Chapter 18: The Powerful Man in Black

No matter how much Qiu Zhiqing refused to admit it, he was already caught in the midst of a storm. Sipping his tea, he watched as the rain poured relentlessly, showing no sign of stopping. It seemed that heaven itself was showing no mercy. Well, it didn’t matter much—traveling in such weather was inconvenient anyway.

He would stay here with Meng Gong for a couple of days, sparing himself the trouble of searching for a Taoist temple to lodge at. The food here was quite decent!

He was eating well, but he wasn’t the only one in Xiangyang City who had lost their appetite; many others found it hard to eat these days. Meanwhile, at the Transfer Office on Southwest Jingxi Road, an unusual Household Registrar had just arrived.

He was unusual not just because he was a jinshi of the current examination cohort, but also because his uncle was the Prime Minister Shi Miyuan, and his grandfather had also held that esteemed position. As for himself in the future… that was a matter for another time.

Seated in the main hall was the Transfer Commissioner of Southwest Jingxi Road, a trusted confidant of Shi Miyuan. Before this dignified official could speak, the relatively minor Household Registrar broke the silence: “Honorable Commissioner, I hope you can answer my questions properly. This morning’s events presumably have nothing to do with us, correct?”

The Transfer Commissioner looked clearly resigned. He had a mountain of affairs to attend to and yet had to sit idly here drinking tea with this young official—a true inconvenience. Nevertheless, under the roof, one must bow.

“Registrar Shi, rest assured. If you have no other matters, I am quite busy and must take my leave.” Though he was loyal to Shi Miyuan, it did not mean he was a mere servant to the Shi family, summoned and dismissed at their whim. They were political allies, nothing more. Even if there were deeper ties, they certainly did not involve him—Shi Songzhi. It was impossible for a newly appointed minor registrar to boss him around.

Watching Shi Songzhi walk away with a flick of his sleeve, the Transfer Commissioner’s earlier stern demeanor was clearly a facade—he was deeply involved in the matter.

Such a large shipment of smuggled arms could not have bypassed the Transfer Office’s operations. To suggest otherwise was an insult to everyone’s intelligence. Yet the matter had to be suppressed.

At the court, debates raged over whether to ally with the Jin dynasty against the Mongols or to merely observe the outcome. The Jin state had already been battered by the Mongols but still dared to bully the Southern Song.

The most vivid examples were last year’s full-scale invasion against the Song in the twelfth year of Jiading, when the Jin sought to seize Bashu as a rear base, as well as the massive assault on Jing and Xiang earlier this year.

Hardline officials led by Jiangxi’s Pacification Commissioner Zhen Dexiu insisted that although the Mongols were fierce as tigers, the Jin were as ruthless as wolves and must be dealt with cautiously.

A secret decision had been made to covertly aid the Jin and watch the situation unfold, but before the envoy could even depart for Jin, Jin suddenly launched a full-scale attack, dashing any hopes of a Song-Jin alliance.

Less than half a year had passed since the last battle at Xiangyang. If his smuggling activities to Jin were exposed, he could easily become a sacrificial pawn. As the Transfer Commissioner of Southwest Jingxi Road, a position he had earned with difficulty, he needed to protect himself.

Meanwhile, at Yue Lai Inn—the largest chain inn in the martial world—the square-jawed middle-aged man from earlier was listening to his subordinate’s report. After a moment, he asked, “You say this is the doing of Prefect Zhao Fanggan? Have you found out where the goods are now?”

The subordinate quickly reported, “Brothers who followed the shipment say the goods have been taken back to the Prefect’s office in Xiangyang, but have not yet been stored.”

“Oh? Interesting! Have they identified all who handled the goods? Who proposed storing them temporarily at the Prefect’s office?”

Prepared for the question, the subordinate respectfully answered, “Boss, the situation is clear. It seems the Transfer Office claimed they needed to inventory the stock, citing heavy losses from the battle earlier this year and the need for timely replenishment, estimating about ten days for the process…”

The boss’s lips curved into a smile. Clearly, he was not acting alone—no one would trust a lawless figure of the underworld otherwise.

Yet the matter had arisen suddenly, so it was best to clarify everything to avoid mistakes. A small mishap might be forgivable, but damaging one’s financial interests would be disastrous.

“Did the Transfer Office leak any information about this stock inventory beforehand?”

His subordinate’s diligence was evident; in a later era, he would make an excellent secretary.

“Reporting to the boss, no prior notice was given. The order came shortly after our return to the inn. Also, I inquired about past inventory schedules—none were as prompt or lengthy as this one. Usually, it takes three to five days, but this time the Transfer Office cited insufficient manpower and dragged it out to about ten days…”

At this, the boss’s smile fully blossomed. He muttered softly, almost inaudibly, “No need for ten days. One night will suffice…” The words barely left his mouth before fading into the room.

On the fifteenth night of July, during the early hours, just after dinner, the diligent Qiu Zhiqing began his evening cultivation. But tonight’s location was unusual—he sat cross-legged on a tree branch, gazing toward Prefect Zhao’s study.

Meng Gong had bet him that spirits and demons would come to cause trouble tonight. Qiu Zhiqing was skeptical; he found it hard to believe that next time he ventured down from the mountain, he would encounter someone daring enough to sneak into the prefect’s office and assassinate him.

However, he completely overlooked the fact that even if he didn’t leave the mountain, such a ruthless figure was always nearby—his lifesaver and fifth senior uncle, Qiu Chuji.

One could say life breeds prejudice; to Qiu Zhiqing, Qiu Chuji was just a serious man who liked to challenge others to duels, nothing more. He never imagined his uncle would be capable of such an unscrupulous act as murdering an official.

Seated calmly on the branch, the rain above no longer soaked his clothes—a technique he had deduced from watching his senior uncle evaporate snow in early last year. Since a sword could conduct sword energy and true qi could dry clothes, perhaps continuously circulating true qi while cultivating the Complete Reality Heart Method might also warm and protect objects he carried—his whisk, clothes, or the sword on his back.

After more than a year of constant practice, the effect was subtle—just a little easier to control, somewhat practical, but not much. It felt like a futile effort.

Still, using true qi to keep his clothes dry in the rain was already quite useful. With that thought, Qiu Zhiqing flicked his straw hat, considering whether he might try warming his hair with true qi someday.

He shook his head with a wry smile, thinking he was overthinking due to boredom after his evening cultivation. Better to review and comprehend the Founders’ innate skill in his mind to pass the time.

Suddenly, a thunderclap ripped through the night sky, snapping Qiu Zhiqing out of his reverie. Indeed, it was the Ghost Festival, when the gates of the underworld opened and all manner of spirits dared to stir.

In the distance, a man dressed in a scarlet round-collared official robe, led by a servant, hurriedly left Prefect Zhao’s study, looking displeased and leaving without a word of farewell.

Behind him, a shadow moved swiftly and silently with remarkable agility.

If not for the flash of lightning moments before, Qiu Zhiqing would never have noticed. But lightning and thunder meant one shouldn’t remain under or atop a tree. Startled, he quickly jumped down and crept toward the study.

About fifteen minutes later, as he neared the prefect’s office gate, he heard a sudden commotion inside, followed by a stern shout: “How dare you!”

Without hesitation, Qiu Zhiqing burst through the door. Inside, Prefect Zhao was locked in combat with a figure in black, though the prefect clearly appeared fatigued.

His shoulder shifted, sword drawn. Moving with his blade, he lunged straight, forcing the black-clad assailant to retreat while shouting with commanding force, “Seize the assassin!”

Meng Gong, waiting with a blade in the guest room, quickly charged out at the shout and headed toward the prefect’s study.

The black-clad figure, vexed by the interference of a young Taoist, disregarded his original plan and attacked Prefect Zhao. The prefect’s sword danced; with a swift twist, he struck at the assailant’s left side, as if tickling a child.

Shamelessly, he even named the move aloud: “Playful Toddlers’ Frolic!”

The black-clad assailant slammed the prefect’s sword aside with a palm.

“What kind of ridiculous name is that?” Qiu Zhiqing thought, quickly following up with a subtle strike named “Boat Leaf,” aiming at the exposed right rib of the attacker, forcing him to halt his pursuit.

Yet the assailant was no pushover. He spun around to bat away Qiu Zhiqing’s sword and, before they could launch another attack, simultaneously struck out with both palms—one left, one right—toward the two.

Caught off guard and unable to evade in time, both men had to block the blows. The impact left their faces pale...