Chapter Seventeen: The Prodigal Son

After asking for directions, they learned where the tavern was and that it wasn’t far ahead.

But just then, several people blocked their path.

At the front stood a man dressed in luxurious clothes, his features handsome enough. However, his posture was slack, swaying from side to side, his lips curled into a lewd, wicked smile, his gaze flickering—there was nothing upright about him.

A rake.

Little Yu widened her eyes in curiosity. She had heard many stories featuring slick, pampered youths who bullied men and preyed on women. The man before her, in his expression, stance, and smile, embodied the archetype of a dissolute young lord to perfection.

Qingyuan frowned slightly and said, “What business do you have with us?”

The man squinted, a strange glint flashing in his eyes. “My surname is Wang.”

He felt his behavior out of character today. Usually, although he indulged himself and acted recklessly, he targeted those with known roots in the city. As for outsiders—especially those who looked formidable—he never dared to provoke them. He favored women, but whenever he saw a beautiful stranger, no matter how alluring, he would first investigate her identity before making any move. If he couldn’t determine her background, no matter how tempting, he would always restrain himself.

The group before him, though plainly dressed, carried themselves with a distinctive air. They were not common folk. Especially the young man—his bearing surpassed that of any nobleman Wang had ever met, and at his waist hung a military-issued long blade.

Ordinarily, he would never dare make a move on such people.

But today, inexplicably, he could not contain himself.

The girl beside him, though young, already showed signs of growing into a beauty.

He licked his lips and reached out.

Qingyuan’s brows knit tighter, a cold gleam flashed in his eyes.

At that moment, a black hand reached out.

The hand, hidden in a sleeve, gripped Young Lord Wang’s forearm. He felt as if caught in an iron vice, unable to budge, his forearm throbbing with pain. Sweat broke out on his pale face as he turned, ready to curse.

But seeing the owner of the hand, his heart trembled.

The figure was draped in a black robe, face and head obscured, only two golden eyes shining out from the darkness, fierce and chilling. The arm itself was unusually long, the sleeve extended to cover it.

“Such a long arm…”

Young Lord Wang was startled—then a sharp pain struck his abdomen.

Qingyuan had kicked him squarely in the stomach.

Young Lord Wang cried out, clutching his belly and doubling over.

Shanxiao released him.

Qingyuan, expression cold, delivered another kick to Wang’s face, knocking him to the ground.

Seeing this, the servants behind Wang rushed forward. They were untrained, relying only on their numbers, with no real ability.

Shanxiao charged at them, his thick skin absorbing the blows; soon, he had knocked all the servants to the ground, bones broken and blood flowing.

“Go…”

Young Lord Wang clutched his bleeding nose, did not utter threats, waved his hand, and staggered away in disgrace.

The crowd quickly parted to give him a path.

Qingyuan watched the direction Wang left, his expression icy, then turned thoughtfully toward the road they had come from.

“You’d best leave the city quickly…”

A voice called out—it was the proprietor of a nearby stall, a middle-aged man with shifty eyes, hurriedly packing up his goods, clearly fearing trouble.

He quickly gathered his things, speaking as he worked: “That Young Lord Wang is not someone you want to cross. You’ve hurt him—staying in this city may not be wise.”

Qingyuan asked, “So this Young Lord Wang is notorious?”

“In Licheng, who doesn’t know the Wang family’s young lord?” The stall owner shook his head helplessly. “He’s always arrogant, committing every evil, bullying men and women. Just half a month ago, he snatched a beautiful girl from a village under Lixian, took her to his manor. She later took her own life. Enraged, he burned her entire family’s home, killing them all.”

Qingyuan fell silent, regretting that he had let Wang go.

Master Ge’s eyes flashed with anger. “Murder and arson—those are capital crimes.”

“But no one ever charges him.” The stall owner smiled bitterly. “Everyone knows what he’s done, but the county authorities claim there’s no evidence, and so nothing happens.”

Master Ge spoke gravely, “Such monstrous deeds—has the law ceased to exist in this city?”

“There is law!” The stall owner spread his hands, mocking. “Lixian has eight laws, and his uncle is one of them.”

Qingyuan raised an eyebrow. “Eight laws? What does that mean?”

The stall owner explained, “In Lixian, including the magistrate, there are eight families—officials and gentry—who can do as they please, unchecked. They are the eight laws.”

Qingyuan asked, “Who is his uncle?”

The stall owner replied, “His uncle is also surnamed Wang—the old master of the Wang family.”

Qingyuan said, “And who is this old master Wang?”

The stall owner shook his head, smiling bitterly. “I have a business to run. A warning is all I dare give; I won’t say more.”

“Old master Wang is, of course, Wang the wealthy.”

Just then, another passerby overheard and stopped, answering.

“Wealthy?” Master Ge said, “With nothing but a wealthy man’s idle title, his nephew dares to murder and burn—does no one govern this city?”

His voice was low and angry.

He had served in the army, fought in battles, watched friends die for the country, and now, seeing chaos continue in the land he helped defend, his anger rose.

The passerby glanced at him and shook his head. “No one dares interfere.”

Qingyuan frowned. “Even a wealthy man must answer for his crimes—how does his nephew act so brazenly?”

The passerby hesitated, then said, “Because Wang the wealthy has a relative in the capital.”

Master Ge paused. “A relative?”

“Yes,” the passerby said. “That relative runs a tavern.”

Master Ge was even more surprised. “A tavern owner?”

The passerby glanced around, then said, “The tavern supplies food to the Hu residence.”

Qingyuan mused, “The Hu residence?”

“Yes,” the passerby nodded reluctantly. “The Hu residence.”

Qingyuan pressed, “Which Hu residence?”

The passerby shook his head, avoiding the question, and hurried away.

“Which Hu residence, indeed?” The stall owner finished packing, glanced over impassively, and said, “Of course, Hu Hao’s mansion—Lord Hu’s residence.”

With that, he muttered a curse and hurried off.

“Hu Hao?”

Master Ge was silent for a moment, then let out a self-mocking laugh.

“Relying on a relative who supplies food to Hu Hao’s residence, the Wang family dares to trample the law, and a nephew can murder and burn unchecked… Did the Prime Minister’s laws become empty words?”

His voice was tinged with sorrow and anger, his gaze burning with suppressed fury.