Chapter 83: The Waters Run Deep

Jiang Pingchuan pondered the information Han Qing had entrusted to him. No one could quickly grasp Han Qing’s words; in Jiang Pingchuan’s eyes, Han Qing was making a will, entrusting both the Beggar Gang and his own son to his care.

“I can help you, but you know I intend to leave Dongzhou City. So, I really can’t take on the position of second-in-command,” Jiang Pingchuan said, nodding at Han Qing’s pale face flushed with a feverish red.

“Pingchuan, the title of second-in-command is just that—a title. If you must leave Dongzhou City, you can always find someone suitable to pass the position of gang leader to,” Han Qing replied with a straightforwardness that struck Jiang Pingchuan as uncharacteristically agitated. Perhaps it was fear caused by Han Zhen discovering his whereabouts, or perhaps some other reason had driven Han Qing to lose his composure.

“I’ll pass the position to You Liang.”

“There’s no need for that. I know my own child—he isn’t fit to be the leader of the gang,” Han Qing said, waving his hand in resignation. Over the years, his greatest concern had been You Liang, and his deepest regret was also for You Liang. He had failed to fulfill his duties as a father.

All he had ever wanted was for You Liang to live a carefree life, never to compete for power or status, never teaching him even the basics of cultivation.

“Have you ever truly cared for him? He may be playful, but he tries hard—because people grow,” Jiang Pingchuan said, his tone a little urgent. He found himself thinking of his own childhood, growing up parentless, raised by his grandfather and elder brother in Maoshan Dao.

From a young age, he was sheltered by his many senior brothers of Maoshan Dao. In his youth, he was ignorant, but he had dreams—to find his parents, and to marry the girl Xiaohua from the neighboring village.

“I have cared for him. If not for him, I wouldn’t have kept him away from the path of cultivation. I only ever wished for him to lead an ordinary life,” Han Qing said earnestly. Yet, hearing this, Jiang Pingchuan gave a cold laugh, as if mocking Han Qing’s naive belief.

“I too once wished to live an ordinary life after fulfilling my dreams. But I later realized that only by becoming strong myself could I achieve the things I wanted. What you call care is nothing but indulgence. The saddest part is that you don’t even dare say you love him out loud,” Jiang Pingchuan replied coldly. As a child, he never dreamed of becoming supreme; he thought those around him would always be strong enough to protect him. But when his brother Jiang Yulong entered the forbidden lands behind the mountain, Jiang Pingchuan finally understood.

No one could protect him forever. On the day he left the Sutra Pavilion, he witnessed with his own eyes their grandmaster Hongwu’s desperate struggle against invaders.

Even such a formidable figure—invincible on the Yuanwu Continent—could not protect Maoshan Dao, and was forced, in the end, to send him away.

“It’s too late for words now. Everyone lives with regrets, but my regret for You Liang is one I can never make up for,” Han Qing said, his eyes reddening. Even a man as composed as he was betrayed a look of defeat in the face of hardship. Jiang Pingchuan, though he had never met Han Zhen—

But through Han Ming, he could tell that Han Zhen was no ordinary man. To have ruled as city lord for over twenty years, Han Zhen was surely no longer the man he once was.

Jiang Pingchuan said nothing. He stood and walked toward the doors of the council chamber. Han Qing watched him in confusion. At the threshold, Jiang Pingchuan paused.

“You Liang is a cultivator,” he said, throwing out this cryptic remark before disappearing from Han Qing’s sight. Han Qing, shocked by Jiang Pingchuan’s words, stood up and walked out, only to see You Liang and Jiang Pingchuan strolling side by side.

They seemed to be conversing amicably. Han Qing released his own internal energy, sensing the aura emanating from You Liang not far away. When he felt the feedback from within You Liang, he sighed helplessly and vanished quickly from the doorway.

Jiang Pingchuan spoke with You Liang for a while, then took his leave and headed toward the Gong residence. Whether or not Lord Gong intended to harm or frame him, Jiang Pingchuan knew he had to rescue Lan Dao from the Gong residence as soon as possible. If Lord Gong knew Lan Dao’s true identity, there might be hope for Lan Dao yet.

But if Lord Gong did not know Lan Dao’s background and chose to act against him because of Jiang Pingchuan, then Lan Dao was doomed.

As Jiang Pingchuan neared the Gong residence, a shadow flickered behind him. He whirled around, only for someone to seize his hand and lead him into a nearby alley.

He found himself being led by a young woman dressed in a flowing blue gauze dress, and for a moment, he didn’t know how to react. He noticed that a piece of her skirt had been torn away, and the blue gauze pressed to his own chest matched the missing fragment perfectly. Jiang Pingchuan let her lead him on, unconcerned that she might mean him harm.

After the events of the previous night and a night of adjustment, the eighth Dao crystal within him had fully taken shape. To his excitement, under the influence of his composite true Qi, these eight Dao crystals were slowly extracting restorative true Qi to replenish his own reserves.

The woman led Jiang Pingchuan through the alleyway for a long time before letting go and turning her back to him. Jiang Pingchuan recognized her silhouette at once—she was Hu Meier. Yet he was unwilling to admit that the blue-robed woman who had killed Mo Shu that night was Hu Meier. All the evidence in his possession indicated that Hu Meier belonged to Lord Gong.

The gauze fragment in Mo Shu’s hand was also hers. Unless there was some third party to suspect, Jiang Pingchuan truly didn’t know whether he should act against Hu Meier.

“Don’t go to the Gong residence,” Hu Meier said hoarsely, her back still to him. Hearing her voice, Jiang Pingchuan studied her more closely.

He took a step forward, grabbing her wrist, hoping she would turn around. Unexpectedly, Hu Meier wrenched her hand free with force, leaving Jiang Pingchuan startled.

“What’s wrong with you?”

“I’m fine,” she replied coldly, striding toward the end of the alley. A gust of wind lifted the sleeve of her gauzy dress, and Jiang Pingchuan clearly saw a blood-red lash mark on her wrist, with flecks of blood staining the fabric. He rushed after her, but by the time he reached the corner, she had vanished.

Jiang Pingchuan spotted a sachet Hu Meier had left behind at the corner. He bent to pick it up—it was soft and delicate, scented faintly with her fragrance. He squeezed it gently, then opened it, finding a folded slip of paper inside.

“Lan Dao cannot be trusted.”

These five simple words lay in his palm for a long time. He could not understand Hu Meier’s warning. He had come to rescue Lan Dao from the Gong residence, yet Hu Meier was telling him that Lan Dao could not be trusted. Now, Jiang Pingchuan was truly at a loss as to whom he should believe.

At the mouth of the alley, Jiang Pingchuan suddenly stopped. He saw Lord Gong’s carriage rolling slowly past, and he concealed his presence.

From within the carriage came the sound of Lan Dao conversing with a woman. It seemed Lan Dao was living far more comfortably than he was. Jiang Pingchuan sighed, then slipped over the high wall into the Gong residence, where he ran into the steward, Si Fu.

Si Fu did not move upon seeing him, but looked at Jiang Pingchuan with composed calm. Jiang Pingchuan glanced at the strange Si Fu, then back at the woodshed behind him, sensing a heavy atmosphere of resentment gathering there.

“Does Lord Gong know you have come to visit, Mr. Jiang?” Si Fu asked, but the calm in his face gave way to anxiety as he saw Jiang Pingchuan’s attention on the woodshed.

“There’s no need for such formalities—you must have heard about my affairs by now,” Jiang Pingchuan replied with a smile. Si Fu managed an awkward grin in return. Suddenly, Jiang Pingchuan turned and pushed open the woodshed door. Si Fu cried out and followed him inside, where they saw an old man with disheveled hair clutching a bowl of dried rice of indeterminate age.

A powerful aura of resentment hung about the old man, whose limbs were shackled with massive iron chains. Jiang Pingchuan surveyed the shed—it was, in essence, a cell.

When the old man sensed someone entering, he didn’t even raise his head, only muttering incoherently. Jiang Pingchuan glanced at the uneasy Si Fu behind him, then back at the old man on the ground.

“Kill me. Kill me! What are you afraid of? There’s nothing to fear—ah, ha ha, heh heh!” Suddenly, the filthy old man raised his head, babbling madly.

Jiang Pingchuan met the old man’s gaze and was jolted to the core—the old man on the ground was none other than Lord Gong.