Clang!
The bullock cart suddenly moved forward, leaving the snow pit behind.
On the large flatbed cart, the charcoal was piled up like a mountain.
The old man leading the ox turned around, rubbed his hands a bit uneasily, squeezed out a smile, "Young master, thank you."
He wore a tattered cotton jacket, his face was pitch black, his body hunched over, the smile ingratiating, revealing a mouthful of big yellow teeth.
The young man helping from the back, although dressed in pugilistic world attire, was wearing carefully forged leather armor, with a Shu embroidery cloak over it, his face handsome and fair, looking very much like those wealthy young men.
This was the first time in his life he had encountered such a situation.
Every time he went to deliver charcoal, let alone such wealthy people, even ordinary folks with some means would avoid him.
After all, this cotton jacket had been worn for decades.
