Chapter 137: Chapter 137

Beyond the stolen treasure and manual, Tian Ping’an was also a careful man.

The moment he learned Zhao Zheng had come to Changyun, he’d fled to Changshui County to hide. That alone spoke to his caution.

But from Shen Xiuhan’s perspective, Tian Ping’an was in the open while he was in the dark.

Even after Zhao Zheng left, Wang Lin and Ding Ning would still be hunting in secret.

So there was no need to take the initiative. He only needed to watch for Wang Lin and Ding Ning to surface. If they did, he could pass them a quiet hint.

With that settled, Shen Xiuhan turned his steps toward the East Market.

He bought two jin of braised donkey meat, wrapped it in oilpaper, then stopped at Zhang’s for two jin of osmanthus cake and date-paste pastries.

Momo loved the stuff, and his mother had a weakness for anything soft and sticky.

By the time he left the East Market, dusk had fully settled.

A plum rain began to fall — carrying a damp, biting chill — fine as cow’s hair, thin as flower-needles, slanting down in sheets.

Along the streets, vendors and townsfolk shouldered their carrying-poles, snatched up their bundles, and broke into a trot for home. For a while, the long street was a clatter of hurried footsteps and overlapping shouts.

Shen Xiuhan wore only a light martial outfit. Rain slid past his collar and down his neck.

An ordinary man drenched like this in the plum rains would be bedridden for days.

But his qi-blood was whole and his sinews, bones, and skin fused as one. Every raindrop was steamed to white mist by his body heat the instant it touched him.

The rain thickened — it was going to pour. Shen Xiuhan quickened his pace toward home.

Passing through South Alley, a hunched figure caught his eye — right arm hanging limp and wrong.

The man was stooped, wearing a faded grey shirt patched upon patch, a cracked carrying-pole across one shoulder. Two wicker baskets hung from the ends, and a rank, eye-watering stench wafted from inside.

Every passerby pinched their nose and gave him a wide berth, disgust plain on their faces.

The man kept his head down, trudging forward one unsteady step at a time.

Rain ran down his face, plastering his eyes shut. His one good arm had to keep the pole balanced while swiping at his face — a wretched, stumbling sight.

Then a pair of feet appeared in his line of vision.

The man looked up by instinct.

Their eyes met.

Geng Weizhi’s pupils trembled. A hoarse sound escaped him.

“Patrol… Patrol Envoy…”

This was no stranger.

This was the very guard who had once served under Shen Xiuhan’s command.

Geng Weizhi!

A few months apart.

He looked as though he’d aged ten years.

Every trace of who he’d been was gone, replaced by a face of numb exhaustion — and, at the sudden sight of a familiar face, a flash of panic and shame he couldn’t quite hide.

Shen Xiuhan’s gaze fell on the limp right arm, then on the carrying-pole and the baskets. His brow slowly creased.

“What is this?”

Geng Weizhi’s lips quivered. He forced out a thin smile.

“As the Patrol Envoy can see… hauling night-soil for the big houses in town. Earns a few coins to put food on the table.”

Shen Xiuhan was quiet a moment.

“I can see that. What I’m asking is — didn’t the master’s household arrange work for you?”

Geng Weizhi dropped his eyes, unable to meet Shen Xiuhan’s gaze. After a beat, he spoke in a low voice.

“The household treated me well… not only arranged a posting, but gave me ten taels in compensation. Except my father split the money and gave it to my youngest brother. He’s getting married, and the girl’s family demanded a house in the inner city and a respectable job.”

“As for me… a crippled wreck. I’ve still got a wife and two boys to feed at home. Had to find another way.”

Shen Xiuhan listened in silence, his fist tightening by degrees.

“Why didn’t you come find me? Or Yan Chuan? After you left the island, he asked after you constantly. He’s been worried.”

Geng Weizhi’s whole body shuddered. A faint redness crept into the rims of his eyes.

“A cripple… what face do I have to bother the Patrol Envoy or Brother Yan?”

Shen Xiuhan heard the helplessness, the desolation, the self-loathing woven through every word.

Struck down out of nowhere. The martial path severed.

Heart turned to ash — and on top of it, bullied and bled dry by his own father and brother.

He hadn’t told his former comrades because he didn’t want to be a burden. And because he couldn’t bear to air such wretched family shame. So he’d swallowed it alone.

Shen Xiuhan said nothing more. He reached into his robe and drew out his coin-pouch.

He poured every last piece of silver — four or five taels — into Geng Weizhi’s palm.

“Patrol Envoy — no, I can’t—”

“Take it.”

Shen Xiuhan’s tone left no room for argument.

“Buy some grain. Buy some meat. The plum rains are cold and damp — the worst thing for old wounds. Don’t come out to work for a while.”

Geng Weizhi’s lips trembled. He clutched the handful of broken silver, and his eyes went red all at once. Tears fell without a sound.

Shen Xiuhan paused, then clapped him on the shoulder.

“What’s this? You stood your ground against Manifest Strength fighters without taking a single step back. A few taels of silver and you fall apart?”

Geng Weizhi bowed his head, dragged a sleeve across his eyes, and choked out:

“If I could do it over, I’d rather have died under that bastard’s hand than live as a cripple… Patrol Envoy, human hearts… are a hundred times more frightening than any fighter.”

Shen Xiuhan blinked, stifled a sigh, and changed the subject.

“How are things at home… these days?”

“Getting by. The boys are good kids, at least. The eldest fell ill. The second one felt bad for his big brother and wouldn’t eat — saved his own rations to give to him.”

“My wife saw how hard things were and found laundry work a few days ago. Eight wen a day. But the overseer takes advantage of her — docks a wen or two on some trumped-up excuse every other day.”

“…”

Geng Weizhi went on as though a dam had broken — pouring out every grievance and hardship he’d been holding in, like a man who hadn’t had anyone to talk to in a very long time.

He talked for quite a while before noticing the rain was coming down harder, and stopped.

Shen Xiuhan had listened in silence. Then, out of the blue, he pointed down the alley.

“Tomorrow, tell your wife to stop doing laundry. Have her come work at my family’s eatery as a waitress. Wages and meals included.”

“That — I—”

Geng Weizhi opened his mouth to refuse. The words jammed in his throat. He couldn’t get them out.

“That’s settled. Rain’s getting heavy — hurry home.”

Shen Xiuhan gave a slight nod and walked on through the curtain of plum rain, toward home.

Behind him, Geng Weizhi’s face was streaked — rain or tears, impossible to tell.

He didn’t bother wiping them away. Dragging his ruined arm, he bent at the waist in a deep, deep bow toward Shen Xiuhan’s retreating figure. It was a long time before the words came, broken and halting.

“Thank you, Patrol Envoy… thank you for your kindness…”

…

Day fifty-two since Chenjian Wu’s Ninth Chief Tu Xiaotian lost his eyes.

For the past several days, Shen Xiuhan had stayed indoors, consolidating his realm and familiarizing himself with Hidden Strength.

The storm the Longxiang Martial Feast had stirred was gradually settling.

In an unexpected twist, the Wang family had organized the feast ostensibly to recruit fresh talent for the Longxiang Army.

But in the end, not a single one of the top three from either bracket had enlisted. All six remained in Changyun County.

It was the non-podium fighters who showed the most enthusiasm for the Longxiang Army.

That was largely due to the generous terms on offer.

Priority postings, no grinding up from the rank and file, plus cultivation resources.

For fighters of middling talent with no great family backing them, it was an excellent prospect.

Word had it that several dozen promising young fighters from the two counties had packed their belongings and signed up.

The Longxiang camp outside the city walls had been bustling for days.