Chapter Fifteen: Timely

“Robbing the grain store?” Qin Yi’s eyelid twitched. There was only one grain shop in all of Cangwu Town—the very one where his father worked! At this hour, his father was surely still on duty there...

“Damn it, I hope nothing’s happened!” Qin Yi sped toward the north end of town.

...

Northern Cangwu.

Inside the Wang family’s grain shop.

Peng Shiyong finished off the last constable and turned to Yan San. “Leave five men here. The rest of you, go door to door and loot the shops in town. Bring back a few hostages as well—they’ll help us haul the grain when we leave!”

“Yes, boss!” Yan San replied respectfully.

Once Yan San had gone, Peng Shiyong slammed his long saber down on the counter. “You’re the shopkeeper?”

“Yes, yes...” The shopkeeper was already trembling in the corner, his pants wet with fear.

“How much grain do you have in this shop?”

“About eight hundred shi,” the shopkeeper stammered.

“Is he lying? Are there any other warehouses?” Peng Shiyong pointed to Qin Zumin, who was cowering behind the counter.

“No, he’s not lying. There are no other warehouses,” Qin Zumin replied hastily.

“Excellent. Then you’re both expendable.”

He’d barely finished speaking when screams erupted from outside!

“We’re under attack!”

“This one’s tough, all together now!” Yan San’s terrified shout carried in from outside.

“More constables?” Peng Shiyong rushed toward the door.

Just as he reached the threshold, a shadow barreled toward him—swift and sudden.

“Courting death!” Peng Shiyong slashed out, his saber’s arc threatening to cleave the figure in two.

But the shadow ducked low, slipping past the blade like a fish through water, and darted inside.

“Damn!” Peng Shiyong whipped his saber back for a second strike, but he was a moment too slow.

“Fivefold Force!”

Bang!

Pain exploded in Peng Shiyong’s lower back, and he was launched from the doorway, flying into the courtyard beyond.

Thud...

Peng Shiyong landed with a scream, sprawled in the yard. He felt his spine shatter; he couldn’t so much as crawl or move a muscle.

Only now did he see it clearly: his twenty-odd men lay scattered and broken across the ground.

He knew then—he’d run into a true master.

He was a third-rank fighter, yet had been crippled by a single blow. His opponent had to be at least fifth rank, and remarkably fast—otherwise, he wouldn’t have been dispatched so quickly.

Inside, Qin Yi saw that his father was unharmed at last. He let out a long breath, then turned and strode out, ready to finish off the man outside.

A Daoist appeared before Peng Shiyong, robe stained with blood, face masked.

“Are you from the Qingwei Daoist Palace?” Peng Shiyong’s eyes widened as he recognized the robes.

“Spare my life! I have five hundred taels in silver notes!”

Qin Yi didn’t reply. He picked up a spear from the ground and, with a flick of his arm, hurled it through the air at Peng Shiyong.

“You—!” Despair finally overtook Peng Shiyong’s face. The hidden dart in his sleeve was useless at this range.

The spear pierced his throat in a spray of blood.

After making sure there were no survivors, Qin Yi quickly searched the bodies.

It was his first time killing, yet he felt little distress. Perhaps it was because his father in his previous life had been a butcher—he had grown up helping with slaughter, used to the blood and the squealing of pigs as they bled out. Compared to that, this was nothing.

A few minutes later, after searching more than twenty corpses, he’d gathered a little over thirty taels of silver.

Qin Yi returned indoors and led the bewildered Old Qin away.

At home.

“Fourth Son, when did you become so skilled?” Qin Zumin looked at his youngest as though he barely recognized him.

“Father, I learned it at the Daoist palace. The neighboring county has already fallen. Come with me to Qingwei Palace—we must leave now!” Qin Yi urged.

“You’re right. It’s no longer safe here,” Qin Zumin agreed without protest.

Packing quickly, the two slipped out of Cangwu Town.

The streets were in chaos. People were hastily gathering their belongings, families preparing to flee.

“It’s getting worse,” Qin Yi thought grimly.

...

They hurried along the road until nightfall, finally reaching the foot of the mountain where Qingwei Daoist Palace stood.

As soon as they started up the stone steps, several figures leapt out from the shadows.

“Who goes there? What business do you have on the mountain?”

“I’m from the dormitory as well!” Qin Yi raised his torch to show his face.

“It’s you, Brother Qin. Where have you come from so late, and who is this with you?” Huang Fangrui, recognizing him, eased his tone.

“Greetings, Senior Brother Huang. I’ve just returned from Cangwu. This is my father—I’ve brought him to serve as a laborer,” Qin Yi said with a bow.

Huang Fangrui was the master’s fifth direct disciple.

“Do you have proof? No strangers are allowed up the mountain right now!” Huang Fangrui had already seen several fellow disciples bringing their families to serve as laborers in recent days.

“Yes, Senior Brother, I do.” Qin Yi quickly produced his credentials.

After glancing over them, Huang Fangrui waved him on. “Go on up, quickly!”

“Thank you, Senior Brother!”

...

The next day, Qin Yi made arrangements for his father, securing him a position as a laborer at Qingwei. The job was easy—serving food in the dining hall and living on the mountain.

In the morning, Qin Yi was assigned to guard duty at the foot of the mountain. With nearly forty disciples in the dormitory, they were divided into two shifts for day and night patrols.

“I heard all of Sanjiang County fell yesterday!”

“And our Jinyuan County has no stationed troops. Who knows if the trouble will spread here?”

“Supposedly, the commandery is sending troops—should be here in a day or two. As long as nothing happens before then, we should be safe.”

Listening to his brothers talk, Qin Yi couldn’t help but ask, “Brother Zhou, how many troops does the commandery have in reserve, and how many will they send?”

“How would I know how many they’ll send? The commandery army in Jiangning has about five thousand men,” answered Zhou Jiazhen, a senior disciple.

“Only five thousand?” Qin Yi frowned. With the frontlines under constant pressure, he doubted the court hadn’t already drawn reinforcements from every commandery.

With three counties fallen already, the commandery army certainly wouldn’t send all its troops to suppress the uprising—some would have to remain to guard the commandery seat.

“Brother Zhou, may I have a word in private?” Qin Yi lowered his voice.

Senior Brother Zhou Jiazhen was the guard supervisor today—not a direct disciple, but a ten-year veteran.

They stepped aside.

“What is it?”

Qin Yi discreetly slipped a copper note worth two hundred wen into Zhou Jiazhen’s hand. “Brother Zhou, I’d like to go into the county town for some personal purchases. Would you grant me half a day’s leave?”