The best restaurant in Suian City was called Linjiang Immortal. On this day, Prefect Sheng's precious son, Sheng Qinghong, had rented out the entire place.
"Stop the sedan."
A pink sedan with gold lacquer came to a halt. He Xiping lifted the curtain and stepped out, holding a folding fan with a jade-bone frame. He looked up and saw a pavilion built right beside the river.
The pavilion's carved railings and jade steps were magnificent beyond compare. The signboard bore the words "Linjiang Immortal," written in ancient, simple strokes, its gold lettering faded and dim, giving it an air of age.
"This wretch Sheng Qinghong has no idea what rice costs, spoiled by luxury as he is. A single meal at Linjiang Immortal can bring in several hundred taels of silver, and he really doesn't treat money like money..."
He Xiping cursed inwardly but did not stop to linger.
He strode straight toward the restaurant.
Several constables from the prefectural yamen stood outside the front entrance, feathers tucked into their caps and staves in hand, guarding the door.
Seeing this, He Xiping couldn't help shaking his head inwardly.
"Yamen runners from the prefecture are here to guard the door for the prefect's son. They're not household servants, yet he uses public resources for private purposes so brazenly, stealing from the nation's treasury. This Young Master Sheng really is arrogant..."
He knew full well how outrageous this was, but what could he do? Sheng Qinghong was the son of Prefect Sheng Qingzhi.
Sheng Qingzhi held the lofty post of prefect, with a large household and many wives and concubines. The only regret of his life was that all the sons and daughters he had borne had died one after another.
Rumor had it that a fortune-teller had read Prefect Sheng's face and told him his features were ill-favored. If he accumulated good karma, he might yet protect his descendants and have more children.
Prefect Sheng's expression changed at once. His face turned livid as he said, "Then I'll read your face, too. Your features are ill-favored. Your eyebrow breaks in the middle—that's the face of a dead man."
The fortune-teller shook his head and hurriedly said, "My lord, if you don't understand physiognomy, you shouldn't talk nonsense. My eyebrow isn't broken."
"If I say it's broken, then it's broken."
Prefect Sheng drew a short blade and slashed the fortune-teller across the face. With a scream, the man clapped a hand over his right eye. The slash had cut open a bloody gash across his eye and eyebrow.
After slashing the fortune-teller, Prefect Sheng was still unsatisfied. He immediately ordered his men, "This man's face clearly shows he's destined to die. If he doesn't die now, then when? Go bury him."
Before the fortune-teller could finish begging for mercy, he was dragged away and buried alive...
Of course, this story was only a joke that circulated among the common folk, and its truth was impossible to verify. Still, it offered a glimpse of just how overbearing Prefect Sheng Qingzhi was in his dealings—he was practically the local emperor of Suian City.
Having no children was a deep-seated affliction for Sheng Qingzhi. Fortunately, once he was past fifty, he finally had a precious son, whom he naturally doted on to excess.
He Xiping went up the stairs and saw the prefect's son, Sheng Qinghong. He was thin, with cold-looking features. His eyebrows swept up toward his temples, and his nose was hooked like an eagle's beak, giving him an impression of a twisted, mean-spirited nature.
Sheng Qinghong had an arm around a graceful woman in a red dress. He was chatting with several wealthy young masters in fine clothes when he looked up and saw He Xiping coming upstairs. He immediately burst into laughter.
"He Xiping, you're here. Your family's villa is practically next door to Linjiang Immortal, yet you've arrived later than all of us. Could it be that Ruyi Niang at Sanhua Pavilion last night was so formidable she left you unable to get out of bed?"
"Young Master Sheng, you're joking. How could a mere Ruyi Niang be a match for me? Still, that courtesan was quite something—fresh and tender. The silver I spent on her wasn't wasted."
He Xiping licked his lips, a hint of relish in his eyes.
Everyone at the table tapped their chopsticks, clapped their hands, and burst into loud laughter.
"All right, all right."
Sheng Qinghong waved a hand, cutting off the laughter.
"By the way, He Xiping, have you gotten your hands on that thing we talked about last time? My father's birthday is coming up soon. Speaking of which, that Flying Horse Treading on a Swallow for his birthday..."
"Young Master Sheng, take a look at this."
As if by magic, He Xiping pulled a sandalwood box from his robes. When he lifted the lid, a fine white-jade horse lay nestled in the silk, mane flying and hooves raised, its pose full of vigor.
The white-jade horse was exquisitely crafted. Its rear hoof stepped on a jade swallow, and the whole piece glowed with a smooth luster, its carving superb.
"Flying Horse Treading on a Swallow... Excellent, excellent, excellent!"
Sheng Qinghong praised it three times, his eyes shining with excitement.
"This jade horse was a treasured possession of a wealthy man in Qinglu County. My father has long yearned for it. He once offered a high price to persuade the owner to part with it, but the man refused. By the way, He Xiping, what did you do to get your hands on it?"
"Haha, that's a trade secret. Young Master, best not ask."
He Xiping closed the sandalwood box and handed it to Sheng Qinghong.
The prefect's son was delighted to receive such a precious jade horse. He paid no heed to the beautiful woman in red beside him, taking the horse from the box and repeatedly stroking it with his hand.
"What a treasure. This really is a treasure, He Xiping. You've gone to great lengths for me this time."
A satisfied glint appeared deep in Sheng Qinghong's eyes. He looked at He Xiping and smiled. "I owe you for this. If you ever need anything, Xi Ping, just tell me. If I can help, I won't turn you away."
Even the way he addressed He Xiping had grown far more familiar.
"Haha, Young Master, you're too kind. It was nothing."
He Xiping spoke modestly, though he was quite pleased with himself. It hadn't been easy for him to acquire Flying Horse Treading on a Swallow. The wealthy merchant in Qinglu County had treasured the jade carving and had been as unyielding as oil and salt.
He had been forced to pay people to pose as bandits. On a moonless night, they had slaughtered the merchant's entire family, young and old, men and women, then set fire to his home and looted his possessions, making off with Flying Horse Treading on a Swallow as well.
Naturally, he couldn't tell anyone the details.
"Xi Ping, Linjiang Immortal recently brought in a famous chef from Chuanpu. I hear he specializes in a local delicacy called Braised Red Mandarin Fish. They use spring mandarin fish from the Chuanpu River. Supposedly they're big, with firm flesh and a delicious flavor. I sent someone to have it prepared; it should be ready soon."
"Good. I'll have to try it."
He Xiping reached for a pair of silver chopsticks. Just then, a waiter came up the stairs, carrying a wine jar in one hand and a plate of food in the other.
At that moment, the waiter smashed the wine jar against the table and shattered the plate. He shouted, "Die!"
In a flash, he released the clasp at his waist, and a five-foot-six-inch Burmese Iron Soft Blade appeared in his hand.
With a swish, the soft blade became a deadly gust of steel, sweeping out in a horizontal arc. Its cold light burst forth like a blizzard surging into a raging tide. The moment the blade struck, it severed three throats, and a spray of blood burst into the air.
"You... I—"
One of them was He Xiping, seated at the far right. His eyes were wide and round, his right hand clutching his throat. Blood kept seeping between his fingers, and a strange, rattling sound came from his twisted lips. He was on the verge of death.
With a ringing clang, the Burmese Iron Soft Blade the waiter had drawn from his sleeve struck something, sending out a clash of metal on metal.
It turned out that Sheng Qinghong had drawn the Cyan Steel Sword at his waist and shoved away the woman in red he had been holding. In that split second, the waiter's now-free left hand flung a Hair-Cutting Pill, which struck the beauty between the brows and punched into her brain.
Fortunately, that bought Sheng Qinghong a little time. His Cyan Steel Sword flashed out in a streak of cold light and met the Burmese iron blade head-on. The force of the blow drove him back a step.
Although he had obtained his military graduate title through family influence and a bit of clever maneuvering, his martial arts were not weak. Yet when this blow came down, his sword blade trembled and hummed. Even after it had deflected most of the force, his tiger's mouth still felt sore and numb.
"Sheng Qinghong, your father killed my whole family. Today, I'll 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 fierce shake. Silver light surged, and the blade nearly lost its shape. In an instant, a terrifying gale of steel howled toward Sheng Qinghong, swallowing him whole.