Funding (Bonus Chapter—Please Follow!)

The wonton stall fell silent.

Old Qin squatted down, covering his face with both hands, his shoulders twitching.

Qin Liang stood beside him, his eyes red-rimmed. He looked at his father crouching on the ground, then at Xu Qing, then at Xue Guang.

His lips moved several times before he finally found his voice. "Junior Brother Xu... Lord Xue... Thank you... thank you both..."

Xue Guang patted him on the shoulder and smiled casually. "It's nothing. Don't take it to heart. Go tell your dad that if anyone from the Tiger Head Gang comes again, have him go straight to the yamen and find me. Just give them my name, Xue Guang."

Qin Liang nodded hard, then gave Xu Qing a deep look. His gaze was incomparably complicated, gratitude and emotion tangled together.

Xu Qing stood before the wonton stall, watching Old Qin squat there with his face covered, watching Qin Liang thank them with reddened eyes, watching Wei Shan hurry away bent at the waist. A bitter ache suddenly surged through his heart.

Twenty days ago, at Blackwater Bay, he had watched Liu San take silver from his second uncle and shove him to the ground.

Back then, he could do nothing. He had no fists, no status, no confidence. He could only grit his teeth until his clenched fists turned white, then lower his head, bend his back, and swallow those humiliations whole.

But now? He had not even needed to speak. Xue Guang had merely moved his lips, and a minor leader of the Tiger Head Gang—a Bright Force expert—had bent over to apologize, paid up, and left without daring to say a single word of refusal.

Xu Qing clenched his fists, then loosened them.

He wanted to grow stronger. Not so he could punch a few people to death, but so that no one would ever again be able to step on his head and force him to bend.

Seeing Xu Qing standing there in a daze, Xue Guang walked over and patted his shoulder with a smile. "Brother Xu, let's go. I'll show you around the streets."

Xu Qing came back to himself and nodded. After walking a few steps, he could not help looking back.

Qin Liang was helping his father to his feet. Old Qin's legs were still weak. Qin Liang wrapped one arm around his waist and grasped his arm with the other, slowly pulling him up from the ground. Then he righted the overturned stools one by one and picked up the shattered bowls and plates piece by piece.

Old Qin wiped his eyes with his sleeve, soaking a large patch of cloth. He raised his head and glanced in Xu Qing's direction. His lips moved, as though he were saying, "Thank you."

Xu Qing smiled, turned around, and strode forward. His steps were much faster than when he had arrived.

Qin Liang stood before the wonton stall, watching the backs of Xu Qing and Xue Guang as they walked away, until the two of them vanished completely from sight. He stood there without moving, as if nailed to the ground, while stormy waves churned within his heart.

He remembered the first day he had met Xu Qing. That day, Xu Qing had worn old clothes washed pale from use and stood at the entrance of the martial academy, looking around in every direction, knowing nothing. It had been Qin Liang who took him to the washroom and ate with him.

Twenty days. Just twenty short days.

That country bumpkin who had known nothing had become a yamen constable, a blade in his hand and a bronze badge at his waist. He had not even said a word. Simply by standing there, someone currying favor with him had made a minor leader of the Tiger Head Gang bow his head, pay compensation, and leave without daring to let out so much as a fart.

And what about himself? When trouble came, he could only squat outside the yamen and wait, his face frozen pale and his legs numb, not even daring to cry out loud.

Qin Liang drew a deep breath. The air was cold, flooding into his lungs like a knife stab. He turned to Old Qin and said, "Dad, I'm going back to the martial academy. From today on, I'll train twice as hard."

Old Qin raised his head and looked at his son. There was an expression on his son's face that he had never seen before. It was neither spite nor impulsiveness, but resolve. He said nothing, only nodded heavily.

Qin Liang walked all the way back to the martial academy, his steps growing faster and faster until he was nearly running as he rushed inside. He ran to the training ground, stepped onto the plum blossom stakes, set his stance, and began stance training.

His legs trembled, his waist ached, and beads of sweat pattered down. Yet he gritted his teeth until they creaked, enduring in utter silence.

Sun Ping stood nearby. When he saw Qin Liang like this, he was stunned for a moment. Then he too stepped onto the plum blossom stakes, assumed his stance, and stood shoulder to shoulder with Qin Liang.

Neither of them spoke. They simply stood there. Morning light shone from the east, stretching their shadows, one short and one long.

Qin Liang had only one thought in his heart: Junior Brother Xu had come from Blackwater Bay, and his background was even worse than his own. If Junior Brother Xu could do it, why could he not? He too would train—train until he reached Bright Force, until he reached Dark Force, until he could protect his parents, until he no longer had to crouch beside the stone lions and wait for someone to help him.

Sun Ping had only one thought in his heart as well: If Senior Brother Xu could do it, so could he. His aptitude was above average, even better than Senior Brother Xu's. Why could he not? He too would take a post, become a constable, let his parents live a good life, and stop living in that house with the leaking roof.

The two stood side by side, both their legs trembling. Yet neither was willing to collapse first. Sweat rolled down from their foreheads and into their eyes, stinging with pain, but neither raised a hand to wipe it away.

The east wing of the county yamen.

Qi Mao sat in the grand chair on the left, holding a teacup. He scraped the floating foam with the lid, producing a faint clink of porcelain. After scraping it a few times, he did not drink, but set it down again.

He was waiting for someone.

The chair beside him was empty, and tea had already been brewed. Biluochun, the kind that cost two taels of silver per tael. The leaves unfurled in the boiling water, and the tea was a clear, brilliant green. Just looking at it made it seem expensive.

After about the time it took to drink a cup of tea, footsteps sounded outside. They were neither hurried nor slow, calm and composed.

"Chief, Master Wu has arrived," the yamen runner announced at the door. Stepping aside, he let a middle-aged man in his forties enter.

The man wore a dark blue raw-silk robe, the material superb and the tailoring impeccable. A fine piece of white jade hung at his waist.

His features were proper and dignified. He wore a neatly trimmed short beard. His eyes were not large, and he narrowed them slightly when looking at people.

His pace was neither fast nor slow, every step steady. One look was enough to tell that he came from a wealthy household. Not the air of a newly rich upstart, but the composure that could only be cultivated over three generations or more—something in his bones, impossible to imitate.

Qi Mao immediately rose to his feet, cupped his hands, and smiled. "Brother Wu, I've finally been waiting for you. Come, come, take the seat of honor." His voice was half a note higher than usual, and his smile several degrees warmer.

Wu Boxian was the head of the second branch of the Wu Clan in the county town. The Wu Clan had operated in Qinghe County for three generations. Shops, farmland, shares in the docks—together, they amounted to no small fortune. The Wu Clan was one of the county town's prominent great families.

Qi Mao's martial training had previously been funded by the Wu Clan, and he had always remembered that favor.

Wu Boxian returned the salute and sat down with a smile.

Qi Mao sat back down as well and waved for the yamen runner serving tea to withdraw. Only after the door closed did he lean closer and lower his voice. "Brother Wu, the message I had sent to the Wu Clan yesterday..."

Wu Boxian lifted his teacup and slowly took a sip, unhurried from start to finish. He neither confirmed nor denied it, and his face showed no expression.

Qi Mao was slightly taken aback. This was not the reaction he had expected.

He had thought Wu Boxian's eyes would light up, that he would ask questions, make the decision, and say on the spot, "Good, the Wu Clan will fund this Xu Qing." But he did not. Things seemed to have turned out differently from what he had anticipated. His smile froze on his face.

Wu Boxian set down his teacup, lifted his eyelids to glance at Qi Mao, and moved the corner of his mouth slightly.

"Constable Qi." Wu Boxian's voice was not loud, and he spoke at an unhurried pace. "Yesterday, you sent word saying that you wanted our Wu Clan to fund Xu Qing of the Zhao Family Martial Hall?"

"Yes." Qi Mao nodded, leaning forward slightly as urgency entered his voice. "Yesterday, he severely injured Han Bao of the Rushing Thunder Martial Academy with one punch. One punch! Han Bao is considered one of the Rushing Thunder Martial Academy's promising talents, yet he could not even take a single punch from Xu Qing. Xu Qing has enormous potential. He comes from a poor background and has no foundation. If the Wu Clan were to offer support now..."

He did not finish, because Wu Boxian raised one hand and gently waved it.

Qi Mao fell silent, not understanding why.

"Constable Qi," Wu Boxian said, folding his hands over his knees with his back straight and his tone calm, "our Wu Clan has looked into the person you mentioned."

Qi Mao paused, then smiled. The smile returned to his face, carrying the relief of so that was it. "You've looked into him? Then that's even better. You should know that what I said isn't false—"

"Yes, we know that he defeated someone from the Rushing Thunder Martial Academy." Wu Boxian interrupted him, but his tone was not harsh. Instead, it carried a mild courtesy that made it difficult to get angry with him.

He paused, as if considering how to phrase what came next without causing offense. "But Constable Qi, do you know that his aptitude is only below average?"

Qi Mao's smile froze completely.

"Below average?" He frowned, his voice full of confusion. "How could it be below average? Yesterday, he severely injured Han Bao with one punch. Han Bao is one of the Rushing Thunder Martial Academy's promising talents, and I heard his aptitude isn't bad..."

"It is below average." Wu Boxian repeated himself, his tone certain. He raised his teacup and took another slow sip. "Constable Qi, you should know that there are juniors of our clan training in the Zhao Family Martial Hall. In truth, our Wu Clan has had its eye on Xu Qing for some time."

"We have already found out that he defeated Han Bao not because his aptitude is good, but because his physique is unusual."

"As for exactly what kind of physique it is, we have not yet discovered that. But one thing is certain: aptitude cannot be faked." He set the teacup back onto the table with a soft sound. "With below-average aptitude, no matter how unusual his physique may be, his chances of breaking through to Dark Force in the future are... not great."

"If his potential truly were enormous, Zhao Yan would have accepted him as a personal disciple long ago. Yet he is merely a nominal disciple..." Wu Boxian shook his head and said no more. The Wu Clan's meaning was already perfectly clear.

Qi Mao opened his mouth, wanting to say something more, but he did not know what to say. His lips moved twice, but in the end, no sound came out.

He raised his teacup and, this time, truly took a sip.

The tea had already gone cold, bitter and astringent.