Chapter 17

Chapter 17: Humiliation (Part 1)

Qi Shan’s eyes swept over the eleven corpses again.

He thought for a long moment and still couldn’t find the flaw. In the end, he gave up and went straight for the answer.

“Who’s missing?”

“A man,” Shen Tang said. Then, after a beat, she added, “About seven chi and four cun tall.”

“A man about seven chi and four cun…”

Qi Shan repeated it, and a flash of clarity struck.

He knew exactly who she meant.

“Right,” he said quietly. “We are missing someone like that.”

And that someone might still be alive.

Qi Shan crouched and studied the hands.

Every corpse had rough hands, darkened skin, thick calluses. Even the old matron in silk had the hands of someone who’d worked her whole life. But among all of them, there wasn’t a single pair shaped by years of holding a brush.

Long-term writing warped the finger joints. How much depended on when someone started and how long they practiced.

None of these hands had that.

Yet the side room they’d been in held bookshelves. Two desks—one large, one small—sat near the leaking window. The bamboo slips on the desk were for a child’s early lessons.

If A Yan was the child being taught, then where was the person teaching him?

Of course, it wasn’t proof by itself. The tutor could teach in the day and go home at night.

But earlier, the bandit who opened the door had martial gall—and he’d been wearing a brown scholar robe that didn’t fit him at all.

That made things interesting.

Most likely, the robe didn’t belong to the bandit. It belonged to the missing man—the tutor.

Qi Shan straightened and asked, “So what? Even if you find him, what good does it do?”

“At least we’ll know what happened,” Shen Tang said.

Qi Shan couldn’t help laughing. “Young Master Shen, do you remember what identity you’re wearing right now?”

His gaze was sharp. “Even if this has nothing to do with you, even if it does, if you get tangled up and someone starts digging, you’ll sink like a clay ox into the sea. Gone. No return.”

He leaned back slightly. “Seeing injustice and drawing your blade, poking your nose into everything that happens—that’s the style of a wandering hero.”

Shen Tang fell quiet.

Harsh, but true.

Right now, she should be lying low, not acting brave.

They searched the entire estate. Other than the two of them, there were no living survivors.

With no leads, Shen Tang pulled her rain cape back on and lowered her bamboo hat. She returned to Qian Jia Village with Qi Shan. Through the curtain of rain, she spotted the village head waiting at the entrance.

The village head saw them and hurried over, relief on his face. “You two finally—”

“We still didn’t f—” Shen Tang started.

“A Yan has been found,” the village head blurted out.

Shen Tang and Qi Shan both froze. “Found?”

Qi Shan asked, “Where is he?”

Shen Tang demanded, “Where did he go?”

The village head beamed. “Earlier, A Yan was called out by his Teacher. That sir said he was taking him north to look for family. Something happened, so they had to leave immediately. They’ve already set out.”

Shen Tang and Qi Shan traded a look.

“A Yan’s Teacher?” Shen Tang echoed.

“What could be so urgent that they’d leave overnight in this rain?” Qi Shan added.

The village head shook his head. He didn’t know—and it wasn’t his place to pry.

Shen Tang asked, “Did A Yan go willingly?”

The village head stared at her like she’d asked something ridiculous. “Young Lord, what kind of question is that?”

Shen Tang coughed awkwardly.

“Don’t worry,” the village head said quickly. “That sir is a good man.”

Even if he wasn’t, he wouldn’t be a kidnapper. In times like these, children weren’t worth much—let alone a foolish child with a brain illness. Why would anyone go to the trouble?

The downpour didn’t let up.

A dozen li outside Qian Jia Village, a soaked red steed cut through the dense forest like a living flame.

On its back rode two people, one large and one small.

The older one had gray hair and looked well past his prime. He wore a pale, crescent-colored scholar robe under a rain cape and bamboo hat.

The smaller one had no rain gear at all. Both hands clamped the reins like his life depended on it.

That tight-lipped child, face stern and focused, was A Yan.

“Hyah!”

Mud splashed under the hooves.

The red steed burst out of the forest, leapt two zhang, and cleared a raging stream before finally stopping.

“A Yan… th-that’s enough…” a weak voice came from behind him.

A Yan brought the horse down on its forelegs and supported the frail elder off the saddle with one hand. Blood mixed with rainwater and pooled beneath the elder’s feet.

The elder sank to the ground, face pale with a bluish cast. His right hand stayed pressed beneath his right ribs, where blood kept seeping through.

He drew breath again and again, trying to push down the pain, but the veins on his forehead still throbbed.

A Yan looked at him, eyes tight with worry, and reached up to straighten the elder’s crooked bamboo hat.

The elder forced a smile that looked worse than crying. “It’s fine. It didn’t go in too deep. I shouldn’t die…”

After a moment, A Yan fished something out of his soaked pouch—a thumb-sized piece of malt candy, smeared with blood and half-melted into sticky mush.

He held it to the elder’s mouth. “Teacher. Eat.”

The elder smiled and didn’t refuse.

The candy tasted awful.

He tore a sleeve from his own clothes, made a crude bandage, and wrapped the wound as best he could.

When he was done, he stood with A Yan’s help and muttered, “First we find somewhere to get out of the rain. Then we find dry rations, and we head to Xiao City…”

A Yan repeated, puzzled. “Xiao City?”

“Yes. We go there first, then decide.”

They’d slipped this pursuit by luck. What about the next one?

Luck didn’t visit forever.

He’d wanted to leave the child behind. But the child was old enough to choose.

A Yan nodded hard. “Mm. Xiao City!”

“A Yan,” the elder asked, “do you know where Xiao City is?”

“No.”

A Yan pointed at the red steed. “We have big red horse.”

The elder held back a laugh. “You’re still too young. Big red horse can’t last long. Forcing it will put a heavy burden on you.”

He patted A Yan’s shoulder gently. “Put your big red horse away. I’m a little better now. We’ll find shelter and make it through the night first.”

A Yan nodded hard.

That night was brutal.

When Shen Tang woke, the rain had finally stopped.

Outside, the ground had turned to churned mud, puddles everywhere. The village head had already wrapped up dry rations for the two of them.

While the sun was still mild, Qi Shan decided to set out early.

After an hour on the road, they found a tea stall and stopped to rest their feet, drink a little, and catch their breath.

Then hoofbeats rolled in from the distance—about a hundred riders, all dressed as soldiers. Behind them rumbled several prison wagons under guard.

Qi Shan flicked a glance and said, “Don’t tense up, Young Master Shen. They aren’t here for you. This lot should be Geng State soldiers.”