Disrupted Scripture

The woman named Meng Qi was immensely strong. After Meng Peijiu gave the order, she made two trips and dragged away the mountain-like pile of foul-smelling Killing Ape meat—easily two tons' worth—along with all the weapons.

When Meng Qi pulled the courtyard gate shut behind her, its creak echoing as it closed, Peng Jun's ramrod-straight body relaxed slightly. He let out a breath, his rough face filled with helplessness as he looked back and said:

"Honestly, if you two little ones wanted to sell me goods, you only had to say so. Why did you go and summon that little ancestor?"

The autumn wind swept over their clothes. Qin Yi looked puzzled and asked:

"Couldn't we seek her out? Isn't Meng's Cloth Workshop the biggest black-market dealer in Immortal Guest House?"

Peng Jun hesitated at those words. He raised a hand to stroke his chin, considered for a moment, then told them truthfully:

"That's true, but not entirely. Their family and the proprietor should be considered partners. The biggest black-market dealer truly subordinate to Immortal Guest House is the gambling house on the eastern side of town."

Partners...

Qin Yi's dark eyes flickered as he continued asking curiously:

"But wasn't Granny Meng a refugee?"

Peng Jun's expression turned strange as he asked in return:

"Huh? Who told you they came here as refugees?"

Qin Yi slowly looked toward his older sister.

Ruan Su blinked twice, gave a light snort, and looked away.

Qin Yi: "..."

Seeing the expressions on the two children's faces, Peng Jun finally relaxed completely. He laughed heartily, reached out to pat Ruan Su on the shoulder, and explained to Qin Yi:

"Not many people in Immortal Guest House know about this. It's normal for Little Su not to know. Granny Meng has connections over in the capital of the Later Tang Kingdom and can provide the proprietor with sales channels... Remember not to spread this around."

Qin Yi did not doubt the truth of Peng Jun's words. He had seen clearly just now that when this uncle stood up for the siblings, his body had been entirely taut, even trembling somewhat. He had clearly thoroughly offended that Meng-surnamed girl.

He could be counted as half an ally. Someone worth winning over.

Having settled his thoughts, Qin Yi solemnly cupped his hands and bowed deeply to the uncle.

"Uncle Peng, don't worry. And thank you for speaking up for us earlier."

"..."

Peng Jun was slightly taken aback by the other's steady, impeccable etiquette. Then, somewhat amused, he vigorously ruffled Qin Yi's hair and laughed boldly.

"You brat, you were pretty convincing when you pretended to have that brain ailment before, huh? Small as you are, you're full of tricks. You've got promise!"

As he spoke,

Peng Jun hesitated slightly before reminding them:

"Also, you two had best have less to do with the women of that family, especially Granny Meng. If you find any more contraband, come straight to me. I'll help you contact Old Xie at the gambling house. With me around, he won't dare cheat you. If there's nothing else, I'll head back and report in first. The proprietor only told me this morning to dissect the Killing Ape, after all."

Qin Yi nodded, glanced at the now-empty courtyard, and asked:

"Uncle Peng, where's the half of that little girl from the courtyard earlier?"

At that, Peng Jun's expression became complicated. He sighed and shook his head.

"I saw how miserably that little child died, so I thought I'd let her rest in peace. I picked up a few of the larger pieces, took them into the mountains, dug a hole, and buried them. It's about half a li north of your little courtyard."

Qin Yi thought for a moment, then nodded.

Death was cheap in this world to begin with. Still, when he had time, he ought to go offer that rich young lady two sticks of incense out of courtesy, in thanks for the gold coins she had exploded.

After Peng Jun left, only the siblings remained in the courtyard.

Ruan Su first drew several buckets of water from the well and briefly rinsed away the bloody stench in the courtyard. Then she turned and went into the kitchen to decoct Qin Yi's medicine and prepare lunch.

Qin Yi returned to the living room.

The room was somewhat dim. Sunlight streamed in through the doorway and window lattice, while the air carried a faint smell of damp mildew and blood. The conical wooden stake within the doorframe was no longer swinging like a pendulum. It hung there silently, badly obstructing the light.

Sitting upright beside the square table, Qin Yi opened the yellowed ancient book.

After that Meng-surnamed girl's reminder, he could be certain that this ancient book was a cultivation manual. It was perhaps not even an ordinary internal cultivation manual, but a cultivation method involving Calamity Seeds.

Calamity Seeds

was the contemptuous name used by those in the Central Plains who knew of people like Ruan Su.

That was also why Qin Yi had told Nie Junyue that children like them were even better than adults at hiding themselves.

Once discovered by those people, children like them would effectively vanish from the face of the earth. Along the journey south, many children Qin Yi had picked up had disappeared this way.

For a stable dynasty, the mass influx of children like Ruan Su would have an almost devastating effect on the foundations of its rule.

It represented the complete shattering of the violent monopoly once maintained through controlling internal cultivation manuals, medicinal stones that increased internal strength, and similar methods. Worse, it continued expanding without restraint.

Just as Qin Yi could not estimate what kind of attributes his older sister would possess when she truly came of age, it was fitting enough that those in power called them "Calamity Seeds."

But according to Qin Yi's deductions, this should only be one stage in the tide of the times.

The emergence of Calamity Seeds could neither be predicted nor stopped. They were direct wielders of violence, and dynasties could not systematically exclude them from the top down as they would suppress the budding of new ideas.

And if they did not want to die, they could only change.

Discovery, rejection, suppression, chaos, struggle, compromise and acceptance, and finally the complete establishment of a new system.

On the surface, the various dynasties of the Central Plains were mostly still at the stages of rejecting and suppressing Calamity Seeds. Yet in secret, they had likely long gone beyond that point.

The old proprietor's attitude was one piece of evidence...

The autumn mountain wind, warmed by the rising sun, brushed across his face. As his brain whirred at high speed and drained his energy, waves of drowsiness quietly crept in. Qin Yi's head dipped uncontrollably.

In an instant, Qin Yi rose to his feet warily.

Once his body relaxed, the exhaustion accumulated within this frail body surged up all at once.

But he could not sleep yet.

He had not yet worked out a countermeasure for Ruan Su regarding the old proprietor's affairs, and now Meng Peijiu had suddenly appeared with unclear intentions.

There were so many matters in the household that needed him to handle, needed him to consider, needed him to devise responses for.

Forcing back his sleepiness, he turned and took a stack of rough paper, a writing brush, and an ink stick made from pine soot from the cabinet in the corner. He placed them on the square table, then took his homemade inkstone to the kitchen and asked Ruan Su, who was decocting his medicine, for some water.

Back in the living room, Qin Yi did not sit. He moved a low stool beside the square table, stood on it, and ground the ink while continuously breaking down in his mind the organizational structure Immortal Guest House currently needed.

The old proprietor had not yet told him the specific circumstances of Immortal Guest House.

Qin Yi only knew that Immortal Guest House had begun as a brokerage, that most of its business involved the black market, that it owned vast tracts of land deeds and fertile fields, and that it sheltered tenant farmers on a considerable scale.

The most important matters—such as which Ancient Shu nobles stood behind Immortal Guest House, and what specific roles Luo Liuyi, Peng Jun, and even Granny Meng played in its operations—remained shrouded in mist.

But the same old saying applied: grasp the core, and that was enough.

The reasons a leader chose to shoulder every matter personally were nothing more than centralization driven by a sense of crisis, the predicament of having no one capable to employ, or the fear that after delegating power, costs from corruption and other losses would rise sharply...

Thinking this far, Qin Yi had a rough idea.

At this stage, he did not need to truly solve the old proprietor's problems. He only needed to reinforce the old proprietor's judgment that he could solve them.

He picked up the brush, lightly dipped it into the freshly ground ink, and let its tip touch the rough paper with a soft scratching sound. By the time Ruan Su emerged from the kitchen carrying the decocted medicine, Qin Yi had just finished writing the final character.

Ruan Su set the medicine bowl on the table. Without asking what Qin Yi was doing, she softly ordered:

"...Drink."

Qin Yi picked up the bowl and gulped it down.

His older sister was very attentive. She always blew the medicine cool before giving it to him.

The medicine was bitter as it went down his throat, but before long, a warm, itching sensation reduced much of the pain in Qin Yi's body. It was not pain relief; the medicine was taking effect, healing the injuries his organs had suffered last night.

That was also why Qin Yi had never stopped Ruan Su from spending money to treat his brain ailment.

Materials from demonic calamities and certain unique herbs had raised this world's medical standards to great heights.

Of course,

the price of enjoying such medicinal treatments was terrifyingly high as well.

Seeing that he had obediently finished it, Ruan Su nodded in satisfaction, collected the bowl, and returned to the kitchen.

Qin Yi's gaze fell back onto the ancient book. He stared at the unfamiliar characters on its title page, a faint, elusive dark gleam continuously flickering in his pitch-black eyes.

The nations of the Central Plains each had their own languages and writing systems. The differences between them were far greater than those between dialects, but they should have originated from the same source and could be considered different branches of the same language family.

Whenever he reached a new place, Qin Yi could learn seven or eight parts out of ten of the local language through observation and experience. He had also tried learning the writing systems, but time and material conditions had been far too limited.

Other than Ancient Shu and Great Qin, he had only learned the scripts of most other nations halfway and incompletely.

Yet Qin Yi was certain that the writing in this ancient book before him belonged to none of the kinds he had ever seen.

Even its character structure differed greatly from the scripts he had seen in the Central Plains—so greatly that it seemed like something born from an entirely different language family.

Standing on the little stool, Qin Yi stared without blinking at the ancient book's title page. Then he took a deep breath, pinched up the brush at his side, and stroke by stroke wrote two words on the rough paper in the script of Shu.

Disrupted Scripture.

Though he could not read it, he seemed able to translate this writing.