Chapter 56: Commander Mo Qing

After class Shen Yue came to Shen Miao smiling. "Today Lady Yi invited me and Eldest Sister to her house—we won't ride back with you. Fifth Sister—go on ahead."
Yi Peilan and Yue were close—invitations that skipped Shen Miao were daily fare. Shen Miao only nodded.
These days the Shen kin were warm to her—obvious new plots. She could not be bothered; urgent work was not petty quarrels.
The carriage passed Dingjing's richest street. Guyu said: "Ahead is Osmanthus Lane—you love their sesame cakes—shall I buy some?"
"Go." Shen Miao smiled.
Guyu stepped down. Jingzhe lifted the curtain and looked out—"Eh" at one spot. Shen Miao followed—a pawnshop beside the osmanthus shop, crowd gathered, argument inside.
The clerk's voice carried even to her: "Ten taels, take it or leave! It's only a sword, sir—don't make trouble for us."
"Failed deal with the master," Jingzhe said.
Shen Miao saw it—pawnshops lowball; the seller could not accept yet would not leave—hence the standoff.
"Nothing to see." Jingzhe dropped the curtain. Soon Guyu returned with two paper bundles. As the curtain opened again Shen Miao looked out—the disputant left the crowd still holding his sword—defeated air—could not close the deal.
Guyu reached to shut the curtain—Shen Miao stopped. She stared at the young man in plain dress—ordinary face. The maids were puzzled why their mistress watched a stranger.
She frowned. Why did he feel so familiar?
The youth shook his head, sighed, looked long at the blade in his arms, gritted teeth, turned back toward the pawnshop—as if he would swallow the bad price after all.
"Guyu!" The instant he turned she called. "Stop him—say I want that sword!"
"Miss—" Both maids stared—why?
"Now!" Cold.
Seeing her grave face Guyu asked no more—jumped down toward the cloth-clad youth.
One step out—voice behind: "Sir—wait."
He turned—a maid in servant dress smiled and bowed. "Sir—going to pawn that sword?"
He paused, did not hide it. "Yes."
"My young lady wishes to buy it from you. Will you trade?"
He looked her over—she seemed honest—still shook his head. "This blade is not pretty—more for use. If your lady wants one, better order from an armorer." He wondered—a girl interested in swords? Plaything only. His edge was sharp—self-harm easy.
Guyu's face eased—praise inside. The man needed silver yet still warned her—upright heart. Shen Miao's sudden buy had worried her; he did not seem villain.
She spoke softer. "My lady truly wants this deal. Sir—step aside and speak."
He had not expected such persistence—glanced at the pawnshop—nodged helpless. "Very well."
In a quiet alley nearby a carriage waited. Guyu said low: "Miss—he is here."
The youth came to the door, hesitated, cupped fists. "Miss—this sword ill suits a woman—too heavy, too sharp—you might hurt yourself, so—"
"What is your name?" Before he finished—a woman's voice from within. Young in sound—yet something else—like one who had stood high through rise and fall—age hard to place.
"I am Mo Qing." Brief pause—fists again.
Silence. Mo Qing and Guyu exchanged looks. Then the voice again: "Your sword—I am not interested. Scrap iron means nothing to me."
Anger rose on Mo Qing's face. "Does the lady mock me? The blade is plain—but forged by a named smith, years at my side. If you called me only to insult—I take my leave."
He turned—one foot raised—a sigh from within, light, strange feeling—a tug at the chest.
"Mo Qing—you need silver badly."
He froze. When she spoke his name something familiar rose—strange—yet he could not walk away—as if each word bound him.
"Your sword is worthless to me. Your sword art—is worth a hundred gold, a thousand."
Mo Qing startled, shook his head. "Lady flatters—a common man." How did she know his skill was supreme?
"A penny breaks a hero—you must sell the companion blade of years. Such days shame your art."
The curtain lifted. A purple-clad girl stepped out.
Face young and clear—brow and bearing rare nobility and weight.
"Mo Qing—will you sell your full skill to the Shen general's house?"
She asked with smile—eyes held the quiet joy of meeting an old friend.
Mo Qing, commander of her guards in the last life—truly… long time no see.