Chapter 31

Chapter 31: Conversation

Qi Shan knew Shen Tang well enough to be uneasy the moment he turned his back. Young Master Shen wasn’t the type to stay put. Afraid something would happen, he rushed through his errands and returned at once.

And then—

Where was he?

Where had a whole Young Master Shen gone?

Qi Shan stood in the road, jaw tightening, his face turning green.

Was Shen Tang taken by kidnappers… or had Shen Tang taken the kidnappers?

Before he could decide which was more likely, a steady, unfamiliar male voice spoke beside him.

“Are you Qi Shan—Young Master Qi?”

“Old Sir, greetings. I am Qi Shan.” Qi Shan cupped his hands and bowed, forcing his worry down where it wouldn’t show.

When he straightened, he studied the man in front of him.

Gray-white hair. A weathered face. About forty or fifty. A yellowed, worn short jacket and rough trousers, straw sandals on his feet.

That alone wouldn’t have been notable. What caught Qi Shan was the man’s bearing—calm, refined, scholarly. His brows and eyes were peaceful and upright, and his black eyes were far too clear for someone who’d lived through that much.

Qi Shan’s gaze dropped to the man’s hands.

They were rough and scarred with chilblains, and they carried several bundles of meat wrapped in lotus leaves. He looked like someone used to hard labor and poverty.

A dozen thoughts flashed through Qi Shan’s mind and settled into a single, silent conclusion: this man didn’t match his clothes.

He asked evenly, “Old Sir, how do you know my name?”

The man smiled, warm and unhurried. “That young master with the surname Shen told me.”

Qi Shan immediately knew who that was. The knot in his chest loosened.

“Did he leave a message?”

“He did. He said, ‘I’m going out of the city to handle something. I’ll be back later.’”

Qi Shan almost laughed in disbelief. Young Master Shen didn’t even know the roads. He’d never been to Xiao City before. What business could he possibly have outside the walls?

“What business?” Qi Shan asked.

The man answered calmly, “Upholding justice. Punishing evil.”

Qi Shan stared, the words not quite fitting in his head. It sounded like the kind of chant zealots spat out before they did something stupid.

The man continued, “Young Lord Shen was worried you’d return and not find anyone. He asked me to wait here, so you wouldn’t worry.”

Qi Shan let out a short, irritated sigh. “When would I worry about him? If anything, I’d worry he’d run into some lowlife and—”

The man pressed his lips together, the corner of his mouth twitching as if he were holding back a knowing smile.

And, unfortunately, Qi Shan’s guess was dead on.

By the time Qi Shan pieced together the past hour from the man’s scattered details, his composure slipped for a heartbeat.

He’d only been gone a little over an hour, and Young Master Shen had already stirred up that much trouble?

What was done was done. Complaining wouldn’t undo it.

So Qi Shan talked with the stranger while they waited.

Outwardly, he stayed calm. Inwardly, his doubts deepened. The man was dressed like a poor commoner, but his speech and manner felt like someone raised behind high gates—soaked in incense and privilege. Even with worn clothes and hands marked by toil, the elegance didn’t fade.

The conversation drifted to word-spirit.

Qi Shan spoke of what he’d been studying: “walk into the trap” and “desperate struggle.” The first lured enemy troops into a formation. The second was for when your side was losing—one last surge of will.

If you caught the right moment, you could still turn the board.

The old man listened, and for the briefest moment his gaze went distant, as if he’d been pulled into an old memory. Then he said, “Walk into the trap… courting your own destruction. The line you’re using—‘No sparrow by the fence, but the hawk throws itself into the net’—it isn’t good.”

Qi Shan’s brows lifted slightly. “Why isn’t it good?”

“Because it’s easy to target. If the enemy strategist’s Literary Heart surpasses yours, all he needs is ‘draw the sword and lift the net, the sparrow flies free,’ and your formation breaks.”

A net cut open by a sword was no net at all. Once the gap appeared, everything escaped.

Qi Shan asked, “Then what would you use instead?”

The old man’s voice stayed mild. “I’d use ‘sink into water, plunge into fire—self-destruction.’”

Qi Shan paused. Compared to “walk into the trap,” which still left a narrow path out, that was a clean kill. Blood-soaked. Absolute.

The man looked gentle enough, but his words carried a blade.

Qi Shan tested him. “And ‘desperate struggle’?”

The old man’s expression cooled, interest fading. His answer, though, was brutal.

“On the battlefield, it’s kill or be killed. If you keep ‘desperate struggle’ in your heart, you’ll leave room in your strikes. You won’t win for long.”

Qi Shan inhaled quietly.

People truly couldn’t be judged by appearances.

Before he could probe further, hoofbeats pattered closer—tap, tap, tap—and a mule’s bell chimed.

Shen Tang rode up at a light trot. She swung down and grinned. “Yuan Liang, sorry to keep you waiting.”

Qi Shan’s gaze flicked over her clothes and hands—clean. No blood. Had nobody died after all?

He asked flatly, “You said you were ‘upholding justice and punishing evil.’ Where’s the evil?”

Shen Tang leaned against Moto, eyebrows dancing. “They were fast. By now they’re probably asking Meng Po for a bowl of soup.”

Qi Shan went silent.

So the “evil” really had been plural.

Old Sir Yuan Liang took the hint that the reunion was complete and offered his farewell.

Qi Shan hurried to ask where he lived, saying he hoped to exchange ideas again someday, maybe even play a few rounds. Yuan Liang only declined with a polite smile and walked away, lotus-leaf bundles swinging at his side.

Qi Shan watched him go, brows drawn tight, until Shen Tang waved a hand in front of his face.

“What are you doing?”

Qi Shan slapped her hand away.

Shen Tang smirked. “You can stare all you want. He’s not going to turn around.”

Qi Shan murmured, almost to himself, “A pity.”

Shen Tang popped two pieces of malt candy into her mouth and jogged after him. “A pity what?”

“That man isn’t simple.”

Shen Tang rolled her eyes. “Obviously. Drop him in a crowd and you’d still spot him in one glance. His vibe isn’t ordinary at all. No idea if his family collapsed or something else happened.”

She’d even wondered if Yuan Liang was the sort who hid in the marketplace like a recluse—but even recluses had their pride. No matter how poor, they didn’t usually live on scraps everyone else turned their noses up at while doing heavy labor like a beast of burden.

Qi Shan didn’t answer.

Shen Tang tried again. “You looked like you were getting along great. What were you talking about?”

“Word-spirit.”

“He has a Literary Heart?” Shen Tang asked quickly.

Qi Shan lowered his gaze. “Maybe. He used to.”

Shen Tang blinked. Used to?

Before she could chase the thought further, Qi Shan realized the footsteps behind him had stopped. He turned—

Shen Tang had darted off to a butcher stall that was closing, asking questions in a rush. A moment later, she ran back, eyes bright with whatever she’d dug up.