Sheng Qinghong

The finest restaurant in Suian City was named "Linjiang Immortal." On this day, the entire establishment had been booked out by Prefect Sheng's precious son, Sheng Qinghong.

"Stop the sedan."

A pink, gold-lacquered sedan chair came to a halt. He Xiping lifted the curtain and stepped out, clutching a folding fan with jade ribs. As he looked up, he saw a pavilion built right against the riverbank.

The pavilion was a masterpiece of carved railings and jade masonry, its opulence beyond description. The plaque hanging above the entrance bore the words "Linjiang Immortal," the characters archaic and weathered, the gilding dimmed by the passage of time.

This Sheng Qinghong is a man who doesn't know the price of rice; he is truly accustomed to extravagance. A single day at 'Linjiang Immortal' could earn hundreds of taels of silver, yet he treats money like dirt...

He Xiping slandered him inwardly, but he did not stop to linger.

He strode directly toward the restaurant.

Outside the main entrance stood several city yamen runners, their hats adorned with feathers and water-fire staves in hand, standing guard before the doors.

Seeing this, He Xiping could not help but shake his head to himself.

Government runners from the prefecture office, acting as gatekeepers for the Prefect's son—they aren't even household servants. To use public office for private gain so brazenly, stealing from the state treasury... this Young Master Sheng is truly arrogant enough.

He knew deep down how absurd this was, but who could blame him when the man was the son of Prefect Sheng Qingzhi?

Prefect Sheng Qingzhi held the high office of Prefect, possessed vast estates, and kept a house full of wives and concubines. The only regret of his life was that the sons and daughters he had sired had all died in infancy one after another.

Rumor had it in the streets that a physiognomist had once read Prefect Sheng's face and told him his features were ill-omened. He suggested that if the Prefect accumulated great merit, he might yet be blessed with descendants.

Prefect Sheng's expression changed instantly. With a face as dark as iron, he retorted, "Then let me read your face. Your features are ill-omened; your eyebrows are broken in the middle. That is a death omen."

The physiognomist shook his head and said repeatedly, "My Lord, if you do not understand the art of physiognomy, do not speak nonsense. My eyebrows are not broken."

"I say they are broken, so they are broken."

Prefect Sheng drew a short blade and slashed across the physiognomist's face. The man let out a miserable shriek, clutching his right eye with his hand; that single stroke had carved a bloody gash through both his eye and his eyebrow.

Having slashed the man, Prefect Sheng was still not satisfied. He immediately ordered his subordinates.

"This man's death omen is fully revealed. If he is not dead now, when will he be? Go, bury him for me."

With that, he did not allow the physiognomist to plead for his life; the man was dragged away and buried alive on the spot...

Of course, this story was merely a tale circulating among the common folk, its truth difficult to discern, but one could glimpse from it just how tyrannical Prefect Sheng Qingzhi's conduct was—he was, for all intents and purposes, the local emperor of Suian City.

The lack of sons was truly a festering wound in Sheng Qingzhi's heart. Fortunately, having passed the age of fifty, he had finally obtained this precious son, and naturally, he pampered him to the extreme.

He Xiping ascended the stairs and saw the Prefect's son, Sheng Qinghong. The man was gaunt, his features cold and sharp, especially his eyebrows which swept up into his temples, and his hooked, eagle-like nose, which gave him an air of stubbornness and cold-heartedness.

Sheng Qinghong was currently embracing a slender woman in a red dress, chatting with several wealthy young masters in ornate clothing. He lifted his eyes, saw He Xiping ascending the floor, and let out a hearty laugh.

"He Xiping, you've arrived. Your He Family villa is clearly in the vicinity of Linjiang Immortal, yet you arrive later than all of us. Could it be that Ruyi Niang from Sanhua Pavilion last night was so formidable that she left you unable to get out of bed?"

"Young Master Sheng, you jest. A mere Ruyi Niang is no match for me. However, that courtesan was truly not bad—fresh and tender—it was well worth the silver I spent."

He Xiping licked his lips, a hint of lingering aftertaste in his eyes.

Everyone present began to tap their chopsticks, clap their hands, and roar with laughter.

"Alright, alright."

Sheng Qinghong waved his hand, cutting off the laughter.

"Right, He Xiping, that item we discussed last time—did you manage to get your hands on it? My father is holding a birthday celebration soon. Speaking of which, that 'Flying Horse Treading on a Swallow' for the birthday gift..."

"Young Master Sheng, please look here."

As if performing a magic trick, He Xiping pulled a sandalwood box from his robes. As the lid opened, a stallion carved from mutton-fat jade lay amidst the silk, its mane flowing and its hooves striking the air with a spirited, soaring posture.

The craftsmanship of the jade horse was peerless; beneath its hind hooves, it trod upon a jade swallow. The entire piece was lustrous and radiant, the carving exquisite to the extreme.

"Flying Horse Treading on a Swallow... Good, good, good!!!"

Sheng Qinghong exclaimed "good" three times in a row, his eyes burning with intense excitement.

"This jade horse was a private treasure of a wealthy merchant in Qinglu County. My father has been obsessed with this piece for a long time. He once offered a high price to persuade the man to part with it, but the man refused. Tell me, He Xiping, what method did you use to get your hands on it?"

"Haha, that is a trade secret. Young Master, you shouldn't ask."

He Xiping closed the sandalwood box and handed it to Sheng Qinghong.

The Prefect's son was overjoyed to obtain this precious jade horse. He ignored the red-clad beauty beside him, took the horse from the box, and began to stroke it repeatedly.

"A fine treasure, this is truly a fine treasure. He Xiping, you have truly put your heart into this."

Deep in Sheng Qinghong's eyes was a look of satisfaction. He glanced at He Xiping and said with a smile, "I owe you a favor for this. In the future, if you have any matters, just tell me. If I can help, I will never refuse."

At this moment, even his form of address for He Xiping had become exceptionally intimate.

"Haha, Young Master, why say such things? It was merely a small matter."

Though He Xiping said this, he felt immensely proud. Obtaining this "Flying Horse Treading on a Swallow" had not been easy; that wealthy merchant in Qinglu County had valued the jade carving highly and had been quite stubborn.

He had been forced to spend money to hire men to pose as mountain bandits. On a dark, moonless night, they had slaughtered every man, woman, and child of the merchant's family, burned the residence to the ground, looted all the valuables, and made off with the jade carving.

Such details, naturally, could not be spoken of to outsiders.

"Xiping, this 'Linjiang Immortal' recently invited a famous chef from the Chuanpu region. I hear this chef is skilled at preparing a local delicacy called 'Braised Red Mandarin Fish.' It uses spring mandarin fish from the Chuanpu River, which are said to be large, with firm meat and a delicious, fresh flavor. I've ordered them to prepare it; it should be coming out of the pot any moment now."

"In that case, I must have a taste."

He Xiping reached out to pick up a pair of silver chopsticks. Just then, a waiter at the top of the stairs approached, carrying a jar of wine in one hand and a platter of food in the other.

Just then, his shop assistant smashed the wine jar in his hand onto the table, shattering the dishes as well. With a sharp cry, he shouted, "Kill!"

Suddenly, he unbuckled his belt, and a five-foot-six-inch Burmese Iron Soft Blade appeared in his hand.

With a "swish," the soft blade transformed into a deadly blade wind, sweeping out. Cold light flashed, like a furious snowstorm and raging tide. With this strike, three people's throats were instantly severed, spurting blood.

"You... I—"

One of them was He Xiping, sitting on the far right. His eyes were wide, his right hand pressed against his throat, blood seeping through his fingers. Strange gurgling sounds escaped his contorted lips as he was on the verge of death.

With a "clang," the Burmese Iron Soft Blade the shop assistant drew from his sleeve struck something, emitting a metallic clash.

It turned out that Sheng Qinghong had drawn the Cyan Steel Sword from his waist and pushed the red-clad woman in his arms forward. In a flash, the shop assistant's free left hand threw a Hair-Cutting Pill, which struck the beautiful woman's brow, piercing her skull.

Fortunately, this also bought Sheng Qinghong a little time. His Cyan Steel Sword shot out like a streak of cold light, forming a horizontal barrier, and clashed with the Burmese Iron Soft Blade. He was forced back a step by the momentum of the blade.

Although his position as a martial arts scholar was obtained through family connections, his martial arts skills were not weak. However, as this blade descended, the sword's edge vibrated, and even though he had deflected most of the blade's force, his tiger's mouth still felt sore and numb.

"Sheng Qinghong, your father killed my entire family. Today, I will collect a blood debt from you first!"

Cheng Zhi, wearing a human skin mask, roared. He gave the Burmese Iron Soft Blade in his hand a violent shake, and as silver light surged, the blade seemed to lose its form. In an instant, a terrifying blade wind howled, engulfing Sheng Qinghong's figure.