"So that's what happened."
Having returned to Cyan Stone Castle, Bai Zheng recounted what he had seen and heard.
Bai Shu's brow furrowed. It sounded like the group across from them was more difficult to deal with than he had imagined. He turned his head and looked behind him.
"Mister Chen, what do you think we should do?"
Behind Bai Shu, an inconspicuous man in a gray scholar's robe raised his head. His face was covered in scars. In the Great Yong, where literary grace was prized as beauty, such a condition all but guaranteed the end of one's official career.
Mister Chen said calmly, "Cooperation benefits both sides. What's the harm in showing some weakness first and yielding a little ground?"
After listening, Bai Shu closed his eyes, his fingers tapping gently on the armrest.
"Che'er, take some men, open the cellar on the east side, and take out three hundred piculs of grain. Then bring it to trade with the other side."
"Yes, Father." Bai Che cupped his fist and bowed.
