Liubai Camp: Remnants of the army attack northward

Chapter 16 Chen Qingzhi

Shen Bai squatted at the entrance of the cellar.

The firelight shone down, illuminating that dirty face.

Chen Qingzhi lay in the straw, dressed in tattered clothes, so thin that his ribs protruded. His face was covered in mud, and his hair was a mess, plastered to his forehead.

But his eyes didn't look away.

Just watching. Calm, clear-headed, like nothing happened. As if he was already used to being observed.

Shen Bai looked at him.

long time.

Vortex platform.

Those two words flashed through his mind.

Shen Bai looked at the person in the cellar.

Thin. Early twenties. Dirty. Doesn't look like someone who could kill.

A scholar. Captured by bandits, he didn't die, he was still alive, and he could even look the bandits in the eye. There was no fear in his eyes, no pleading, nothing at all. It was as if he had seen something far worse.

Can you ride a horse?

Chen Qingzhi shook his head.

Do you know martial arts?

He shook his head again.

"Can you shoot an arrow?"

He still shook his head.

Shen Bai stared at him.

What brings you to Jiankang?

"Find a powerful patron who can make me a general."

Shen Bai clenched his fists tightly inside his sleeves.

Do you know how to play Go?

Chen Qingzhi was taken aback.

He raised his head.

The eyes have changed.

It wasn't surprise—it was the expression of a scholar suddenly being asked something they know. Like someone striking a match in the dark, illuminating a small patch.

"……meeting."

Shen Bai squatted there, the firelight flickering on his face. He looked at the filthy young man in the cellar, his mind filled with images of the Wotai River, the blood on the white robe, and the bones of two hundred thousand corpses.

Same name.

He didn't know if it was a coincidence or fate.

But if it were you...

If you are truly yourself.

You won't die in a bandit's den.

"Walk."

He stood up.

Iron Shield paused for a moment.

"who?"

"he."

Iron Shield glanced into the cellar. Inside, the skinny young man was using the wall for support to stand up, brushing the straw off his clothes. His movements were slow, as if he had little strength, but he stood steadily. He didn't seem to need help.

"A writer?"

"Um."

"Why bring him along?"

Shen Bai did not answer.

He watched as Chen Qingzhi crawled out of the cellar, covered in dirty water, the stench so strong that Tie Dun took a step back. But the man straightened up, tidied his hair, and just stood there.

Shen Bai thought of the Vortex Terrace.

The person who broke the million mark with seven thousand was standing like this too.

---

By the time we returned to camp, it was already daylight.

After walking for two hours, his legs were trembling. Shen Bai hid his hands in his sleeves so no one could see them.

Iron Shield walked behind, his bandages soaked with blood from his shoulders, but he didn't utter a sound. Old Zhao cursed him for being stubborn, and he told him to get lost.

When they arrived at the camp gate, Shen Anning was already standing there.

She saw Shen Bai.

First, look at their face.

Shen Bai knew what she was going to do. He wanted to hide, but it was too late.

Shen Anning stepped forward and snatched the knife from his hand. Then she grabbed his left hand and turned it over.

The knuckles are black.

Shen Anning remained silent.

She held that hand and looked at it for a long time.

A wind blew, and the flags in the camp fluttered. In the distance, someone was starting a fire, and others were talking in hushed tones, but no one was looking this way. Iron Shield stood to one side, blood still flowing from the wound on his shoulder, soaking half of his sleeve.

Shen Bai tried to pull his hand back.

"I don't use it much."

Shen Anning did not let go.

"Fifty percent?"

"...45%."

silence.

Someone coughed in the camp, from a distance, as if they had been choked by the wind.

Shen Anning released her grip.

She took a cloth bag from her medicine box, opened it, and inside were needles. Nine needles. Each one was as thin as a hair, gleaming in the morning light.

She picked up a stick and stuck it into the back of Shen Bai's hand.

Shen Bai did not dodge.

"You lied to me."

"I'm not lying."

"Forty-five percent?" Her voice was flat. "You used more than forty-five percent."

Shen Bai fell silent.

Shen Anning inserted the needles one by one.

With each insertion, Shen Bai's hand felt like it was being poked by something. It wasn't the pain of having bone dug out, but a numb sensation as if something was drilling into it. He could still bear it.

Iron Shield watched from the side, his lips moved as if he wanted to say something, but he swallowed it back.

After the acupuncture was finished, Shen Anning stood up.

"I won't care if you use it again next time."

She packed her medicine kit.

Shen Bai watched her retreating figure.

"The Iron Shield's Wound—"

"I don't care."

she left.

Iron Shield stood there, stunned for a moment.

"...I'll handle it myself."

Shen Bai glanced at him.

"Go get it wrapped up. Don't force yourself."

Iron Shield touched his shoulder and grinned.

"This little injury—"

"go."

Iron Shield left, muttering to himself as he went.

Shen Bai watched him walk away.

---

The items brought back from Nanshan Village were piled up in the center of the camp.

There were nearly twenty taels of silver, several strings of copper coins, and a dozen sacks of grain, enough to feed fifty people for almost half a month. There was a pile of weapons—mostly scrap metal, less than half of which were actually usable. And there were a dozen or so people.

They are not bandits.

They were poor people caught up in the chaos. There were old people, young people, and several farmers in their thirties. There was a woman with completely white hair and a face full of wrinkles, who huddled in a corner, afraid to look up. There was also an old man who was lame and couldn't get up from the ground.

They were all forced to work on the mountain. Nobody treated them like human beings.

Old Zhao advocated killing.

"What's the point of keeping these people around? It's a waste of food. Few of those who survive in bandit dens are clean."

Shen Bai glanced at those people.

They crouched, huddled up, afraid to look at anyone. Some were injured, others were skin and bones from hunger.

He walked over.

"Who's in charge?"

No one answered.

He asked again.

A man in his forties looked up. He had scars on his face, as if he had been beaten. His hands were rough and calloused, with deformed knuckles, a result of years of heavy manual labor.

"I..." His voice trembled, "I used to be a blacksmith. Wu Er dragged me up the mountain."

"A blacksmith?"

"A blacksmith. He's been doing it for twenty years."

"What's your name?"

"Zhang...Zhang Tie."

"How long have you been detained?"

"Six months."

"Wu Er hit you?"

Zhang Tie didn't speak. He looked down and saw the scar on his hand.

Shen Bai didn't ask any more questions.

He told Old Zhao, "I won't kill him."

Old Zhao didn't move.

"Keep it?"

"Keep."

He pointed at Zhang Tie.

"He's a blacksmith. The others, those who want to stay can stay, those who don't can leave with travel expenses."

Old Zhao wanted to say something, but Shen Bai had already left.

---

The account book was brought back from Nanshan Village by Lao Zhao at Shen Bai's request.

Wu Er's handwriting was terrible, but he kept accurate records. He noted which day he robbed whom, which day he killed whom, and how much wine he bought. It was a mess, but legible.

Chen Qingzhi was washed clean, changed into an old set of clothes, and sat on the steps in the corner of the camp, turning the pages one by one.

Shen Bai squatted down and watched.

Chen Qingzhi flipped through the pages for almost half an hour, then stopped when he reached a page.

"here."

Shen Bai looked over.

One payment per month.

"Ten taels of silver as a token of filial piety."

expenditure.

Shen Bai's eyebrows twitched slightly.

"Who is this for?"

"I don't know," Chen Qingzhi said. "It was there when I went up the mountain. The money was sent out every month, and the person who delivered it was very careful. They changed into plain clothes, so you couldn't see their face. They took the money and left, without leaving their name or saying a word."

"Wu Er delivered it personally?"

"I always deliver them personally. I hand them to them by hand, then close the door. I don't let my subordinates touch them."

"You haven't seen anyone?"

"I saw it once," Chen Qingzhi said. "I peeked out from a crack in the cellar. I saw Wu Er escorting someone out. He wasn't tall, wore dark clothes, and walked steadily, like a soldier."

"Where's your face?"

"I can't see clearly. It's dark, and there are no lanterns lit."

Shen Bai took the ledger and looked at the line of text.

Ten taels.

per month.

This is not a small number.

What could possibly make a bandit leader so careful as to send money every month?

This person is more than just "somewhat influential".

He slowly stood up.

Just then—

Old Zhao ran over.

"Captain!"

He was running very fast, panting heavily, when he tripped and almost fell.

"Outside—there's someone outside!"

Shen Bai looked up.

"Who is it?"

"About a hundred," Old Zhao said. "They were carrying hoes, sticks, and a few broken knives. Their clothes were a motley collection; they didn't look like soldiers, nor like bandits."

"Where's the flag?"

"No flag."

Shen Bai stood up.

He walked towards the camp gate.

Old Zhao followed behind, seemingly wanting to say something but stopping himself.

The leader said something—

"What did you say?"

Old Zhao stopped and looked at Shen Bai's back.

He said, "Is Young Master Shen here? We've come to see him."