Chapter 117: Water Knows the Answer

The greatest architectural achievement in the history of Chinese civilization.

This grand title referred to none other than the Dujiangyan [^(Ancient irrigation system in Sichuan, built circa 250 BC, a UNESCO World Heritage site)].

Constructed roughly around 250 BC, this marvel of engineering literally involved carving through a mountain to divert and manage river waters.

What sophisticated tools could they possibly have possessed in those truly ancient times?

Likely none. Using only primitive methods—heating massive rock faces with strategically placed furnaces, then rapidly cooling and breaking the stone—they ultimately carved out an entirely new river channel where none had existed in nature.

The vast expanse of fertile farmland created by this monumental project was equivalent, by the standards of Qing’s original homeland, to about twenty-five thousand modern sports stadiums.

The land of Sichuan, originally a humid, hot, densely forested jungle, was utterly transformed into prime agricultural territory, capable of feeding multitudes and nurturing prosperity for all under heaven.

Qing listened to this undoubtedly proud historical explanation delivered by Jayu (or perhaps Old Dog) with one ear, letting it promptly flow out the other.

Background matters, she thought dismissively.

Where I come from, we’re already masters of waterway manipulation.

We build dams, redirect rivers, terraform coastlines… So they managed to divide one river and build some embankments millennia ago? What’s the big damn deal they keep fussing about?

What had been far more impressive, in Qing's recent memory, was the culinary artistry of the Greatest Chef Under Heaven.

His conviction had been matched by the truly excellent taste of his food.

Which is to say, she had eaten an absolutely enormous amount of duck at the Tang Clan banquet.

Thanks to thoroughly stuffing herself, a pleasant drowsiness was now washing over her. Honestly, she just wanted to curl up somewhere and take a nice, long nap.

Seriously, why are they making such a huge fuss over a few foreign fish species maybe appearing in the water? It can't be that serious…

Arriving at the famed Dujiangyan site while practically nodding off, Qing saw… well, just a rather impressive-looking waterside area.

Numerous sections along the riverbank were marked off with driven stakes and interconnected nets, covered over with simple canvas tents. These were all fish farms.

The aquaculture technology of this 'primitive ancient uncivilized China' seemed to amount to little more than this: confine fish in a designated area and occasionally throw food at them. Voila, fish farming.

The group began their investigation, checking the farms one by one, starting from the closest one.

“Please, Honored Master!” an old fisherman cried out as they approached, bowing nervously. “This humble stake was first driven by my grandfather! My father and I have diligently managed this small farm ever since, growing it to this point!”

“Right,” Tang Nanah drawled, stepping forward confidently. “So, where’s your permit… then?”

As she spoke, she subtly glanced towards Peng Choryeo, who stood silently nearby. It was a peculiar phenomenon Qing had already observed: Nanah’s baseline rudeness and her forced politeness seemed to fluctuate simultaneously depending on whether Peng Choryeo was within her line of sight.

“Well… about that…”

The fisherman trailed off awkwardly, wringing his hands.

Exactly.

Even back in Qing’s original homeland—a world supposedly governed by codified laws and the rule of law—wasn't it just the same?

Every scenic valley seemed infested with less-than-human, parasitic vermin who’d lost all conscience, illegally setting up dining platforms, grossly overcharging tourists, and aggressively asserting baseless ownership claims.

If even the supposed descendants of the great Hwan Empire [^(Reference to the satirical pseudohistory from Ch 107)] behaved like that, how much more could one expect from the supposedly backward and uncivilized people of the Chinese people?

The fundamental operating principle for many here seemed to be: anything is permissible as long as you don’t get caught.

This wasn't some recent development; it felt like a deeply ingrained cultural mindset, passed down faithfully from ancestors to descendants, destined to continue shaping the future—the most fundamental philosophy of the Chinese people.

So, an official permit for a simple fish farm?

Only absolute fools and idiots would bother getting one of those.

“No, you lowly— I mean,” Tang Nanah quickly corrected herself, remembering Peng Choryeo’s presence, “look here, good sir. Shouldn’t you properly inform our Tang Clan of such business ventures and formally request our protection? If some unfortunate incident were to occur, how else would you expect to receive assistance?”

It was a thinly veiled demand for protection money if he wanted to continue operating.

This was the way of the martial world.

Why learn powerful martial arts just to till the fields yourself?

A much easier and more profitable path was simply to take from those who did the farming.

Because it was easier and more profitable, wasn't that precisely why everyone desperately strove to learn martial arts in the first place?

Of course, one couldn't entirely blame the martial artists either.

This predatory dynamic was arguably just the way of humanity itself; the entire history of civilization was essentially the story of those who 'have' exploiting those who 'have not,'

whether through brute force, manipulation of systems, or the crushing weight of accumulated wealth.

The old fisherman’s face fell.

“It’s… it’s truly not that profitable a business, Honored Lady,” he pleaded weakly.

“Is that so?” Tang Nanah replied coolly, feigning disappointment. “Well then, nothing can be done. I suppose we’ll just have to see if those other fish farms further upstream are interested in receiving the Tang Clan’s protection or not…”

Only then did the fisherman fully grasp his predicament.

He had no other choice. If rival fish farms started causing trouble, and those rivals happened to be backed by the Tang Clan’s formidable influence, he would simply have to yield and give up his livelihood without resistance.

If he dared to fight back unnecessarily, Tang Clan martial artists would inevitably descend upon him enforce their 'protection'.

After all, the Tang Clan was a prestigious and 'righteous' Orthodox sect; they always delivered proper, forceful 'protection' in exchange for the fees they received.

And since he hadn't registered his illegal farm with the official government office, it was glaringly obvious the authorities wouldn't lift a finger to intervene on his behalf.

“I accept! I accept!” the fisherman cried out hastily. “Of course! Naturally, I must humbly request the protection of the Tang Clan’s esteemed experts! Please!”

“Good,” Tang Nanah nodded curtly, satisfied. “When a Tang Clan warrior visits later, settle your account and receive your official protection flag. Until then, if anyone asks, you can simply say the Poisonous Speaking Flower herself has guaranteed your safety.”

Qing watched this exchange with grudging admiration.

Wow, she’s actually pretty good at this shakedown business.

Definitely different from Crutch, that’s for sure.

Maybe it’s because I saw her acting like a competent doctor this morning, but she almost seems… smart right now?

Despite her bratty attitude, she is technically a qualified traditional physician!

Only Jayu looked distinctly uncomfortable throughout the exchange.

And Jayu, being a Grand Prince, wasn't particularly inclined to hide his discomfort.

“I see,” he lamented quietly, shaking his head slightly. “Private groups continue to profit even while the official government stands right there.”

At his sigh, Qing couldn't help but burst into laughter.

“Seriously? Have you ever actually seen the government effectively do anything useful? What’s the real difference here?”

From Qing’s objective observations, based purely on Karma scores, the average Evil Karma accumulated by those affiliated with official government offices was significantly higher than that of most martial artists.

This was likely because the Righteous Faction martial artists, at least, generally performed actual services—catching thieves, suppressing gangsters—commensurate with the protection fees they collected. And incidentally, they also tended to quickly beat down any easily manageable Demonic Cultists they happened upon.

In effect, the Orthodox martial world was largely responsible for maintaining whatever semblance of law and order existed in the Central Plains.

Wasn’t that proven true during her recent memory of drifting aimlessly on that boat?

The tyrannical abuse hadn't even come from an official, but merely the son of an official.

At Qing’s blunt assessment, Jayu fell silent, tightly closing his mouth.

Qing grinned slyly.

“See? Even you find it kinda embarrassing to defend them, right?”

“…Not all officials are corrupt,” Jayu eventually muttered weakly.

“Well, Sichuan seems pretty okay, I guess,” Qing conceded with a shrug. “Just Sichuan, though.”

The group—or more accurately, Tang Nanah, the precious golden-leaf-jade-branch of the Sichuan Tang Clan—proceeded to ‘conquer’ the remaining fish farms along the riverbank one by one, establishing Tang Clan protection (and future revenue streams).

Throughout this process, Qing didn’t feel particularly sorry for the fishermen being strong-armed.

Because Qing, now a proper martial artist with nearly four years of experience navigating the harsh realities of the Central Plains, understood how this world worked.

These fishermen cowered now because they recognized powerful martial artists and the infamous Poisonous Speaking Flower. If some ignorant fool who didn’t recognize their status had tried to muscle in, these supposedly meek fishermen would likely have charged immediately, brandishing sharpened bamboo spears.

They weren't innocent small business owners; they were illegal vendors operating outside the law, surviving through a combination of luck and territorial aggression.

At this point, they were nearing the end of the accessible farms on the left riverbank.

Generally, the further upstream one went, the less ideal the location for fish farming became, primarily because the nutrient-rich feed used tended to flow downstream.

Thus, while the size and prosperity of the farms should have gradually decreased as they moved upstream, the very last farm they approached was surprisingly large, with numerous stakes driven far out into the river and several sturdy planks extending across the water.

A fisherman, busy mending nets out on the furthest platform, noticed Qing’s group approaching and immediately began heading towards the bank with quick, almost nervous steps.

“Eh?”

Qing frowned slightly, sensing something different about this one. Before she could comment, the ever-more-triumphant Tang Nanah strode forward again.

Having successfully established Tang Clan authority over several farms now, her confidence had inflated considerably; she now carried herself with the haughty air of a powerful feudal lord, radiating arrogance unmatched under heaven.

“Hey, Mr. Fisherman!” she called out sharply. “Whose permission did you get to set up a farm here?”

“Well, about that…” the fisherman replied, bowing slightly but looking less intimidated than the previous ones. “My apologies, Honored Lady, but this is a business enterprise officially approved by the Councilor himself.”

“I thought as mu— Huh? Wait, what did you say?” Nanah faltered mid-threat.

“This is a business site approved by the Councilor. So, if perhaps this matter has already been discussed with the Lord Commissioner…” the fisherman spoke cautiously, shrinking his neck slightly but watching their reactions intently.

Ah. Nanah frowned. That fat pig— I mean, that esteemed official! I was wondering where he kept getting his extra funds!

The Councilor was essentially the right-hand man of the Sichuan Provincial Administration Commissioner, the highest authority for all non-military provincial affairs. This made the Councilor the effective second-in-command among all Sichuan public officials.

(Though the establishment of the Royal Prefecture in Chengdu had technically pushed the ranks of all existing officials, including the Commissioner, down about three steps in the official hierarchy.)

“If I perhaps need to show you the official permit…” the fisherman offered tentatively.

“No, that’s fine,” Nanah replied quickly, deciding to back off.

There was absolutely no need to unnecessarily antagonize a powerful figure like the Councilor over a single fish farm.

Just as Tang Nanah was about to signal the group to move on…

Qing, who had quietly moved up beside her, interjected with a pointed tone.

“Young Lady Tang. Weren’t we supposed to be here for something other than just collecting protection fees?”

Somehow, the initial problem of the Oyangjeuk fish had become completely secondary; Nanah seemed solely focused on selling Tang Clan protection flags now.

Tang Nanah’s earlobes instantly flushed bright red.

“Right! I mean, no! I—I knew that, okay?!” She turned back to the fisherman abruptly. “Look here! Forget about the protection fee for now! Just… would it be alright if we took a quick look inside your farm? It seems like someone might be raising Oyangjeuk in large numbers around here.”

“Oyangjeuk, you say?!” the fisherman exclaimed, feigning surprise. “Who would possibly—!”

Right as he spoke the word ‘Who’, the fisherman’s hand blurred into motion.

A sharp glint of light flashed, trailing a long tail as it shot directly towards Tang Nanah’s face!

And in that instant, one delicate, pale hand moved to block its path.

Qing, whose senses had been prickling due to the fisherman’s unusually high Evil Karma score, had already been slowly drifting closer, anticipating trouble. She flicked her hand out instinctively.

Something sharp slipped neatly between her index and middle fingers.

Looking down, she saw she’d caught a small, wickedly sharp throwing blade.

Having inadvertently caught the deadly projectile with just two fingers, Qing couldn’t help but exclaim softly in self-admiration.

“Oooh. That was kinda cool of me, yeah?”

“Tch— CHARGHK!”

The fisherman had probably intended to shout “CHARGE!” as a signal, but…

Because another identical throwing blade had somehow become deeply embedded in his own shoulder at that exact moment, his battle cry ended in a choked scream.

Qing didn’t waste the opening. She struck the fisherman hard in his dantian.

As he doubled over with an Oof!, she grabbed his neck, simultaneously using her thumb to casually puncture a hole just below his vocal cords.

At the same time, she seized his uninjured arm and wrenched it violently backward in a wide circle.

Pop! The distinct, satisfying sensation of a shoulder joint dislocating.

That feeling of liberation as something tight and resistant suddenly gives way… exquisite.

Riding the momentum, she twisted the arm even further. Ttok, ttok. She felt the tendons tear, a sensation strangely reminiscent of a fish persistently nibbling on bait.

A bright, cheerful smile spread across Qing’s face as she easily pinned the incapacitated man to the ground and stepped firmly onto the center of his back.

As his spine audibly crumbled under her foot, the man’s lower body, which had been thrashing violently just moments before, immediately stopped moving and went completely limp.

Because of the hole punched through his throat, he couldn’t even scream anymore; only the harsh, ragged sound of air whistling in and out could be heard.

Ah! This is the shit!

Like I always say, destroying bad guys is definitely the best feeling!

That typical Central Plains mindset of "It’s fine as long as you don’t get caught” often differed subtly from other cultures. It wasn’t just about “It’s okay if you do it secretly,” but frequently morphed into “It’s okay if you eliminate all potential witnesses.”

They were the type of gangsters or ruthless individuals who wouldn't hesitate to kill everyone involved to ensure silence if things went sideways. Judging by this fisherman's high Evil Karma score, Qing suspected he’d likely buried quite a few inconvenient people himself over the years.

“Young Lady Tang,” Qing asked, turning to the stunned Nanah, “are you okay? You seem very shocked.”

“Ah… ah… Yes…”

Tang Nanah stammered, still frozen in a daze, finally managing to refocus her eyes.

“H-Hmph!” she eventually managed, recovering some of her usual arrogance. “I could have handled that perfectly well myself without your help, you know!”

“Sure,” Qing agreed easily. “But admit it, catching that throwing dart was pretty cool, right?”

“That was a little… No! I mean,” Nanah corrected herself hastily, blushing slightly, “it wasn’t cool at all! And that wasn’t even a dart, it was a proper throwing blade!” she shouted, after inadvertently agreeing again.

“Yeah, yeah. Whatever you say.”

“What! It’s not just ‘Whatever you say’!”

“Hm?” Qing tilted her head, looking down at the paralyzed fisherman again. “Looks like this guy’s about to die.”

She spoke with the detached curiosity of someone observing an interesting insect.

“I didn’t intentionally inflict any fatal wounds, though? Did I maybe put a bit too much of my past… experience… into that stomp?”

She nudged the body over with the toe of her shoe. Black blood was trickling from the corner of his mouth, and his eyes had rolled back completely.

Tang Nanah gasped and quickly grabbed Qing’s wrist, pulling her back sharply.

“Step away! That’s poison! Deadly poison!”

She then cautiously approached the patient, using the tip of a small knife to swiftly cut away the clothing around the throwing blade still embedded in his shoulder.

Dark, almost black blood immediately gushed out from the wound, clearly corrupted by potent Poison Qi.

It was at that precise moment, as Tang Nanah’s expression hardened with grim realization at the unusual symptoms…

SCREEEEECH!

A sudden, violent, piercing sound, like a demonic flute, rang out sharply across the water.