Teacher Tian

"I have a little motorcycle, but I never ride it..."

Shen Tang rode astride the motorcycle, utterly unable to sit still. Sometimes she threw back her head and sang at the top of her lungs; sometimes she plucked leaves and sent them flying. Accompanied by the motorcycle's "jingle, jingle," her wildly off-key tune chimed along, and whenever the singer forgot the words, she replaced them with a couple of hums.

"One day, on a whim, I rode it to the market..."

Qi Shan finally snapped. "Young Master Shen, who taught you the 'Music' in the Six Arts of the Gentleman?"

He was simply leading people astray.

"Doesn't it sound good?"

Shen Tang asked sincerely.

Though she remembered little, she vaguely recalled that she ought to have been a tyrant of song, the kind who could pick up a microphone and bowl over an entire crowd. She could sing and paint—a representative of high-quality women among humanity.

(*▽*)

Qi Shan stared at Shen Tang with an expression that was difficult to describe.

The latter's gaze was open and confident. Clearly, not only did she see nothing wrong with her singing, she also thought he had a problem with his taste. Qi Shan could not imagine where she got that confidence from and said, "There's a Word Spirit that fits the situation perfectly—'Could there be no mountain songs or village flutes?'"

Shen Tang was puzzled. "What?"

Qi Shan suppressed his laughter. "Their croaking and clacking is hard to hear."

Shen Tang: "..."

Her fists clenched!

"Yuan Liang only managed to grow up safely thanks to luck, didn't he?"

He was a perfectly good person, but unfortunately, he had been given a mouth!

"Of course it was thanks to my ability."

Shen Tang: "..."

Seeing her expression control collapse, her features twisting and shifting out of place, Qi Shan burst into hearty laughter. "Young Master Shen, don't rush. You're still young. With enough time to learn, there's still hope for you."

About an hour later, Qi Shan looked up at the sun. It was the hottest, most scorching part of the day. Let alone escorting prisoners on the road—even if one did nothing but stand there, sweat would still spill uncontrollably and soak through one's undershirt.

"Should we pick up the pace?"

Shen Tang said, "If we get too close, we might be discovered."

Qi Shan said, "With those soldiers' lazy, negligent habits, how would they be willing to keep traveling under such a fierce sun? They'll probably find a shady place to rest and drink tea to cool themselves down. With Young Master Shen putting so much into the tea, I'm afraid that if I arrive too late, I'll miss the good show."

"Yuan Liang is right. Then I'll go ahead and watch the hot show. Since you refuse to ride the mule, take your time walking on your two legs."

Shen Tang lashed the motorcycle's rear.

The motorcycle cried out in pain and bolted forward.

Before long, it had dwindled to a tiny dot. Faced with Shen Tang's childish "provocation," Qi Shan merely smiled, seemingly unconcerned. Then he intoned, "Chase the Wind and Tread the Scenery."

With wings spread, one could soar into the dark heavens; with feet unleashed, one could chase the wind and tread the scenery.

His figure swayed slightly, leaving behind only an afterimage. It was as though he were stepping on the wind, each stride carrying him more than three zhang away, his expression calm and his posture relaxed.

Shen Tang: "???"

Qi Shan swept past her, stirring up a breeze. When she blinked, his figure had already run dozens of zhang ahead.

Shen Tang: "!!!"

Call the referee! Someone here was using cheats!

In the end, she had suffered from her lack of experience with Word Spirits. Even riding a four-legged motorcycle, she still could not outrun Qi Shan on two legs.

The sun blazed fiercely. The soldiers escorting the prison carts could not stand the heat and burrowed into a small grove beneath the dense canopy. They gathered in groups of two and three in the shade, while several prison carts were left casually exposed to the sunlight. The prisoners inside had either suffered heatstroke, their faces pale and bluish and their bodies weak and limp, or were covered in severe whip wounds.

The Censor-in-Chief's injuries were the worst of all.

He was exhausted, sleepy, hungry, thirsty, and his throat felt as though smoke were pouring from it. The Censor-in-Chief even felt his vitality rapidly draining away.

To torment the prisoners, the soldiers stopped at nothing. These prison carts had been specially made according to the prisoners' heights. Some were especially tall, forcing the prisoners to rise slightly onto their toes before their necks and wrists could find relief. Others were especially short, making it impossible to stand straight or sit down, leaving the prisoners able to do nothing but maintain a half-crouch.

Neither kind allowed them to sleep peacefully. After several days, even without being whipped, half their lives could be taken from them.

The Censor-in-Chief's prison cart was one of the especially tall ones.

He could only strain to rise onto his toes to draw a proper breath, but he could not maintain it for long before his heels dropped again.

Severe injuries, intense emotional upheaval, dehydration, hunger, exhaustion... All these factors combined to induce severe hallucinations. His cracked lips moved faintly as he murmured, "Water, water... water..."

Just as he was about to faint, someone kicked his prison cart, and the shaking jolted him awake.

"Father, wake up!" The Censor-in-Chief barely managed to recover a trace of reason. He turned toward his son in the neighboring prison cart—the boy's cart was the short kind, with room to stretch his legs. His expression was full of worry and astonishment as he said, "Father, look at them."

Them?

Who?

The Censor-in-Chief reacted several beats slowly.

Following his son's gaze, he saw that the soldiers who had just been sheltering from the heat beneath the trees were running into trouble one after another. Some clutched their heads with both hands and rolled around; some fell to the ground, their entire bodies convulsing; some breathed rapidly and with difficulty; some rolled their eyes and foamed at the mouth; some had their jaws clenched shut and their faces twitching. A few did not react as severely, but they were still clutching their stomachs and kneeling on the ground. Some had even lost control of their bowels, displaying every kind of undignified spectacle.

Experienced as the Censor-in-Chief was, he understood at once.

His first thought was that these soldiers had been poisoned!

His second thought was that someone was going to break the prisoners out!

That thought invigorated him. A powerful will to survive erupted from deep within his body, forcing him to gather what little spirit he had left.

The soldiers, meanwhile, fell into complete chaos.

"There's poison in the water!"

"There, there's poison!"

"Meet the enemy! Stay alert!"

Most of the soldiers had been poisoned. Only a dozen or so who had not yet had a chance to drink the water had escaped the disaster. They drew their swords and surrounded the prison carts, their faces panicked as they guarded every direction like frightened birds startled by the merest sound.

Several breaths passed, and the surroundings remained calm.

Jingle—

They're here!

That thought rang through every soldier's mind.

But strangely, they could hear the sound without seeing anyone.

"Where are they? Where?"

"Good sons, are you looking for me?"

The unfamiliar voice came from behind them. The soldiers spun around in alarm, only to find the prison carts empty, with only a young swordsman standing there, his cheeks still boyish and his build slight. The youth swept out with his sword, its gleaming edge flashing before their eyes, and a sudden pain struck them both.

Blood painted the entire world red.

"Split a Wanderer's Body!"

Shen Tang's expression was as cold as frost as she raised her sword and leaped down.

She had used the Kind Mother Sword to teach those filial sons a lesson. The prisoners, meanwhile, suddenly lost the ground beneath their feet and tumbled down, while the prison carts were already several dozen zhang away.

The Censor-in-Chief's pupils contracted.

"Long time no see, Teacher Tian."

The Censor-in-Chief turned at the voice, only to see a tall young man standing not far away. He had tucked both hands into his sleeves, while a breeze behind him stirred his hair, lending him a unique beauty. The young man smiled and nodded at him, but no matter how one looked at it, that smile seemed utterly false.

Teacher Tian?

The Censor-in-Chief stared blankly at the form of address.

Seeing this, Qi Shan said, "A nobleman's memory is short, Teacher Tian."

The Censor-in-Chief's son supported his aged father and warily studied Qi Shan. "My lord, you know my father?"

And he even addressed him as "Teacher Tian"?

The Censor-in-Chief was equally baffled.

Did they know each other?

With his experience, he could naturally tell what means the young man had used to rescue him. It was nothing more than constructing a battlefield with "Scattered Like Stars and Chess Pieces," then using "Steal the Peach" or some other Word Spirit for deploying troops and generals to replace the few of them.

It sounded simple, but judging from the distance between the young man and the prison carts, "Scattered Like Stars and Chess Pieces" had a coverage range of at least a hundred zhang in every direction. Before attaching himself to or pledging allegiance to any Vassal Lord, what scholar capable of accomplishing such a feat through his own power could possibly be an obscure nobody?

If they had met, he would certainly have remembered him.

Tomorrow, I'll be living in my new home! Since I have to get up early to welcome guests who are coming to congratulate me, I posted today's update a little earlier.

Good night, everyone.