In the thirteenth year of the Tianbao era: I became Yang Guozhong's eldest son.

Before he finished speaking, a person suddenly fell out from the bend in the slope ahead.

The man was in his fifties. His gray-blue short robe was torn in several places by the mountain branches. Half of his hair was disheveled, and his left arm hung limply as if he had been hit by a stick.

The strangest thing is that he wasn't protecting a money bag in his arms.

Instead, he clung tightly to an oilcloth bag.

As soon as he fell out, he didn't even bother to roll over; his first reaction was to press the oilcloth bundle even tighter into his arms.

Afu glanced at it and blurted out:

"They're not trying to escape with their money."

Pei Zhao no longer needed him to remind her.

Because four more "mountain dwellers" rushed out from behind that man.

They claim to be mountain dwellers, but their story is riddled with flaws.

He was wearing narrow-mouthed boots that were suitable for running fast.

What he held in his hand was not a wood-chopping axe, but a sharpened short-handled knife and a wooden stick.

Moreover, the first thing they saw after they rushed out of the slope was not the convoy.

It was the oilcloth bag in the middle-aged man's arms.

"Don't let him take the bag!"

One of them shouted in a low voice.

Upon hearing this, Pei Zhao's eyes immediately turned cold.

He did not order the whole team to charge.

Just raise your hand and tap:

"Lu Cheng, Dou Ping, left."

"Chen Ye, follow me, press down from the right."

"A-Fu, pull the auxiliary vehicle back half a meter, don't let the main vehicle get stuck at the top of the slope."

"Cui Shen, remember this face."

"Wenbo, guard the carriage."

He gave a series of orders almost without stopping.

The convoy immediately sprang into action.

Lu Cheng first cut down the gravel slope on the left.

He is not fast, but accurate.

The knife wasn't aimed at the throat, but rather at the knee of the "mountain dweller" at the very front.

The opponent clearly hadn't expected such a ruthless move to be laid out behind the slope, and hurriedly tried to change direction.

But as soon as one's foot slipped, the gravel became slippery.

Lu Cheng's blade had already struck his leg hard.

The man collapsed with a thud.

On the right, Pei Zhao is more direct.

He didn't fully draw his sword, only halfway out of its sheath, and used the sheath to strike the wrist of the person behind him.

The "click" wasn't very loud.

But the short knife in the man's hand had already flown away.

Chen Ye finally managed to suppress the anger he had felt a couple of days ago.

Instead of rushing to the front as soon as he saw someone, he first seized the position between the middle-aged man and the ditch, blocking one of their escape routes.

When the third "mountain dweller" tried to snatch the oilcloth bag at an angle, he swept the gun barrel horizontally, knocking the man off balance.

Dou Ping is the most slippery.

He didn't try to fight head-on.

Instead, they went around the waist-high shrubs down the slope, specifically to intercept the last one who wanted to turn back into the woods to report the news.

The caravan men swung the hemp rope with even more practiced skill than the night before.

With a pull, the person was dragged backward and slammed into the wet mud.

In a short while, three of the four had fallen.

Seeing that things were not going well, the remaining one turned around and tried to crawl into the ditch.

Pei Zhao glanced at the terrain but didn't give chase.

He only drank one sentence:

"Chen Ye!"

Chen Ye understood immediately, and thrust his spear forward, not at the person, but at the pine rock at his feet.

With a flick of the gun barrel, a pine stone rolled down and landed right in front of the man's knees.

The man couldn't stop in time and fell heavily to the ground.

Lu Cheng caught up, pressed down on his back with one knee, and twisted his wrists with his other hand.

All of this happened very quickly.

The middle-aged man was still in a daze when they arrived.

He was still kneeling on the ground, clutching the oilcloth bag tightly in his arms, his chest rising and falling, his eyes filled with the lingering shock of the ordeal.

He only looked up suddenly when Yang Xuan's car slowly approached.

The people in the main vehicle did not get out.

She only lifted half of the curtain; her face was still pale from illness, but her eyes were calm.

"Who are you?"

The middle-aged man opened his mouth, but his throat went hoarse for a moment.

After several breaths, he whispered:

"This humble man... is Han Jitong."

"Former clerk of Yanjing County."

The expressions of the people standing by the car all changed.

Cui Shen reacted the fastest.

Former official.

These three words might not mean much in other contexts.

But if we place it on this mountain road near Yanjing County today, it's not just as simple as "a minor official".

He couldn't help but glance at the oilcloth bag.

It's not about money.

Then it can only be accounts, ledgers, something that those people behind can desperately try to catch up with.

Yang Xuan asked more directly:

"Are they pursuing you for the money, or for this bag?"

Han Jitong's facial muscles tightened.

He almost instinctively hugged the bag tighter.

"For the bag."

"If money were useful, I would have died long ago."

That's so true.

Indeed, he has risked his life more than once in the past few days.

Pei Zhao had already pushed all four of them to the edge of the slope.

One had a broken leg, the other a broken wrist, and both were tightly bound.

He squatted down and took a sign from one of the men's arms.

It's not an official license plate.

It wasn't the kind of coded wooden tag that bandits usually used.

It was just half a worn-out bronze symbol with an incomplete "well" character engraved on it.

Dou Ping glanced at it and whispered:

"That's not how officials behave."

"It sounds like a private name on the mouth of a well."

Cui Shen's heart sank immediately.

Wellhead private account.

This shows that the influence in Yanjing County is indeed no longer confined to the county seat.

They even dare to intercept people halfway through their journey.

And he's so skilled at it.

"Don't ask yet."

Uncle Wen strode over and glanced at Han Jitong's limp arm.

"His left shoulder was dislocated, and it looked like he'd been hit in the ribs. He kept saying that he'd collapse first."

Yang Xuan nodded.

"Help them onto the passenger car first."

"Where's the bag?"

Han Jitong suddenly looked up.

That glance was filled with extreme wariness.

It wasn't like he had just been rescued; it was more like he had run into another group of people trying to steal his things.

Yang Xuan was not annoyed when he saw this.

He simply said:

"If you don't want to give it to me, then hold it yourself first."

"But remember one thing."

"The person who tried to kill you just now was not me."

Han Jitong's chest heaved twice before he finally lowered his head.

"...Thank you, my lord."

When he was helped into the passenger car, he was still clutching the oilcloth bag tightly in his hand.

It felt like what I was clutching wasn't paper, but the last bit of life I hadn't spat out.

Pei Zhao had just finished cleaning up the slope when he went to check the mouths of the four "mountain dwellers".

Such people are easily defeated and may not actually know much.

But you can always find something useful in the rough edges.

Sure enough, the man with the severed wrist couldn't withstand the blows after only two hits.

"We're just doing our jobs for money..."

"Someone told us to keep an eye on things here."

"If you see an old official in a green robe carrying a bag and walking south, leave the bag behind. It doesn't matter if the person lives or dies."

Cui Shen frowned.

"Who gave you the money?"

The man had a mournful face.

"I really don't know."

"It was a message delivered by a manager surnamed Mo from Yanjing County... We usually just help out with errands and deliveries..."

"Your surname is Mo?"

Cui Shen silently memorized the name.

When Han Jitong heard this in the passenger car, his face, which had already turned pale with pain, suddenly twitched violently.

It's as if this name isn't unfamiliar.

It was a nail.

Yang Xuan noticed this, but didn't ask about it on the spot.

Because it is precisely at times like these that you should not rush to bombard people with questions.

First, make him understand that they are saving people, not just casually picking up a life.

Rather, it meant that they genuinely intended to catch what followed.

The team did not linger at the top of the slope.

If blood is drawn in such a place, and the situation is left unresolved, a second group of people might come after them.

Pei Zhao immediately changed his approach.

No longer will we follow the official road and slowly build our way up.

Instead, Dou Ping led the convoy along a relatively stable mountain path, moving it forward three miles before finding a sheltered spot to set up camp.