On the road back to town.
Chen Ji rode behind on his donkey, eyes fixed on the straight-backed figure ahead, turning something over in his mind.
Something was off.
The Shen Yi he knew would have squeezed something out of every interaction — even walking past a farmer’s doorstep was an opportunity to skim a layer off. Money, wine, food. Other men’s daughters. Nothing was ever too small to take.
Today he’d killed demons with his own hands. That was the perfect excuse to demand anything from those villagers. And yet he’d just… walked away?
Then there was the actual killing to think about. Yes, it had been a sucker punch — but the predecessor’s body had been hollowed out by years of drinking and excess. The man got winded walking briskly. So how had he pinned a Dog Demon in place and stabbed it to pieces without it even being able to struggle free?
Chen Ji asked himself honestly: if he’d been the one sitting next to Yellow Six in that moment, he wasn’t sure he could have ended it that cleanly either.
He thought about the way Shen Yi had been flipping through the martial arts manuals on the ride out — casual, almost indifferent.
He hesitated, then spoke. “Are you actually interested in the Demon Suppression Division’s techniques, sir?”
Shen Yi turned to look at him, took in the conflicted expression, and recalled the reluctance on Chen Ji’s face when he’d handed the manuals over back at the yamen.
“…”
He pulled the manuals out and tossed them back. “Just skimming. Take them.”
“That’s not what I — ” Chen Ji caught the manuals and started explaining before he’d thought it through. “I’ve spent some time with these three techniques. If you’re interested, I could help you with—”
He stopped.
His own words landed on him strangely.
Why did I say that?
One of the reasons he’d thrown himself into martial training in the first place was so he’d have the means to put a blade through this man one day. Why in the world would he offer to help him?
Something really had changed.
From the moment they’d set out this morning, Shen Yi had been wrong in every direction — every action landing somewhere Chen Ji hadn’t predicted. It was disorienting.
Was this a genuine change of heart? Had he decided to turn over a new leaf?
Back at the county yamen, Shen Yi paused at the duty room entrance, fatigue settling over his face.
Two days of blood on his hands — demon blood, but still. He wasn’t used to it yet.
At least the predecessor’s particular brand of corrupt laziness had one upside: no actual work had ever been expected of him. Simply showing up at the yamen was enough to earn a few comments about what a diligent officer Constable Shen was.
He rolled his shoulders, then stepped inside.
“Boss! You’re in early today?”
Shen Yi glanced up at the blazing midday sun overhead, then slowly brought his gaze back to the men in front of him.
The one talking was Zhang Dahu — the predecessor’s most trusted lackey, the man who handled anything dirty that needed handling. A true right-hand thug.
The others behind him rounded out Shen Yi’s complete roster.
“Mm.”
He nodded and kept walking.
Everything about the predecessor’s conduct made the nature of these men obvious. They weren’t the kind of people you’d put in a flattering light. Bullying civilians was their main skill set. Against actual demons, they were essentially useless.
He had no interest in making conversation.
He’d almost cleared them when Zhang Dahu fell into step behind him with the eager energy of someone reporting a job well done. “Boss, that thing you asked for — all taken care of.”
“What thing?” Shen Yi paused.
“The Chen kid’s sister, to fill the Liu girl’s slot.” Zhang Dahu put on a pitiful expression. “You have no idea what we went through, boss — with things the way they are in this county, every family’s got their daughters hidden away like buried treasure. The boys nearly wore their legs off finding enough to fill your quota.”
He grinned. “But we sorted it out. Sent her off to Liuli Temple village. Don’t worry — she won’t be back for a good ten days at least.”
The words settled over Shen Yi like a cold weight. Something clicked into place.
And at that same moment, a lean figure stopped in the duty room doorway.
Chen Ji had removed his bamboo hat. His eyes were dead and still as he looked across the room at the assembled men.
Then he let out a quiet, self-mocking breath — and his saber cleared its scabbard with a sharp, ringing cry.
So much for turning over a new leaf. So much for becoming a better man.
A beast is a beast.
“Hell — he’s back! Protect the boss!”
Zhang Dahu’s shout snapped the rest of them into motion. Six constables yanked their blades free and threw themselves between Chen Ji and Shen Yi in a ragged, overlapping line.
“You’ve got some nerve, Chen — drawing steel in the yamen?! You want to live, you put that blade down right now!“
“Hm.”
Chen Ji looked at the wall of men in front of him. Eight to one. His eyes held nothing but contempt.
After everything he’d put into training the Division’s techniques, these people weren’t even a warm-up.
He took three sharp strides forward.
Zhang Dahu was nervous — the kid’s reputation was genuine — but numbers gave him courage, and something ugly rose in his face. “Always hated the look of you, you little bastard. Think you can come in here and make a move on the boss? Go ahead and try.”
Seven blades coming down at once was an intimidating sight, whatever the skill level behind them.
Chen Ji didn’t blink. A single casual sweep of his saber caught every attack.
Zhang Dahu was in his prime — big, strong, the kind of man who’d spent years roughing up street vendors like it was nothing. He was gripping his blade with both hands now, sweat beading on the tip of his nose, and he could not push the locked blade down by so much as an inch.
Then Chen Ji swept again.
A flash of cold silver. A clean, sustained ring of metal on metal.
Seven blades snapped in half simultaneously.
The constables stumbled backward, faces white with shock, clutching their wrists. The force that had traveled up through their hilts had been nothing like what any of them had imagined.
“Ahh — somebody protect the boss—“
Zhang Dahu had known the kid would be trouble, but not this kind of trouble. His voice had gone up an octave. He was backing away and yelling at the same time.
Chen Ji didn’t follow. He walked at an even pace to the last man in the room and stopped.
Shen Yi stood with his arms at his sides, watching with a slight frown. His voice was quiet. “Put the blade down first.”
“Own what you’ve done. Don’t beg.” Chen Ji shook his head. The hand on his saber tightened further.
A leopard can’t change its spots.
A dog will always go back to its filth.
A vicious curl touched the corner of his mouth, and his voice dropped into something cold and final. “Watch yourself in the next life, sir.”
The blade came up.
Silver light. The saber descended with both weight and momentum behind it, enough to make every person in the room suck in a breath and forget to let it out.
“Quite the speech for the occasion.”
Shen Yi raised an eyebrow. His palm finally moved — settling over the hilt of his own weapon. He didn’t draw. He simply gripped the scabbard.
Then he swung it, almost lazily.
The black lacquered sheath wove through the descending arc of silver with uncanny precision, slipping past the blade — and landed on Chen Ji’s shoulder with a sound like a firm tap, just before the strike could land.
The next instant, Chen Ji’s mind went blank.
Something had happened that his body didn’t know how to process.
His entire frame dropped. Knees bending, joints popping under the pressure — the saber fell from his hand as he went down on one knee, breathing wrecked, both arms locked against the floor just to hold himself up, every vein in his neck standing out as he strained against a weight he couldn’t move.
The source of all of it was a scabbard, resting on his shoulder.
Chen Ji stared at the pair of official boots in front of him, gaze creeping upward.
Shen Yi looked exactly as calm as before. His voice didn’t change.
“I said — put the blade down first.”
(End of Chapter)