Chapter 037: Calamity

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He hesitated in his heart; no matter what Old Wang thought, he would never let himself be sent to die. Better the other guy dies than himself! To survive in this dangerous world, he had paid a hefty price. Even if it meant training in the martial arts of demons and monsters, risking transforming into one himself, he gritted his teeth and persisted. He never considered himself a noble gentleman of upright character, nor someone with lofty ideals. When it truly came down to mortal peril, some lines he was willing to cross. Whether it was the old him or the current him, he was always just a small figure. He was well aware of this.

“To go up front? Then who will protect the Prefect? Where does that leave the Prefect’s safety? The Prefect is the lord of the city, overseeing both civil and military affairs—his life cannot be compared to ours. Even if we all die, we cannot let the Prefect fall into danger,” Old Wang said, eyes wide, filled with righteous indignation as he stared at him.

Yao Qian realized he had indeed overthought things. Old Wang was always adept at self-preservation; in such peril, why would he ever step forward? Once this became clear, Yao Qian straightened up and spoke, “That’s right, the Prefect’s life is paramount, tied to the fate of the whole city. He must not stand atop a crumbling wall.”

As for the lives of the common people? Since they were expected to lay down their lives for the Prefect, those people surely believed that even in death, their sacrifice was worthwhile, and the Prefect would remember their goodness.

The two reached a tacit agreement. As for the civilians who might die, Yao Qian felt nothing—no guilt or remorse. As for those sayings about greater power bringing greater responsibility, he’d rather let them go to hell.

With the matter settled, Yao Qian put it aside. He had wanted to ask about the bounty rewards, since they concerned his future. After all, even heroes can be stumped by a lack of money.

“By the way, Uncle, do you still have a list of wanted criminals? I’m running short lately—you know, I’ve been training a lot, and the expenses have been considerable.”

There was no need to hide this from Old Wang; besides, even if he tried, it wouldn’t work. Anyone with a little investigation could figure it out.

Old Wang nodded, understanding, and after thinking for a moment said, “Alright, I’ll help you find it. With your current skills, you can handle most experts. Even if you can’t defeat them, escaping shouldn’t be difficult.”

Saying this, he turned to rummage through the bookshelf behind him, pulling out a stack of documents from a pile of official papers and handed them over.

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Yao Qian eagerly took the documents, his eyes lighting up. Each portrait was, to him, an uncashed silver note.

He opened the file, finding a dozen or twenty thin sheets of white paper, each bearing a drawn portrait, a description below, and the amount of bounty offered.

He leafed through several in succession; those at the front generally had low rewards, around fifty taels, and their strength was only comparable to Bone-Twister Yu Hongchuan.

“If you act in these next two days, strike quickly—we might have to escort the Prefect out at any time. I’ll have someone watching the city gates, and as soon as any large group of strangers enters, word will reach us immediately,” Old Wang, a veteran of over twenty years in the bureaucracy, quickly devised a solution. Still, surveillance at the city gates wasn’t ideal. Pingyang, though a small city, was a crossroads of land and water, with frequent merchant caravans passing through. Large numbers of strangers often came and went. If the criminals acted carefully, their traces would be hard to track.

But he knew there was no better way. It all came down to lacking strength—if they were strong enough to crush any opponent, it wouldn’t matter how they entered the city. As soon as they committed a crime, they’d be eliminated.

He clenched his fist quietly; he still needed to grow stronger.

Shaking off his reverie, he nodded, “I understand. Don’t worry, I’ll stay in the yamen these next two days and won’t be away long.”

Since his own life was at stake, he remained cautious.

Leaving the yamen, he headed to the rear office, where the constables had their resting quarters, though the conditions were crude.

He pushed open the door, frowned at the sight, but paid it no mind. Finding a clean spot on a bed, he sat down and took out the portraits, studying them closely.

After half a cup of tea’s time, Yao Qian had reviewed them all—twenty-three in total, with bounties ranging from fifty to three hundred taels.

Of these, eleven were complete strangers, their whereabouts unknown, requiring much investigation—he immediately ruled them out. Five were names he had heard, but their movements were erratic, seemingly not in Pingyang; these too were eliminated. Of the remaining seven, as an official constable, he had some information about them, though he hadn’t realized they were wanted criminals.

Those on the government bounty list weren’t petty thieves—they were murderers. Among the seven he selected, even the least notorious had killed several people, all ruthless types.

Reflecting on his original self, he understood Old Wang’s reasons for keeping these secrets—it was to protect them.

As for Chen Zekuan, Old Wang had probably gathered these files for him, and Chen had solved many cases, likely with Old Wang’s help behind the scenes.

But now Chen Zekuan was dead, so none of it mattered.

He put away the other portraits, leaving only one in his hand.

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He studied the information, closed his eyes to recall for a moment, then loosened his grip. The portrait fluttered down.

Clang!

A blade’s cry rang out, its light flashing, shadows weaving in succession. He stood, blade in hand, and the portrait was already shredded into butterfly-sized fragments, drifting away on the breeze.

Cradling his blood-stained saber, he lay by the bed, closing his eyes as if to rest.

Time flowed like a winding stream. When he opened his eyes again, dusk had fallen.

He opened the door and looked up at the sky—the setting sun cast a blood-red glow, painting the heavens crimson.

Without a hint of hesitation, he stepped forward, resolute and unwavering, soon vanishing from sight.

……

Apricot Blossom Pavilion.

True to its name—the waves shimmer, willows sway, distant herbs in a lonely village, slanting sunlight with apricot blossoms fluttering.

The people there were as the name suggested: a spring so lovely could not be concealed; pale walls and slanted branches of apricot blossoms peeking out, or perhaps spring overflows from the garden and a branch of red apricot escapes over the wall.

Yao Qian stood beneath a tree so large it would take several people to encircle. Its shadow swallowed him whole, hiding him in darkness as he gazed at the luxurious den of indulgence before him, sprawling over acres—a golden beast resting under the fading light.

He couldn’t help recalling Chen Wu, the stubborn fool who often joked about wanting to enter Apricot Blossom Pavilion, though he died without ever fulfilling that wish.

He, on the other hand, was now but a few yards away.

However, the pavilion had not yet opened for business. As for the pleasures of turtle-shell feasts and lotus-laden beds—such things were only fantasies for now.