Chapter 55

Chapter 55: Someone Stole My Stuff (Part 1)

“Awake already?” Qi Shan asked.

That fast?

He took one look at Young Master Shen’s normal complexion and finally let out a breath. When he’d seen the young lord curled up and motionless, he’d thought she’d been poisoned to death. Thankfully, it had only scared him half to death.

Young Master Shen didn’t answer. She climbed to her feet and started putting on her wooden clogs.

Chu Yao’s gaze flicked down. “Left and right are swapped. You’re still drunk.”

Qi Shan opened his mouth, then shut it again.

Shen Tang’s face stayed blank as she scanned the courtyard like she’d misplaced something. After a long beat, her eyes locked on the gate.

Qi Shan and Chu Yao didn’t get it—until she lifted a hand and grabbed at empty air.

Literary qi surged. A longsword condensed in her grip.

It was over three feet long and barely wider than two fingers, unnaturally slender under the moonlight. Nine golden dragons coiled around the hilt, each with gemstone eyes, and the blade bore a single carved word: Mercy.

Qi Shan’s stomach dropped. Chu Yao went rigid.

“What are you—” Qi Shan started.

Shen Tang hoisted the sword and headed for the gate.

Qi Shan didn’t hesitate. “You Li!”

She stopped. Slowly, she turned her head toward him, brows drawn as if she were trying to place the voice.

“Yuan Liang?” she said at last, calm and clear. “Why aren’t you asleep?”

“It’s still early,” Qi Shan replied, choosing his words while staring at the weapon in her hand. A drunk with a sword was a disaster waiting to happen. “You Li, you’re drunk. I’ll go make you some hangover soup in the east kitchen.”

Shen Tang’s expression didn’t change. She gave a flat, irritated huff.

Qi Shan felt the complaint in that single sound like a slap.

She tossed the sword onto her shoulder. “I can drink a thousand cups and never get drunk. No hangover soup. Don’t cook. Go to bed early.”

Qi Shan ground his teeth. Thousand cups, my ass. She couldn’t paint, so she swore she could. She couldn’t drink, so she swore she could. What else was waiting to bury him down the line?

Chu Yao asked, “Wu Lang, where are you going?”

Shen Tang’s eyes lit up, like someone had thrown open a door in her skull. She lifted her chin and bellowed, “The wind howls, the Yi River runs cold—the warrior goes forth and never returns!”

“We should stand tall, sweep away filth, and rid the people of harm!”

“I’m going to enforce justice on Heaven’s behalf!”

Chu Yao actually stuttered. “…The road ahead is dangerous.”

Xiao City had its own “specialty” industry, which meant no curfew. The streets stayed busy even at night. A sword-swinging drunk in a crowd was a nightmare.

Shen Tang answered with action. She swung once.

Sword qi roared out—clean, brutal, sharp enough to cut iron like clay. The stone mill in the courtyard split apart like tofu.

She declared, “Then I won’t come back!”

Qi Shan and Chu Yao stared at the bisected mill.

This wasn’t a drunken tantrum. This was a roaming calamity.

Shen Tang’s voice softened, almost soothing. “Don’t worry. I’ll kill the wicked thief, take back what was stolen, and return.”

Stolen?

Before either man could speak, she sprang up. Light as a feather, she vaulted the wall and vanished into the night.

Qi Shan’s teeth clicked. She climbed the wall. Then why the hell had she been staring at the gate?

Chu Yao shoved him. “Go.”

“And you?”

Chu Yao laughed without humor. “If my Literary Heart were intact, I’d have bound her the moment she moved. Do you think I’d be standing here watching Wu Lang run off?”

Qi Shan had nothing to say to that. He pulled his literary qi and chased.

Wind-Chasing Shadow-Treading flared under his feet—fast even among word-spirits, and he’d refined it for years.

It still wasn’t enough.

All he could catch was Young Master Shen’s back, nimble as a monkey, bounding over eaves and running along walls like gravity was a suggestion.

Qi Shan’s chest tightened. “…She’s drunk and she can still run like this?”

Worse, she was heading for the heart of Xiao City.

The crowd thickened. Laughter drifted from the street. Merchants shouted. Lanterns swayed.

If she snapped and started stabbing people, Qi Shan wasn’t sure he could stop her in time.

It would kill him—literally.

A black-clad youth slumped at an open window, staring mournfully at a round-bellied wine jar. “How does one ease sorrow? Only Du Kang Wine… Du Kang Wine, oh Du Kang Wine—tempting enough to break your heart.”

“Brother,” he muttered, “why can’t I transform wine? If I could, I’d save a fortune.”

There wasn’t a drop left in the jar. He still hadn’t had enough. And he had no idea whether the young lord would “open shop” again tomorrow.

Zhai Le’s whining earned him nothing from the person behind him. No response. Not even a grunt.

Bored, he swung a leg over the window frame, ready to slip out to the night market for more wine—when he heard a soft crunch on the tiles above.

A black shadow flashed overhead and disappeared.

Zhai Le froze.

That silhouette—

He shot upright. “Wine seller! Stop!”

“Two more jars!”

He launched himself out the window and took off. He was halfway through debating whether to trigger martial gall when the “wine seller” stopped on a tavern roof and looked down at him, eyes cold and clear.

Zhai Le’s danger sense screamed. He didn’t dare get too close. He cupped his hands and shouted across the gap, “Young Lord Shen—are you still selling?”

Shen Tang stood there in a thin sleeping robe, sword in hand. “Not right now.”

Zhai Le’s face fell. “Then where are you going?”

“To enforce justice on Heaven’s behalf,” Shen Tang said, voice clipped and righteous. “Rid the people of harm. Punish the wicked.”

Twelve words—hard as iron. Shame crept up Zhai Le’s neck. Here was Young Lord Shen out doing serious work, and he’d been thinking about nothing but drinking.

Then Shen Tang added, “And to take back my treasure.”

Zhai Le jolted. “A thief stole Brother Shen’s treasure?”

“Yes,” Shen Tang said through her teeth. “Despicable.”

She leveled her gaze at him. “Brother Zhai—will you come with me?”

Zhai Le’s boredom evaporated. “Yes! Yes!”

A long night was long. Better to spend it doing something heroic.

“Good,” Shen Tang said briskly. “Very good.”

A few breaths before Qi Shan could catch up, she grabbed Zhai Le by the collar and hauled him toward the city outskirts at a dead run.

Qi Shan rounded a corner just in time to see Young Master Shen dragging an “innocent youth” like a sack of grain. The boy was yelling, “Help! Don’t drag me!”

Qi Shan’s vision went dark.

Zhai Le noticed something else: Shen Tang had changed direction. She’d been racing toward the crowded city center—now she was heading for the edge, where lanterns thinned into scattered points.

“Why’d we turn?” he demanded between gasps.

Shen Tang didn’t even blink. “The wicked thief ran. He’s not that way.”

“Slippery bastards,” Zhai Le hissed.

“Exactly,” Shen Tang said. “So we can’t let him go.”

Zhai Le glanced back. “That guy chasing you—an enemy?”

Shen Tang answered without hesitation. “Not an enemy. A guide NPC.”

Zhai Le blinked. “A what?”

“Is it the Northern Desert,” he guessed, “or Ten Wu barbarians?”

The Central Plains wouldn’t use a name that weird. And Shen Tang didn’t sound like she was talking about an enemy.

Behind them, Qi Shan chased like his soul was on fire.

He heard every word.

He nearly choked. “…”