Over a hundred men guarded more than thirty large carts covered with tarpaulins, all fully laden with goods. The guards were all sturdy, able-bodied men, armed with fine iron weapons like pudao and goose-quill sabers, and a few even carried bows and arrows.

If anyone asked, these men would say they were transporting cloth and miscellaneous goods. In truth, no one foolish enough would ask — who didn't know this was prohibited salt coming from Huai'an Prefecture?

The Yellow River thawed in the second month, but navigation only became possible in the third, with grain transport opening slightly earlier. During this period, the waterways were impassable, so bulk salt shipments had to travel by land. And because the waterways were closed, the price of salt in these months was considerably higher than usual — overland transport was highly profitable.

Trafficking prohibited salt was a grave crime. Dealing in two or three catties of prohibited salt was an offense punishable by beheading, yet a massive shipment like this — over thirty large carts, amounting to tens of thousands of catties of salt — was something absolutely no one dared interfere with.

Those who dared traffic salt on this scale had officials and gentry backing them, with jianghu heroes providing escort. Every party along the route had been colluded with, and the local distributors were all local tyrants. Every link in this chain was someone you could not afford to offend, and no one would be so foolish as to meddle. Besides, after so many years, the customary fees had become established practice. The benefits drawn from this could no longer be considered extra income — they were practically like regular pay. There was profit in it, and no one dared cross them, so why bother? They simply turned a blind eye.

This large convoy traveled along the official road, and when passing through the villages and towns along the way, they would often unload a portion for the local tyrants there to handle distribution.

This entire system had been perfected over a hundred years, and everyone knew how it worked. In truth, they had never needed this many guards before, but the times were bad. The regions of Xuzhou, Henan, and Shandong were teeming with bandits and mounted raiders, and salt was easy to offload. For safety's sake, they still used men as escorts.

A hundred or so sturdy, able-bodied men wielding blades and spears, plus several dozen carters — a force like that traveling through the countryside, no one with any sense would dare provoke them. And around Huai'an Prefecture, who didn't know who was behind this large-scale prohibited salt operation? If you robbed a single cart, the Grass Nest bandits and the like would never let the matter rest, and worse, government troops might even show up. Who could afford to offend such people?

For all these reasons, the men guarding the convoy were relaxed in demeanor. They had run this assignment many times — no one dared make a move, and even the local tyrants of Xuzhou treated them with wary respect.

Entering Xuzhou from Pi Prefecture in Huai'an Prefecture, the first stop was ****, and the second was Fangcun Market. Salt was to be unloaded at both places, after which the convoy would continue west along the official road.

Something was already amiss when they passed ****. The people of **** Town, normally warm and courteous toward them, had turned very cold. And when they reached Fangcun Market, the people there simply ignored them and refused to let them enter.

What the hell was going on? Fine, let them go without salt and die of blandness! The convoy's steward and headman couldn't be bothered to deal with it and directly led the convoy onward. He knew, of course, about the conflict between Zhao Jin and the Feng family, but the salt convoy involved too many interests — he didn't believe Zhao Jin would dare make a move.

But no sooner had the convoy left Fangcun Market and gotten onto the official road than they saw barricades set up on the road ahead, blocking their passage. Looking back, they realized that at some point, the road behind them was completely empty of travelers as well.

At this hour, travelers and merchants should have been plentiful — how could it be so deserted? Something was definitely wrong. The steward, an old hand in the jianghu, immediately shouted for everyone to be on guard.

There was no sinister ambush lurking in the shadows; everything was done quite openly. Not far away, dust rose to the sky as hoofbeats thundered. Over two hundred riders emerged from all directions and directly surrounded the convoy.

The men on horseback were all tough and capable, equally well-armed with blades and spears, and carrying quite a few bows. The guards of the salt convoy immediately dared not make a move. Cavalry against infantry, and outnumbered at that — there was no way they could win.

"Gentlemen, let's talk this over peacefully. This is the Feng family's business. Don't you see the Double Horse flag on the carts?" the steward shouted.

The Feng family's Double Horse flag was a brand name throughout the Jiangbei prefectures of South Zhili. Even if you went into the Jiangnan region, or into Shandong or Henan, people recognized it.

In the past, even when they ran into a bit of trouble, the moment this flag was displayed, things would immediately go smoothly — sometimes it even prompted apologies and amends. The steward thought to himself: though Xuzhou might have grown lawless with Zhao Jin backing it, surely they would still give face to the Double Horse flag.

A pole was fixed to the shaft of the lead cart, and tied to the pole was a triangular pennant. On the flag, two horses stood facing each other — it looked very imposing.

The expressions of the riders surrounding the convoy did not change. One man shouted an order and spurred his horse forward. The guards around the convoy hastily parted — it wasn't yet time for a fight to the death.

The man rode up to the cart, raised his blade, and brought it down, directly severing the pole. The Double Horse flag fell to the ground, was trampled under the horses' hooves a few times, and instantly became a sorry sight.

The Double Horse flag, symbol of the Feng family, had been cut down? These Xuzhou men had such nerve! The convoy's men were all stunned, momentarily at a loss for how to react.

The rider's movements were fluid and continuous. First he cut down the flagpole, then as he swept past the cart, he reversed his blade and slashed again, directly cutting open the tarpaulin and the salt sacks inside. Gleaming white salt spilled out.

"What Double Horse or Double Donkey — that doesn't count for anything on this turf. So much salt — do you have a salt permit?" the rider bellowed.

A salt permit? The moment those words were spoken, everyone in the convoy, from the steward to the carters to the guards, all stared wide-eyed, their faces filled with utter disbelief. It wasn't just them — even among the two hundred riders surrounding them, some couldn't help but laugh out loud, their expressions all very strange.

The rider who had charged out glared back at them, then turned back, keeping a stern face, and asked again: "Without a salt permit and documents, do you know how grave a crime this much prohibited salt is?"

The steward's face had already contorted. Of course he knew that buying and selling salt required a salt permit and credentials, but who paid any attention to that except when the grand officials and salt commissioners were calculating against each other? Prohibited salt had moved this way for several hundred years — not just now, but even under the previous Mongol Yuan dynasty it had moved this way. Who would ever demand a salt permit? Wasn't this the biggest joke in the world?

The Feng family moving salt, and they needed a salt permit? Fury surged to the steward's head, and he was about to shout out, but before the words left his mouth, he saw the weapons in the hands of these mounted men — spear tips pointed forward, long blades drawn from their sheaths. This meant they were ready to kill at any moment.

"Good heroes, sirs, we small folk have always traveled this road and didn't know the rules had changed. Could the good heroes kindly explain more clearly?" the steward said with an ingratiating smile.

The man on horseback gave a cold snort, twirled the goose-quill saber in his hand, and shouted loudly: "Your grandpas here are the Xuzhou Guard Salt Patrol, conducting a routine inspection for prohibited salt! You criminals transporting illegal salt, surrender yourselves at once!"

Salt Patrol? The steward stumbled over the term. Fortunately, he traveled through Xuzhou often and knew some of its history. The Xuzhou Guard had three patrols — Salt Patrol, River Patrol, and Bandit Patrol — which were essentially three inspection offices under the Guard, specifically tasked with handling the canal, prohibited salt, and public order.

But the Salt Patrol had likely been defunct for over a hundred years. No one, from any side, wanted the nuisance of salt inspectors. Besides, the battalion commanders themselves were the ones harboring and distributing prohibited salt, so naturally they had no desire to stir things up. As for the River Patrol and Bandit Patrol, they were nothing more than names on paper and had long ceased to exist. If the steward hadn't once drunk with someone from the Xuzhou Guard, he wouldn't have even known about this.

When had this Salt Patrol suddenly appeared again? Had the Xuzhou Guard gone mad? The steward's mind was a tangled mess. Yet no matter how openly they operated, there was one thing he couldn't deny — his own side was indeed trafficking prohibited salt. If this truly went to the authorities and was handled strictly by the law, it would genuinely be a capital crime.

While he was lost in wild thoughts, the convoy guards began to stir. They knew of the conflict between Zhao Jin and the Feng family, and they knew the salt they were escorting was illegal. Surrounded by over two hundred riders with such aggressive momentum, and with a ready-made pretext in hand, what followed was surely going to end badly for them.

This arrogant man who had cut down the flag looked like a leader, and he was close by. If they could seize him as a hostage, perhaps there was a chance to turn things around.

They were all old hands in the jianghu — how could they not see how dangerous this situation was? They could still talk for now, but the slightest misstep and blood would spill within five paces.

A few of them conferred quietly, then began to edge closer to that man, feigning nonchalance. Once they got near enough, one man suddenly lunged into the air. If he could just grab one of the opponent's arms and yank downward, the man would lose his balance and fall from the horse, and they could immediately take control.

But the moment that man leaped, the rider who had been talking with the steward reacted instantly. He flicked the goose-quill saber in his hand, turned his wrist, and brought it down, striking the lunging man squarely and cleaving open his neck. Blood sprayed as the man crashed to the ground.

Someone screamed, someone roared. The few who had drawn close no longer cared about taking him alive — they were ready to kill. But the moment they moved, the mounted men surrounding them loosed arrows. Shrill whistles cut through the air — swish, swish — and several men were shot dead on the spot.

With that, the entire convoy fell into chaos. The guards all drew their weapons, and some even strung their bows and nocked arrows. But the men surrounding them were no slower to act. A dozen or so archers, their aim remarkably true, first shot down those among the cart guards who carried bows. The area around the flag-cutter was also cleared out. The rest leveled their long spears and charged directly forward.

Charging on horseback — how could these foot-slogging guards be any match? They were speared to death right in front of the carts. In that brief clash, a full third of the salt convoy's guards died at once. The carters had long since scrambled off the carts in terror; some simply knelt on the carts, kowtowing and weeping for mercy.

"Anyone who doesn't want to die, stay still! Drop your weapons and kneel!" someone shouted.