The morning mist had yet to dissipate when Old Laver's carriage rolled over the seventh icy mountain pass.
The wheels slipped on the gravel-strewn slope, and the axle groaned with a whistling sound like a dying man.
Old Laver tilted his ear toward the carriage like a brilliant physician listening to the spasmodic wheezing of the axle.
"This axle won't last much longer." Old Laver gripped the rope tying the goods on the carriage and shouted to the coachman, "We need to stop and fix the axle."
"Are you Captain Bai or Captain Ten?" The coachman in front didn't even turn around, "If we delay, the entire troop convoy has to stop.
If you want a break, wait until we reach Bear Chomping Castle to rest, if you want to slack off, no way!"
Old Laver immediately cursed at the coachman, "You pig-headed fool, do you think I'm kidding? The longer we wait for the carriage to break, the longer it will block the route!"
"Who do you think you are? I'm the coachman!"
