Chapter 14

Chapter 14: Wise Self-Preservation

Under the corridor, Qi Shan removed his hat and set his wooden clogs neatly side by side. He stepped barefoot onto the wooden stairs, lifted his hem, and rinsed the mud from his feet with rainwater from a stone basin.

Shen Tang took off her own clogs and instinctively looked for indoor shoes. There were none.

Qi Shan rolled up his muddy hem and tied it behind his knees. He dried his feet with a cloth from his sleeve, then handed Shen Tang the dipper.

They weren’t slow. The middle-aged man, meanwhile, had already pulled off his worn clogs and padded up the steps barefoot, leaving wet muddy footprints behind him.

He watched their careful routine and smiled. “Do as you like. No need to be so troublesome.”

Shen Tang rinsed her feet with two quick scoops, tossed the dipper back into the basin, and stomped up the steps—loudly, carelessly—like the mud had never mattered in the first place.

Qi Shan’s voice snapped sharp. “You Li. Where are your manners?”

Shen Tang grinned and waved him up. “Isn’t it ‘guest follows host’? Brother is too polite. Hurry up and come shelter from the rain.”

Qi Shan drew a slow breath, clearly fighting the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose, and turned to apologize to the man.

The man only smiled, repeating, “No matter, no matter,” and even praised Shen Tang for being lively and genuine.

Qi Shan sighed. “But my younger brother is twelve already and still so impulsive. I’m afraid he’ll suffer for it one day…”

The man’s smile stiffened.

“Younger brother?” he repeated. “This is a little young lord?”

“Yes,” Qi Shan said smoothly. “The youngest in our family. He takes after our mother. He looks feminine despite being male, so misunderstandings are common.”

The man gave an awkward laugh and admitted he’d mistaken a male lad for a young lady.

He led them to a side room and told them to wait out the rain. If it didn’t ease, they could stay the night.

Then he paused, as if remembering something. “There’s a pot of ginger soup still warm in the east kitchen. Would you like some to warm yourselves?”

Qi Shan clasped his hands. “Thank you.”

“Wait a moment,” the man said, and left.

As soon as the footsteps faded, Shen Tang’s smile vanished. Her eyes turned cold. “He’s lying. He’s full of holes. Whether he brings soup back or not, we need to be careful.”

“Naturally,” Qi Shan said. “The village head said A Yan was abandoned here from birth, neglected by the servants. You can see it in the child’s clothes drying in the courtyard.

“And that man claimed A Yan is his son.” His mouth tightened. “Ridiculous.”

Shen Tang paced the room, touching ornaments and shelves with quick, light fingers. No dust. Everything was clean.

Near a lattice window sat two writing desks, one large and one small. A bookshelf divided the room into neat sections.

She picked up a bamboo slip from the desk. It was a child’s primer, covered with both adult handwriting and childish scribbles.

“They keep the place clean,” Shen Tang murmured. “So the servants do work… but in a storm like this, with wind strong enough to tear roofs apart, nobody came out to bring in the clothes. That doesn’t make sense.”

“And there’s more,” Qi Shan said, voice low. “He’s dressed like a scholar, but his face is vicious. His eyes are cruel. There’s blood on him.

“He talks like a scholar, but he feels like a brute. And he lies too smoothly.” Qi Shan’s gaze sharpened. “I’m worried it’s not that he doesn’t want to collect those clothes. It’s that he can’t.”

Shen Tang lifted a brow. “Bandits?”

“In times like this, bandits and thieves are everywhere,” Qi Shan said. “People become wolves just to eat.”

Shen Tang exhaled slowly. “So it’s likely bad.”

“Very likely there are no survivors,” Qi Shan said. “Bandits or thieves—either way, he isn’t the master of this manor.”

They came to find a missing child and instead stepped into something much darker.

Shen Tang sucked in a breath. “So we walked into a wolf’s den.”

Qi Shan glanced at her. “Young Master Shen. Are you scared?”

He didn’t believe his own question.

Shen Tang dropped onto the mat and drew the woodcutting knife from her waist, gripping it like it could anchor her to the world. “I’m a law-abiding commoner.

“How could I not be afraid of criminals who might slaughter an entire household? Sir Qi, we’re in their den. We’re dinner.”

Qi Shan’s expression went flat. “A law-abiding commoner doesn’t become a fugitive.”

“I’ve been grievously wronged,” Shen Tang said, dead serious. “If I die for no reason on the road of exile—or on some couch in Xiao City—then one day a just master might reopen the case and discover there was an innocent person like me. But by then I’d already be dead, and all that justice would do is leave regret.

“To defend the law’s fairness, I have to live. Being a fugitive is perfectly reasonable.”

Qi Shan stared at her and, for a fleeting moment, looked genuinely impressed by her shameless logic.

He was about to respond when Shen Tang’s head snapped up.

She raised two fingers to her lips, warning him to stay quiet.

Heavy footsteps approached.

The middle-aged man returned, carrying two bowls of steaming ginger soup.

“You’ve been waiting,” he said pleasantly.

Qi Shan and Shen Tang dipped their heads in thanks. Under the man’s watchful eyes, they each lifted a bowl, lowered their gaze, and brought it to their lips as if about to drink.

The man’s mouth started to curl, satisfaction creeping in.

Then the world exploded.

Qi Shan flung his bowl forward in a scalding splash straight into the man’s face.

At the same time, Shen Tang kicked up the low table and smashed it toward his head.

Soup. Wood. Chaos.

And in the blink after, Qi Shan slipped behind Shen Tang like it was the most natural place in the world to be, and spoke with calm composure:

“Know the strong, keep the yielding; when things cannot be done, withdraw—this is the way of wise self-preservation.”

Shen Tang froze.

“What—”

Then it hit her.

Her eyes went wide. “You—”