Identity

After that, more men in Blacksword uniforms came from somewhere within the mansion, carrying trays, crates, chests, and laying them before the giant crowd of beggars.

"There are weapons inside," said the elder standing on the platform. "Pick one. Only one. If you want something and it's in someone else's hand, fight."

Then the Blacksword members who had carried in the weapons opened the crates and chests, revealing the piles of gleaming silver within—swords, blades, but nothing else besides.

The elder on the platform flicked his sleeve and left, entering the manor. The Blacksword members also left, exiting the courtyard, perhaps to attend to their tasks, or for their break.

The beggars glanced at each other, seeming a little confused. Some bolder men quickly approached the chests and found themselves the best weapon they could find, the shiniest, to be exact.

"Look at them," scoffed the old man besides Qigang. "They think the shinier it is the stronger. Watch them pick up ornamental swords. Fools!"

Qigang laughed along and followed the old man towards a group of chests. Around twenty beggars were already looting it, getting for themselves swords, swinging it around proudly as though their status had changed merely by being a blade's holder.

The old man snorted as he approached a crate, Qigang following behind.

Qigang scanned around and, in the corner of his eye, a certain blade glinted. He turned his head, his gaze landing on a rusted shortsword, its hilt engraved with gold being the only redeeming quality.

"You got a good eye," said the old man as he lifted a brow. In his hands sat a knife as short as the ones you would find in a kitchen. Its hilt was silver-inlaid, the name of an old nobleman etched on it.

"You too," said Qigang. "Looks like you know some martial arts."

"You are saying that?" the old man laughed as though he knew a joke no one else did. He then glanced and smiled. "We should leave, boy."

Qigang scanned his surroundings before nodding. He doubted that anyone would eye his rusty shortsword, but from the old man, he learned not to gamble. He found himself a way out of the crowd, pushing and shoving as he went through the flock of unwashed beggars.

The concentration of beggars decreased the closer he went to the exit, the gate he used to enter. He turned his head and gazed back, happy to find that the old man was right behind.

They finally exited the manor, and a group of Blacksword members stood outside, waiting. They quietly handed over dark-blue robes with the image of a curved sword embroidered on both sleeves—the Blacksword Gang uniforms.

The men then handed over scrolls to both the old man and Qigang. "I know you're too stupid to read, so I'll just tell you. This is your schedule. Patrol the area around Hua's shop on weekdays, and the brothel on weekends."

The two beggars nodded and walked off. "Looks like we're Gang members now," said the old man.

"Criminals," Qigang added, and the old man laughed. He glanced over the paper they were given as they walked in a random direction.

"How strange," mumbled the old man as he looked at Qigang, smiling.

They found themselves a cheap bathhouse and bathed using the taels they had received in the prayer house, Qigang's taels, to be exact. They entered the steamy room surrounded by paper walls, surprised to find that they could see no one else. Here, orange lanterns hung on the ceiling along with spiderwebs.

"One hour," said Qigang. "We leave after one hour, else you're paying the extra fees."

"Sure, sure." The old man waved his hands as though to dismiss his words and took off his clothes. He put himself in a pool of warm water, a wide smile appearing on his wrinkled face.

Qigang grunted and did the same. He took off his rags, revealing a figure that did not belong to a starved beggar. A large, wide scar covered his chest.

The old man glanced and scoffed. "Looks like you won't tell me who you are."

"You, too." Qigang entered the same pool, leaned back, and closed his eyes.

An unknown amount of time passed. "What is your name?" he asked, half-expecting the old man to not reply or give a nonanswer. "I've known you for a year, but you've never told me."

"Curious?" he heard the old man laugh. "It's Old Xian, but people used to call me different."

"What did they call you?"

And to that, the old man, Old Xiao, did not reply. "People used to call me different, too," said Qigang, hoping to pull the old man's curiosity. To his chagrin, though, there was no reply for a few minutes.

Old Xian's voice echoed. "It's been one hour."

Qigang opened his eyes and jumped out of the bath. He dried himself with a towel and put on the Blacksword uniform. "Get out of the bath," he said. He turned around and found the Old Xian standing, dried and uniformed, smiling.

Qigang grunted, and he followed Old Xian out of the bathhouse. The old man spoke up. "Patrol starts tomorrow, but I say we go to Hua's shop. Better to get used to things early."

Qigang nodded, not stopping once as he followed Old Xian. The old man was quite quick, he thought to himself. At one point, he found himself struggling to keep up. Perhaps baths had more benefits to it than he knew.

Around an hour passed, and after walking through tight crowds, they finally reached Hua's shop as the sun began to set. The sky darkened, turning to a shade close to purple, and orange and yellow lights began to light up the city.

But even then the streets were quite lively. Although some vendors went home and closed shop, different ones came to replace them, selling different goods. Qigang saw children carrying sticks on which lanterns hung, running the streets with their parents following right behind.

Huo's shop was located in an area just as lively, sitting besides a wide road where some carts and carriages parked.

It was a tea shop. Red pillars greeted visitors outside, and inside was a quaint area, short tables sitting on the bamboo carpet surrounded by silk cushions.

An old, rotund man with graying hair was the only one inside, sitting by one of the tables, reading what seemed to be a poem on a goatskin scroll while enjoying tea. "Welcome," he said, but when he turned his head and saw Qigang and Old Xian's uniforms, he clicked his tongue. "What do you want?"

"Were new members," said Qigang. "We're supposed to patrol the area around your shop."

The rotund man revealed a scowl and sipped down more tea as though to vent his frustration. He opened his mouth, but before he could speak Old Xian interrupted. "Qingmao tea, is it?" he said, lifting a brow.

The rotund elder turned his head away from the poem and looked towards Old Xian, an expression of slight shock on his round face. "Yes," he said. "You know your stuff. Not many know about this tea."

Old Xian nodded, "Of course." The old man sat down on the same table as the rotund elder. "Are you shopkeeper Hua?"

"Yes," the rotund man nodded. "You're different from those sword swinging bastards, huh."

Qigang grunted and exited the shop. He knew that he had no place in that conversation.

Outside, the sun continued to set, and it was almost night. There was no curfew, so the streets would remain lively for the entire night, too. Lanterns hung on every roof and yellow lights shone out of every window. Vendors also lined the streets, as usual, shouting their products and prices.

But this time they did not avoid Qigang. He was offered every food item he could think of as he walked the streets. Some would even come up to him, offering free items, obviously to gain favor.

But to that he would shake his head and reject the offer every time. The Blackswords ran this entire portion of the city, and he assumed that their statuses were quite high, too. He knew what these vendors were trying.

"I can't be arrogant," he muttered under his breath. "Not anymore."