"Has the counterfeit trader that Wali spoke of, Geri Lerch, arrived yet?"
"Yes, sir. The person has arrived, but the meeting place..."
"It's at a place they've designated, correct?"
"...I apologize, sir. That group insists it's a necessary precondition, and if not agreed upon, they'll abandon the discussion."
The man known as Geri, dressed in black, bowed his head deep, almost as if he wanted to bury it somewhere — perhaps the soft sandy soil. Perhaps he thought such actions would lessen his fear, that the pain he'd feel when the thunderbolt struck would, as a result, reduce somewhat.
Geri isn't a large flightless bird known for running, nor could he undertake an arduous task that even such peculiar birds couldn't accomplish.
So all he could do was hang his head low, as much as he could, to await Li Lin's judgement.
If Geri had the barest understanding of his supreme leader, he wouldn't worry pointlessly.
"Alright, tell them that they can designate the meeting place. Also, finalize the meeting time."
"The customer is king." Though Welt didn't hold a theoretical all-powerful spot among the surreal deity's many followers, the basic business principles and sayings still applied.
Counterfeit traders are not to be respected and loved, but they are Li Lin's customers. As such, they are in a position to suggest things that may seem suspicious or offensive. Li Lin won't let such trifles bother him — as long as they remain customers. If they become competitors, then let them meet with the deity. Or rather, the Mother Goddess Mafa.
The man in black bowed slightly, quickly disappearing into the bustling crowd.
"Clear the way! Clear the way!!"
"Can't you hear?! Clear the way!!!"
Sound of curses even drown out the escalating chaos, occasionally interspersed with the whistling sounds of a whip and piteous screams. Prostitutes soliciting customers, shouting merchants, stand-watching bodyguards jeered and squabbled to clear the middle of the road, not knowing what was going on, while the elves subconsciously jumped off the carriage — their hands on their concealed weapons — mindful of the chaotic situation.
The expected chaos where the carriage would be overturned and goods stolen did not happen. The hysterical crowd quickly moved aside towards the vendors on either side of the alley, leaving two carriages and a group of elves disguised as humans standing in the road seemingly oblivious of their existence.
What on earth was happening?
The elves then saw something that left them dumbfounded.
Meat.
Stripped off all its elaborate and decorative adjectives, the first impression left by the elves could be described in one word – Meat.
A pile of fat was adorned with colourful cotton cloths, stripes, intricate silver and gold trinkets and was moving in a direction perpendicular to theirs in an open carriage. Be it the luxurious open carriage that served as the vehicle, the four excellent horses pulling the carriage, or even the attendants in front and behind the carriage, nothing was as eye-catching as the lump of flesh that emanated an aura of an upstart. After all, they were merely superficial and common attachments — the background set against this person, whose noble esteem lay in his obsession with concealing his native ugliness.
The top of the "meat lump," which looked like a head, turned around without interest. Because of the excess fat, the "face" was a collection of boils, creases, pockmarks, and acne piling up onto the sagging skin. The features have been buried in the fat, nearly indistinguishable from the skin. The entire head even had a shiny oily reflection, making it virtually impossible to discern any expressions.
To the elves' surprise and displeasure, the gaze shot out from the slits of fatty layers.
The eyes that looked down upon others with bravado and neurosis, by chance or by fate, locked on the elves.
The two parties stood out far too much in the otherwise quiet marketplace. The merchants who were engrossed in their customers noticed the anomaly and were thus not surprised to find each other, feeling rather uncomfortable.
The thought of being looked upon with "equality" — a notion that was disrespectful for a man of his status — had never crossed the "meat lump's" mind. How dare a few ragged looking boys look at him without bowing their heads? The "meat lump" was filled with rage.
This was gross disrespect, nothing short of an insult — his neurotic sensitivity could only come to this narrow-minded conclusion, his ungrounded suspicions quickly turning into enormous anger.
The wooden sandals tapped against the wooden floor of the carriage, a dull drumming sound to a prearranged stop signal. The coachman pulled in the reins, and the carriage came to a halt.
A man evidently more elegantly dressed than the other attendants approached the open carriage. The middle-aged man adjusted his flattery-filled smile while looking up at his master.
"Who are those paupers?"
Although his anger was steadily growing, he did not let go of his dignity on the surface. His authoritative voice reverberated like a water tank.
Understanding the dissatisfaction in his voice, he followed his master's gaze. The provocative figures and their carriage were immediately caught in his sight. Important figures from his memory were brought forward, none of the faces matched the poorly dressed, foolish looking boys in front of them.