Whispers Under the Moon

The night was as dark as ink. The third-watch clapper had just sounded, and the entire Jinguang City sank into a profound silence.

Only the occasional bark of a dog broke the stillness.

In that dilapidated shack in West City Rat Alley, Chen Ping blew out the oil lamp.

He sat quietly in the darkness for a moment, regulating his breath until his heartbeat matched the rhythm of the wind outside the window, then slowly rose to his feet.

He shed the long robe he wore as a disguise and changed into a snug set of night clothes. They were stitched from old garments—not presentable, but they had the virtue of being nimble.

From under the bed, he fished out a strip of black cloth and wrapped it around his face, leaving only a pair of eyes that gleamed brightly in the dark.

Tonight, he was going to see someone.

Pushing open the window lattice, Chen Ping's form flickered, and he slipped out like a wisp of smoke. His toes barely grazed the roof tiles before he had already vaulted several yards away.

The biting wind stung his face, but it couldn't chill the burning longing in his heart.

Before long, the towering walls of Lin Manor loomed before him.

Chen Ping crouched in an old locust tree atop the wall, holding his breath, his gaze sharp as a hawk's as he swept over the activity below.

The manor's defenses were far tighter than they had been half a month ago. The patrols had increased from two teams to four, and most of the guards were unfamiliar faces. The whistles at their waists had been replaced by gleaming broadswords.

"Looks like shattering that teacup the other day scared Master Lin half to death," Chen Ping mused to himself.

Dodging several hidden sentries, Chen Ping navigated the familiar path to the woodshed behind the Inner Kitchen. It was a remote, chilly spot, rarely visited except for storing odds and ends.

Chen Ping squatted by the wall and tapped lightly on the mottled wooden door.

After a moment of silence, a rustling sound came from inside the woodshed.

Then, the old door creaked open, just wide enough for one person to slip through sideways.

A faint, bean-sized glow of lamplight spilled out, illuminating a face that was slightly haggard but still gentle.

"Brother Ping?"

Yun Niang wore a patched old cotton jacket, holding a grease-caked oil lamp in her hand. Her voice trembled, caught between surprise and joy.

Chen Ping slipped inside and quietly latched the door behind him.

Before he could speak, Yun Niang rushed over and wrapped her arms tightly around his waist.

She smelled faintly of soap and firewood smoke—the warmth Chen Ping had craved on countless cold nights.

"You've lost weight," he said.

He reached around to hold her back, and the bones under his palm felt too prominent, stinging his heart.

"I'm fine. But you..." Yun Niang looked up, her trembling hand stroking Chen Ping's palm, rough with calluses and tiny scars, as tears streamed down her face. "You've been suffering out there. Your hands are as coarse as bark. When you used to grind ink, they were never this hard."

A warmth spread through Chen Ping's chest. He gently wiped the tears from the corners of her eyes and pulled out an oilpaper packet and a small wooden box from his bosom.

"Don't cry. I've got something good for you."

He opened the oilpaper packet, revealing a piece of dark red brown sugar that gave off a sweet fragrance. Then he opened the wooden box, showing a ginseng whisker—a bit shriveled, but with its roots intact.

"This is brown sugar. You've always been weak; steep it in water to boost your blood and energy. This ginseng whisker I picked up as a bargain at the pharmacy. It's not a whole root, but the medicinal effect is still there. Use it to stew chicken soup."

Yun Niang looked at the two items and cried even harder.

She knew well how much these things cost in times when even coarse rice was rising in price.

"I don't want them. Keep them for yourself to build up your strength," she said, shaking her head vehemently. She turned to rummage through a broken clay pot hidden deep in the woodpile. "I've saved up some monthly wages these past months, plus a few old trinkets, all exchanged for bits of silver. Take it. I hear the Imperial Military Examination requires bribing the examiners. We're poor folk with no connections; we can't afford to lose out on that."

She tipped out a small pile of silver scraps and copper coins from the pot—money she had scrimped from her own rations.

Chen Ping pressed her hand down, looking her straight in the eye, and said in a low voice, "Sister Yun, put it back."

"Brother Ping..."

"I have money. Don't worry about the bribes either." Chen Ping's voice dropped even lower. "This time, for the Imperial Military Examination, I'm relying on my fists, not silver. If I can't even pass the exam in Qinghe County, what future is there to talk about?"

He grabbed Yun Niang's hand, forced the brown sugar and ginseng whisker into her arms, then clasped her hands tightly, his eyes burning. "Listen to me. Take care of your health. I'm out there fighting tooth and nail for one thing: to rise above the rest."

"Once I pass the Imperial Military Examination, I'll come for you with a grand sedan chair and marry you with full ceremony.

When that day comes, everyone in Lin Manor will have to address you as Madam Chen."

Yun Niang's body trembled slightly. A flush crept across her pale face, and tears glistened in her eyes as she nodded firmly:

"I believe you. I'll wait for you. Even if it takes a lifetime, I'll wait."

Just as they embraced in tender warmth, a sharp reprimand suddenly rang out from afar:

"Why is that lamp out? You, go check it!"

It was the Head Steward's voice!

Startled, the two quickly parted.

Chen Ping's gaze sharpened as he swiftly blew out the oil lamp in Yun Niang's hand.

"Go back to sleep. Don't come out."

He whispered in Yun Niang's ear, then gave her a long, deep look, as if etching her image into his bones.

With that, he moved, his figure melting into the darkness beyond the woodshed.

Yun Niang covered her mouth, her back pressed against the door, listening to the fading footsteps outside. Her heart pounded wildly, but in her palm, she clutched the piece of brown sugar, still faintly warm.

Back in his dwelling at Rat Alley, Chen Ping's heart could not settle for a long time.

Yun Niang's gaunt face, the roughness of her hands, and the Head Steward's arrogant, overbearing shouts—all churned and clashed in his mind.

"Strength... I still lack strength!"

Chen Ping growled, tearing off the black cloth from his face. Bare-chested, he strode into the courtyard.

The biting wind cut like a blade against his skin, but it couldn't suppress the surging blood and qi within him.

"Ha!"

He assumed a stance, his palms like iron, and slammed them fiercely into the blue stone he used for training.

Boom! Boom! Boom!

The dull thuds echoed through the night.

Each strike left a clear palm print on the blue stone, sending chips of rock flying.

Shattered Stone Palm was a technique of sheer ferocity and dominance. Under Chen Ping's cathartic practice, it now carried an added air of brutal, killing intent.

He didn't know how long he trained. Only when his arms were numb and swollen, and his internal qi was completely spent, did he stop, panting heavily.

Sweat traced the lines of his muscles, turning into wisps of steam in the cold wind.

By then, the sky had begun to pale.

Chen Ping looked at his red, swollen, trembling hands. The sharp pain jolted him out of his frenzy and back to calm.

"Training like this won't work. My body can't recover fast enough."

He frowned. Such intense, overexerting practice, without high-quality medicinal soups to nourish him, would only leave hidden injuries. Ordinary bruise balms were no longer effective.

Suddenly, a flash of insight struck him. He recalled the "Iron Bone Soup" recipe he'd found hidden in the lining of Wang Meng's Shattered Stone Palm manual.

The recipe called for a key ingredient: "Black Tiger Shin Bone." Because it was too expensive and rare, he'd been substituting it with ordinary leopard bone, greatly reducing the potency.

"To make further progress before the Imperial Military Examination, I have to get the full 'Iron Bone Soup' prepared."

Chen Ping raised his head, gazing at the breaking dawn. His eyes grew sharp.

For Yun Niang, for that promise—this examination allowed only victory, not defeat.

Since the Black Market couldn't provide it, he'd have to try his luck at that place.