ITIEQ C95

Chapter 95 (Extra) — IF Route

“We’ll pay double the consultation fee.”

A cloth pouch thudded onto the table, heavy with coin.

“This isn’t about consultation fees, don’t you understand people at all!” The shopkeeper burst out in anger. “I run a small business, I can’t handle gods like you. Don’t linger here—go find another place!”

The man they carried draped between them had an arrow stuck in his chest, its fletching shorn away. His blood was gone, his face white, unconscious.

“Will you treat him or not!” Yao Guang hissed, voice low but menacing. The hand on his shoulder stopped him from lunging, but his eyes blazed with desperation. “Brother Xiao!” They had brought Yuan He through several clinics on the way, and everywhere the answer was the same refusal. They could wait—Yuan He could not.

“You dare to swagger in here!” The shopkeeper slammed the table—and in a flash, a wrapped iron weapon pressed cold against his neck.

“Treat him,” said the older of the two men, sharper of gaze, his voice like Yama the Judge of Death. “Or you die.”

The shopkeeper collapsed, legs giving way. He nearly screamed. What in Heaven’s name have I stumbled into…

“Why is there no one watching the front—are you all slacking off?”

A voice, casual but clear, came from the doorway. The rain‑curtain swung aside, and in stepped a boy of thirteen or fourteen, cheeks still rounded with youth, but his lip curled into a lazy smirk. He was dressed in brocade, every inch a young lord of wealth.

The tense air paused as he entered. The boy flicked his folding fan, let the curtain fall behind him with a snap.

“Master!” the shopkeeper cried, as though he’d glimpsed salvation.

This was Shen Qinghe, master of the district—proprietor of half the street. His hawk‑bright eyes swept over the scene: desperate men, a sweating shopkeeper, and a fainted patient. He smiled, slow and unhurried. “A patient! What are you doing on the floor? Why aren’t you treating him?”

The shopkeeper gritted his teeth—he’d served in the army once. One look at that wound, he’d seen through it. Arrow shaft—standard issue of the archer battalions. Suspicious, dangerous—and drawing such men into his little apothecary was a path to ruin.

But Shen Qinghe’s gaze had shifted to the tall youth with the almost‑concealed weapon. Gun? Staff? Something wrapped.

“Came for treatment—best not make a mess in a clinic,” Shen said dryly. No wonder the shopkeeper flinched, it all looked suspicious indeed. But then Shen caught sight of the young man’s face. He stilled—soft gasp.

The man too was staring back. His eyes sharp as blades, cutting all in his sight to fragments.

“Bring him,” Shen said at once. He tapped his fan against the shopkeeper’s shoulder and sauntered inside. Sending a glance over his shoulder, his meaning clear: follow.

“Master, this reeks of trouble. Should we find a way to drive them off—?” the shopkeeper muttered low.

“Ah, healer’s heart is compassion. Liu, why such little pity?” Shen sighed theatrically.

“But wasn’t it you, Master, who told us always to avoid stirring trouble—?”

“This is different.” Shen snapped his fan open, hid half his grin behind a painted scene of butterflies. “Didn’t you see his looks?”

In the outer room the two strangers stiffened. Martial men had sharp ears—they heard every word through. A glance between them, alarm flickering.

Shen’s voice at ease: “So handsome! A man who looks like that—how could he be a villain?”

Yao Guang’s grip eased, then turned to disgust.

“A wastrel,” he muttered.

Inside, the shopkeeper trembled. “When did Master gain the art of face‑reading…?”

Shen tilted his chin. “Such fine looks deserve special treatment. Next time, don’t be so blind.”

Humiliated, Yao Guang nearly boiled over. Judged by a kid playing the rake! Yet under their circumstances, he could only choke down rage. “Will you treat him or not!”

“Of course—if you’ve money, why wouldn’t we? Any extra, call it compensation for frightening my shopkeeper.” Shen drawled, fanning himself. “Next time, don’t wave weapons around. Good doctors are rarer than jade these days.”

Seeing attendants carefully carry the patient inside, the older youth—Xiao Yuanzheng—finally raised his eyes, fixed straight on Shen.

“Well then,” he said, cool. “If doctors can’t heal him, I’ll tear down your clinic.”

“By all means.” Shen’s smile sharpened. “But I promise, you won’t die.”

From the sidelines, the Voice of the System whined its thousandth time: ‘When will we finally start the main quest? You keep mucking about on the streets, wasting time!’

Shen whistled. “What’s the hurry.”

Later that night—

Reports gathered: “This clinic master is the second son of the local prefect. Not only this clinic—in Changzhou, any shop with a name has his hand in it. Notorious scapegrace.”

Yao Guang spat. “Vermin.”

“No connection to Prince Ying?” another asked.

“None found,” came the reply.

So just coincidence? A mere young wastrel?

Xiao Yuanzheng’s mind flickered to that smirking face. “No matter. When Yuan He wakes, we move. We’ll find who dares play shadows behind this.”

To everyone’s surprise, several days passed in eerie peace. Prince Ying’s pursuers fell silent. The flamboyant clinic‑master disappeared.

Yao Guang grew restless. “I scouted eastward—there’s a bandit fort. Robbing caravans bound for the capital route. Why not clear it early, stretch our legs?”

Some hesitated at the risk. Xiao Yuanzheng only said, “Prepare the horses.”

Out upon the plains, the warhorse thundered. Xiao Yuanzheng rode first. The wrapping on his spear came off—golden scales glimmering, red tassel streaming.

Strange—the bandit fort so silent. No sentries. None outside the gate.

They charged in—

And froze.

In the fort courtyard, surrounded by fainted bandits, stood Shen Qinghe. Brocade robe, painted fan, a boy not yet grown, grinning as the soldiers burst in.

“Oh,” he said, as though greeting friends.

“You…again?” Xiao Yuanzheng reined his horse.

“This is Changzhou, my turf. Where else would you find me?” Shen shrugged.

“Colluding with bandits?” Xiao’s gaze narrowed like a blade.

“What?!” Shen barked a laugh. “Does this look like collusion?” He gestured. Bandits sprawled everywhere, snoring. “Drugged their water last night. Brain over brawn.”

The soldiers stared. Xiao’s brow furrowed. Suspicion warred with reluctant respect.

But a glint on the ground shifted. A bandit, feigning death, lunged with blade raised—straight for Shen.

Shen froze—

But a spearpoint struck first, piercing heart. Blood sprayed warm across Shen’s cheek.

“Ugh!” Shen gagged, retching against a tree.

“Brain over brawn,” Xiao said dryly, twisting his spear back, “but men like you should learn some strength.”

Wiping his weapon, he added, “That’s the lifedebt repaid. From today—we’re even.”

Shen wiped his face, still pale. “Such…a waste. So much blood—did you mean to spray me?”

“I harm you, why?”

Shen peered despite himself, eyes wet, lashes gleaming. For once, Xiao Yuanzheng faltered.

Bandit lordship broken with trickery rather than battle. Perhaps this arrogant child had his own kind of cunning after all.

Shen laughed, breath shaky. “Fourty jin, you said? Impressive spear. But I know of a different ‘gun’ greater still. Want to try?”

Xiao’s eyes cooled. “Private weapons are a capital crime.”

Shen only grinned. “Relax. Brothers—are we not?”

Xiao Yuanzheng nearly laughed at the boy’s gall.

At his side, Yao Guang seethed inside: Brother? With him? Were this the Northwest, he’d hang from battlements three days until sand stripped the folly out of him!

Footnotes

1. Yama (阎罗): Lord of the Underworld in Buddhist/Daoist lore, emblem of death and judgment. 
2. “纨绔” (wánkù): a “silken‑pants dandy,” derogatory for idle sons of wealth, often translated as wastrel, rake, or profligate young master. 
3. 蒙汗药 (Menghan yao): an infamous anesthetic/soporific drug from wuxia lore, supposed to knock out groups when slipped en masse. 
4. “forty jin” (四十斤): traditional unit of weight; one jin ~ 0.5kg, thus ~20kg spear. 
5. 绣花枕头 (“embroidered pillow”): idiom for someone beautiful outside, useless inside.