ITIEQ C43

Chapter 43 — Murder of the Body, Punishment of the Heart

The moon rose high over the central courtyard, its light rippling like clear waves of brilliance.

No one was there to admire the full moon. Shen Qinghe brushed off the dust, changed into a simple undergarment, and as soon as he returned to his room, an overwhelming drowsiness struck. He gulped down a sip of water carelessly and was about to collapse into bed.

Just as his body touched the edge of the bed—

—the system inside his mind let out a startled cry!

Shen Qinghe jolted violently. Out of the corner of his eye he caught a pitch-black shadow dropping down from the beam above. Agile like a wildcat, fast as a leopard, the intruder twisted his arms behind his back and slammed him hard against the bed, sending stars bursting before his eyes.

Hadn’t anyone noticed that an overworked office clerk already lives on half a life as it is?!

He opened his mouth to curse, but a snow-bright blade was already pressed against his throat, forcing the words back down.

His sleepiness vanished entirely. Pinned in that posture, he locked eyes with the youth who had restrained him.

Bronzed skin, high nose bridge, and deep-set eyes—features that clearly did not belong to the people of the Central Plains.

After a moment’s thought, Shen Qinghe guessed the boy’s rough identity.

“You’re not the Commandant (Junshou, 郡守, a local governor)?” The foreign youth frowned at his face in surprise. “Then you are his…?”

He said a word in his own tongue that Shen Qinghe couldn’t understand.

“…Do I not look like the Commandant?”

Wulan*¹ glared at him. The dagger tilted up, lifting the slave’s chin, and then the boy sneered, “Deceitful Great Yong man.”*²

People of the Great Yong dynasty were infamous for pretentious mannerisms and underlying shamelessness, not to mention their fondness for keeping both male and female slaves. He had seen plenty of that.

The one beneath his blade looked exactly like one of those kept playthings.

There was an implication in his glance; a mere half-grown cub of a boy looked at him that way. Shen Qinghe felt as if his words were extremely insulting.

“Speak quickly! And if you dare to lie…” the foreign youth threatened in a low voice.

Shen Qinghe, unable to move, let out a small groan. “You’re too heavy. I can’t breathe. Could you loosen up just a little?”

Wulan remained unmoved. He would never be captivated by mere beauty.

“Look at me, I don’t even have the strength to tie up a chicken. How could I possibly fight you?” Shen Qinghe fixed his gaze onto the youth’s eyes and offered submission: “If you let me breathe, I’ll be able to speak clearly.”

Wulan shot him another glare. Deciding this man posed no threat, he released his grip slightly.

“Don’t you dare play tricks!”

Rubbing his sore wrists, Shen Qinghe studied the young foreigner—so young in years, yet possessing such brute strength.

Leaning languidly against the bedframe, he accidentally brushed against something. At the sound, Wulan’s eyes flicked over. It was a small bronze bell suspended nearby, swaying and giving off a faint chime.

He could not fathom its use, but he knew Yong aristocrats loved their frivolous embellishments.

“What do you want with the Commandant?”

Shen Qinghe reclined against the headboard, seeming almost careless, toying with the bell.

Wulan frowned. He despised Yong men, and could not stomach such languid, effeminate attitudes.

“Stop spouting nonsense, otherwise I’ll kill you first.”

So, he had come to assassinate.

Suppressing the emotions that flickered in his eyes, Shen Qinghe drew his robe closed around his chest, then smiled: “I know that Commandant. He bullies men, preys on women, and commits all manner of atrocities. He is detestable. If you kill him, I’ll clap my hands in cheer.”

Wulan’s gaze followed the motion of his hand as he closed his robe—from the collar all the way up to the pale neck. He silently decided that once his job was done, he would cut his throat swiftly, as a mercy for this seemingly obedient prisoner.

Shen Qinghe beamed. “Great Lord, this way, please.”

Wulan flicked his dagger, twirled it into a dazzling flourish, and squinted at him. “What ‘Great Lord’?”

“In my homeland, it’s a special title of address. You could take it as a form of respect.”

Shen Qinghe’s smile was warm and sincere. This “slave” was unlike any other Yong man Wulan had ever met; there was a strange magnetism about him that compelled people to listen.

He clicked his tongue, arrogantly raising his chin. Though shorter in stature, he insisted on looking down his nose at others.

“Don’t you dare address me with your disgusting Yong terms.”

“Alright, alright.”

The next second, the door to the room slammed open!

Shen Qinghe, who had kept the door in his peripheral vision, instantly rolled across the bed to safety.

Wulan reacted fast as well, attempting to seize him, but a spear thrust suddenly obstructed him. He instinctively dodged.

Such speed! Not the usual weaklings he had fought before.

His sharp eyes narrowing, the foreign youth whipped a weapon from his waist—a long whip, dark and dull, the material unknown. When wielded, its power was astounding. Even tangled with razor-sharp speartips, it held firm without damage.

These were men personally trained by Yao Guang before his departure, veterans of the Western Frontier army, each hardened by real battles. And yet they were evenly matched against this boy, trading blow for blow.

Shen Qinghe could not help reassessing the youth with new regard.

Only then did the system, having seen the tide turn, dare to pipe up: “That scared me half to death! I thought you were going to die tonight!”

“What inauspicious talk. Our great cause is far from finished—how could I perish here?” Shen Qinghe huddled in the corner, watching as the boy, despite his skill, weakened under the overwhelming numbers, and was finally caught when a spear butt pinned his retreat.

An assassination attempt in the dead of night—no one had foreseen this!

Yet who would have thought the assassin to be such a one—strong, yes, but ultimately gullible. Had things gone differently, the outcome might have been disastrous.

After a final struggle, the youth was overpowered.

Shen Qinghe chuckled, leisurely seating himself once more at the bedside, crossing one leg over the other. To the system he said:

“See? Not a scratch on me. Clearly, tomorrow is on my side as well.”

Wulan, defeated, was forced to kneel by his captors at Shen Qinghe’s feet, just like the other prisoners before him.

His eyes burned red with humiliation, watching the calm figure on the bed, who merely toyed with the bronze bell at the headboard. In that instant, understanding struck him—the bell was a subtle alarm trap!

“You were the Commandant all along!”

“Despicable Yong man!!” He spat more words in his own tongue—unmistakably harsh insults, though incomprehensible.

The guards frowned, moving to gag him, but Shen Qinghe waved them off.

“What relation have you with the Hu prisoners we captured earlier?”

Wulan remained silent, a dangerous glint flashing in his eyes.

Shen Qinghe sneered. Such an untempered wolf cub.

“You won’t talk? Fine, then. Do you know what I thought, the first time I saw you?”

Wulan glared back, saying nothing.

Never in his tribal life had anyone humiliated him so. He had once considered granting this man a clean death, but now he longed to see him suffer a hundred and eight painful deaths.

“I thought,” Shen Qinghe continued lightly, “‘if we enroll a few foreign students into our academy, would that boost the QS ranking of our school?’”*³

Wulan didn’t understand. But Yong men always dripped venom with their words. He immediately thought of the plight that his people, the Chile, were suffering now.

“Never! I will never mine for you!” the wolf cub bared his teeth.

Shen Qinghe erupted in laughter. “Who ever said I wanted you to mine?” His eyes traced over the boy’s ornaments—amber, red coral, all valuable trinkets. “You’re much more valuable than your tribesmen. Lock him up well, and post extra guards. We mustn’t let such a fine prize escape.”

A prize?!

Wulan was furious beyond words, but lacking vocabulary in this foreign tongue, he could only repeat the same curses—“despicable,” “shameless”—words that barely scratched his enemy’s skin.

“The Academy Office people came pestering several times—he finally agreed,” Shan Bowen reported after delivering a pile of administrative matters, placing the newest signed letter of appointment on the desk.

“But Teacher… he’s from Baizhang Academy, he doesn’t even study Qing Studies…”*⁴

“Ah—this only shows our hoes are digging well! Heroes should never be judged by where they come from. Remember our purpose? Comprehensive development in virtue, intellect, physique, aesthetics, and labor [moral, intellectual, physical, artistic, and practical education]. Aesthetic education is important too! We’ve acquired a good batch of practical talents, but finding an artist was hard. This time we’ve really picked up a bargain. It makes me more optimistic about our Four Academies alliance.”

“Remember to tell him it’s not unpaid labor. He’ll be under the Talent Recruitment Program, with full establishment status.”

Shan Bowen nodded in acknowledgment and turned to leave, but Shen Qinghe stopped him.

“Teacher?”

“Our academy’s development to this stage owes much to your dedicated efforts. You treat the students with the gentleness of spring rain, and you served as a role model in several lectures. You’ve built trust among them… So I want to appoint you as the acting head of the academy. You don’t have to report every little matter to me anymore.”

Shan Bowen was startled. “Teacher, that would be improper, I…”

“Nothing improper about it. When I say you’re up, you’re up.” Shen Qinghe raised a hand to cut him off. “My term as Commandant has reached three years. Once I finish wrapping up affairs, I must go to the prefecture capital to submit my resignation. The trip itself may take a month or more. Until then, everything will rest on your shoulders. Just don’t leave me a mess when I return.”

Both moved and solemn, Shan Bowen bowed. “I will never betray Teacher’s trust!”

Shen Qinghe studied him, then burst into laughter. “This is only the beginning. Why so tense? Relax.”

“Bowen, Qiuchuan Commandery is just a starting point. Now that we have this foundation, our goal lies far, far beyond.”

Life went on like flowing water. Under his governance, Qiuchuan County had already achieved stable regulation. Both newcomers and veterans in the government were well-trained. The people had land and jobs, the children went to school, and chaos broke out far less often.

Now that responsibilities were well distributed among various clerks, even the Commandant himself could occasionally be idle—spending leisure time fishing at newly built ponds. What a pleasant life!

Only… rumors of the assassination had spread. His students were anxious, and officials came time after time to check on him. Even Xue Bufan, who usually sneered at him, visited more than once. Security around him doubled, and every night, before resting, his guards swept the room. It left Shen Qinghe rather troubled.

Who exactly was that wolf cub? He must investigate and, when discovered, give his “parent” a proper scolding on his behalf.

By coincidence, the very next report on his desk was about this matter.

Shen Qinghe’s brows arched slightly after the opening lines…

The prison lay at the end of a long corridor, built shortly before war broke out. With famine and chaos, everyone had fled, food supplies cut off. Prisoners were summarily executed by the order of the previous Commandant, leaving countless wrongful deaths. The prison decayed into disuse. Only after the new Commandant took office was it gradually restored.

But Shen Qinghe had no mind to waste resources on idle prisoners. Unless guilty of heinous crimes, most offenders were sent for forced labor in mines and kilns. Thus, the cells remained largely empty year-round.

Now he came to see the little wolf cub. After several days inside, he looked bedraggled, yet perhaps thanks to hardy Hu blood, his spirit remained vigorous—even grinning with bared teeth when he saw him.

Shen Qinghe regarded him thoughtfully. A laborer with such energy? Exactly what he needed.

Life on the steppe was hard. With an opportunity to work in Qiuchuan, surely none would refuse. Ethnic unity was within sight.

Sensing the trickster’s oddly scheming expression on him again, Wulan reacted instinctively, yelling: “What are you doing here!”

“It’s like this.” Shen Qinghe drawled. “I’ve discovered you’re the son of the King of the Kunyi tribe. That’s excellent—used as a hostage, you could be traded for great riches.”

With every word, Wulan clenched his jaw tighter.

“Go ahead and kill me! On the grasslands there are no wolves that surrender!”

“Shhh—I haven’t finished.”

“You are indeed the King’s son. But only the youngest one. Ahead of you are seven elder brothers, eight elder sisters.”

“That makes things even worse. The Hu tribes are fractured into dozens of clans, bustling and quarrelsome, noisier than our Great Yong itself! Your tribe is but one of many; you are merely one of the King’s many sons. And from what I hear, not the most favored. Your value is watered down considerably.”

“So what!”

Shen Qinghe crossed his arms. Such a child—his eyes rimmed with redness already.

He pressed down with the last straw: “You’ve been captive this long, yet none of your kin have come to save you. If I tried to ransom you, your father might simply say: ‘Ah, I have no son named Wulan.’”

Shen Qinghe smiled faintly.

“Or perhaps he would say: ‘On the grasslands there are no wolves that surrender. Do with him as you will.’”

Footnotes:

 

1. QS Ranking: A humorous modern reference to international university ranking (Quacquarelli Symonds). The protagonist, having modern awareness, jokingly thinks of raising his academy’s standing by admitting international/foreign students.
2. Qing Studies (清学): Refers to scholarly traditions rooted in Qing Dynasty Confucianism, indicating a different academic lineage compared to Baizhang Academy.