Chapter 24

Chapter 24: A Familiar Face

Shen Tang slammed the digging knife into the ground and straightened, breathing hard.

She shot Qi Shan a look. “What would I go to Xiao City for? Walk into the trap? Besides, what’s so great about that lousy place?”

At least pretend to respect her fugitive persona.

Qi Shan’s eyes narrowed slightly. “Young Master Shen isn’t worried about other relatives?”

Shen Tang hesitated.

He’d hit her right where it hurt.

No matter what, she was wearing this body now. She needed to learn the original owner’s past—otherwise she’d run into someone who knew the real person and expose herself without even realizing it.

If the original owner had relatives who survived exile, Shen Tang could help in secret. If they’d died, she could at least collect their remains, instead of letting them rot in the wild.

Qi Shan saw the shift on her face, and his satisfaction was obvious.

He was sure her choice would match what he wanted.

“I can tell,” he said, “that Young Master Shen has extraordinary potential. One day you may accomplish great things. I’m not much, but I’m shameless enough to be called a famed scholar. I can’t compare to those famous teachers with disciples spread across the world, but teaching you the basics is more than enough…”

Shen Tang had already decided, but she didn’t say it yet. Instead, she played dumb.

“Yuan Liang, I already memorized the scrolls.”

Qi Shan laughed softly and tapped his temple. “Young Master Shen, the truly valuable things are here. If reading a few word-spirit lines were enough to master the literary heart, then learning would be far too easy.”

“You’re not wrong,” Shen Tang said. Then her expression sharpened. “But Xiao City…”

She’d fought tooth and nail to escape. Now she was supposed to trot right back? If she ran into the constables who’d escorted her exile… she’d die of awkwardness.

“You need to give me a guarantee.”

“Such as?”

“A word-spirit that changes your build and face,” Shen Tang said promptly.

Qi Shan went silent.

He truly didn’t have that. And as far as he knew, word-spirit didn’t work that way—word-spirit existed for power, strategy, and martial force. Young Master Shen’s imagination was… impressive.

He didn’t have word-spirit for it.

But he had something else.

He tossed her a small bottle.

Shen Tang caught it, popped it open, and squinted inside. Black powder. Fine and sooty.

“What is this?” she asked warily.

“Pot-bottom ash,” Qi Shan said.

Shen Tang stared at him.

“Smear some on your face,” Qi Shan continued, utterly serious. “Or run hard, sweat hard, sunburn yourself. Go seven or eight days without washing—who’s going to recognize you?”

Shen Tang pictured seven or eight days of sweat without bathing. She could practically smell the sour stench already.

“That’s your great idea?”

“How is it a bad idea?” Qi Shan’s smile faded, his voice cooling. “This is advice from experience.”

Shen Tang blinked. Experience?

But Qi Shan clearly didn’t want to explain. He lifted his chin and kept going.

“You don’t need to worry so much. Those constables are more derelict than you are. If a fugitive escapes, they’re unlikely to report it.”

His eyes were calm, almost indifferent. “Most likely, they’ll cut off someone else’s ear to replace yours and fill the quota.”

Shen Tang’s scalp prickled.

“So,” Qi Shan concluded, “you won’t see your wanted portrait posted at Xiao City’s gates.”

Even if the constables did report it and a painter drew her likeness… so what? Those portraits were notoriously awful. Unless you had an unmistakable feature, even your own mother might not recognize you.

And the city gates saw countless commoners each day.

The odds of being exposed were tiny.

The reasoning settled Shen Tang’s nerves.

“Fine,” she said. “We’ll go.”

She dug a deep, wide pit and dumped the corpses in one by one, then shoveled the earth back over them. By the time she finished, the moon was high and cold overhead.

Qi Shan had already built a fire. He warmed the cakes Shen Tang had formed with word-spirit, so when she sat down, she could eat them hot.

“Hot!” Shen Tang hissed, nearly burning her tongue.

The cakes were bland. Only the charred edges had a hint of fragrance. The more she ate, the thirstier she got, washing down every two bites with water, mouth dry and tasteless.

She found herself thinking, with unreasonable bitterness, that it would’ve been perfect with a filling—pickled greens and meat, for example.

For some reason, Qi Shan went to sleep unusually early.

No reviewing. No practicing word-spirit.

Shen Tang wasn’t tired. She sat by the fire, staring into the embers.

After a long while, she heard the faint crunch of grass. Someone approached carefully.

No malice. So she didn’t move.

A figure sat down a short distance away. By firelight, it was the vice censor’s son. He kept looking at her, hesitating, like he wanted to confirm something but didn’t know how to ask.

Shen Tang waited until she got annoyed, then spoke first. “The vice censor is asleep?”

The man jumped slightly, as if he hadn’t expected her to address him. “Yes… Father is asleep, but not well. He has a fever. His wounds are inflamed. Tomorrow we need to find herbs…”

His voice cracked. His eyes reddened.

His father was stronger than most, but age was age. No one endured that kind of torture and jolting without paying for it.

“There should be villages nearby,” Shen Tang said. “You can ask the villagers for herbs.”

She paused. “I haven’t asked your name. How should I address you?”

“I am Tian Zhong,” he said. “My courtesy name is Shou Yi.”

Shen Tang studied him. “Shou Yi. Why were you staring at me earlier?”

Tian Zhong’s hands moved as if to deny it, then stopped. “Because you look like someone I’ve met. Almost exactly. Except for the gender.”

His voice lowered. “And today, hearing you speak with Sir Qi… hearing you say you were…” He swallowed the last word and didn’t finish it. “I thought there might be a connection between you and her.”

Shen Tang’s heart sank.

So she’d met someone who knew the original owner.

She forced her tone steady. “Who was she? Were you close?”

“No, no,” Tian Zhong said quickly. “Only once. I’m not close to her at all.”

He hesitated. “If we speak in terms of relationship, she should count as my niece-in-law.”

Shen Tang froze. “My… niece-in-law?”

“Strictly speaking, not quite.” Tian Zhong rushed to explain. “Yun Chi’s father and I were classmates and fellow examinees. We became sworn kin. Yun Chi is like my nephew.”

He looked down. “If the wedding rites had been completed, he would’ve called me ‘Uncle Tian.’”

“And who is Yun Chi?” Shen Tang asked, throat suddenly dry.

“Madam Gong’s Gong Cheng,” Tian Zhong said. “His courtesy name is Yun Chi.”

Shen Tang’s mind went blank.

Gong Cheng.

Of all names.

“Why weren’t the rites completed?” she asked, forcing the words out.

Tian Zhong’s face tightened. “On the wedding day, before they could finish the three bows, constables barged into Gong Manor to arrest someone. The entire household—including the bride—was dragged into jail. Two days later, they were sent into exile.”

He let out a bitter breath. “I was a guest that day. It was… a pity.”

Shen Tang’s voice came out low. “Where is Gong Cheng now?”

Tian Zhong’s smile was pure bitterness. “If he’s lucky, he’s still on the exile road. If he’s unlucky…”

He didn’t finish, then finally said, “He’s on the road to the Yellow Springs.”

Shen Tang pressed down the twitch in her temple and asked carefully, “And Gong Cheng’s bride—what family was she from?”

“The Shen clan,” Tian Zhong said, then swallowed. “Only… after Madam Gong’s household was exiled, Zheng Qiao ordered the Shen clan exterminated to the ninth degree.”

His eyes turned wet again. “It was horrific.”

Shen Tang went very still.

So aside from a Gong Cheng whose fate was unknown, the original owner’s relatives…

None were left.