Rain mixed with wind lashed through the carved windows of Wanhua Tower, and the copper box in Boss Qian's arms struck the table with a muffled thud. Sweat on his temples mixed with the rainwater streaming down his face, soaking his indigo-satin sleeveless vest. "Young Master Ye, you said Fatty Sun is hiding thirty-seven armed thugs in the back mountain. Th-this... the Zhao Estate's reach is simply too long."
Ye Fan lowered his gaze to the rippling tea in his cup, his knuckles tapping a very light rhythm against the edge of the table. Back in his past life when he was ambushed and killed, the rain had been just like this, blood mixing with water to flood over the backs of his feet. He had held his dying junior brother in his arms, hearing the assassins say, "The bounty from the Zhao Estate is doubled." At this moment, Yuanqi surged like a tide within his Inner World, and he could clearly feel that burning sensation—in this lifetime, no one would ever take anyone away from him again.
"Uncle Qian, feel this copper box." He suddenly reached out to press the back of Boss Qian's trembling hand. "The stall-protection silver from fifty families is our market's foundation." When he raised his eyes, a sharp glint flashed in his gaze. "But having silver alone is not enough."
Chapter 42