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"I have a little motorcycle, but I never ride it..." Shen Tang, riding on the mule's back, was not at all well-behaved. Sometimes she would sing loudly, sometimes pluck leaves and scatter petals. Accompanied by the "ding-a-ling" of the bells, her off-key singing joined in. When she occasionally forgot the lyrics, she would hum a couple of notes to fill in.
"One day, on a whim, I rode it to the market..." Qi Shan finally couldn't take it anymore: "Young lord Shen, from whom did you learn this 'music' among the six arts of a gentleman?" It's truly a disservice to one's teacher.
"Doesn't it sound good?" Shen Tang asked earnestly. Although her memories were few, she vaguely remembered that she should be a "singing queen," capable of captivating an audience with her voice. She could sing, she could draw, a representative of high-quality human females. (▽)
Qi Shan looked at Shen Tang with a complex expression. Her eyes were open and confident. Clearly, not only did she not think there was anything wrong with her singing, but she also thought his aesthetic sense was flawed. Qi Shan couldn't fathom where her confidence came from and said, "There's a Spirit Language that's quite apt—'Are there no mountain songs and village flutes?'"
Shen Tang asked, confused, "What?"
Qi Shan stifled a laugh: " 'Discordant and grating to the ear' ."
Shen Tang: "..." Her fist hardened! "Yuanliang, did you grow up so safely purely by luck?" Such a fine person, yet with such a mouth!
"Naturally, by strength."
Shen Tang: "..." Seeing her losing control of her facial expressions, her features twisted out of place, Qi Shan laughed heartily: "Young lord Shen, don't rush. You're still young; there's still hope if you learn slowly."
About an hour later, Qi Shan looked up at the sun. It was the hottest time of the day. Let alone escorting prisoners, even just standing still would make sweat uncontrollably seep out, dampening one's undershirt. "Should we speed up?"
Shen Tang said, "Too close, and we might be discovered."
Qi Shan: "With the soldiers' lazy and negligent habits, where would they be willing to continue marching under such scorching sun? They'll most likely find a cool spot to rest and drink tea to quench their thirst. Young lord Shen put so much effort into poisoning their tea; I'm afraid if we go too late, we'll miss the good show."
"Yuanliang has a point. Then I'll go ahead and watch the show. If you don't want to ride the mule, you can walk slowly on your two legs." Shen Tang whipped Motorcycle's rear. Motorcycle cried out in pain and galloped away. In no time, it was just a small dot in the distance. Facing Shen Tang's childish "provocation," Qi Shan merely smiled, seemingly unconcerned. But then he chanted, "Chasing the wind, treading the shadows."
"With flapping wings, one can soar through the dark sky; with galloping feet, one can chase the wind and tread the shadows." His figure swayed slightly, leaving only an afterimage. It was as if he were treading on the wind, each step covering over three zhang (approx. 10 meters). His expression was calm, his posture relaxed.
Shen Tang: "???" Qi Shan brushed past her, bringing a faint breeze. In the blink of an eye, his figure had already run dozens of zhang away.
Shen Tang: "!!!" Calling the referee! Someone here is cheating with a cheat code!!! She ultimately suffered from her lack of experience with Spirit Language. Even riding a four-legged motorcycle, she couldn't outrun the two-legged Qi Shan.
The sun was scorching. The soldiers escorting the prisoner carts, unable to bear the heat, sought shelter in a small, densely canopied grove. They gathered in groups of two or three in the shade, while several prisoner carts were left exposed to the sun. The prisoners in the carts were either suffering from heatstroke, their faces pale and their bodies weak and powerless, or bore severe whip wounds. The Censor-in-Chief, in particular, was the most severely injured. Exhausted, sleepy, hungry, and thirsty, his throat felt like it was on fire. The Censor-in-Chief even felt his life force rapidly draining away.
To torment the prisoners, the soldiers resorted to every possible means. These prisoner carts escorting them were custom-made according to their heights. Some were particularly tall, forcing prisoners to stand on tiptoes to be comfortable, while others were particularly short, preventing them from standing straight or sitting down, only allowing them to maintain a semi-crouching posture. Neither allowed for peaceful sleep. After several days, even without whipping, they were half-dead.
The Censor-in-Chief's prisoner cart was one of the particularly tall ones. He could only barely stand on tiptoes to breathe properly, but his heels would drop again after a short while. Severe injuries, intense emotional release, dehydration, hunger, exhaustion... various factors combined to cause him severe hallucinations. His parched lips moved faintly, murmuring, "Water, water... water..." Just as he was about to faint, his prisoner cart was kicked, and the shaking brought him back to consciousness.
"Father, wake up!" The Censor-in-Chief barely regained some sanity and turned to look at his son in the adjacent prisoner cart—his son's prisoner cart was a short model, with room to stretch his legs—his expression filled with worry and surprise, saying, "Father, look at them."
Them?
Who?
The Censor-in-Chief was a few beats slow to react. He followed his son's gaze and saw the soldiers, who had just been taking refuge in the shade, falling ill one after another. Some clutched their heads and rolled around, others collapsed with full-body convulsions, or struggled with rapid, difficult breathing. Some foamed at the mouth with rolling eyes, or clenched their jaws with facial spasms. A few reacted less severely, but still knelt on the ground clutching their stomachs, some even losing control of their bowels, making unsightly spectacles.
Experienced as the Censor-in-Chief was, he instantly understood. His first thought was: These soldiers have been poisoned! His second thought was: Someone is coming to rescue the prisoners! This thought invigorated him. A powerful surge of survival instinct erupted from deep within his body, forcing him to rally his spirits.
The soldiers, meanwhile, were in disarray. "The water is poisoned!"
"It's... it's poisoned!"
"Face the enemy! Be careful!" Most of the soldiers were poisoned, leaving only a dozen or so who hadn't had time to drink water unscathed. They drew their swords and surrounded the prisoner carts, their expressions panicked, like startled birds, guarding every direction. A few breaths passed. The surroundings were calm and quiet.
Ding-a-ling—
They're here! This thought arose in the hearts of all the soldiers. But strangely, only the sound was heard, not the person.
"Where are they? Where are they?"
"Filial sons, are you looking for me?" An unfamiliar voice came from behind the crowd. Startled, they turned around, only to see the prisoner carts empty, with only a young man with delicate features and a slender build, carrying a sword. The young man swung his sword, and a gleaming blade flashed before their eyes. Their eyes instantly stung. Blood stained their entire vision red.
"To cleave the wandering son!" Shen Tang's expression was as cold as frost. She raised her sword and leaped down. She wielded the "Mother's Sword" to discipline the filial sons. The few prisoners, meanwhile, found their feet gave way and fell to the ground. The prisoner carts were already dozens of zhang away. The Censor-in-Chief's pupils constricted.
"Long time no see, Teacher Tian." The Censor-in-Chief turned his head upon hearing this, only to see a tall young man standing not far away. He held his hands tucked in his sleeves, and the breeze gently ruffled his hair behind him, presenting a unique aesthetic. The young man smiled and nodded at him, but the smile looked somewhat false.
Teacher Tian? The Censor-in-Chief was startled by this address.
Qi Shan, seeing this, said, "You forget many things, Teacher Tian." The Censor-in-Chief's son supported his old father, looking warily at Qi Shan: "This young lord, do you know my father?" And calling him "Teacher Tian"? The Censor-in-Chief was also puzzled. Did they know each other? With his experience, he could naturally tell by what means the young man had rescued him. It was nothing more than constructing a battlefield with "Stars Scattered Across a Chessboard," and then using "Substitution" or other troop-deploying Spirit Languages to replace them. This sounded simple, but considering the distance between the young man and the prisoner carts, the "Stars Scattered Across a Chessboard" covered an area of at least a hundred zhang in diameter—before aligning with any feudal lord, what unsung, simple character could achieve such a feat with their own power alone? If they knew each other, he would surely have an impression.