ITIEQ C56

Chapter 56 – I’ve Come to Collect You

A sudden torrent of wind and rain lasted three full days. When the Zhuo River swelled until nearly spilling over its banks, at last the skies cleared.

Dew trembled on every grass blade, dampening the sleeves of pedestrians. Birds left their nests, winging across a sky washed bright, while beneath, winds carried tidings that swept through all Huizhou—

On the very day the rains ceased, the locally notorious White Lotus Sect, borrowing the mouths of demons and gods to spread seditious texts, twisting sorcery to disrupt the correct Way, was shut down in Huizhou while the city was still resting from the storm.

Its temples once burning with incense, now implicated thousands. A single order issued, swift as thunder—hundreds chained and cast into prison, their screams and cries for justice unending. No matter how many commoners outside resented it, no matter what suppression within withheld—it could not be shaken a fraction.

Before anyone had even registered what had happened, arrests and procedures were complete. Only final reckoning remained.

“We struggled so hard—yet they, without even needing proof, tidied the whole matter away in the blink of an eye.”

Yaoguang inhaled at the ruthless efficiency. This was Wei clan’s home ground here in Yunzhong, yet still—investigated and sealed at will.

Shen Qinghe had just returned from meeting Yue Jie!

He too was shaken by Yue’s efficiency. Outside the gates of the great clans, Shen had to plot and calculate every move, cautious with each step—yet within the Five Families, when kin contend, they didn’t even pick an auspicious day. In a heartbeat, friend became foe.

“When Lord Kong sat in the hall, Yunzhong officials played duplicitous games, deceiving superiors and superiors’ superiors. A different mouth speaks—suddenly all roads open. The Yue clan truly deserves its name: disciples and retainers scattered the realm.” Shen Qinghe spread out his palm, closed fingers into an airy grasp.

The three of them fell silent. Ordinarily they heard of the “first among families of Great Yong,” but seeing close-up, even one glimpse of the leopard’s spots told enough.

Kong Zhengqing plus Yaoguang—these two were not drifting ornamental posts, yet they strained themselves to find leverage. With Yue, only lip and tongue moved—and though their kin sat thousands of li away—the deed was done. The proverb of “local snake vs. foreign dragon” fell apart before such power.

One hand covering the sky!

The room was quiet save the crackling of candle flame. A knock shattered the still air. Gongyang Ci entered. He had brought much assistance of late, old acquaintances in Yunzhong lending aid where they could, smoothing the way. Yaoguang and others were no longer as guarded toward him as before.

As always, his plain robe was spotless, his hand playing with sandalwood beads. Behind him, Nan Hong slipped in to bow and kneel beside her master. From her sleeve she drew a pale invitation, the cover addressed to Shen Qinghe—a missive of summons, yet with no signature.

The room offered only plain water. Gongyang Ci, seated, poured himself a cup.

The others focused on Nan Hong’s delivery. Shen Qinghe, after all, had come officially as Governor of Qiuquan—openly he’d taken no hand in White Lotus seizures.

To be summoned by name now was suspicious indeed.

The scented envelope lay upon the table, thick as if enclosing more. Shen Qinghe studied it, then tore the seal. Alongside the letter fell a small folded packet. He read the letter through swiftly—then smiled once, laying it out for all to see.

The writing was polite, proper—save one shocking detail. The name at the close:

“Respectfully, Wei Sheng.”

Everyone froze.

“Wei Sheng?” Yaoguang had heard of the treasured only son of Wei clan’s head. He frowned, “Why seek you? Could it be he knows we upended White Lotus… No—that makes no sense. If Yue Jie betrayed us, why would he bother striking White Lotus first? If Wei knows, we should flee quickly—this Yunzhong can no longer hold us.”

Kong Zhengqing scowled. “Here in Yunzhong—would the Wei, truly armed with proof, send polite cards to spook us? They would spread nets, not courtesies. A riddle remains… Still, Lord Shen, the White Lotus is now ended, and this place unsuitable. You must at once return to Cangzhou.” The Emperor had so ordered: Shen’s safety came first.

“That is precisely why I came,” Gongyang Ci interjected. He moistened his voice with a drink, then spoke. “I’ve long left Wei’s service—but old friends remain. Though chafed at their lot, they are bound by dosing medicines; never can they leave. Only yesterday, one wrote me—troops shifted within the mansion, trouble stirring. Today’s invitation from Wei Sheng only confirms it…”

The implication was clear.

Wei clan crafted Springwater Brew, reached into Qing‑discussion societies, spread through aristocrats. To dose and bind their own confidants was no surprise. How much less mercy for an outsider like Shen Qinghe—neither backing nor power. In such hands, he was clay to be molded at will.

“Return, return,” even the System echoed, urging flight. Though sub‑quests of networking were incomplete, the business cards from fairs had been counted toward points. Scores trickled higher—yet outside, it could not intervene. How it longed to return to the academy, to taste pastries and steamed carp once more!

Eyes fixed on Shen Qinghe—awaiting his choice.

He lowered his gaze in thought, mind inclined at last to retreat. Working with Yue was like drinking poisoned wine. This had passed beyond one White Lotus. He had no real seat at the chessboard; only to be shifted.

Yet then his sight fell upon the paper packet. He unfolded it. A wave of acrid smoke hissed forth—gunpowder.

Kong Zhengqing and Yaoguang, nearest, covered their noses immediately.

The System shrieked aloud.

Shen Qinghe’s pupils tightened. He pinched some black‑red grains, smelled—yes, true powder!

Mind spun swiftly. The Academy’s explosives group was trusted; none leaked recipes. The last potent batch he’d made—the White Lotus Monastery of Cangzhou.

His stare hardened. Analysis requested.

System response: “Composition matches… over 60% similarity!”

After the blast, he had the braziers cleaned. Only ashes left! And someone, from ash alone, replicated sixty parts of ten!

White Lotus’s drugged incense, Springwater Brew rampant among Qing gatherings—now firepowder… This confirmed: within Wei clan, there sat an adept of chemistry. That they posted this powder by name meant they knew the Cangzhou blast was his work.

Was this a warning? A threat?

Shen Qinghe closed his eyes. When he opened them, resolve had clicked.

“Counterfeit munitions. Stolen knowledge. Even far away—must be punished.” He laughed low. “They invite me to a feast of death? Then I must go.”

Whatever awaited—flee or attend—the outcome was set to his harm. He would face it.

Kong Zhengqing gaped. Gongyang Ci’s eyes flicked. Nan Hong pursed her lips.

Yaoguang, instinctive, tried to halt him: “Marching into their snare—is it not seeking death!?”

Shen Qinghe turned, gaze bright as lightning.

“To brew drugs, to run false sects—these are heaven‑struck crimes. If Heaven does not strike, I will strike.”

He glanced at the card. “March thirtieth, hm? I wonder if he checked the almanac. Perhaps not an auspicious day.”

He struck the table: “If Heaven spares him—then I shall collect him myself.”

Yunzhong County, Xiechun Tower. Normally overflowing with patrons, glittering halls—tonight sealed entire, serving but one guest. On one side, the county’s premier family. On the other, a man of no name—yet dared not be slighted.

To show sincerity, Wei Sheng dismissed all attendants, keeping only one lad by his side. He sat in the elegant chamber waiting. After a while, slow unhurried steps sounded. Shen Qinghe entered—plain black and white, broad robe, a dark embroidered trim ringing his collar. Less rakish, more solemn—like mourning wear.

Wei Sheng could hardly imagine, since the xiuxi rite, that he would again meet this petty county lord—and in such fashion.

Such an obscure figure, here, in Wei dominion. To force him into parley—absurd, laughable! If word spread—Wei Lang so humbled? A jest forever!

And yet—the boy had wits, mysteries on his person. Wei Sheng sent the invitation himself; tonight they would talk long.

Eyes lifting, lashes arching, he smiled, “Lord Shen—you carry the air of our Yun Dynasty’s famed scholars. I have long admired it. An honor to meet again.”

Shen Qinghe caught the hollowness—answered as hollow: “Wei Gongzi—so gallant. It pleased me once; I too recall it.”

Wei Sheng noted his calm speech, absent guilt or fear. Frowning slightly, he inspected the man. Seven parts fair complexion, three parts sly glint. If those talents could be taken into my service—no bad thing. Yet first—

His gaze sharpened.

“Kong Zhengqing, stubborn man—fixated on White Lotus. Word says it was you who urged him. A county governor, commanding a Censor? Quite extraordinary.”

Shen Qinghe’s brows arched high. “Commander of censors? Wei Gongzi, I have no such power.”

But Wei Sheng brushed aside denials. He wanted only the crux.

“That recipe with saltpeter—did you devise it?” Eyes bored into him. This was what he truly sought.

Hidden fingers in his sleeve curled tight. Shen Qinghe balanced his tone: “Recipe? What recipe?”

Wei Sheng slammed the desk.

“We sit face to face—speak plain! I am greatly interested. A true hero’s past deeds I care not. Give me your formula.”

Not truly without grudge—but probing. Still, since they sat here, Shen let it flow. “Yes. That firepowder is mine.”

Wei Sheng’s eyes lit, now serious. “’Fire‑powder’? Ha! A fine name! They said it roared like fireworks, yet leveled temples, burned even water‑soaked timber to ash! I’ve tried saltpeter, sulfur and charcoal grindings, but flaws remain—no force, no blast. Ratios wrong, perhaps… Tell me—how do you balance it?”

Indeed, just as guessed.

Shen remembered the packet—recipe imitations. Wei Sheng knew the basics: saltpeter as oxidizer, sulfur as reducer, charcoal burning. But he knew not—reaction needed sealing, to surge pressure, burst in blasting flame. Shen would not instruct him kindly.

Now that Wei’s intent was clear, Shen slowed his soul. Food never came—they weren’t here to dine. He bit back hunger.

Wei Sheng eyed him, conflicted. At length he waved for wine.

The table bore only tea of guests and delicate blossom cakes. Shen did not bite. Idle, he tipped a cup, spilling tea to drip along the table’s edge. Wei Sheng’s eyes flicked at this—“You suspect I poisoned you?”

Shen neither confirmed nor denied. “Wei Gongzi is so adept in compounds—surely an expert. Myself—I’m curious about Springwater Brew. Tell me of it?”

Wei Sheng blinked, then smiled sly, reading his gaze with meaning.

“Of course. If Lord Shen comes under my banner. Springwater Brew is trivial—many greater marvels I would share. Heaven’s men all scurry like flies, the world mere scraps. Talents like yours belong under me.”

He feigned hunger for talent—acting near convincing. Shen mocked him secretly. Who knew chemicals flowed not from Taoists but this Wei heir himself!

Shen’s lips curved oddly. His hand slid into his sleeve, withdrew something. Wei Sheng’s eyes widened.

“I too have a gift. This, I think, outstrips Springwater Brew. Would Wei Gongzi taste it?”

With a clack, two crimson canisters dropped onto the desk. Strange sigils traced across their sides, small enough to clasp in the hand. They rang like metal—yet gleamed no metallic shade.

Red—bright, vivid, lurid. Capturing the eye. Like some lethal fungus, a single glance enough to enthrall.

Footnotes

 

 

1. 天地不仁，以万物为刍狗 – Classic Dao De Jing line: “Heaven and Earth are not benevolent; all things are straw‑dogs.” Implying cosmic cruelty, no favor granted to humans. 
2. Springwater Brew (春水煎) – A drugged concoction used by White Lotus sect, euphoric and addictive.