Chapter 21

Chapter 21: Poisoning

The Xin State royal house’s surname was Shen?

Shen Tang swallowed the urge to cough blood and forced a smile. “You probably won’t believe me, but you’re thinking too much.”

Qi Shan’s tone was mild. “I’m thinking too much?”

Shen Tang nodded hard. “Yes. You’re thinking too much.”

Her “Shen” had not a single copper’s worth of connection to the Xin State royal house. It was just a coincidence—nothing more.

Besides—

“Yuan Liang, doesn’t it sound ridiculous? If I were who you suspect, how could I possibly be in this situation?”

If she weren’t the person in question, she might’ve believed him. Logically, his guess wasn’t impossible.

But it hinged on one huge premise: this body had to be a lad.

And Shen Tang was absolutely certain she hadn’t grown any unfamiliar “extra parts.”

She was a girl. A real one.

“Even setting that aside,” she added, voice clipped, “the constables escorting exiled prisoners wouldn’t let me off so easily. And the Gong clan member traveling with us wouldn’t treat me like I’m nothing.”

So this body couldn’t be his “Gong Cheng,” let alone some bastard of the ruler of Xin.

Even if it were true, would she ever admit it?

A fallen prince didn’t get to live.

Qi Shan went quiet, thinking.

He gave no hint of what he truly believed—whether he’d accepted her explanation or was still nursing his own theories.

“At any rate,” he said finally, “I understand.”

Shen Tang’s eyelid twitched.

You understand what, exactly?

Outside, the soldiers began shouting again.

“Fill all the water skins—full! We’re in a hurry!”

“And mine—” “Here too—”

The route they’d taken was remote, and the heat brutal. Their water skins were long empty.

Laughing, the soldiers flung the skins at the teahouse owner’s face. He endured it, cheek already swollen and scraped raw, and forced an ugly smile. He bent, gathered them up, tucked them into his robe, and kept saying, “Yes, yes, of course—right away…” even as his worried eyes kept flicking to his wife.

One soldier grew impatient and kicked him hard in the backside.

“What are you dragging your feet for? Move!”

The owner stumbled, nearly face-planting. His wife was still trapped in a soldier’s grip, trembling with rage but too terrified to struggle.

The couple’s helplessness amused them. Their mocking laughter and the woman’s fearful sobs drifted through the teahouse, souring the air.

Everyone was furious. No one dared speak.

Even Shen Tang silently repeated, “Endure for a moment and the sea and sky will open wide.”

By the third repetition, she stopped.

“Fuck that ‘sea and sky.’”

Qi Shan stared at her. He truly hadn’t expected Young Master Shen—who looked refined and noble—to swear like a street thug.

Seeing her rise, he asked, “Young Master Shen is going to stand up for them?”

“I’m not stupid,” Shen Tang said flatly.

You didn’t charge in headfirst. That was how you got people killed.

But that didn’t mean you couldn’t retaliate.

She rolled up her sleeves, smoothed her expression into something harmless, and went to help the owner fill water skins.

The owner looked alarmed and tried to refuse. “Young lord, you mustn’t—”

“What mustn’t?” Shen Tang cut in. “There are nearly a hundred of these. You and your wife are the only ones here. If you’re too slow, they’ll bully you again.”

She smiled faintly. “Let’s finish quickly and send them off. Consider it my small kindness.”

The owner’s eyes reddened. He bowed repeatedly, voice breaking. “Th-thank you…”

Only they knew what that isolation felt like—the rage you had to swallow until it became poison in your gut.

A soldier wandered in once or twice to check. His gaze swept over Shen Tang, hunched in the corner and working fast.

Young, efficient, slender from behind—he mistook her for a servant.

After watching a moment, he left.

They worked together for a quarter-hour, sweat running down their temples, until every skin was filled and handed over.

Qi Shan watched her closely. “What did you do?”

Shen Tang lifted her cup and took a slow sip. Her eyebrows practically said, I’m in a great mood.

“Wait a bit. You’ll find out, Yuan Liang.”

Qi Shan’s eyebrow rose. “Poison?”

“You’re sharp.”

“And where did you get poison?”

He paused, then his eyes narrowed. “Word-spirit?”

Shen Tang smiled. “Yes.”

Qi Shan drew a slow breath. “Which line?”

Or rather—which line had she twisted into something it was never meant to be?

Shen Tang recited lazily, savoring it. “Green bamboo snake’s mouth; yellow wasp’s tail needle.”

Qi Shan frowned. “That line has word-spirit?”

Like the earlier one—“Lush Zhou plains are rich; even bitter herbs taste like taffy”—this was the sort people dismissed as useless.

Taken literally, it was snake venom and wasp poison.

“I was worried it wouldn’t kill them,” Shen Tang said, “so I added one more ingredient.”

Her smile turned sly. “Yuan Liang, take a guess.”

Qi Shan had a memory like ink on stone. If she called it medicine, it had to be in the scrolls he’d copied. He answered without hesitation.

“Ma qian zi seed?”

“Correct.”

No reward, though.

The name sounded obscure, but the moment you mentioned Qianji poison, everyone knew what it meant.

Qi Shan’s expression turned complicated. This “way of a feudal lord” of hers wasn’t just tied to “agriculture,” enriching soil—she could also conjure medicinal ingredients out of thin air?

Shen Tang misread his look. “Does Yuan Liang look down on this method?”

A gentleman, upright and open—he might find poisoning distasteful.

Qi Shan shook his head. “No. How you kill them doesn’t matter. The result does.”

His voice stayed calm, but something dark lived beneath it. “I’ve traveled through too many defeated commanderies. Women forced into pregnancy, women sick unto death, funerals in every home… and bones left in the open.”

He glanced toward the doorway. “Those soldiers? Their hands aren’t clean. If they die, they deserve it.”

Then he added, practical as ever, “But you put so much in. You think they won’t taste it?”

“They would, in plain water,” Shen Tang said. “But they filled their skins with tea. If the taste is off, they’ll blame the heat.”

While they spoke, more than a hundred soldiers finished packing up and left.

They’d taken every advantage and tossed the teahouse owner three copper coins—thrown straight at his face.

And the owner still had to smile, bow, and thank them for the “reward.”

Once the column disappeared down the road, Shen Tang stood and stretched. “Come on, Yuan Liang. Let’s go watch the show while it’s still fresh.”

She led Moto out and swung up onto the mule.

Qi Shan kept walking.

They followed at an unhurried distance. After a moment, Shen Tang said lightly, “Yuan Liang. Poisoning and assassinating Geng State soldiers—that’s a serious crime.”

Qi Shan didn’t look up. “If you know that, why do it?”

Shen Tang snorted. “When you’ve got lice, you stop itching.”

Her smile turned sharp. “I’m a fugitive with one foot in the grave. Every extra day is profit. Add another crime—so what?”

She tilted her head at him. “But you’re still following. Aren’t you afraid of getting dragged down with me?”

Qi Shan’s eyelids lifted, expression calm. “I told you already. I’m not a good man.”

If this were a peaceful age, he thought—watching Young Master Shen grin atop her white mule—this might have been the most beneficial “way of a feudal lord” the world could hope for.

But peace was a luxury neither of them had.