Chapter 8

Chapter 8: You Can’t Judge a Person by Their Looks

“Sir Qi…” Shen Tang hesitated.

Qi Shan lifted his eyelids. “Speak. I don’t like people who circle around their point.”

“Then I’ll be direct.” Shen Tang swallowed. “If it’s convenient… can I follow you for a few days?”

She kept her posture small, her voice careful. “I know my identity as a fugitive will bring trouble. I shouldn’t burden you, sir, but I don’t know this place at all, and I truly don’t know what to do…”

Truthfully, she had another reason.

Qi Shan could use Literary Heart smoothly. A free tutoring chance like this didn’t come twice.

She leaned into the advantage she had—young, battered, pitiful—trying to stir sympathy.

Qi Shan didn’t show a shred of it.

He studied her lowered head with something like amusement.

A newbie who barely understood Literary Heart had just faced a third-grade Hairpin-Bird Rank head-on and didn’t lose. That wasn’t a helpless puppy.

That was a wolf-dog pup, teeth bared and eyes hungry.

Showing weakness might fool other people. It wasn’t enough for him.

Qi Shan lowered his gaze and idly toyed with the deep green signature seal hanging at his waist.

After a long silence, he said, “It’s not impossible. But we split at the next town. Otherwise you’ll regret it.”

“Regret?” Shen Tang asked. “Why?”

Qi Shan tapped the sword at his waist. “Do you think that sword is decoration, or a weapon I can actually use?”

Shen Tang: “…”

Qi Shan gave a thin smile. “Little young lord, don’t assume someone who helps you once is a good person. The trouble on me is far bigger than yours as a fugitive.”

He paused, eyes sharp. “And remember this: if you see someone walking alone out here, whether they’re wearing a Literary Heart signature seal or a Martial Gall tiger tally, be wary.”

Shen Tang blinked, then muttered—quietly, but not quietly enough—”Sir Qi, you really think I’m that naive?”

Qi Shan snorted under his breath.

No, she wasn’t naive. But her request wasn’t excessive either.

They built a small campfire in a sheltered spot.

Qi Shan rested with his arms around his sword. He hadn’t even drifted when Shen Tang’s stomach started growling loud enough to be humiliating.

He opened his eyes. Shen Tang pressed a hand to her belly and smiled awkwardly. “I walked seven or eight hours today in a cangue. I only ate one moldy cake. Sorry… I disturbed your rest, sir.”

Her gut wouldn’t stop.

Qi Shan didn’t bother pretending he hadn’t heard. He unhooked his waterskin and ration bag and tossed them over.

“Eat. Just enough to keep you standing.”

Shen Tang caught them without ceremony. “Thank you.”

The first bite hit her stomach like warmth. Even so, she only ate half and saved the rest.

Qi Shan noticed but didn’t comment.

He pulled out a scroll made of tanned animal hide and read it by firelight.

Shen Tang spotted the words “word-spirit” and couldn’t stop looking.

Qi Shan finally sighed. “Curious?”

Shen Tang hugged her knees, smiling with forced innocence. “Yeah. Curious. Literary Heart is amazing. Sir, could you teach me?”

“You’re not shy,” Qi Shan said dryly.

“Didn’t you say you don’t like people who aren’t straightforward?”

Qi Shan fell silent for a beat, like he’d stepped into his own trap.

Still, the scroll wasn’t rare. It was a collection of common word-spirit, the kind any strategist was expected to study. Shen Tang would run into them sooner or later in a larger town’s bookshop—or at the academy.

And word-spirit wasn’t something you could simply explain. Most of it was grasped, not taught.

The same word-spirit could click for one person and remain impossible for another all their life.

Qi Shan held the scroll out. “Read it yourself. If you don’t understand, ask.”

Shen Tang accepted it. Her eyes brightened—then immediately went blank after a single line.

Qi Shan narrowed his eyes. “You can’t read?”

“If I couldn’t read, I’d be dead already,” Shen Tang said. “I just want to ask… something like ‘gaze at plums to quench thirst’—that’s also word-spirit?”

“Of course.” Qi Shan’s tone shifted faintly into lecture. “Don’t be fooled by how short it is compared to Martial Gall word-spirit. The power can be terrifying. It’s one of the word-spirit a strategist must master.”

Shen Tang frowned. “Terrifying how?”

“If the caster’s Literary Heart is strong and it’s used right,” Qi Shan said, “it can sway the outcome of a war.”

Shen Tang stared. “A war?”

“This one boosts a soldier’s morale,” he said, then added, “It used to be much longer. It was refined down.”

Shen Tang flipped farther down the scroll, pointing as she went.

“Then what about ‘stars strewn like a chessboard’?”

“Troop formations. Battlefield games.”

“‘Cut the weeds and remove the roots’?”

“It can bolster a soldier’s strength, but it costs a lot. Don’t use it lightly.”

“‘Walk into the trap’?”

“It’s used in formations too. It disrupts enemy troops and makes them stumble into chaos.”

She didn’t even need to ask about the rest. Qi Shan’s notes were dense and sharp, all aimed at killing.

No wonder he’d warned her he wasn’t a good man.

Shen Tang looked at the scroll’s diagrams—simulated formations, layered plans—and understood exactly what kind of person Qi Shan was: the type who used offense as defense, who’d squat in the grass and take heads without blinking.

“Sir Qi,” she said, “I have one more question.”

Qi Shan’s eyes narrowed like he’d seen it coming. “Ask.”

Shen Tang tapped a section near the back. “What’s the difference between Literary Heart and Martial Gall?”

Qi Shan stared at her for a beat, expression blank.

Again, he wondered what mountain cave she’d crawled out of.