Chapter 002: Strange

These silver coins were the spoils from earlier, the tributes extorted from the street vendors. Compared to distant county officials, local lawmen held more sway; as the patrol constables of this stretch, they could easily ruin these small traders, leaving them with nothing but bitter tears if they chose to make trouble.

Chen Zekuan hefted the money pouch, then poured out the scattered silver bits and copper coins, dividing them expertly into four shares. Chen Can and Chen Wu each eagerly took a share. Noticing Yao Qian lost in thought, Chen Zekuan patted him and said, “Yuan Zhen, what’s on your mind? Daydreaming of women again? Why don’t we take this money to the Apricot Blossom Pavilion? They say the women there are unforgettable—once you’ve tasted their charms, you’ll always want more.”

Pulled from his reverie, Yao Qian just smiled and ignored him. Chen Can was always a braggart, loose-tongued and harmless, all talk and no real nerve for action.

He accepted the silver Chen Zekuan handed over, thinking that since he was here, he might as well go with the flow. Life wasn’t bad right now: he was a government official, drawing a salary from the imperial court, and making extra on the side—walking both dark and light paths. If life could remain this stable, wouldn’t that be enough?

With clarity of mind, the pressure on his chest eased, and a smile broke across his face. “Come on, let’s go have a drink,” he said.

Chen Can and Chen Wu both voiced their agreement. Only Chen Zekuan shot him a curious look, but said nothing. The four of them took another road and soon arrived in front of a tavern.

Chen Family Tavern.

They stepped inside. The place was lively, filled with people from all walks of life. The din rose and fell in waves, the establishment itself nothing fancy, just modest.

A sharp-eyed waiter hurried over, plastering on a smile. “Second Master, young masters, the usual?”

Chen Zekuan nodded and led the group to a quiet table near the edge of the room.

At the center of the tavern, on a raised platform, a white-bearded elder sat upright, striking the storyteller’s wooden block for attention. His voice rang out, rich with emotion, as he began his tale.

“What’s the story today? The Legend of Martial Righteousness?” Yao Qian asked, glancing around.

The waiter at his side quickly replied, “Young master has sharp ears—it is indeed the Legend of Martial Righteousness.”

The tale was of a scholar who, meeting a fox spirit on a moonlit night, found inspiration and love, passed the imperial exams, but, disillusioned by the corruption of the court, abandoned the pen for the sword. He became a wandering hero, righting wrongs, slaying monsters, and aiding the oppressed.

Most of the patrons in the hall were enthralled by the storyteller, sighing or slapping the tables in delight, shouting “Bravo!” at the exciting parts.

“This is all thanks to Yuan Zhen—reading really broadens your outlook. If not for your idea back then, we wouldn’t have today’s booming scene,” said a woman in her twenties, who approached them from behind. She was above average in looks, but with a fiery spirit that made her especially striking.

Every cat has its road, every mouse its path.

The Chen family had been rooted in Pingyang City for generations and amassed considerable wealth. This tavern was their family business, managed by Chen Zekuan’s elder brother and his wife. With their protection, no one dared cause trouble here.

The woman before them was Chen Zekuan’s sister-in-law. The four men rose and called out, “Sister-in-law.”

“Don’t exaggerate,” Yao Qian replied. “I just made a suggestion—that you and Brother have managed so well is what brought this success.”

Back when he first crossed over, though he was convalescing, he still needed to eat. The tavern’s business was poor, the couple’s faces clouded with worry. Yao Qian had happened to suggest this idea, never expecting it to work so well—the tavern’s business more than doubled in days, gaining a small reputation in Pingyang City.

After chatting with them for a while, the sister-in-law left to see to the busy business. The waiter brought over the dishes and wine, and Yao Qian poured a small bowl for each of them. Without further words, they toasted and drank.

The wine tasted sweet and sour, more like a refreshing drink than alcohol.

They sipped and snacked, listening to the storyteller—an easy, pleasant afternoon.

Halfway through, Chen Zekuan put down his cup and suddenly said, “Tomorrow, I’m leaving for Kunyang Town to take up my new post. I’ll only return after seven days’ leave.”

“You’re the new county constable?” someone asked.

“Congratulations, Brother!” said Chen Can and Chen Wu, clearly already aware.

Yao Qian was a little surprised at how quickly it came, but it was indeed good news for Chen Zekuan. In a county, the constable was a high official, second only to the magistrate—equivalent to a police chief in his old world, but with even greater authority.

As they celebrated, a group of rugged men arrived at a nearby table. Broad-shouldered and armed, they were clearly battle-hardened types. They called for food and wine, then launched into lively conversation.

Yao Qian hadn’t paid them much attention, until, midway through the drinking, one of the big men began talking about monsters and spirits.

He thought the man was just drunk and spouting nonsense. In the ancient world, with its limited knowledge and no science, people often explained the inexplicable as the work of ghosts or demons—just as many tales persisted in his own world, though he put no stock in them.

His companions at the big man’s table also laughed, dismissing his talk as drunken boasts.

The big man, red-faced and agitated, glared around and slapped the table. “You think I’m lying? Do you even know whose caravan I was guarding this time?”

Seeing all eyes on him, he lowered his voice, as if recalling something dreadful. “Liyi Trading Guild.”

Though his voice had dropped, Yao Qian and Chen Zekuan still heard it clearly. Their faces changed faintly as they glanced at one another.

Who would have thought any survivors of Liyi Trading Guild remained? Yao Qian exchanged a look with Chen Zekuan, who seemed similarly deep in thought.

As local toughs and government bailiffs, they knew all too well that the biggest recent case had been the massacre of the Liyi Guild. Had it not happened in the wilderness with no survivors, the authorities would never have been able to keep it so quiet—ordinary folk hadn’t even heard of it.

He nudged Chen Zekuan with his elbow. “Didn’t the higher-ups say it was the work of the Black Mountain Bandits? But this guy…”

He jerked his chin at the big man, but Chen Zekuan only shook his head silently, signaling him not to meddle.

By this time, the group had finished their meal, and, perhaps cowed by the story, stood and filed out, soon disappearing down the street.

“Perhaps the caravan murder really does have some hidden twists,” Yao Qian mused. “But to say it was done by spirits and ghosts? That’s just too far-fetched.”

He pushed the matter from his mind. It wasn’t within their jurisdiction, and not his concern.

He glanced at Chen Zekuan and said, “Maybe you should delay your appointment until the matter has settled. Wait until things calm down.”

The massacre had occurred not far from Kunyang Town. If Chen Zekuan went to assume office now, he’d have to deal with the Black Mountain Bandits—whether they were truly guilty or not, if the authorities said they did it, then they did.

The four of them lingered over their wine until sunset, had dinner at the tavern, and finally went their separate ways home.

The next morning, Yao Qian, Chen Can, and Chen Wu rose early to see Chen Zekuan off as he left Pingyang for his new post in Kunyang.

Peaceful days passed like a white horse galloping past a crack—six days flew by in the blink of an eye.

That day, after checking in at roll call, Yao Qian lounged with Chen Can and Chen Wu, chatting idly. Pingyang was a small, quiet city; murder and arson cases were rare, most incidents nothing but trivial disputes easily resolved without their intervention—unless they stepped in and extracted a bribe, which the common folk could hardly afford.

As they talked, Yao Qian occasionally rubbed his eyes. Over the past few days, the blood spots in his eyes had spread, now covering an entire eye—everything he saw was veiled in red, like looking through tinted glasses, making him deeply uncomfortable.

Just as he was about to get up for a drink and to await Chen Zekuan’s return, someone entered. The three looked up—it was Old Wang. His face was sallow and drawn, with a hint of blue, as if he’d aged several years overnight.

Chen Wu signaled to Yao Qian to probe him. Yao Qian, too, sensed something was wrong; Old Wang, despite his gruffness, had always treated them like his own nephews.

“Uncle…” Yao Qian called softly.

The squad leader came to himself, looked closely at the three, sighed, and said, “Come on, we have a case to handle.”

Without another word, he turned and walked out.

Even the slow-witted Chen Can and Chen Wu knew something was wrong. Exchanging glances, they pulled Yao Qian along.

With his vision blurred, being pulled made Yao Qian stumble forward, nearly falling flat on his face.

But that tug left him utterly stunned, as if seeing something beyond belief.

In front of his eyes, the blood-red film began to ripple, like water disturbed by a stone, spreading in waves. These ripples expanded and surged before his eyes, as though alive. After a few seconds, the red film transformed into something resembling a game interface, appearing clearly before him.

He focused, and saw only a few simple lines on the panel:

Yao Qian—

Basic Saber Technique: Beginner

Arresting Technique: Beginner

Potential Points: 0

“What… what on earth is this?”