Chapter 104: Meeting With A Beggar III

The old beggar’s eyes sparkled as he carefully pulled the gold coins deeper into his tattered sleeves. Seeing that the mercenary was genuinely invested, he adjusted his posture and dropped his voice another octave, adding one more crucial piece of information.

"Since you are so generous today, Tiger Head, I will give you another piece of news from earlier," the old beggar murmured, leaning back against the damp brick wall with a knowing look. "Word from the local tavern keepers is that Lin Laifu was seen staggering toward Lu Feng’s mini-estate while heavily intoxicated. He had a sizable group of bodyguards and followers with him when he went in."

The beggar paused, letting the suspense hang in the air for a brief moment. "However, when the merchant made his way back out toward the market district, he had significantly fewer people following behind him."

The tattooed man’s eyebrows shot up. Lin Laifu was a cunning merchant who never moved without full protection. For him to leave an estate with fewer men meant something definitive had transpired behind those closed doors—something quiet, swift, and absolute.

"Where exactly is this estate?" the tattooed man asked immediately, stepping closer and lowering his voice.

Instead of answering, the old beggar simply raised his right hand, rubbing his thumb and index finger together in a deliberate, universal gesture. "Ah, now that is an entirely different question altogether, my friend. Knowing a man’s identity is one thing, but pinpointing his sanctuary? That requires an entirely separate fee."

The mercenary clicked his tongue, annoyance flashing across his face, but he knew better than to waste time arguing when a massive payout was on the line. Reaching into his leather pouch once more, he pulled out three solid gold coins and let them drop into the dirty clay bowl with a heavy, metallic clatter.

The beggar’s toothless smile broadened instantly. Without further hesitation, he provided a precise description of the mini-estate, detailing its surrounding landmarks, the quiet cobblestone street it sat on, and its exact placement within the upper Eastern district.

The tattooed man committed every detail to memory, nodding slowly. To close the transaction cleanly and keep the old broker happy, he tossed one final gold coin into the bowl as a tip for the thorough intelligence before turning on his heel.

Without delaying a single second, he melted into the shadows of the alleyway and made his way directly toward the upper Eastern district.

Navigating through the quieter, wider streets of the wealthy sector, he soon spotted the grand perimeter walls surrounding Lu Feng’s property. However, as he drew closer, the mercenary suddenly stopped in his tracks, his eyes narrowing in suspicion.

An active yet invisible barrier hummed softly in the night air, completely enveloping the entire estate.

The tattooed man frowned deeply as he examined the subtle, invisible ripples in the atmosphere. The spiritual energy radiating from the boundary was dense, intricate, and impeccably structured.

Breaching a defensive array of this magnitude undetected would be nearly impossible for someone at his level. Trying to force his way through would instantly alert whoever was inside, turning a stealthy reconnaissance mission into an unwinnable confrontation.

Determined to inspect the perimeter for any weakness, he softened his steps, loosened his posture, and began swaying slightly from side to side like a tavern drunk stumbling home late at night. He moved casually along the stone wall, pretending to stagger as he approached the grand front gates.

Just as he got within a few yards of the entrance, the faint sound of footsteps echoed from the other side.

The mercenary immediately froze, leaning his shoulder against the cold masonry just beside the main gate while maintaining his sloppy, drunken posture.

Clack.

The heavy wooden gate opened briefly—just a tiny crack—and then shut tight once again with a dull thud. The tattooed man squinted into the dim light, unable to tell if anyone had exited or if someone had simply checked the latch.

Before he could process it, the gate swung open once more.

This time, a stern-looking man stepped out into the cool night air. It was Song Heng, his gaze sharp as he immediately spotted the large, bald man leaning against the wall right beside the entrance.

Song Heng’s hand rested comfortably near his side as he crossed his arms, staring down the intruder with a heavy, piercing glare. "What are you doing wandering around here at this hour?" he asked, his voice firm and laced with quiet authority.

The tattooed mercenary let out a slurred chuckle, waving a hand vaguely in the air while leaning heavily against the brickwork. "Ah... pardon me, chief. Too much wine at the tavern down the street. I was trying to find my way back to the lower district, but these streets all look the same in the dark. Seems I got myself completely lost."

Song Heng eyed the scarred, heavily tattooed man up and down, clearly unimpressed by the act. He pointed a finger down the long, cobblestone avenue toward the outer border of the sector. "This is private property. Keep walking straight down that road, take a left at the main intersection, and you’ll find the public thoroughfare. Don’t linger around these gates again."

"Right, right... heading out now. Appreciate it, brother," the tattooed man muttered, nodding foolishly as he stumbled a couple of steps forward to show compliance.

Song Heng watched him closely for another second before stepping back inside the estate grounds. The heavy wooden gate swung shut, and the iron latch clicked firmly into place.

Silence returned to the street, but the moment the guard was gone, the surrounding temperature began to drop rapidly.

A slow, biting chill crept through the air, causing the hair on the mercenary’s arms to stand straight up. The cold wasn’t just physical—it carried a heavy, suffocating weight that seemed to press down on his chest. An intense, instinctual urge to run began to rise rapidly from the depths of his chest, screaming at his mind that staying anywhere near these walls was a fatal mistake.

Something unseen was watching him, and his instincts warned him that his business here was entirely done.

Without waiting to confirm the terrifying feeling or looking back toward the shadowy estate, the tattooed man turned on his heel and began walking away at a hurried pace. He kept his head down, suppressing his panicked breathing as he put as much distance as possible between himself and the property.

Attempting anything near that estate was pure suicide. He couldn’t stay behind any longer. He would have to lie in wait and strike his target at a completely different time—preferably when the boy finally stepped out into the open city.