Chapter 23: Zhao San Meets His Match

They tore the place apart, leaving dust swirling in the air. Old garments were scattered across the floor, the rice jar was scraped down to its bottom, and even the bed boards were pried up. Yet, the results left Zhao San deeply disappointed. Aside from a few pieces of dark, coarsely stitched homespun cloth, there was nothing.

"Damn it! This is cursed!" Zhao San grabbed the scraps of cloth and sniffed them, but smelled nothing but mold. He could not fathom it. Was this really what Gu Changshan had delivered? Was it just practice material for this little wench?

Unwilling to accept this, he slammed the cloth onto the ground and pointed a menacing finger at Shen Guilan. "You little slut, just you wait! Don't let me catch you in a mistake!"

The group left, cursing as they went, and the courtyard returned to a deathly silence. Only then did Shen Guilan relax her clenched fists, her palms slick with cold sweat. She walked to the stove and gently stroked the icy clay, a faint, imperceptible smile curling her lips.

Zhao San would never know that just moments before he led his men into the village, the man he called the "Bane"—Gu Changshan—had already quietly spirited away a fresh haul of premium wild ginseng through a secret path known only to veteran hunters. And beneath the very ground Zhao San had been standing on, three feet under that stove, lay the first "military fund" Gu Changshan had secured with that ginseng: a full hundred bundles of superior embroidery thread from the South, with colors so vivid they far surpassed anything found in the official workshops.

Seven days later.

Before the morning mist had fully dissipated, Gu Changshan’s figure appeared in the Shen family's backyard like a phantom.

Shen Guilan handed him a heavy parcel. As it was opened, even Gu Changshan’s eyes, accustomed to the storms and snows of the mountains, flickered with awe. Inside were ten exquisitely crafted gift boxes. The plain, unassuming tuckahoe was wrapped in brocade pouches embroidered with delicate flowers, the stitches so fine the blossoms seemed to be blooming directly on the fabric. The wooden boxes holding the ginseng were adorned with lifelike butterflies stitched in gold and silver thread; the patterns on the wings were so intricate and magnificent that they seemed ready to take flight.

The rarities of the wild, paired with the craftsmanship of the South. These were no longer simple mountain goods; they were works of art.

"The foreign merchant arrives tomorrow," Shen Guilan whispered. "These are 'Mountain Goods Embroidery Gift Boxes.' The tuckahoe pouches can be used as sachets, and the ginseng boxes as jewelry cases. The value has at least tripled."

Gu Changshan nodded in silence, carefully shouldering the parcel before turning to vanish into the mountain forest.

The next day, when the golden-haired, blue-eyed Western merchant saw the boxes, he let out an exaggerated gasp of wonder. He struck a deal on the spot, agreeing to purchase all future "Mountain Goods Embroidery Gift Boxes" for the next three months at five times the price offered by Shopkeeper Qian.

The news spread like wildfire. Shopkeeper Qian was so enraged he smashed his favorite purple clay teapot on the spot. "Shen Guilan! Gu Changshan! Fine, very fine! A lowly wench and a bane of a man, daring to set up their own shop right under my nose!"

With a darkened face, he issued a lethal order to Zhao San: "Spread the word for me! From today on, any transport service or porter in Qingshui Town who dares to help the Shen family move goods is making an enemy of me! I will cut off their family's livelihood!"

The threat was effective. Overnight, no one dared to take jobs from Shen Guilan.

That night, three thugs bribed by Shopkeeper Qian with heavy coin snuck out with goods they had stolen from the Shen home, attempting to transport them out of town via a back road.

The moonlight was cold, and the mountain path was silent. As they reached a narrow mountain pass, a dark shadow descended from above. Like a hawk striking a rabbit, it landed silently before them.

It was Gu Changshan.

He did not even draw his blade. He simply stood there, and the chilling aura of slaughter radiating from his body made the knees of the three thugs turn to jelly; they nearly collapsed.

"Gu... Master Gu..."

Gu Changshan did not speak, moving closer with every step. With each stride he took, the mountain wind seemed to grow colder. The three men dropped their burdens in terror and scrambled away down the mountain.

Gu Changshan bent down to pick up the scattered embroidery boxes one by one, gently brushing off the dust as if he were touching a priceless treasure. He turned back toward the shadows where the three men had vanished, his voice cold enough to freeze blood as he spoke each word clearly:

"Go back and tell that Qian fellow."

"Do not touch what belongs to her."