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    Chapter 57 – When the Painting Ends, the Dagger Appears*Âč

    What a strange thing


    Wei Sheng could barely drag his eyes away from the crimson jar.

    “What is this?”

    “My points!!!!”

    The system shrieked in near‑death hysteria — in the most physical sense of agony.

    “Don’t be so stingy.”

    Though it couldn’t help, Shen Qinghe still lifted a hand to rub his ringing ear, smiling up at Wei Sheng. “This is good stuff.” He refilled his own emptied teacup, then, unceremoniously, cleared out the half‑filled cup in Wei Sheng’s hand as well.

    “It also has a common name. Perhaps not as lofty as ‘Springwater Brew’ (Chunshui Jian), but in favor of plain speech — ‘Happy Water.’ Come, taste it.”

    Wei Sheng stiffened, staring at the bubbling blackish‑brown liquid in his cup. He had not even the slightest desire to let it near his lips.

    “Surely Shen Gongzi jests with Wei Lang?”

    “How could it be a jest?” Shen Qinghe widened his eyes, lifted the cup, and drained it in one gulp.

    Ah — that familiar flavor.

    He inhaled deeply, as though drinking nectar fit for immortals. Flipping his wrist, he held out the empty cup. “Utterly entrancing. Fair for young and old alike.”

    Wei Sheng glared at the bubbling liquid, then with forced restraint finally snapped. With a sweep of his sleeve, he flung the cup to the floor.

    Ding!

    Porcelain shattered crisp and ringing. The “Happy Water” spread across the ground, fizzing into white froth!

    The waiter who had just delivered food outside jumped in fright. One foot had already stepped past the door; he quickly drew the other back.

    Wei Sheng leapt to his feet, eyes wide with fury. “You mean to poison me?!”

    Open poison, in broad daylight! He had never thought Shen Qinghe bold beyond reason.

    But Shen Qinghe sat unmoving, serene, again pouring for himself. As leisurely as drinking wine or tea, his tone was easy: “What are you saying, Wei Gongzi? I offer you fine drink — how could it be poison? You wrong me gravely.”

    Wei Sheng’s doubt rose. Shen Qinghe slowly set down his outstretched leg. “Not honorable, Wei Gongzi. You dispense Springwater Brew for others, yet refuse a sip yourself. And here, I am generous enough to share this world’s unrivaled Happy Water with you.”

    Pushing up from his chair, looking down on Wei Sheng’s panicked eyes — Shen Qinghe scented something off. Then again, the bow was bent, and the arrow had to fly.

    “Don’t you want to know why your gunpowder is weak, compared to mine? I can tell you.” Shen Qinghe laid aside his smile, picked up another unopened jar, and swirled it like a bartender. The embroidered sleeve of his robe swung gracefully with his wrist, like a white butterfly in flight.

    But Wei Sheng felt no admiration. Only danger. Backing up, his heel snagged against a flower stand — he froze.

    Then came a deafening bang! His vision went white. He was back in that night when servants told him of the White Lotus Temple in Cangzhou burned to ash. They claimed heaven’s anger had sent lightning crashing, flames roaring, towers and statues reduced to dust.

    He had only sneered then. Let the people cry to gods; had any ever shown? Temples? Sculptures? All built by him. What they worshipped was his family, his name! Heavenly wrath — what nonsense!

    The white light cleared. He was on the floor, drenched by cold droplets falling like rain, slick on his face and robes. But colder still was the smile of Shen Qinghe.

    Head tilted, Shen said softly:

    “Superise~”

    “Like this — when pressure exceeds a vessel’s threshold, boom. Wei Gongzi, I present you the logic. Be a ghost who dies knowing.”

    Hiss of bubbles filled the air, saccharine scent spreading. When at last Wei Sheng realized this was only a thunder‑without‑rain trick, anger surged anew. But before he could burst — the window was kicked open.

    Yao Guang, drawn by their signal, burst in, crouched on the sill, half his body pushing through.

    “He really sent his men a hundred paces off!” His voice was astonished. “The whole perimeter scrubbed! All clear — let’s finish here and go. Eh? Why aren’t you dead yet?”

    With a crash he leapt inside, arms swinging loose. To Shen Qinghe he called: “If you can’t kill him, I’ll do it!”

    Wei Sheng collapsed trembling. He had thought it only intimidation, but now they truly meant to take his life. Dignity forgotten, he cried: “You treacherous dog!”

    Yao Guang blinked. “Treacherous? Since when did honor bind us to you?” Already drawing a dagger, he lunged to finish it.

    “Gongyang Ci—!!”

    The sudden cry made both pause.

    “You come out this instant!!”

    Toppling back into the legs of a chair, caps askew, Wei Sheng clung to cover. His shout shook the hall, yet only the breeze rustled the curtains. Then—

    From behind painted screen, Gongyang Ci stepped forth.

    “You—!” Yao Guang’s eyes went wide.

    Wei Sheng found his voice, regaining a shred of his young‑lord bearing. “You dared lay hands on me in the very place, the very scheme, this man arranged! Despicable rabble are ever decked in treachery. Guards! Kill them now!”

    Turned to Shen Qinghe, spitting pride: “I pitied your pitiful talent, and you know not Heaven’s heights! Remember the taste of arrogance on the Yellow Springs road!”

    But Gongyang Ci stood statue‑still, beads rolling in his palm, face as serene as monks in meditation.

    Yao Guang exhaled. He had suspected wrongly — Gongyang had been their ally.

    Good. Remember it. He clenched the name Wei Sheng in his mind, a shame to repay!

    Wei Sheng’s chest heaved. He forced himself not to erupt. “Bring me Shen Qinghe’s head, Gongyang, and though you lost one temple, I’ll grant you twelve more across the empire!”

    Both Shen Qinghe and Yao Guang stared.

    “White Lotus’ Cangzhou master — is you?” Shen Qinghe’s gaze chill.

    Gongyang Ci hesitated
 then nodded faintly.

    “You spoke of how Wei Sheng persecuted you, luring me to a death feast. And now—dragon king and temple both—one family after all.”

    This time Shen Qinghe was truly angry. He had doubted before, but Gongyang worked for the greater cause, hadn’t seemed corrupt. He had given him faith. But it was all a thorn planted from the start. He hid even here, in Huizhou, lurking in shade.

    Wei Sheng screamed from behind his table: “You lied to me! You claimed you were on my side, but you schemed with him! Gongyang Ci — you betrayed me!”

    Foam flecked his lips, eyes bloodshot. “Back‑bite your master! Had I not fed you like the dog you are, you’d be bones in a ditch!”

    Finally Gongyang’s mask shifted — a flick, as if brushing dust from his sleeve. His voice was calm. “The Wei clan’s kindness, of course, is forever etched in my memory.”

    Rebellious beyond redemption


    Wei Sheng’s mind reeled with realization. Gongyang betrayed him too — but that did not mean betrayer favored Shen. At once he wheeled back, trying: “Shen Gongzi, truth be told, I meant to ally with you. This man lied between us. Join me instead! Cast him down with me, and later we speak as friends—”

    “Shut your mouth.” Shen Qinghe’s glare sliced.

    Stifled, Wei Sheng bit back rage, feigning calm.

    “You deceive him, deceive me—what is your goal.” Shen Qinghe’s pulse thundered. For nights unease lingered. Now truth peeked through.

    Gongyang Ci sighed long. “Shen Gongzi
 today, you go nowhere.”

    Cold clarity pierced Shen Qinghe. Mists had parted—the two fat fish had surfaced. His back was wet with sweat.

    He smiled cold. “We’ll see.” From his waist he drew


    Black iron, dull and ugly. Nothing impressive to the eye, but when its dark mouth was leveled — dread arose.

    Wei Sheng’s fury returned tenfold. They had made him a prop, nothing but a stage extra!

    Feigning nonchalance, he grinned weakly: “Since it is between you, I’ll take my leave. No need—”

    A burst like thunder.

    The shot tore air and flesh. Heat haze rose from the barrel. Wei Sheng gaped at his bleeding arm, crimson splashing. He tried to speak — only a rasp, choking silent.

    Shen Qinghe’s hand shook, not from fear but recoil. His palm numbed, wrist humming like struck metal. This weapon was crude — portable, yes, but weak, inaccurate. At point‑blank, and still only tore Wei Sheng’s arm, not his life.

    First time firing at living flesh, Shen Qinghe’s own heart tremored. He fought the urge to vomit, to harden himself. In Yao Guang’s stunned gaze, he raised the smoking weapon to Gongyang Ci.

    “Look well. I will never again be your pawn.” Cruel yet merciful, he allowed the man a chance at last words.

    “Have you anything left to say?”

    Wei Sheng’s belated scream rang out — backdrop to the standoff.

    Gongyang’s pupils narrowed. “No jest, Shen Gongzi. Today you go nowhere.”

    Finger taut on trigger, Shen Qinghe meant it. “Try then. See if your soldiers outrun my shot.”

    Yao Guang’s stance shifted ready; the uproar outside would soon spill in.

    Gongyang only opened his palms, mock‑benign. “Empty hands I came. No troops. And steel and fire is not the only way to bind men.” He tilted his head at the weapon. “You should know.”

    “What taboo I hate most — and you broke not one but many. Time I send you along.”

    Instead — out from his robe came a small badge, silk cord frayed, metal dull. Its carved characters: Qingbei.

    Shen Qinghe’s breath seared. Voice grave as blood: “You even dare that. Which student?” He scoured his memory — but had sent all safely home before coming here.

    “If you touch even a hair—”

    “Not your students.” Gongyang’s voice calm.

    “It is Xue Bufan. Lord Xue.”

    Shen’s wrist jolted.

    “You may kill me. Your life is worth a hundred of mine. His too. But Shen Gongzi—what brilliance, what heart. I would not wish—”

    “Enough.” Shen Qinghe ground the words. “Speak. Who is your master. Take me to him.”

    His firmness jolted Gongyang. He studied him — that defiant spark.

    “You are bright, brave, loyal. Everything I once said to you was true. Your path shines, if long enough.”

    Shen Qinghe’s brow furrowed.

    “But truthfully—I lied just now. I do not intend to die.” Gongyang’s smile sharpened, serpent’s tongue flicking. “I require you fallen here — as my token of entry upward.”

    His smile oozed venom.

    “Lord Yue Zhi summons you.”

    Footnotes

    1. Idiom “When the painting ends, the dagger appears” (ć›Ÿç©·ćŒ•è§): Ancient phrase meaning when excuses are exhausted, the hidden weapon is revealed — ultimate intentions exposed. It originates from the story of Jing Ke’s assassination attempt on the Qin king, when a map was unfurled to its end, revealing a dagger hidden within. 

     

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