Chapter 53 Punishment

Ji Huo’s gaze swept over everyone, finally coming to rest before Qian Shi and Kun San.

The two bowed respectfully. “Boss.”

Ji Huo looked first at Kun San, nodding. “You’ve progressed much faster than I expected, and your swordsmanship is nothing like it was two years ago.”

Kun San glanced at Xia Ningshang, who had at some point wandered to the other side, curiously observing the street as if searching for something amusing. He explained, “Survived a fall from a cliff and, by a stroke of fortune, mastered a legendary art.”

Ji Huo laughed. “That’s your two-year story?”

Kun San lifted his chin slightly, a hint of pride breaking through his otherwise cold demeanor. “No, that was only the beginning of my journey. This martial art I now know—”

Ji Huo raised a hand to interrupt him, speaking offhandedly, “Your fortuitous encounter is yours alone—I won’t pry.”

A few days before setting out, Ji Huo had asked his eldest brother to find some martial arts manuals for completing a task. He’d said to pick whatever was at hand, then listed all the scattered techniques he himself knew, specifically instructing him not to include those. Yet, for some reason, his brother had delayed, still not having gathered all the manuals before Ji Huo left—perhaps aiming for something truly powerful.

“Yes, sir,” Kun San replied with a bow.

Ji Huo continued earnestly, “If you train for another two years, you should be on par with Little Red Sugar as she is now. Sparring with her will do you good.”

A flicker of excitement crossed Kun San’s usually impassive face. Knowing his temperament, Ji Huo guessed that after this, the young man would find some remote place to train in seclusion for two years, then challenge Little Red Sugar to avenge his old defeat.

Seeing Kun San’s expression, Ji Huo refrained from saying aloud, “But in two years, Little Red Sugar will be even more terrifyingly strong.”

Back when he recruited the Tiangang and Disha members, they were all orphans of varying talent. Though all became formidable under his tutelage, not one among them could compare to Little Red Sugar’s innate gift.

After drawing the red paper parasol, the system had gifted her a martial art so peculiar it defied explanation. With it, Little Red Sugar’s strength now firmly surpassed all others in the Qian Kun Sect.

Give her two more years, and she could probably go toe to toe with the old master from today.

With Kun San’s matters finished, Ji Huo turned his gaze to Qian Shi.

Qian Shi shuddered and whimpered, “Boss, I swear I’ll never do it again!”

Ji Huo asked, amused, “So you think you were wrong?”

“I…” Qian Shi began, but then recalled the sorry state of Qian Wu—if he hadn’t brought reinforcements, Qian Wu might not have made it out alive.

“Boss, I don’t think I was wrong,” Qian Shi said, squaring his shoulders. “Punish me if you must.”

Ji Huo gazed at him, a trace of gratification in his eyes. “Since Qian Wu entrusted these brothers to your command, you were the highest authority here, and your every order was the right one.”

“But I disobeyed your instructions,” Qian Shi muttered, looking down.

Hands clasped behind his back, Ji Huo looked toward the demonic clouds swirling over Sword Mountain Manor in the distance, and spoke slowly, “Once a general is in the field, he need not follow every command from above. As the commander, if you believe something is right, act—even if it means going against my orders.”

Xia Ningshang, who had been watching the farmhouse with curiosity from afar, suddenly brightened, a flash of surprise in her eyes.

Ji Huo went on, “Just remember: whatever order you give, you must be responsible for everyone.”

“Yes, sir!” Qian Shi straightened and nodded.

“But you did make one mistake.”

“Huh?” Qian Shi’s face immediately fell.

Ji Huo scolded, “Sometimes you need to think bigger. Since you already brought your brothers, why not call for more? Get everyone nearby involved! If Kun San hadn’t arrived when he did, you might not have been able to handle those rogues!”

“I was just afraid you’d scold me…” Qian Shi muttered quietly.

“Then I’ll scold you more often until you get used to it.” Ji Huo’s face was impassive. “Remember, these times are chaotic. Our advantage is our numbers. If you think you can’t manage, call for backup. Understand?”

“Understood, absolutely!” Qian Shi nodded eagerly.

Ji Huo waved him off in exasperation. “Alright, when you’re done here, take everyone to the capital and report to Little Red Sugar for punishment—you did disobey my command, after all. I’ll take care of Qian Wu’s matter.”

“Yes, sir!” Kun San and Qian Shi answered in unison. Kun San looked particularly excited; though he’d surely get thrashed by Little Red Sugar, at least he’d find out how far behind he was. In two years… well, we’ll see!

Kun San turned to the crowd and shouted, “Hurry up! Those searching the bodies, keep searching; those with burials to do, get digging. And for the wanted cultists, remember to take their heads to the magistrate for a reward!”

Clearly, he’d done this often.

Ji Huo walked over to Xia Ningshang, who was peering into a well, repeatedly craning her neck as if, were it not for the crowd, she’d have stuck her head right in.

“Not bad, is it?” Ji Huo commented. “Anyone who’s killed often knows that if you tie a corpse to a stone and toss it in here, it’ll stay hidden for a decade or more—an excellent spot for a body.”

Xia Ningshang stiffened, quickly withdrawing her head. With a blank expression, she said, “In Dragon Country, we don’t bother hiding bodies. We just throw them out for the bears to eat.”

Ji Huo stroked his chin thoughtfully. “That method isn’t bad—ecological, even. But here in the Central Plains, large animals are rare, so it’s not so convenient.”

Xia Ningshang shot him a glare, glanced at the well again, and murmured, “There are hardly any underground streams in Dragon Country, so wells are impossible. This is my first time seeing one. If my people could dig wells at home, maybe they wouldn’t suffer so much.”

Ji Huo replied casually, “Every land nurtures its own people. You envy our water and soil, but we envy your people’s height and strength, feasting on mutton every day.”

Xia Ningshang shook her head. “With such a fine land, it’s a shame the people of the Central Plains are so weak and frail—what a waste.”

Ji Huo smiled. “Miss Xia, if your people moved to the Central Plains, after a few generations they’d be just like us. You grew up on horseback, but here, without horses, would you really become stronger?”

“Impossible! We Dragonfolk will never forget our ancestors’ glory!” Xia Ningshang retorted.

Ji Huo shook his head. “Environment changes everything. You’re too hasty to judge. If your people settle here, they’ll adapt, leave the saddle, and live off the land. That’s nature’s way.”

“And how would you know? You’ve never seen it! Even if Dragon Country conquered the Central Plains, we’d just ride our horses across these hills, our iron hooves conquering all, growing even stronger!” Xia Ningshang sneered.

“I—” Ji Huo suddenly stopped, as if recalling something. With a sigh, he shook his head. “What am I arguing for? If Dragon Country wants to reach the Central Plains, the Zhao Kingdom lies in between.”

“Hmph!” Xia Ningshang pursed her lips, pride written all over her face—though her eyes seemed less certain.

Everyone else tidied up in silence, though their ears were pricked. The chubby one glanced around and saw that aside from Qian Shi, who seemed thoughtful, the rest wore the blank faces of people who didn’t quite understand but were enjoying the drama all the same.

Well, Kun San hadn’t noticed at all—his whole face still radiated excitement.

“Why’d they stop? It’s rare to see the boss argue so seriously,” the chubby one muttered, meandering away with disappointment, still hungry for gossip.

Before he finished, both Ji Huo and Xia Ningshang turned to glare at him. He shivered.

“Get lost!” Ji Huo snapped.

“Yes, boss!” The chubby one scurried off, and the others quickly resumed their work, feeling the atmosphere had become rather strange.

Was that really an argument after all? It didn’t quite seem like it.