Chapter 850: If You’re Going to Kill One Person, Dig Two Graves (8)

But the Chief Constable’s expression wasn’t bright at all.

When someone told him to come, he came—that was the constables’ job. But who didn’t dread dealing with martial artists?

There was an old custom: noninterference between officials and the martial world.

No matter how much blood the martial world spilled, the government would pretend it hadn’t seen or heard anything and let it pass.

In exchange, when the government did step in, martial artists would also back off a little and yield.

It was a kind of mutual aid—each side “respecting” the other so they could keep eating in their own lane.

But it wasn’t always like that.

Even ordinary people in the Central Plains, when cornered, would kill someone and run far away.

So what about a martial artist—someone who killed well and ran well?

If they didn’t like how things were going, they could just cut everyone down and bolt.

And some of them held grudges for a long time.

If you earned a martial artist’s hatred, who knew what kind of revenge they’d take later, even if not right away.

What if they came back later, pulled a blade?

Stories of constables butchered like that circulated as ghost tales.

But what could you do?

It was a constable’s job to do what they were told—so was he supposed to quit?

If he quit on the spot, what about his wife and kids?

So he swallowed curses, thinking, Bastard. You take the bribes and the danger falls on the underlings. Filthy world.

Of course, this Chief Constable had eaten too.

At his level, he had real power in the constables’ bureau.

That was why he hated the Chief Steward acting like they were close.

And then there were those bodies at the entrance—Five Poison Sect “disciples” spilled out on the ground.

Sure, corpses were familiar enough in the Central Plains that no one had to gasp just from seeing bodies.

But those were “Five Poison Sect” bodies.

Which meant the one who killed them was either stronger than the Five Poison Sect—

Or someone who wasn’t afraid of the Five Poison Sect.

Either way, not someone a mere Chief Constable could do anything about.

So when the Chief Constable looked at Qing, his face had a slippery, servile look, and his voice trembled thin and small.

“Uh... so, sir—no, not sir—uh, you... why are you... doing this, uh, so, I mean, a disturbance—no, no, not that—an event? Not an event—uh... yes, a commotion, a commotion... I don’t know why you’re making a commotion, but... the affairs of the world all have procedure and law, don’t they? If you have something—some kind of... that, um... whatever it is, you should first file a report with the local office...”

He chose his words so carefully, trying not to sound aggressive, that only one thought formed in the spectators’ heads.

He’s scared.

He’s terrified.

Well, yeah.

No °• N 𝑜 v 𝑒 l i g h t •° one had expected the Chief Constable to show up and start bellowing threats in the first place.

That scene didn’t make sense.

Among constables, it was basically a famous ghost story—some overeager rookie shouting at a master about the law and demanding they come accept arrest, and so on.

It was the same genre as those famous-but-sourceless tales from Qing’s homeland—Are you the supply officer?

So the spectators were only curious how this savage master would respond.

Would she explode with righteous fury, dragging the Jong Merchant House suspicions into the open?

Or draw her sword?

Unfortunately, it was neither.

“Hm. You there. Come here a moment.”

Qing crooked a finger.

It might have offended the Chief Constable, but more than that, the casual, natural way she spoke down to him made his heart drop through the floor.

“M-me? You mean me? Why...?”

“Yes. You. I’m not trying to harm you. I just have something to say.”

The Chief Constable edged forward, step by hesitant step.

“Closer. Closer. What—do you think I’m going to eat you? Bring your ear nearer. That’s what I said.”

“Y-yes...”

Qing brought her face veil right up to his ear and whispered.

Go tell Elder Jihyeon in this town. If they don’t come running right now, they’ll regret it for the rest of their life, in a miserable way. Tell them it’s better to come as fast as possible.

The Chief Constable’s face turned paper-white.

“I... sir...”

“Why aren’t you going? I’m saying this out of concern for you. Truly. The faster you deliver it, the better.”

“But...”

Elder Jihyeon was the highest authority ruling the county.

A mere Chief Constable couldn’t even meet their eyes.

Even if he was told to deliver words—

“Aren’t you going? Didn’t I say I’m telling you out of concern? If I go myself, you’ll be the one in trouble.”

She meant it.

If a mere Chief Constable went to summon Elder Jihyeon, Elder Jihyeon’s pride might be bruised, but they’d understand eventually.

But if Qing went herself?

The Chief Constable wouldn’t keep his post.

“Ghk.”

The Chief Constable bolted out at full speed.

Only his shout remained behind him.

“You keep the scene secured. I’ll be right back! Don’t let so much as a single ant slip out—KEEP IT LOCKED DOWN!”

The spectators’ faces filled with questions.

But there was no reason to explain anything to them, so Qing simply held the brats at her sides and strolled forward at her leisure.

The servants recoiled in panic and scattered left and right, and the exposed Chief Steward shouted.

“D-don’t come closer! You—what are you doing?! Stop her! Stop her, now!”

The constables chose loyalty to the exact wording.

The Chief Constable told them not to let a single ant slip out.

He didn’t say to block her from going in.

So they could just stand there and hold their positions.

Qing walked—step, step.

The Chief Steward drew nearer—step by step.

Then they faced each other, and Qing said one sentence.

“Move.”

“Pardon?”

“Move.”

The Chief Steward backed away, one hesitant shuffle at a time.

Qing walked straight past him.

In a merchant estate, you typically went straight forward from the main gate, and the building at the very center—right on that axis—held the merchant’s office and reception room.

Sure enough, she entered through the open door.

In front, the highest seat. On both sides, expensive chairs arranged in neat order.

Qing slid her hand out of Jong Munun’s and pointed to the empty highest seat.

“Go. Sit there.”

“Pardon? How could I—Benefactor should sit in the highest seat—”

“What are you talking about. The owner sits in the owner’s seat. Since when does a guest take the highest seat?”

It was common sense in the Central Plains.

The homeowner sat in the highest seat.

The only other person who could take it was the homeowner’s lord—someone the homeowner served.

And if you were the homeowner’s lord, weren’t you basically the true homeowner?

Only now did Jong Munun look like he was realizing even that basic rule for the first time.

My seat.

The owner sits in the owner’s seat.

That’s right.

His father’s seat—and now that his father was gone, this highest seat was his.

Jong Munun carefully lowered himself into the merchant-lord’s seat.

Carefully, like he was performing a rite.

My seat. Mine. What I should have inherited. Naturally mine—

“What are you doing, brat? You should sit next to your brother.”

“I wanna stay here...”

Jong Munun’s eyebrow twitched.

His little brother—bold as day—was parked on their benefactor’s lap.

A moment ago, he’d been on the verge of something like emotion, some kind of resolve—

And it got shoved right back down his throat.

In its place... something else rose.

Something like hot, petty irritation.

But he couldn’t say anything.

Jong Munun was sixteen.

Jealous of an eight-year-old who was exactly half his age?

How ugly would that be.

And in front of their benefactor, too.

*****

The Prefectural Magistrate couldn’t believe what he was seeing.

Or what he was hearing.

He couldn’t understand how a mere Chief Constable had barged into his residence—

And the message the Chief Constable delivered was even harder to believe.

“What did you say?”

“A martial artist... said the Prefectural Magistrate must come at once—immediately, as fast as possible—and if you don’t, you’ll be made to regret it for the rest of your life...”

Words mattered.

Qing’s message, meant as a kind warning, had become an outrageously violent threat.

“Hah! No—no matter how great a martial artist is, how can a mere vagabond of the rivers and lakes dare! The law of the realm is strict—how dare they order an official appointed by the Son of Heaven to come and go at their whim!”

Of course the Prefectural Magistrate exploded.

Someone at his level didn’t greatly fear martial artists, custom or no custom.

(Not that he didn’t fear them at all—naturally he feared a butcher with a sword in hand.)

But if a martial artist laid a hand on an official of his rank, the state wouldn’t stay quiet.

“Guards! Summon the Security Commissioner and the Judicial Commissioner—no, gather every soldier at once, assemble them all! Fine. I’ll go see that bitch’s face for myself!”

Security Commissioner and Judicial Commissioner were posts.

The Security Commissioner handled order.

The Judicial Commissioner was a judge and also oversaw the jail.

Each commanded their own troops.

So the Prefectural Magistrate marched out, filled with fury.

Not because he feared a martial artist’s warning.

But because they’d dared to mock the government.

No matter how much of a human-slicer a martial artist was, he couldn’t let that stand.

The Prefectural Magistrate had to go personally so he could later charge them and enforce the law.

So he mobilized every yamen troop he could, forming a huge procession.

Destination: the Jong Merchant House.

Seated in his palanquin, the Prefectural Magistrate grew angrier the more he thought, huffing out furious breaths again and again.

His procession was properly formed—so properly that he even brought drummers and horn callers used for official marches—PIRIRIRI, THUMP THUMP THUMP—an absolute spectacle.

As the procession cut through the city, even the ordinary people who’d missed the blade-fight spectacle started trailing behind, wondering what in the world was happening.

“The Prefectural Magistrate arrives!”

There was a brief disturbance while they cleared away the bodies at the entrance.

Then a yamen soldier with a strong voice shouted, and it rang across the Jong Merchant House estate.

Everyone bowed their heads.

That included the Chief Steward and Lady Lee.

If it were a Prefectural Magistrate Yang, you’d have to bow at the waist.

But for the Prefectural Magistrate, lowering your head was enough.

Even that alone showed how crushing his power was.

“Prefectural Magistrate! With the merchant house at the brink, for you to personally grace us with your presence—this humble one is so moved he doesn’t know where to put himse—”

“Enough! Where is the one who did this! I’m here now—fine, so what will you do now!”

All eyes turned inward.

Toward the open room in the center of the main building.

A vein bulged in the Prefectural Magistrate’s forehead.

What—she isn’t even outside waiting?

No matter how arrogant martial artists were, to threaten the Prefectural Magistrate appointed by the Son of Heaven and summon him here—

To disrespect me is to disrespect the one who granted me this office!

What kind of treasonous, outrageous bastard is this!

The Prefectural Magistrate strode forward, face contorted with rage—

And the moment he stepped into the office, he saw it.

A veiled woman with a child sitting on her lap turned the edge of her hat and spoke.

“Ah. Are you the Prefectural Magistrate? For a moment—sit next to me. I have something confidential to tell you. Munyeok, could you go sit beside your brother for a bit?”

The child on her lap scampered to the highest seat and pressed his butt next to the other boy.

And the boy in the highest seat—at least he seemed to know manners—he looked deeply uncomfortable, bowed his head, and fidgeted like he couldn’t stay still.

At this point, the Prefectural Magistrate was curious what the hell she was going to say.

He sat beside Qing, leaned back against the chair, thinking, Fine. Let’s see what you do now.

As a presence drew close to his ear—

And then.

“I forgot my Royal Censor’s identity badge at home, so I can’t prove it right away. But if you insist on proof, send a courier dispatch to the Prefectural Magistrate in Kunming and ask. Ask whether a veiled woman with a huge sword came carrying a Royal Censor’s identity badge.”

In that instant, the Prefectural Magistrate popped up from where he sat—just an inch—then dropped back down.

His back snapped straight, peeling off the chair as if it had never been there.

Both fists landed politely on his knees.

His insides went ice-cold, like he’d fallen through a winter river’s crust into the bottom.

His heart went berserk—THUMP THUMP THUMP THUMP.

Royal Censor!

“N-no, of course not! How could I ever doubt it!”

Even if a Royal Censor was a fake, you weren’t allowed to doubt them.

If you were deceived by an impersonator, it wasn’t a crime.

And a person who impersonated a Royal Censor would have their entire clan exterminated—so bowing your head to someone doomed anyway wasn’t something worth feeling wronged about.

But if you doubted a real Royal Censor?

Your whole extended family would die as traitors.

“However, Prefectural Magistrate—this lowly girl suffered an outrageous story the moment I entered Jinping. And it concerns the Jong Merchant House, doesn’t it?”

Here, “this lowly girl” didn’t mean “young girl.”

It meant “a woman of low station.”

In other words: the Royal Censor didn’t wish to reveal their identity to others.

“It is said that after Merchant Jong died suddenly for reasons unknown, his sworn older brother and stepmother joined forces to drive out Merchant Jong’s children. From what I hear, it seems deeply corrupt. Do you know anything about this matter?”

Sweat ran down the Prefectural Magistrate’s jaw—DRIP, DRIP, DRIP.

Come to think of it... sometime not that long ago (he didn’t remember exactly when), the Jong Merchant House had sent him a whole box of gold.

Of course, someone of his rank didn’t bother with petty details like that.

Those “tokens of sincerity” got skimmed little by little all the way up, and only the biggest chunk reached the top.

He’d just told someone to reply that the sincerity had been received well, and that was that.

But the Prefectural Magistrate immediately erased the memory.

Now that he thought about it, he knew nothing at all.

It must have been some unknown decent commoner, moved by his wise governance, emptying their wealth in gratitude.

Yes. That happened sometimes to capable officials.

He should’ve refused it and sent it back.

Once he deleted the memory, the Royal Censor’s words became shocking beyond belief.

“My god! Such a vicious deed! Th-th-th-this... this is an outrage that makes Heaven furious!”

The Prefectural Magistrate sprang up and headed for the doorway.

“Guards! Immediately bring the sworn older brother and the stepmother of Merchant Jong to kneel before me!”

Because he’d brought such a swarm of troops from the Constabulary Office, they were everywhere—and at his command, yamen soldiers rushed in and forced the two to their knees.

“AAAH!”

“Prefectural Magistrate! A misunderstanding—there’s a misunderstanding!”

“Silence! And you still call yourselves human? Beasts wearing human hide—I'll have you hanged at once—”

“Ah, Prefectural Magistrate. Shouldn’t we still hear their side? State affairs must be fair and upright. From one person’s words alone, there are things we cannot know—what if they are innocent?”

“—But we cannot yet treat you as criminals. I will hear your circumstances myself and judge. Why did you drive out Merchant Jong’s sons?”

The Prefectural Magistrate changed his words as smoothly as breathing.

Qing leaned back against the chair.

Hmm.

So this was the taste of power.

She hadn’t wanted to play Royal Censor, but... damn.

It was really, really good, and she had no idea how to put it into words.

She couldn’t get addicted to this.

But still.