Chapter 23

Chapter 23: Xiao City

“I know him. Of course I know him.”

Qi Shan didn’t seem surprised by the vice censor’s reaction. His smile stayed light. “It’s just a pity we only met once. I’m afraid Teacher Tian doesn’t remember.

“Eight years ago, during Xin State’s special examination, Teacher Tian served as the ranking examiner.”

Eight years ago.

Ranking examiner.

Those two words unlocked the memory. The vice censor’s brow furrowed as he finally placed the event.

The assessment had three parts: family background, character and ability, and—most importantly—the grade of one’s literary heart.

The first two set the threshold into officialdom. The last determined the ceiling.

The vice censor’s memory was excellent. He remembered the scholars who had been selected. He didn’t remember a Qi Shan.

So was this young man one of those who’d failed?

The thought made the vice censor’s face tighten with discomfort. If he truly missed someone like this while acting as ranking examiner, it was his failure.

But then reality hit: Xin State was gone. The old officials of Xin State had been purged, poisoned, and slaughtered by Zheng Qiao. In only a few months, the dead had piled into countless wronged ghosts.

Perhaps it was a blessing that Qi Shan never entered service.

The vice censor patted his son’s arm. The son understood and helped him stand. Father and son bowed deeply to Qi Shan.

“May we ask the benefactor’s name?”

Qi Shan returned the bow. “My surname is Qi. My given name is Shan. My courtesy name is Yuan Liang.”

The vice censor murmured, “Qi Yuan Liang… Qi…”

The surname was rare. He vaguely remembered seeing “Qi Shan” in the roster—sixteen years old then, the youngest scholar of the batch.

His gaze slid, almost unconsciously, toward the seal at Qi Shan’s waist—his literary heart signature seal.

Before the vice censor could dredge up the number, Qi Shan spoke first, as if he’d read the thought right off his face.

“Sixth grade, mid-lower.”

The vice censor pressed his lips together. With each clue, the forgotten details came back more clearly.

His son, unable to hold it in, blurted, “Sixth grade, mid-lower… Why weren’t you recruited?”

With that grade, you might never rise to the very top—Three Dukes, Nine Ministers—but you could still secure a minor post. In the final years before Xin State’s fall, talent was scarce. The standards weren’t so high they would turn someone like that away.

The vice censor shot his son a glare sharp enough to cut. The son flinched and shut his mouth.

Then the vice censor asked quietly, “Benefactor—did you offend someone back then?”

For Qi Shan to be cast aside so thoroughly, it couldn’t have been his grade alone.

“Yes,” Qi Shan said easily. “I did.”

The son’s eyes flashed with anger. “Father—who targeted the benefactor?”

The vice censor twisted his son’s arm hard enough to make him go pale. “Silence.”

Qi Shan chuckled, almost amused. “It wasn’t exactly targeting. He simply got hold of my weakness. Back then, failing the selection was better than taking office and being blackmailed.”

“A weakness?” the son asked before he could stop himself.

Qi Shan’s smile widened. “Forging my background.”

The son went quiet.

The vice censor went quieter still.

Compared to the real leverage someone had once held over Qi Shan, “forging my background” was the smaller evil. But Xin State was gone now. Whatever that old danger had been, it didn’t matter anymore.

They owed Qi Shan their lives. There was no reason to dig into his wounds.

Qi Shan looked at the vice censor. “Teacher Tian—do you know where that man is now?”

The vice censor’s face darkened. “In Xiao City.”

“Xiao City?” Qi Shan repeated.

“He is now the Four Treasures Commandery Governor. His commandery yamen is in Xiao City. With Geng State’s army pressing in, he colluded with Zheng Qiao in secret—working inside and out to take several Xin State fortresses.”

Bitterness thickened the vice censor’s voice. “If not for that, Xin State could’ve held at least five more months. Maybe we could’ve waited for a turning point.”

Qi Shan’s expression didn’t change. “A fickle villain. Nothing surprising.”

The son asked cautiously, “Benefactor… are you asking his whereabouts to seek revenge?”

Before Qi Shan could answer, a sharp voice rolled in from behind them—irritated, edged with violence.

“I’m out there killing, and you’re here chatting like old friends?”

Shen Tang strode over, drenched in blood, the Merciful Mother Sword hanging at her side. The steel looked dark even in the sun.

She’d come to drag Qi Shan into disposing of bodies—no evidence, no complications.

Instead, she’d found him talking.

Her fist clenched.

At this point, the “filial sons” lying dead in the grove didn’t need the Merciful Mother Sword. The one who needed a lesson was Qi Yuan Liang, still hovering at the edge of the scene like an idle spectator.

Qi Shan glanced past her shoulder. A flicker of surprise slid through his eyes. He’d known she could handle the dozen soldiers left standing—but he hadn’t expected her to move so fast without any word-spirit reinforcement.

“I trusted Young Master Shen’s ability,” he said smoothly. “Those rabble weren’t worthy of a single exchange.”

He peered around her. “Are they all dead?”

“Every last one,” Shen Tang said, voice flat.

Cut the weeds and remove the roots. Leave no future trouble.

She flicked her wrist, shaking blood from the blade. Red droplets speckled the grass like scattered rust.

Qi Shan asked, “And the ones who were poisoned?”

Shen Tang’s smile was thin. “A kind person like me wouldn’t let them keep suffering from Qianji poison. One stab to the throat, one to the heart.”

Dead meant dead.

As Qi Shan and Shen Tang spoke, he watched the rescued prisoners with a sliver of attention. The vice censor, as the censorate chief, had dealings with Madam Gong and Xin State’s aristocratic clans.

If Shen Tang were truly “Gong Cheng,” the vice censor should have recognized that face.

But the vice censor looked at Shen Tang with only curiosity and surprise—as if he’d never seen her before.

A young person wearing a literary heart signature seal, yet fighting more brutally than a brute with martial gall and a tiger tally… anyone would stare.

Qi Shan’s thoughts tightened.

So Shen Tang really wasn’t “Gong Cheng”?

He frowned—and Shen Tang caught it instantly. She swallowed the urge to roll her eyes.

Of course. His earlier “I understand” had understood absolutely nothing.

“If you’ve got time to think nonsense,” she muttered, “you’ve got time to help me bury bodies.”

Qi Shan answered without shame. “I’m timid. I can’t stand the sight of blood-soaked corpses.”

Shen Tang stared at him.

Then, with a grimace, she rolled up her sleeves and went back to work. Qi Shan was useless. The prisoners—half-dead and kept upright only by her cakes, green plums, and taffy—were even more useless.

Qi Shan leaned against a tree in the shade while she worked, as relaxed as if he were watching scenery.

Then he asked, “Young Master Shen. Are you interested in taking a trip to Xiao City?”