Chapter 732: The Great Instructor Ximen Qing (4)

Qing was dumbfounded.

No, seriously, in this situation? Kill me and let you out? And you’re saying that to the person you were just trying to kill?

Is that something a sane person says?

In the end, Qing pulled out the nuclear option: “No.” “No” is an extremely aggressive vocabulary choice that causes conflict about ninety percent of the time.

“No. There are limits to how much you can look down on my cadet. You made this whole mess screaming you’d kill him, and now you say ‘let me out’ and expect him to go ‘yes, sir’ and comply? What do you take people for?”

“You’re the one whose head has completely snapped, you crazy woman. Are you saying you’ll defy His Majesty’s command?”

“So if His Majesty says die, you just die? What, if he said ‘die split in half,’ you’re supposed to grit your teeth and somehow split yourself in half to die? Commands still have to make sense before I follow them.”

“Y-you—how dare you! Who are you mocking—y-you bitch, truly a traitor, a criminal of treason, a rebel! You bitch! How dare you!”

To Qing, that was just common sense.

But to people of this era, it was a pretty extreme claim.

If His Majesty said die, dying was a subject’s duty. The famous Empty Lunchbox Delivery Incident was proof of that.

In the past, a scholar named Sun Yu received an empty lunchbox from his lord and went, “Ah. He’s telling this vermin who isn’t worth feeding to die,” and killed himself. A tragic story.

Mandarlo, who’d been about to speak, just stared at Qing blankly.

He was shocked by the violent language—and even more shocked by the part where she didn’t show a flicker of caution toward him. Her attitude was so relaxed it was like she didn’t even consider the possibility that he might hurt her. Like she didn’t need to guard against “just in case,” because it was simply obvious.

Belief. Trust.

Why? How? Just because he was a Sword Hall cadet? Because he was her disciple?

Mandarlo had never once thought of Ximen Surin as his instructor, and as a disciple he’d been beyond saving, yet—

His face grew oddly solemn.

“Young Master, didn’t you hear? She’s completely lost her mind. She dared say that about His Majesty. Quickly—quickly deal with her!”

Mandarlo chose his words.

“A man who receives grace must repay it. If you don’t, you’re an animal. How could I harm Instructor Ximen and betray the grace that saved my life?”

What the hell, dog-bone. He can talk like a person? Qing was a little surprised. He’d been writing letters for a while, sure, but he’d always done it in an irritating way.

“So you’ll ruin the great cause for petty feelings? Grace, grace. Young Master, wake up. Don’t you know every moment you exist alive is His Majesty’s grace? You’ll repay a small grace but throw away a greater one?”

“That’s—”

In the Central Plains, once you lean on the Son of Heaven, you win by default. It guarantees automatic victory in arguments.

“That’s hilarious. Being born is your parents’ grace. Why is the Son of Heaven sticking his nose in there? Did he order you to be born or something?”

“Yes, yes, just as you say. Young Master, hurry. Isn’t this what your father wanted too? Shouldn’t you repay the parents who gave you your body?”

A short silence fell.

“...Huh.” “...What?”

Youngban’s face twitched like “oh shit,” but he erased it immediately and puffed himself up again.

“That’s right. Didn’t you step into this den of rabble who call themselves ‘academy instructors,’ after receiving your father’s command?”

“Uh... uh-huh.”

Mandarlo’s eyes shook violently.

So his father—the Administrative Commissioner—had sent him into the Righteous-Proper Martial Academy knowing someone was trying to kill him.

“That... that can’t be true. If I die, our family line gets cut off—”

“Oh, you’re worried about the family? My. I didn’t know you could worry about your family. But you don’t need to. I heard the concubine is pregnant.”

“There’s no way.”

“Isn’t this a good chance for you too? If you’d done your job properly as a son, none of this would’ve happened. But now a woman more dangerous than the martial world has appeared. If you get rid of her, His Majesty will recognize your usefulness, won’t he?”

Youngban’s eyes blazed—wide open, veins crawling across the whites—while his mouth still smiled. He looked like a lunatic, straight up.

“There are plenty of young men who can die in your place, but the chance to cut off a future calamity is open only to you. The Administrative Commissioner will be satisfied. Now, hurry—”

“Jesus. Mandarlo, cadet. You’ve heard enough. We’re leaving. Talking to a crazy bastard only loses you money.”

Qing grabbed Mandarlo’s shoulder.

“Mandarlo, don’t mind him. How are we supposed to know whether he’s just shooting his mouth off because his mouth works—”

“Young Master! Would I dare sell His Majesty’s majesty cheap? Honestly, were you even a son your father could proudly show off? The Administrative Commissioner only ever sighed that he’d spoiled his only son too much.”

Ah. That part was a little relatable, actually.

If Jayeo had been like this, I’d have snapped her legs to teach her manners, if that’s what it took.

But instead of educating his son, the Administrative Commissioner apparently decided, “This one’s already ruined—time to replace him.”

A son he could throw away anyway, so he sent him to the Academy to get full use out of the trash before tossing it.

And I heard the Administrative Commissioner is among the Son of Heaven’s closest confidants, so maybe he volunteered his son himself.

“His Majesty bestowed grace on you, so it’s an honored seat—you’ll enter the histories as the whetstone for conquering the martial world! But if you don’t like that, well, isn’t your chance right here? Don’t you get it? This is your chance for His Majesty to praise you directly! Your chance to wash away your old disgrace and become a proud son! Kill her! Or kill yourself! Prove your usefulness by taking your own life!”

Mandarlo’s eyes lost focus.

His face was twisted up, not sure if it was grief or fear. Only now that aristocratic face finally looked like what it really was—an immature kid who hadn’t grown up yet.

Qing grabbed both of his shoulders.

Mandarlo flinched at the force, then stared up at Qing’s face from point-blank range.

A pretty face—shadows sharp in the brazier’s light in this dark place—but still the kind of beauty you’d call peerless.

“Yeah. Let’s step out for now. Don’t think stupid thoughts. What’s His Majesty, what’s the Son of Heaven? Dynasties pop up and rot away because each one rises to save itself. Don’t listen to garbage like that.”

“Aren’t you worried, Instructor? If I used an assassination move right now—”

“Eh. I can’t say our dog-bone is exactly normal, but he’s not that much of a bastard.”

Honestly, that’s not complete certainty.

From what ✧ NоvеIight ✧ (Original source) I’ve seen, he’s a dog-bone, yeah, but not a guy who crosses the final line. And yet his bad karma has crossed lines. I don’t know if he piled it up in small doses from childhood or if he’s just a truly vicious juvenile criminal.

Still, even injured, what threat is a shabby first-rate punk?

Plus my senses scan everything. There’s nobody else in this narrow space. If he tries any funny business, I’ll catch it instantly.

So it’s less “trust” and more “confidence,” but that doesn’t mean it’s because your skills are trash.

But to someone else, even a line like that can be desperate comfort.

Especially when they’ve just been told the country wants them dead—and their family abandoned them.

Maybe comfort, maybe something more—

Mandarlo’s eyes settled down.

And then—he even flashed that annoying noble-young-master smirk. His lips were still trembling slightly, so he hadn’t shaken the shock off completely, but still.

“I’m fine, Instructor. I’m already a grown adult. An adult. I’m not a kid. I’m fine.”

To Qing, even a grandpa would be shocked in this situation.

He must’ve really taken the “minor” thing to heart, because he put extra weight on adult, grown, not a kid.

Yeah, yeah. That’s called being a kid, buddy.

When an adult gets told they’re not a minor, they bow in thanks, their mouth corners shoot up, they dance around humming with joy because they can’t hold it in.

Only kids get pissed at being called kids.

While that was going on, Mandarlo smiled crookedly at Youngban.

“Youngban, sorry, but I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear your offer. They say there’s no law that says you have to die, so I should live too, shouldn’t I? Wealth and glory are only enjoyed if you’re alive. What use is honor after you’re dead? And why should I care about a family that throws its child away?”

Mandarlo looked mean.

That was Qing’s personal impression—but objectively, anyone would agree. His whole face screamed “ill-tempered noble brat.”

And the things coming out of that face were pure scraping-the-soul. This was Youngban’s first time tasting Mandarlo’s true worth.

“Young Master? What are you—”

“If you want to ask someone for something, shouldn’t you put a servile look on your face, bend your waist and shoulders, and beg like someone beneath them? Your attitude is nothing but arrogant demand, like you’re collecting a debt. You’re thick-skinned and shameless. Why would I hand you my life?”

“Young Master!”

“And you talk about another man’s family like it’s your toy. I’m disappointed. With the eldest son alive, you say a concubine is pregnant? Even if she is, where in the world does a concubine’s child inherit a house? Once you die, who’s going to know what I say? Even if I go back and take over as head, who would dare oppose me?”

“Bastard!! You little shit! Is that something you can say? The Administrative Commissioner’s lament wasn’t for nothing—you’re the world’s most unfilial scum!”

“Well. My father didn’t like my behavior, it seems. So I’ll change from now on. If I become a good son, he’ll change his mind and acknowledge me, right? It’s proper for the eldest son to assist the family trade. And if His Majesty gives another command unworthy of a gentleman, then as a subject, I can work to ensure that kind of vile plot doesn’t succeed.”

“Y-you—what are you—this—how—”

Youngban couldn’t continue.

He was so choked with rage he couldn’t even speak, just opening and closing his mouth like a fish.

Because Mandarlo was basically declaring: “I’ll inherit the house, cling to the imperial family, and act as a spy inside the martial world.”

Watching him, Qing went, oh damn, this kid knows how to scrape people raw. Little bastard’s got teeth. I mean, he’s always been scraping other cadets raw, but still.

“Instructor, let me finish this man. You’re unwell; please go rest.”

Oh? This little shit?

Qing’s eyebrow twitched.

I save you from death and you try to steal my fun?

And not just any fun—the tastiest part I’d saved for last?

“Cadet, don’t get cute. Minors can’t watch. And this time, minors can’t even audit. Where do you think you’re going?”

Mandarlo’s eyebrow twitched too.

But he didn’t argue further, so I couldn’t tell which exact part had set him off.

“But—”

“That’s enough. I already nearly died because of that bastard. This is a grudge I have to settle. You, with all four limbs intact, step back.”

Qing doesn’t block someone else’s revenge.

Revenge is a rightful thing. It’s the best medicine for someone who was wronged to digest that wrong and keep walking forward.

But not in every case.

The dog-bone is fine. I’m the one still full of metal shards.

A guy who didn’t even take one hit claiming vengeance is a bit much. And if all he did was piss the guy off verbally, isn’t that grudge already paid?

“Alright, alright. Out you go. Close the door quietly and tight. Hurry.”

Mandarlo got shoved out of the underground storage.

Only after Qing heard the lower door close and then the upper door close did she step back into Youngban’s cell.

“Alright. I’m the type who keeps what I say. I told you: either you talk and die painfully, or you don’t talk and still die painfully, right?”

Finally. At last.

Qing’s mouth corners tore wide—so vicious they looked like they might reach her ears.