WSMTATMC C85

Chapter 85

“From your accent, little brother, you’re not a local of our prefecture, are you?”

Chen Qingsong said, “We came from Longquan County on a study tour.”

“So you’re from out of town—no wonder you’re so polite. An ordinary man, if extorted by him, would likely explode in curses.”

The praise didn’t make Chen Qingyan lower his guard. Having been deceived before, he was wary of strangers. He offered brief thanks and was ready to take Qinghuai and Qingsong back.

But the man kept pace and took the initiative to chat.

“My surname is Song—Song Qiao. I hold the xiucai degree and once studied here in the prefecture, but now I run a small business. May I ask the gentlemen’s honorable names?”

Qingsong blurted out, “We’re all surnamed Chen—brothers from the same family.”

“So you’re blood brothers—no wonder you resemble each other.”

“I’m cousins with Qinghuai; only with our eldest brother am I a true brother.”

Qingyan coughed lightly and shot his brother a disapproving look—he was saying too much.

But warmed by the man’s help, Qingsong had already let down his guard, and his tongue ran on.

“Brother Song, how did you know that man was a swindler?”

“Shameful to admit—I was conned by him too.” Song began his tale.

“I live in a town near the prefectural seat. Years ago, after passing xiucai, I came here to study. On the very day I arrived, that wretch extorted me with the same trick—claiming I’d broken his leg by knocking him down.

“I was inexperienced and didn’t realize he was faking. I hurried to help him to a clinic, but halfway there he proposed a private settlement, saying unless I paid him monthly until his leg healed, he’d pursue me.

“I was young and eager for peace, so I gave him all the money I had—five or six taels of silver. I nearly starved for months, living on my classmates’ charity.”

Chen Qinghuai couldn’t help asking, “Then how did you discover he was faking?”

Song gave a wry smile. “Later, I went out with a classmate to buy brushes and ink, and happened to see him extorting someone else—using the same routine: posing as an old man knocked down. In fact, one foot was congenitally lame; it wasn’t caused by a collision. And that white hair? Premature graying—he’s younger than I am.”

“No wonder he ran so fast when exposed.”

Shared misfortune quickly bonded them. It happened to be noon, and Song said naturally, “A chance meeting is fate. Allow me to host you for a meal to steady your nerves.”

“I know a place with good food and fair prices—if you don’t mind, I’ll take you.”

“Let’s go!” Qingsong agreed at once.

Qingyan frowned slightly. Instinct said not to go—this man was a stranger, and they were new to the city. If this was a setup, there’d be trouble.

Catching sight of Chen Guang trailing discreetly behind, Qinghuai said, “Since Mr. Song helped us, we shouldn’t let him pay. Allow us to host.”

Seeing both brothers eager, Qingyan reluctantly agreed.

After a stick of incense walking, the road ahead grew quiet and remote. Qingyan stopped. “Perhaps we should just pick a nearby place. We have an engagement later and can’t be late.”

Song laughed teasingly, “We’re almost there. I’m a scholar without strength to tie a chicken—how could I possibly sell you off?”

Qingyan froze, unease mounting.

It felt too coincidental: after being accosted by the con man, a “good Samaritan” appeared, overly warm and eager. As the saying goes, unsolicited favor is often a thief’s ploy. Could he be in league with the swindler?

The thought broke a cold sweat. He tried to probe while feigning casualness. “The prefectural academy canteen is truly good—especially the North Canteen. We’ve eaten there daily. Pity it’s closed on rest days—otherwise we’d invite you there.”

Song followed smoothly, “Indeed—makes me miss the academy’s food.”

Qingyan stopped short. “You’re lying. The academy has no North Canteen.”

Qinghuai and Qingsong stiffened, instantly putting distance between themselves and Song, moving to their brother’s side.

Song’s face didn’t change. “Then I misremembered. It’s been seven or eight years—how could I recall exactly where the canteen is?”

“Are you in league with that con man?”

“I kindly invited you to eat, and this is how you think of me? That’s harsh…”

“Then I’m in the wrong—let’s skip the meal. Here—one string of cash as thanks for your help.” Qingyan placed the money on the ground, pulled his brothers, and turned to go.

“Tch—quite vigilant.” Song dropped his mask, nudging the coins with his toe. “A single string to shoo off a beggar?”

“Run!” Qingyan yanked his brothers—but after only a few steps, two men sprang from a side alley. One was the white-haired “old man” from before.

They brandished blades, grinning with feral malice.

Qingsong burst into sobs. It was his fault—so easily duped—and now, what if something terrible happened?

Qinghuai trembled too. Even knowing Chen Guang shadowed them, he was terrified—never before had he seen such brazen thugs.

Qingyan’s mind raced. He could open the experimental field and hide—but not with both brothers. He had to buy time.

“I’ll give you all the silver on me—only spare us.”

“Now you’re talking. Hand it over.”

Qingyan produced his purse—what remained after their purchases.

Song slit it open and peered inside. “Not right—missing a banknote.”

Of course. They’d been marked since the money house; the gang even knew how much he’d withdrawn.

Qingyan had no choice. He drew the banknote hidden in his undergarment and handed it over, along with the silver hairpin he’d bought for Wang Ying.

The white-hair gloated over the haul. “Well, well—three fat lambs! Tonight we feast!”

“The money’s yours—will you let us go?”

“Hahaha—dream on! This won’t cover it.” They tied the three hand and foot, then shoved them into a house at the end of the alley, bolting the door from within.

No use crying to Heaven or Earth—no one would hear.

Qingsong hiccupped from crying, drowning in regret. The gang wouldn’t let them go.

Qingyan forced calm. “If it’s ransom you want, keep me and let the two go. They can fetch more—better for you.”

“You think we’re fools? One hostage and three don’t fetch the same price.”

White-hair grabbed Qingsong’s hair and slapped him. “Talk! Where are you staying? Any servants?”

“Mmmph—”

Veins jumped on Qingyan’s forehead. “Don’t hit him! Ask me!”

Twirling his dagger, Song said, “Then you answer. If you don’t, I’ll take a finger.”

“I’ll talk!”

Qingyan shut his eyes. “We’re at the old relay station on Beizhi Road—my teacher and a servant are there.”

White-hair glanced at Song. “Old relay station? That’s government property. Are these boys official scions?”

A problem they didn’t want.

Song scowled. “Nonsense. As if the likes of you could lodge at a relay station.”

“There’s a pass token in the purse—see for yourself.”

White-hair rummaged and found a bamboo token engraved with “Jizhou Relay.”

Panic pricked the three. Outside, they huddled to whisper.

“What now?”

They swindled and thieved, but never crossed the authorities. If the government got angry, they were finished.

The short one said, “Maybe let them go—before this blows up?”

Song’s mind spun. If they released them now, would the boys bring officers to arrest them?

White-hair’s eyes went cold. “Best to finish it—kill them all and dump the bodies. Clean and simple.”

While they deliberated, Chen Guang had already crept up, peering over the wall to keep eyes on them.

Only white-hair had any skill; the other two were rubbish. But the three young masters were trussed up inside, and the knife gave white-hair the edge; Chen Guang dared not rush in.

Inside, the boys were sweating with fear. Qingyan knew the three thugs balked at their status—meaning murder wasn’t certain. He had to seize a chance to save them all.

Ever since Wang Ying had been abducted by Scholar Zhang, the experimental field had been stocked with defensive tools: daggers, knives, hatchets, hoes…

There was no time to hesitate. He opened the field, dashed in, seized a dagger, and popped back into place.

Qinghuai and Qingsong stared, wide-eyed—Eldest Brother had vanished into thin air under their noses!

Qingyan hadn’t a second to explain. He sliced through his bonds, then turned to free the others—but boots thudded outside. He stopped and sat back as he was.

The thugs had decided: too risky to release them—better to kill and dump the bodies.

Only white-hair would do the killing; the other two crouched outside to stand guard.

Chen Guang struck like lightning—vaulted the wall and dropped the two with a flurry of punches and kicks.

Inside, white-hair twitched at the noise—just as Qingyan drove the dagger into his back.

“Argh!” White-hair roared, spun—and the attacker vanished into thin air!

His pupils shrank; he froze as if struck by lightning.

Chen Guang, having finished outside, rushed in and engaged. Wounded by Qingyan’s blow, white-hair quickly faltered.

Qingyan emerged from the field, freed his brothers, and the three huddled in the corner. After half a quarter hour, Chen Guang knocked the man senseless.

At last the danger passed. They didn’t dawdle—hurrying back to the relay station, while Chen Guang went to report the crime and have the three thugs arrested.