Chapter 172: Disposing of the Loot

Jin Yinghui's mission posting agency was affiliated with the Inner City Trade Bureau, as were those located in the black market.

At this moment, he had been pacing around the room for a long time, engaging in an intense internal debate. Finally, he raised his head and took a deep breath, seemingly having made a certain decision.

Just as he was about to retrieve a pack of cigarettes from the drawer, an ID card was inadvertently pulled out along with them, dropping to the floor with a soft snap.

He bent down to pick it up, brushed off the clinging dust, and stared at it blankly, his expression tinged with a hint of nostalgia.

Then, he placed it back into the drawer, pushing it deep beneath a pile of miscellaneous items.

This identification card recorded his past identity.

The photograph on it showed him in his younger days, with facial contours still somewhat resembling his present self.

In his youth, he wore a middle-part hairstyle, his cheeks were slightly sunken, but his gaze was piercing and bright, giving off an impression of high fighting spirit and sharp competence.

None of that mattered, however. What mattered was a single line of text on the card.

"Deputy Director of the Trade Bureau."

Who would have ever guessed that the middle-aged uncle who constantly chatted, drank, and bantered with Ye Chen was actually the second-in-command of the Inner City Trade Bureau—

the capable right-hand man of Director-General Bailin.

Unfortunately, neither Ye Chen nor Zhou Peng had any inkling of Jin Yinghui's past identity to this day.

By the time Jin Yinghui hurried to the Trade Bureau, the receptionist downstairs informed him that Director-General Bailin had gone out early in the morning and had yet to return.

Moreover, such a prominent figure could not be seen simply on a whim; an appointment was required.

Jin Yinghui did not argue with the receptionist. Instead, he obediently took the registration form and silently wrote down a pseudonym.

In the section for the purpose of the visit, he wrote only a single sentence:

A rabid dog that hasn't even grown its fur is turning green with envy and starting to bite people!

When the receptionist read these words, she remained dumbfounded for a long time, as it was her first time encountering such a bizarre reason for a visit.

Yet, she still maintained a professional smile as she saw off the uncle reeking of cigarette smoke.

......

On a black market street, inside an inconspicuous clothing store.

A young woman with a weathered backpack, a high ponytail tied back, an arc-shaped hairpin clipped to her forehead, and lace-up boots stepped out across the threshold after paying for her purchase.

She wore no makeup, her lips were red and her eyes bright, and her brows naturally carried a sharp edge, radiating a heroic aura.

Her tall, slender figure was draped in a brand-new grey cloak.

Her sharp gaze cut across the street, fixing on the mouth of an alley not far away.

Her delicate brows furrowed slightly as she fell into contemplation.

A moment later, she pulled down her hood and walked toward the alley.

A slight bulge on her back indicated that she was carrying another pack underneath.

This was the cloak she had just bought; her previous one had been slashed to pieces by some exasperated brat.

Fortunately, the cloak was inexpensive, falling into the category of default outdoor attire chosen by most people in the black market—woven from coarse hemp fabric, cheap yet durable.

The woman wove through the crowd with brisk strides, her destination being a grocery store nestled deep within the alley.

A place that sold everything and dared to buy anything.

She had originally intended to go to a familiar grocery store with which she had a good relationship, but after waiting two full days, the place still hadn't opened for business.

She suspected the owner's pig was having a difficult labor.

Frustrated, she had no choice but to switch to an unfamiliar shop to process the items in her backpack.

Originally, her plan had been to rob Qiaomucao and then come here to pull off a massive transaction.

As a result, the cooked duck had flown away.

Consequently, it had taken her quite a few more days to gather enough wealth in her backpack to come here and cash it out.

At the mere thought of this, the woman's anger flared up anew.

The storefront of the grocery store was terribly dilapidated, lacking even a proper sign.

The owner had merely scrawled four characters on the wooden door: "Buying and Selling."

Originally, four smaller characters reading "High Price Acquisition" had been inscribed below, but someone had scraped them off with a blade.

Just as she was about to push the door open, it was pulled open from the inside, and two people emerged.

One of the men was dressed in typical wilderness dweller attire, while the other was completely concealed within a hooded cloak, dressed identically to herself.

The woman stepped aside to yield the way, and the man silently brushed past her, his expression harboring resentment and reluctance.

As for the hooded figure, they politely bowed slightly to the woman, thanking her for her kindness in making way.

This seemingly casual gesture startled her slightly; encountering someone with such good manners in the black market was rarer than a sow climbing a tree.

Watching the two walk away into the distance, the woman stepped into the shop.

The lighting inside the grocery store was dim. In the shadowed corners, various sundries were piled high, draped in spiderwebs.

Behind the counter, the owner bared a mouthful of large yellow teeth, his sparse hair pale, and his murky, elderly eyes filled with smiles.

His rough, aged hands gently stroked the surface of a stack of furs, his pinky fingernail grown very long and deliberately curled into an affected gesture.

Seeing another customer enter, he scrambled in a fluster to shove the furs on the table underneath the counter.

The owner couldn't possibly recognize who had arrived; anyone who came here to trade dressed quite similarly, with hooded cloaks being standard issue.

This prevented them from being recognized during transactions and kept them from being targeted after stepping outside.

After all, if everyone wore the exact same style of clothing, they could easily blend back into the crowd by simply turning a corner.

Only an amateur like Ye Chen would walk in wearing a uniform.

The woman unslung her backpack and placed it on the counter with a dull thud.

She unzipped it and dumped the contents of the bag onto the countertop in a chaotic clatter.

The variety was extensive, ranging from half-used vehicular energy cores and exquisitely crafted ornaments to the furs and claws of mutated beasts from the wilderness.

Miraculously, the owner even fished out an elemental handgun exclusive to the Patrol Bureau from the pile.

He looked in astonishment at the person standing before the counter, though unfortunately, the other party was wrapped so tightly that guessing their background was impossible.

Perhaps some careless Patrol Bureau officer had gotten drunk and left it dropped by the roadside.

......Goodness gracious, what an extraordinary find—this was a major seller!

The owner, a discerning man, instantly plastered his face with what he believed to be a friendly smile.

"How do you plan to sell these? Name your price first!"

The woman familiarly pulled a sheet of paper from the countertop and, hand gloved, scrawled a number across it in rapid strokes.

Heh, a veteran thief...... the owner judged inwardly. She knew the rules inside and out, unlike the two naive rookies from earlier.

The bargaining process consisted of silent communication via the paper, which ended just as quietly.

The handgun alone accounted for well over half of the total payment.

Beneath the shadow of her hood, she nodded slowly, seemingly quite satisfied with the agreed-upon price.

After counting the payment, the woman abandoned even her battered backpack, tossing it entirely to the owner.

Any item that could reveal her identity traits would be thoroughly disposed of by the woman before stepping out the door.

Beaming with enthusiasm, the owner escorted the woman to the entrance, showering her with flattery:

"Do come often next time, I'll give you an even better price. If there's anything you're looking for, I can manage to get it, and the prices are very reasonable too."

As if she hadn't heard a word, the woman walked away without looking back.

Once she was far enough away, the smile vanished instantly from the owner's face as he cursed under his breath:

"Damn it, driving such a hard bargain, don't you ever come to my shop again! If I weren't in such a good mood today, I'd have chased you out long ago!"

However, grocery stores like his were countless in the black market.

Faced with an unfamiliar owner, the woman would never trade with the same person consecutively, rendering the owner's worries entirely redundant.