Power Favors Posterity, Zhang Lingxiao Gains Influence

The commotion in the back courtyard all revolved around that one center.

Zhang Lingxiao had changed into a brand-new set of dark cotton constable robes, the fabric crisp and the color pitch-black, which only accentuated his already arrogant face and lent it an even more spirited gleam. Hanging from the leather belt at his waist was a jade pendant, its luster warm and smooth—clearly worth no small sum at a glance.

He was gesticulating animatedly as he recounted his experience picking out a horse at the West City Horse Market the day before, his voice neither too loud nor too soft, yet pitched just right for the circle of people around him to hear every word clearly.

"...That groom led out a bay horse, claimed it could travel eight hundred li in a day, and started the price at eighty taels! My uncle took one look and said the horse had an injury in its hind hoof—it was a sick horse. The groom's face turned green on the spot..."

He spoke with great gusto, and the few young men around him, all temporary constables like himself, listened as if spellbound, letting out a timely gasp or flattering remark now and then.

"Brother Zhang has such sharp eyes!"

"As expected of Chief Constable Zhang—no demon or monster can slip past his discerning gaze!"

Wei Datong tugged at Ye Qingxuan's sleeve, pulled him aside, and jerked his chin toward the crowd.

"See that? That's what they call being born under a lucky star. His uncle is the new Chief Constable Zhang. Yesterday, he bought that fifty-tael horse without even blinking. Guys like us, we could work our whole lives and not earn enough to cover the feed for a horse like that."

The sourness in his voice could be smelled from three feet away.

"The rules in our Fengtian Division are strict as hell. If you want to go from an unregistered temporary constable to a full-fledged one, unless you're a once-in-a-century martial prodigy, you've got to grind it out honestly, build your cultivation up to the second level of Body Tempering, then wait for the right opportunity—a vacancy—before you have even the faintest hope."

Wei Datong picked at his teeth with his fingernail, squinting sidelong at Zhang Lingxiao over there.

"But him? A brat of sixteen or seventeen, here just to gild his resume. You mark my words—within half a year, he'll be a proper official constable, and maybe even snag a squad leader position, lording it over poor bastards like us."

Ye Qingxuan said nothing. He just lowered his head and used a coarse cloth to wipe his old short blade over and over again.

The blade gleamed with a faint, cold light under the morning sun. He wiped it slowly, with intense focus, the cloth rasping against the edge in a soft, rhythmic shush-shush.

He understood the rules of this world better than Wei Datong did. Envy was useless. Complaining was even more useless.

Suddenly, the wave of noise in the courtyard was choked off, as if seized by an invisible hand.

Everyone turned their gazes toward the rear hall as one. The crowd that had been surrounding Zhang Lingxiao dispersed on its own, hands at their sides, standing at attention.

Four figures walked out side by side from the moon gate of the rear hall.

On the far left was Chief Constable Li, tall and lean, his face stern. Wherever his gaze swept, no one dared meet his eyes.

Beside him was Chief Constable Yan, slightly plump, his face always wearing an amiable expression.

Next to him was a sturdy middle-aged man with a square face and a short beard on his jaw. His steps were steady, exuding authority without anger—this was Zhang Lingxiao's uncle, the newly appointed Chief Constable Zhang.

And on the far right was an old man with graying hair and a lean frame. He wore the same cotton official robes as the other three, but at his waist hung only an ordinary Fengtian Division token, no blade or sword. He walked unhurriedly, his expression calm, yet when his eyes occasionally opened and closed, the light they gave off was more unsettling than Chief Constable Li's gaze.

These were the four chief constables of the Southern District Substation of the Fengtian Division. Usually as elusive as dragons showing only a claw, today they had all appeared together—clearly something important was at hand.

The hundred or so constables in the courtyard fell utterly silent, even their breathing subdued.

Chief Constable Yan stepped forward with a genial smile and cleared his throat.

"I've gathered you all this morning to announce a personnel matter."

His gaze shifted and landed on Zhang Lingxiao among the crowd.

"This is Zhang Lingxiao. Chief Constable Zhang's own nephew, and our new brother in the Fengtian Division."

At these words, Zhang Lingxiao immediately stepped out from the crowd and gave the four chief constables a somewhat sloppy salute with cupped hands, the arrogance on his face undiminished.

"Chief Constable Zhang's view is that young people need more experience. However, patrolling the streets and running around is just a hard labor that tempers the body, with little benefit to official duties." Chief Constable Yan's tone shifted. "Therefore, from today onward, Lingxiao will not need to join the patrols. He will follow by my side, learning to handle some documents and case files, and familiarizing himself with the procedures of our Fengtian Division's investigations. Everyone, you will be colleagues from now on—do look out for him."

As soon as these words were spoken, the courtyard was still for a moment, then a chorus of agreement rose up.

"Chief Constable Yan speaks truly! Brother Zhang is clearly a dragon among men—how could he be like us, eating dust on the streets every day!"

"Studying under Chief Constable Yan means learning real skills—boundless prospects ahead!"

Several full-fledged constables also cupped their hands in congratulations to Zhang Lingxiao, their words polite and deferential.

Zhang Lingxiao accepted the crowd's flattery without a hint of modesty, his chin lifted even higher. His gaze swept over the temporary constables filling the yard, his expression like that of a man looking down at a swarm of ants.

Beside Ye Qingxuan, Wei Datong's face was red with anger, his teeth grinding audibly as he forced out a few words through clenched jaws: "Damn it... handling documents! That's a cushy job! A fast track to promotion!"

The duties in the back courtyard kitchen were something everyone avoided. But a clerk's position beside the chief constable was a plum assignment everyone coveted. Not only were you sheltered from wind and rain, but you could also constantly show your face before the chief constable and learn the ins and outs of officialdom—far better than running your legs off on the streets.

This was the power of authority.

One word, and the rules could bend.

Ye Qingxuan was still wiping his blade, his movements uninterrupted.

He watched Zhang Lingxiao, surrounded by the crowd, watched his brand-new dark robes, watched the warm, lustrous jade pendant at his waist.

Then, slowly, he shifted his gaze and looked down at his own hands.

They were hands that didn't match his age—the palms and knuckles covered in thin calluses. Marks left by swinging a blade, practicing fists, and rubbing his flesh raw last night.

These hands weren't pretty. They were even a bit rough.

But in these hands, he held his own path.

In this world, some people rode on their fathers' coattails, some on their uncles'.

He, Ye Qingxuan, had no father to lean on, no uncle to rely on.

All he could rely on were his own two fists and the scroll painting in his mind that no one else knew about.

He stopped wiping his blade and, with a sharp shing, slid the short knife back into its sheath.

The voice was crisp, cutting sharply through the chorus of sycophantic murmurs.

Those nearby turned to look, and saw Ye Qingxuan standing upright. His frame was still lean, but his back and waist were straight as a ramrod.

He did not spare Zhang Lingxiao another glance, nor did he acknowledge Wei Datong's indignant muttering beside him. He simply turned and began walking toward the courtyard gate.

His steps were not fast, but each one was exceptionally steady. The soles of his shoes struck the bluestone slabs, producing a soft yet resolute sound.

Wei Datong stared blankly at his retreating figure. For some reason, he suddenly felt that today's Ye Qingxuan was different from usual.

In that silhouette, there was less of the weariness and forbearance born from scraping by for a living, and more of something hard to name or describe.

It was like the newborn sharpness of a blade after being honed.

Ye Qingxuan walked out of the government office's main gate. The pre-noon sunlight fell upon him, stretching his shadow long across the ground.

He raised his head, squinting as he looked at the sky.

The sky was still the same sky.

The world was still the same world.

But his heart was no longer the same.

Whether it came down to fists or to backing, in the end, you still had to fight.

Then fight he would.