Chapter 5

Chapter 5: The Newbie Perk That Arrived Late

“A kind mother holds a sword…”

Shen Tang stared at the line until her eyes went dry.

A sword? Not thread? Not a metaphor?

Worse, the next part was “cleave the wanderer.”

This “kind mother” was poisonous.

The first line, fine. She could almost understand it. Even the gentlest mother would snap if her kid was the kind of son who drove her into a pit. Otherwise, where did “spare the rod, spoil the child” come from?

But the second line? That one could haunt a person for a year.

[Eighteen strikes in one heartbeat—every slash a crit.]

Her first thought was: so is the “wanderer” dead yet?

Could this kind of ridiculous horror writing actually save her?

For a moment, she doubted her own instincts.

Then again, so was the constable chief—whom she’d yanked right off his horse. A hardened leader, dragged off a warhorse by an escaped prisoner?

The shock flipped into real killing intent.

If he didn’t kill Gong’s traitor today, it would be trouble tomorrow!

Holding to the principle “still as a mountain, swift as thunder,” he wrenched his halberd tip free from her grip and drove it forward again in a blur, stabbing straight for Shen Tang’s left eye.

But the expected crunch never came.

Mid-thrust, something stopped the halberd with a force that numbed his palm.

Clang!

Halberd met sword.

It was an ancient blade, plain and practical, yet bright as fresh snow. Somewhere in that clear ring was a faint echo like dragons and tigers.

And the one holding it was Shen Tang.

The constable chief’s pupils shook.

They leaned into each other, locked in a dead contest.

That bought Shen Tang one breath—just one—to decide what to be furious about first: the fact that “a kind mother holds a sword” could actually conjure a sword, or the fact that she’d just tried to catch a halberd barehanded.

As an artist who lived for her work, her hands mattered more than her brain.

She’d lost control when the anger hit and used her precious right hand to stop a blade.

Thank heaven she hadn’t torn anything vital. If she could never hold a brush again, what would be left?

And the man who’d hurt her—

Shen Tang’s eyes turned cold.

Fine. Today she’d be the “kind mother,” and she’d teach this overgrown brat a lesson.

They were still straining against each other when Shen Tang shifted her feet. The bright blade scraped past the halberd, and the distance collapsed in an instant.

At the same time, she finished whispering the insane second line:

“A kind mother holds a sword, cleaving her wandering child.”

The moment the words fell, a heavy surge gathered from her Dan Palace and poured into her right hand. The sword, which had real weight a heartbeat ago, suddenly felt light as a feather. Her arm didn’t just move—it howled, like it had eighteen motors jammed inside it, each swing leaving a ghostly afterimage.

So it really was “every slash a crit.”

Before, she could manage one strike.

Now she could slash eighteen times, each one hunting for something vital.

Sword shadow and sword-light wove into a killing net.

By any sane logic, the constable chief’s head should’ve become a pincushion.

But this world didn’t care about logic.

He crossed his arms in front of his face. Black metal bracers condensed over his forearms, and he took all eighteen hits head-on.

Not a scratch.

Well—not entirely.

At least she’d flicked off his crown and topknot.

Shen Tang almost swore out loud.

Was this world ever going to get better?

If a third-grade Hairpin-Bird Rank was already this nasty, then what was a Marquis supposed to be—someone who ascended on the spot?

The constable chief’s focus sharpened. His brows sank heavier and heavier as he watched her.

The instant her speed dipped, he struck.

A punch threw out a red afterimage. Shen Tang dodged just in time. The impact hit the ground and blasted out a crater.

Dust and grit sprayed up and stole her sight.

When she blinked it clear, a bright greatsaber was already chopping down at her head.

She braced with her sword. Under the crushing force, her knees bent and her center sank. She caught the blow—barely.

The clang rang in her skull until her ears whined.

“I underestimated you!” the constable chief snapped.

He pressed forward, vicious and relentless.

After a long exchange, both of them were burning through strength, but he still hadn’t put her down.

Shen Tang’s breath came rougher. Sweat beaded across her forehead before she even realized it.

A third-grade Hairpin-Bird Rank’s raw strength was two or three times a bottom-tier Presented Scholar Rank’s. Every time he swung that saber, he meant to split her clean in half. Her arms felt like they were hovering on the edge of snapping.

It hurt, and pain made her mean.

“Hmph. More like I overestimated you.”

If you couldn’t do it, you couldn’t do it. Don’t act tough and say, “I underestimated you.” That was just mouth-fighting.

“But this ends—”

The constable chief didn’t bite on her taunts. His face cooled, his saber dragging low as he surged forward again.

Then he stopped—ten feet away. His thick brows knotted.

He stared at empty ground and roared, “Who’s there? Come out!”

Shen Tang’s heart lurched. Cold crept up her spine.

Someone else was nearby?

A low, magnetic man’s voice rolled into her ear, calm and unhurried:

“The teeth are hard and fall first; the tongue is soft and lasts. Softness overcomes hardness; weakness defeats strength.”

The constable chief’s face turned iron-green.

As the last word fell, a black-and-white calligraphy scroll unfurled beneath Shen Tang’s feet. Characters lifted off the page and sank into her body one by one.

In a blink, she was back.

Her arm didn’t hurt. Her breathing steadied. The strength she’d burned returned—

No. More than returned.

She could feel it, hot and full, like someone had poured extra straight into her veins. If she swung again, it wouldn’t be eighteen strikes. It would be thirty-six.

That was an ally. No question.

So this was it? The late-arriving newbie perk every transmigrator was supposed to get?

The constable chief watched her recover and looked like he wanted to curse someone’s ancestors.

“Obstructing official business,” he ground out, “is a crime punishable by death!”

The unseen man laughed. “Then go on. Execute one for me. Let me see.”

The constable chief still tried to cling to it. “Madam Gong acts against all reason. You stand with Gong’s traitor—aren’t you afraid of disaster catching you?”

“Why Madam Gong had her household confiscated and her clan exterminated, I know better than you do,” the man said coolly. “Who the traitor is hasn’t been decided yet.”

The constable chief heard it and knew. He had no chance now.

If he kept pushing, he’d be facing Shen Tang and the hidden man together.

And then he’d die.

He dragged his saber back, retreating while he kept Shen Tang in front of him. Only after he’d backed thirty, forty feet did he mount up and ride away, furious and unwilling.

Almost at the same moment, the calligraphy beneath Shen Tang’s feet scattered like ash.

The rush inside her vanished with it. The strength drained back to what it had been.

Shen Tang stared into the dark.

“…That buff trial period was criminally short.”

With the crisis gone, she dropped to the ground and forced her breathing under control. She looked down at her hands like they belonged to someone else.

She’d actually survived a hell start long enough to catch her “newbie protection perk”…

And she’d lived.

Survive a disaster, and good luck follows. Right?

She wiped sweat from her brow. When she looked up, a thin young man stepped out from behind a tree. His lips held a faint bluish cast, and his face looked sickly under the night.

Shen Tang scrambled to her feet. “Thank you for saving my life.”

He narrowed his eyes, studying her for a long moment, then said flatly, “Save your thanks.

If he hadn’t spotted me and shouted, I wouldn’t have bothered. Just the fact that you’re Madam Gong’s male heir makes me not want to save you. I’d rather kill you.”

Shen Tang’s smile froze.

Out of the tiger’s den… and straight into the wolf’s mouth.