Chapter Sixty: The Demonic Sect Rankings

Hearing the crowd speak so, memories belonging to the original host suddenly surfaced in Song Mu’s mind.

It was last year’s prefectural examination, in which a talented scholar from Wan’an County caused quite a stir in the city. The reason was that he had carried his mother on his back, traversing dozens of miles over mountains and rivers to attend the examination; after the exam, he stubbornly carried her back again. He did so only so he could, on the way to the exam, bring his mother into the city to seek a doctor for her foot ailment.

Unable to afford the extra costs of lodging at the students’ hostel, he stayed only one night. The next day, pressed for time to take his mother to the doctor and return home, he completed what was meant to be a daylong examination in just half a day. Normally, examinees were not permitted to leave before the allotted time ended, but he went straight to petition the examiner. Fan Zhengxiong, the examiner, was moved by his actions and promised to arrange for his mother to see a physician, even offering to cover the lodging so they could stay another night. Yet the scholar refused, asking only that an official escort his mother to the doctor. When the exam doors opened, he immediately carried her home through the night.

Even so, he earned a remarkable second place. Fan Zhengxiong even admitted that, had he been given more time in the examination hall, the top spot would surely have been his. Because of this, almost every licentiate in Jizhou Prefecture remembered him. Now, with the academy examination approaching, this story was once again eagerly discussed among the scholars.

“I saw him yesterday,” someone said. “He’s come alone this time, staying at the hostel.”

“That means another formidable contender. This year’s academy examination promises to be quite the spectacle,” replied another.

As a few young scholars murmured among themselves, the expression on Cui Kexing’s face grew increasingly rigid. It was clear he had just learned of this, and he seemed rather wary of the man.

Song Mu, meanwhile, calmly took another piece of pastry, brushed off his sleeves, counted out a dozen copper coins onto the table, and stood up.

“Brother Song, are you leaving already? Won’t you stay and chat a bit longer?” Cui Kexing hastily stood and asked.

Song Mu smiled and nodded. “No, I must go. There are still some things I need to prepare for entering the examination hall.”

“Gentlemen, I must take my leave.”

Though the others tried to persuade him to stay, Song Mu was resolute. Seeing him depart the teahouse, they ceased their efforts.

Someone turned to Cui Kexing. “Song Mu seems rather proud and aloof. It appears he’s unwilling to discuss these matters with us.”

“Perhaps he’s simply not interested.”

“But I’m truly curious to see what kind of poetry he’ll produce at this academy exam,” someone mused.

As the conversation drifted, Cui Kexing gazed out the window at Song Mu’s receding figure, a distant look in his eyes.

Somehow, Cui Kexing felt that Song Mu might be the greatest variable in this year’s exam. His manner of restraint and cultivated bearing gave Cui Kexing the sense of facing his own teacher—despite the man’s youth, he possessed an inexplicable maturity.

But soon, Cui Kexing dismissed these thoughts. He really didn’t know the man well; perhaps Song Mu had always been this reserved. As for who would ultimately take first place in the academy examination…

Cui Kexing quietly clenched his fists, his eyes flashing with a fighting spirit and determination.

...

After leaving the teahouse, Song Mu turned onto a side street and bought some supplies. When he returned to his lodging, he carried a bundle filled mostly with food. He had considered buying a pot but decided against it—there was no need to cook, since he wouldn’t be staying overnight at the examination hall.

Upon arrival, he found that Kong Zong had not yet returned—perhaps detained for a meal elsewhere. Song Mu greeted the old caretaker in the courtyard, then retired to his room to review his studies.

As dusk fell and lanterns were lit, there was finally some movement in the courtyard. Song Mu stepped out to see Kong Zong, slightly flushed and tipsy, returning from a carriage ride.

“Brother Song, you’re back. Have you eaten yet?” Kong Zong asked, seeing Song Mu emerge, cloak draped over his shoulders. Song Mu smiled and nodded.

“I’ve already eaten. You seem to have had some wine tonight, Brother Kong. You should get some rest.”

“It’s nothing, it’s nothing. Old Wang, fetch me a basin of water to wash my face. I have a few words for Brother Song,” Kong Zong called out. The old servant obeyed and went to fetch water. Kong Zong stood before Song Mu, took a deep breath, and spoke quietly.

“Brother Song, I heard something today that might not be good news for you.”

Song Mu’s expression froze. He looked intently at Kong Zong, who lowered his voice.

“There are rumors in the broadsheets now—your name has appeared on the Demon Sect’s assassination list.”

Song Mu was taken aback, puzzled. “The Demon Sect’s assassination list? What is that?”

Kong Zong let out a belch and began, “It’s a long story. When the Fallen Scholars first emerged, they were hunted by the court, driven into hiding, only daring to appear in the shadows. Even after forming the Demon Sect, the relentless purges of the Celestial Guard left them constantly in fear for their lives. Realizing they couldn’t openly undermine the court, they devised a sinister scheme: they compiled a secret list. Any scholar on that list who is confirmed dead earns the killer a handsome reward.”

“The current emperor tops the list—the bounty is a hundred cities, nearly half the realm.”

Song Mu laughed at this—it was a joke in the face of the mighty imperial court.

Kong Zong went on, “Nearly all famous scholars are listed, as well as anyone who’s caused trouble for the Demon Sect. Brother Song, your name is on the list as well.”

“The bounty for your head is a full hundred taels of gold.”

Song Mu was even more bemused. He recalled that the bounty the demonfolk placed on Du Feiying was seven thousand taels of gold, and said with a wry smile, “A hundred taels of gold—a thousand taels of silver. The Demon Sect surely thinks highly of me.”

But Kong Zong shook his head, his expression turning serious. “Brother Song, that’s not all. The rewards on that list aren’t limited to money. There’s an unwritten rule: whoever kills someone on the list claims all their belongings. In other words, whatever treasures the victim carries, the killer can take.”

“That puts you at considerable risk, Brother Song. You’re a descendant of the Song family, a line of scholars; even if your family has fallen, people will imagine you still carry heirlooms. Your ancestors were great scholars…” Kong Zong paused, then continued, “If relics from such scholars fell into the wrong hands, who knows what mischief they might work.”

Fallen scholars could corrupt the writings of others, and corrupted works harmed not only the power contained in the text but also the spiritual lineage of the author.

At this, Song Mu’s expression grew grave. The bounty alone might not justify the risk, but with his background and two acclaimed poems, he was a tempting target.

He felt a cold sweat break out on his back—he had not expected his life to be in danger so soon.

Kong Zong stepped forward and clapped him on the shoulder, speaking cautiously: “So in the days ahead, you must be extra careful, Brother Song. One can never be too wary.”

Song Mu nodded, but then a relieved smile broke across his face.

“This is news to me, but it’s nothing to worry about,” he said, his expression suddenly resolute.

“If I were to become timid over a place on some list, I would not be myself.”

“To catch the attention of the Demon Sect perhaps proves that I am, indeed, a scholar of the righteous path.”