The Qinghe County Office stood in the very center of the city's northern district. Its vermilion gates towered with solemn grandeur, flanked by two stone lions baring their fangs and brandishing their claws.
The couplets on either side of the gates were faded and mottled. The right one read, "To bully others is to bully Heaven," while the left said, "Do not deceive yourself." Yet in the faint light of dawn, the long, dragon-like queue outside made those words seem rather ironic.
Chen Ping wrapped his faded blue cotton robe tighter around himself and hunched his shoulders as he blended into the crowd.
Most of those in line were burly men with rough hands. Some carried nine-ring broadswords on their backs, while others had twin battle-axes tucked into their belts. Each wore a ferocious expression, and their bodies reeked of sweat and cheap tobacco.
Every now and then, a few young masters in fine clothes and astride fine horses would appear. Surrounded by their guards, they cut straight to the front of the line, and no one dared say a word.
"In this world, even signing up means you need a powerful father."
Chen Ping lowered his eyes, seemingly staring blankly at his toes, while the corner of his eye took in everything around him.
He deliberately reined in his vitality and spirit and stooped his back. He looked like a poor scholar who had just arrived in the city, or some sheltered young master fallen on hard times.
The sun climbed higher, and at last it was Chen Ping's turn.
The clerk in charge of registration had a goatee and drooping eyelids. He held a wolf-hair brush and tapped it idly against the table.
"Name, place of origin, Letter of Recommendation."
The clerk spoke lazily, his voice dripping with impatience.
"This humble one is Chen Ping, a local of Qinghe County, sir."
Chen Ping hurried forward and respectfully offered up the Manumission Document and Letter of Recommendation issued by Lin Manor.
The clerk took the papers and gave them a cursory glance. His drooping eyelids lifted, and his gaze lingered for a moment on the large seal of Lin Manor.
"You're from the Lin Family?"
The clerk gave a faint snort. His manner softened slightly, but the brush in his hand remained poised in midair, refusing to touch the paper.
"The documents are in order, but there's another rule for registration."
Chen Ping understood perfectly well, but put on a look of bewilderment.
"S-sir, what rule?"
The clerk pointed at the inkstone, long since dried up, at the corner of the table. With a smile that never reached his eyes, he said,
"The Imperial Court spends a great deal to hold the civil service examinations. The brushes, ink, and paper, maintaining the grounds, the examiners' tea—what doesn't cost silver? You seem like a sensible fellow. This 'brush-and-ink fee' is fifty taels."
"Fifty taels?!"
Chen Ping cried out, his voice trembling.
His face turned deathly pale, and his legs gave way. He nearly fell to his knees.
"What? Too expensive?"
The clerk's face darkened. He slapped the documents onto the table.
"If it's too expensive, don't take the Imperial Military Examination! Go back to farming! Next!"
"Please! Please, sir, calm down!"
Chen Ping rushed to the table, looking every bit like a destitute pauper backed into a corner.
Trembling, he bent down and, in full view of everyone, took off one of his dust-covered cloth shoes.
Laughter and disgusted whistles broke out around him.
Chen Ping ignored them. Gritting his teeth, he dug several pieces of broken silver from a hidden pocket in the sole.
The silver was stained with sweat and dirt. Just looking at it turned the stomach. He rummaged around in his robes for a while longer and scraped together a few crumpled banknotes, barely making up the sum.
"Sir... this is everything I own... please, take pity on me..."
Chen Ping held out the pile of silver, still carrying a certain "aroma," with both hands. His face twisted with pain.
The clerk wrinkled his nose in disgust. Pinching a corner of his robe between two fingers, he used it to sweep the silver into a drawer, then casually tossed out a wooden token about the size of his palm.
"Take it! Now get out of the way!"
Chen Ping caught the token as if it were a priceless treasure and bowed again and again.
"Thank you, sir! Thank you!"
He clutched the token and stepped aside, his heart heavy with emotion.
That single cut had no doubt severed the martial arts dreams of countless poor scholars.
Just then, a commotion erupted behind him.
"Sir! I'm only two taels short! Please, make an exception! This blade of mine has been in my family for generations. Could it count toward—"
"Count for what, your mother's leg? This is a government office, not a pawnshop! Men, drag him out!"
The clatter of cudgels rang out, mixed with screams.
Two constables dragged out a sturdy man in a patched short jacket like a dead dog and flung him hard onto the steps.
His face was covered in blood, and he clutched a rusty iron blade to his chest as he pounded the ground in despair.
Chen Ping stood outside the crowd and watched coldly.
He didn't step forward to help, nor did he show the slightest sympathy.
In this world that devoured people, without strength, even compassion was a luxury.
"So this is power."
Chen Ping silently repeated the words to himself, his fingers gently rubbing the rough wooden token.
"Without this token, in their eyes, we're worth less than dogs."
After leaving the county office, Chen Ping stepped into the blazing sun.
He was about to find somewhere to get a drink when the corner of his eye caught a familiar figure.
His uncle Liu Sanjin from the Weiyuan Escort Agency was bent at the waist, following a portly, middle-aged man in silk like a lapdog. Chen Ping recognized the man: he was the steward of the wealthy Zhao Family in the city.
"Steward Zhao, rest assured. I'll personally oversee the escort this time. I guarantee there won't be a single problem..."
Liu Sanjin's face was plastered with a fawning smile. He was even more obsequious than Chen Ping had been in front of the clerk moments ago.
Chen Ping slowed down, about to greet him, and Liu Sanjin seemed to notice him too.
Their eyes met.
A flicker of surprise crossed Liu Sanjin's eyes and vanished. He quickly turned away as if he didn't know Chen Ping at all, then continued bowing and scraping to Steward Zhao as he led him toward a tavern.
Chen Ping's lips curled with scorn. He shook his head and disappeared into the bustling crowd.
"The poor have no kin even in a crowded city, while the rich find distant relatives in the deepest mountains." The ancients had spoken true.
Now that he had registered, the real challenge was preparing for the examination.
Chen Ping turned down a familiar street into the medicinal herb market in the city's western district.
Though his inner strength had advanced greatly, if he wanted to be sure of victory in the Imperial Military Examination, he still needed to temper his body until it was even tougher.
"Shopkeeper, I'll take ten packets of Bone-Strengthening Powder." Chen Ping entered a medicine shop called Jishi Hall.
Behind the counter, an attendant was chasing flies with a feather duster. Without even looking up, he said,
"We're out."
"Out?"
Chen Ping furrowed his brow. "It's not even that late."
"Not just for today. We'll be out for the next half month."
The attendant rolled his eyes. "The Golden Blade Martial Hall, the Iron Palm Gang, and several of the city's major families have already bought up all the Bone-Strengthening Powder and Qi-Blood Pills on the market. If you small-time buyers want medicine, try your luck at the Black Market."
Chen Ping's heart sank.
This wasn't merely a monopoly. It was a purge.
Those powerful factions were using their advantage in resources to snuff out potential rivals before they could even compete.
Tricky.
Chen Ping walked out of the medicine shop and looked at the other stores on the street, all displaying "Sold Out" signs. A sense of crisis settled over him.
But he didn't give up.
The sun sank in the west, and night fell.
At the end of a dead-end alley in the western district, several dim lanterns swayed in the wind.
This was the Black Market of Jinguang City, where all manner of people gathered.
Chen Ping put on a battered conical hat and pulled the brim low as he moved among the stalls.
Medicinal herbs here cost thirty percent more than they did elsewhere, and counterfeits were everywhere. Carrots passed off as ginseng and pills molded from flour were nothing unusual.
Chen Ping crouched in an inconspicuous corner.
The stall owner was an old man with one blind eye. A pile of dried, blackened roots and bark lay in front of him.
"Pick whatever you want. No haggling."
The old man's voice was hoarse, like two sheets of sandpaper scraping together.
Chen Ping said nothing. He simply began circulating the Longevity of Pine and Crane.
Though this cultivation technique had no power to slay enemies, it was extraordinarily sensitive to the breath of life.
As his inner energy flowed into his eyes and fingertips, the world before Chen Ping changed.
He searched through the herbs that looked like nothing but trash.
Suddenly, his fingertips stopped on a tangled clump of fine roots.
A faint yet stubborn warmth flowed along his fingertips—the rich medicinal power sealed beneath their dried outer skin.
Could these be the roots of a Century-Old Ginseng?
Though they were in terrible condition, as if eaten by worms or soaked in water, an expert would know that the medicinal power in these few roots was worth several whole stalks of ten-year-old ginseng.
Chen Ping forced down his excitement and put on a look of disdain. He casually grabbed the clump of roots, then picked up several pieces of unknown bark.
"This pile of rotten weeds is worth fifty copper coins. You selling or not?"
The old man's single eye rolled as if he were sizing up whether Chen Ping was an idiot.
"Take it."
Chen Ping dropped the coins, stuffed the herbs into his robes, and stood to leave. His steps remained steady, but inside, he was overjoyed.
Now that was a real bargain.
With these roots, he could refine their power with the Longevity of Pine and Crane and take his physique to another level.
However, he had barely left the Black Market when he sensed someone watching him again.
Chen Ping didn't break stride, but his ears twitched.
The footsteps behind him were light, and the breathing slightly hurried. There was more than one person.
Were they the pickpockets who had been watching him outside the county office earlier, or desperate thugs from the Black Market who had taken a fancy to his money?
Chen Ping sneered.
Perfect. He could use them to test how much his Light Body Movement Technique had improved over the past few years.
He turned and suddenly ducked into a narrow, pitch-black dead-end alley.
The footsteps behind him grew hurried. Three shadows rushed in after him, their bright daggers flashing in their hands.
"Kid, if you know what's good for you, leave your money and herbs—"
The leader's voice caught in his throat before he could finish.
The dead-end alley was empty. Only a few startled rats squeaked as they darted past.
The seemingly frail scholar had vanished into thin air.
"Ghosts! Where'd he go?"
"I saw him come in here!"
As the three men stood there in bewilderment, Chen Ping clung silently to the wall in the shadow beneath the eaves overhead, like a gecko.
He circulated the Light Body Movement Technique. His whole body seemed weightless, and his breathing was so faint it was almost nonexistent.
Looking down at the three petty thieves milling about the alley like headless flies, the amusement in Chen Ping's eyes gradually faded.
Killing them would be easy, but there was no need to dirty his hands or get into legal trouble before the examination.
Those three fools weren't even worthy of making him draw his blade.
Only after the three of them had cursed their way out did Chen Ping drift down to the ground like a fallen leaf, not making the slightest sound.
He brushed the dust from his clothes and looked toward the Imperial Military Examination grounds, deep in the night.
He had the herbs, and he had registered.
But that alone wasn't enough.
If those great clans could monopolize the herbs, they must have other tricks up their sleeves. To stand out in the Imperial Military Examination, he had to know his opponents.
"Looks like I'll need a chance to 'scope things out' and see just how much these so-called Aristocratic Clan geniuses are worth."
Chen Ping reached into his robes and took out the wooden token, still warm from his body.
By the light of the moon, the inscription on it stood out clearly—
"Bing Thirty-Two."
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