Chapter Thirty-Six: Seeking Trouble

A voice, neither too loud nor too soft but full of vigor, sounded at Shangguan Chuanyun’s ear, abruptly breaking his train of thought. He looked up to find it was his elder brother, Shangguan Xingyun.

Just moments ago, his brother had been thirty yards away, but now stood before him. Clearly, Xingyun’s martial prowess had advanced yet again. Puzzling over his brother’s attire, Chuanyun asked, “Brother, what’s with this outfit? Where have you been?”

Xingyun glanced at his younger brother, who looked as if he’d escaped some disaster, and couldn’t help but laugh. “Chuanyun, did you go outside the city to experience life as a refugee?”

“Heh, heh.” Chuanyun felt a wave of embarrassment and forced a laugh. “I found a cave and crawled inside to see what was there. The entrance was a bit low, so I ended up like this.” He hesitated to explain it was a mouse hole, gesturing at the bundle on his shoulder.

He continued, “I found all this inside. There were a few books, but since our marquisate already has them, I didn’t bother bringing them back.”

Xingyun glanced at the bundle and instantly knew it contained gold and silver trinkets. He shook his head, suppressing a smile. “I’ve just finished the prefectural exam. I was about to visit Mother. Come, let’s walk and talk.”

With a gesture of invitation, the two brothers passed through the grand, red-lacquered gates studded with bronze and entered the marquisate. Four robust, sharp-eyed servants stood at attention by the entrance, watching the young masters stride inside.

They headed toward their mother’s quarters. Hearing Chuanyun address their mother as “Mother,” Xingyun took no notice. Before outsiders, the brothers called her “mother” or “madam,” but between themselves usually said “Mama.” He could never quite let go of his feelings for his birth mother, and this mode of address had become a kind of thorn in his heart, a faint sadness always visible in his eyes.

Chuanyun shook his head, suddenly recalling the few pages left behind by Lao Shuren, which he wanted Xingyun to decipher, hoping to glean some clues. “Brother, I have a few characters here I’d like you to help me identify. Maybe there’s something to be discovered—they were left by the cave’s owner.”

Xingyun was intrigued. Though his younger brother was no scholar, he could certainly recognize all the characters. The Shangguan family, though typically neither literary nor martial, possessed extraordinary talent—if one focused on a particular discipline, they could reach its pinnacle. Yet generation after generation, none pursued such paths. Instead, they were taught household management, cunning, wisdom, cultivation, and schemes, brushing only marginally against literature.

If even Chuanyun didn’t recognize these words, Xingyun thought, they deserved careful study. His brother was exceptional, with deep insights into martial principles, rivaling masters—Xingyun himself could not compare. Even sword manuals written in the language of the Book of Changes were comprehensible to Chuanyun.

He couldn’t imagine what sort of script would stump his brother, and was curious whether it might be some new form of writing, perhaps found in the cave dwelling. Rubbing his hands together, he said, “Bring them here, let me have a look.”

“Alright,” Chuanyun replied, producing the pages written by Lao Shuren from his breast, as he asked, “How did your exam go, brother?”

“I’d say I have seventy or eighty percent confidence,” Xingyun answered honestly after a moment’s thought.

Upon hearing this, Chuanyun mentally added a bit of exaggeration, knowing his brother always spoke conservatively and acted cautiously, so the real odds were even better. He handed over Lao Shuren’s pages.

Xingyun looked at the script and instantly blushed, feeling as though he might cough up blood. The handwriting was worse than a child’s scrawl—unknown characters replaced by circles, so ugly no ordinary person could have written them. He forced himself to finish reading, sensing it was some kind of record. But the more he read, the more alarmed he became, his demeanor growing increasingly serious.

It seemed to describe a tunnel, one that nearly reached beyond the city. Xingyun realized this could be important—if utilized, it would provide the family another escape route. He asked, “Where did you find this? Is it possible to bring that place under our control?”

Chuanyun smiled and drew out a deed from his breast. “Brother, we seem to be thinking alike. The deed is right here.” He handed the deed to Xingyun, continuing, “You seem curious about this—if we manage it well, it could provide us brothers with another way out. This glorious and arduous task, I leave to you.”

Xingyun glanced at the deed and saw at once it was for the infamous haunted house. He was surprised, but didn’t dwell on it, confident he could handle the matter. He said, “Leave it to me—I’ll take care of it.”

Chuanyun nodded, then remembered the bundle. “Oh, by the way, do you want these things?”

Xingyun eyed Chuanyun, thinking, “Are you treating me as Qingyun, the king of junk? Do you have to collect everything?” He replied, “Better you give them to Qingyun. I don’t lack money.”

“If you’re giving me something, what is it?” a voice called from ahead. Looking up, they saw Shangguan Qingyun waiting expectantly.

Unknowingly, they had arrived at their mother Jia’s courtyard. Qingyun looked at Chuanyun, who seemed to have crawled from the earth, dust-covered and carrying a bundle. His eyes lit up—what surprise might his brother bring him this time?

“Brother, did you rob a tomb?” Qingyun joked.

Chuanyun felt exasperated, tossing the bundle to Qingyun. He decided to go back and tidy himself up first, rather than let his mother see him in such a state. He excused himself from his brothers to prepare before meeting their mother.

With Xingyun at home, there was little danger. Chuanyun could go wherever he wished without worry. He planned to set out early the next morning. Their father had taken ten thousand men to the southern lands, while the chaos there involved hundreds of thousands—though a rabble, sheer numbers posed a threat.

It seemed that being too capable was a liability everywhere. If anything happened to their father, life for the family would become difficult. Though Chuanyun couldn’t offer much help, he had a knack for survival—if not, he wouldn’t have lived decades longer in his past life.

On his way back, Chuanyun suddenly spotted Shangguan Hongyun. He mused that Hongyun had been out these past few days—why return now? He didn’t wish to engage, but a clever idea struck him. Rather than wait passively for trouble, it was better to take the initiative; offense was the best defense. He didn’t seek trouble, but feared none either. Since Hongyun often came looking for trouble, Chuanyun decided to give him a taste of his own medicine—perhaps something unexpected would come of it. Those who liked to stir up trouble always relied on something; once that reliance was shattered, surviving was a miracle.

Hongyun, though recently triumphant, was troubled by financial issues. Troops needed provisions—“grain before soldiers.” To mobilize forces for Prince Xin and remain independent, he needed his own supplies.

Originally, everything was set—he would obtain a million taels from the Jia family tycoons and solve all problems. But Chuanyun had spoiled his plans mid-way, leaving Hongyun resentful. Prince Xin’s intentions were clear: he feared Hongyun would grow too powerful. Hongyun returned home, hoping to try for more funds.

Hongyun, deep in thought, spotted ahead a figure covered in dust, as if he’d just rolled in the dirt, sword at his waist and a black iron box on his back—a look unmistakably belonging to Chuanyun. Standing there with a mischievous air, waiting for him, Hongyun glanced around—no one else was near.

Though Hongyun was confident, he knew a wise man avoided immediate danger. He also realized Chuanyun’s martial skills far surpassed his own—if it came to blows, he’d have no chance. Hongyun tried to walk past nonchalantly, secretly wary, but sensed that Chuanyun, standing there ambiguously, would strike if he passed too close.

Bracing himself, Hongyun approached, feigning ignorance. “Isn’t this Chuanyun? What are you doing here? How did you get so dirty? Maybe you should clean up with big brother.”

Chuanyun heard this and sneered inwardly—resilient and crafty, Hongyun was no ordinary man. But today Chuanyun wasn’t here to strengthen brotherly bonds; he was here to stir things up.

He said, “I’ve heard that big brother has distinguished himself in battle, his martial skills unparalleled, and has honed a murderous aura that frightens even gods and spirits. I’ve waited here specially for big brother to give me some pointers. I hope you won’t begrudge me your guidance.”

Hongyun, though annoyed, kept his composure. He knew Chuanyun was spoiling for a fight—if he gave him any excuse, Chuanyun would take action. Chuanyun, standing here, was no longer the clueless child he once was.

He replied, “This isn’t the right time or place. Perhaps another day, we brothers can spar properly.” Hongyun forced out another line.

Chuanyun’s expression chilled. “So big brother won’t even grant me this small courtesy?”

Seeing his face change, Hongyun tensed—he couldn’t afford to anger Chuanyun. Forced to bow under the circumstances, he saw no murderous intent in Chuanyun’s eyes and breathed a sigh of relief, realizing a beating was inevitable. Resolving himself, he said, “Alright, let’s spar and learn from each other.”

With a flick of his right hand, his blade hummed, poised defensively before him.

Chuanyun sized up the stance, nodding inwardly. The martial skill was decent—the strike was smooth, practiced, fluid; clearly the result of countless repetitions. The defense was solid, his body agile, ready to advance or retreat, slightly angled, his energy coiled within.

He was, indeed, a skilled fighter.

Chuanyun smiled lightly, thinking Hongyun would play the turtle today.

In an instant, Chuanyun tapped his toe and flew forward, sword drawn in a flash like a rainbow, thrusting toward Hongyun’s blade. Before Hongyun could react, he saw the rainbow-streaked sword, its intent so fierce he could hardly open his eyes.

He felt a surge of force from the sword, gripping his stance tightly to resist.

With a crack, Hongyun transferred the force to his feet, two green steel tiles beneath him splitting apart.

Without looking, Hongyun spun and executed a reverse chop, slashing toward Chuanyun.

Chuanyun laughed inwardly—his strength and technique were impressive.

With a flick of his wrist, Chuanyun’s sword met Hongyun’s blade, arm turning to guide the blade aside, causing Hongyun’s strike to miss its mark.