The rumble of reinforced ironwood wheels rolled down the narrow lane of Miller Creek Road, followed by the heavy snort of two mountain mules pulling a covered merchant wagon.
Han Ping set the wooden handbrake with a sharp click, hopped down from the driver's bench with surprising agility for his broad frame, and pushed open the broken wooden door of the cottage.
He carried a heavy cedar chest beneath his left arm and a brass ledger in his right hand, stopping dead in the threshold as his eyes adjusted to the dim candlelight.
"Boss Ye, I secured the forged travel manifests from the river clerk on Miller Creek Road, but what in the ancestors' names is happening in here?" Han Ping blinked, his gaze darting from the bloodstained basin to the scrawny child sitting wrapped in blankets on the
