Author’s note: Finished on a whim, surprising, isn’t it? Haha. The next story is about a female mountain bandit and a weak young master. Stay tuned~
Black-Faced Constable became startled, wondering if someone was intercepting them. He drew his cleaver and instructed his remaining companion to surround them from another side.
When they approached, they discovered two brothers with dark faces, completely dead.
The Black-Faced Constable looked at the sickly scholar, who lay disheveled with his eyes tightly closed, seemingly also dead. Heart racing, the constable lowered himself to check the scholar’s breath. Suddenly, the scholar opened his eyes and flicked his fingernail into the constable’s nostril, a pale yellow powder inhaled into his lungs. Instantly, the constable widened his eyes, choking and scratching his throat, before diving headfirst into a deep pit.
The change happened too quickly. The remaining constable swung his knife at the scholar, but the scholar shot another silver needle into the constable’s eye. The constable screamed, covering his eye as black blood flowed from the wound, collapsing onto his brothers’ corpses.
Silence returned, with only the scholar’s heavy breathing audible. After a while, he struggled to sit up, climbed down from the cart, and searched the constable’s body for dry rations and liquor, which he consumed. After resting, he slowly stripped the constable’s clothes and piled them aside, then pushed the three naked corpses into the deep pit.
Weak and pausing after each movement, he eventually completed his tasks.
Fallen leaves mixed with the constable’s uniform, which he ignited with a fire starter. He then changed into a white gauze robe from the cart, discarding his burning clothes and prisoner’s outfit into the pit along with the corpses.
With the clothes and bodies smoking, his face showed no expression as he supported himself on the tree trunks, walking out of the dense forest.
As he exited the forest, several men dressed as tenant farmers rushed up and grabbed him, shouting, “Sir, we’ve caught another one!”
The sickly scholar did not resist, assuming these men were there to take his life. His hidden poison needles were exhausted, leaving only two poison pills in his ear and hair bun. Surrounded by so many, he had to endure and appear weak, waiting for the right opportunity to strike.
