The biting morning wind was like a knife, blowing across the spacious courtyard paved with bluestones of the Sifang Escort Agency.
Shen San shrank his neck and wrapped himself in a coarse cloth bunker that didn't fit well, trying to reduce his presence as much as possible.
The courtyard was bustling with people, and the escorts were in groups, chatting loudly about last night's drinking party and the girl who hooked up. The white steam coming out of their mouths mixed with the aroma of oil cakes rolled in the cold air.
She doesn't like the taste.
Too greasy, too fresh, like a pot of boiling lard that could melt her cold iron at any time.
In the center of the crowd, Zhao Heihu, the head of the second bodyguard of the escort agency, was assigning today's work with spitfire.
He was a tall man with a sinewy face, and his big copper-bell eyes were bloodshot. He was obviously hungover.
"... Zhang Mazi, you take people through the official road and send the batch of silk and satin to Fucheng. Remember, don't fucking cause me any trouble again!" Zhao Heihu's voice was as rough as sandpaper rubbing against wood, and the whole yard buzzed.
