Transmigrated into a Grandpa, Embracing the Laid-Back Life Chapter 125: The News

The Ministry of Revenue, Accounting Office.

The air was thick with the musty sll of aged paper and the fresh fragrance of new ink. Abacus beads clattered incessantly, like an unending torrential downpour.

Xu Qing sat behind piles of archives, his expression focused. The tip of his brush danced swiftly over the grain transport ledgers, each number inscribed with clear, forceful strokes.

A junior clerk entered with quick, short steps, holding the newly arrived governnt gazette. His voice was neither too loud nor too soft, just enough for everyone in the room who was already listening intently.

"Have you heard? An urgent dispatch has co back from the Northern Frontier."

"That Su Ming, the forr Hanlin Academy compiler exiled a few days ago."

"He was waylaid by mountain bandits en route. Not a single soul survived, neither him nor the escorting officers. Not even their bones could be found."

*Tap.*

A soft sound.

The brush in Xu Qing's hand slipped from his grasp and fell onto the open ledger.

A dense, dark blot of ink rapidly spread, like a blooming, ominous black flower, utterly defiling the page filled with neat, elegant calligraphy.

The surrounding clamor, the clatter of abacuses, the chatter of his colleagues—all of it faded away in that instant.

Xu Qing's world was left with nothing but deathly silence.

He froze in place, the color visibly draining from his face until it was as pale as paper.

Li Wei, the colleague at the neighboring desk who had always been at odds with him, glanced sideways at his lapse. A gloating smirk curled at the corner of his mouth.

"Oh dear, Clerk Xu, my condolences."

Li Wei's voice was dripping with sarcasm.

"So people just aren't destined for an official's fortune. The capital isn't a place for just anyone to stay. Going back to the countryside to feed pigs is still better than being fed to wolves halfway there."

Xu Qing didn't move. He didn't look at him.

He just slowly, inch by inch, turned his head. Those eyes, usually clear and bright, were now terrifyingly hollow.

Li Wei felt a shiver down his spine under that gaze. He gave a dry chuckle, hunched his shoulders, and turned back to continue joking with others.

Xu Qing stood up.

He paid no heed to the soiled ledger, nor to the various gazes directed his way.

He turned, took a step, and walked out of the accounting office.

His stride was steady, his back ramrod straight, like a spear that would never bend.

He traversed the bustling ministry compound and returned to his own cramped, dimly lit room in the corner of the official lodgings.

The door closed and was locked.

The last sliver of light was shut out.

Xu Qing leaned against the cold door panel, his body slowly sliding down until he slumped to the floor.

That taut string had finally snapped.

He buried his face deep into his knees, his shoulders beginning to tremble violently, uncontrollably.

There was no wailing, no roaring, only a choked, stifled sob forced from the depths of his throat.

"Brother Su..."

"It was ... I killed you..."

"If not for my morial... If not for ..."

A tidal wave of imnse grief and self-bla, enough to drown a man, instantly engulfed him.

This young man, always optimistic, resilient, and believing in "Heaven rewards the diligent," broke down and wept uncontrollably for the first ti on this cold afternoon.

...

Yongchang Marquis Manor, Warm Pavilion.

High-quality silver-bone charcoal burned brightly in the beast-headed bronze brazier, without a wisp of smoke.

The musician's fingertips drew forth a decadent lody. Dancers with enchanting figures twirled their water sleeves.

Yongchang Marquis Zhao Siyuan reclined lazily on the soft couch, resting with his eyes closed. His fingers tapped lightly on the shoulder of the beauty beside him, keeping ti with the music.

A steward entered silently, bent down, and whispered a few words in his ear.

Zhao Siyuan's eyelids didn't even twitch.

His fingers maintained that sa unhurried, rhythmic tapping.

"Understood."

He waved a hand as if shooing away a fly.

The steward bowed and retreated.

Only then did Zhao Siyuan slowly open his eyes, pick up the warm wine from the table, and drain it in one gulp.

"This Zhao Qianshan fellow handled things quite efficiently."

He smiled at the beauty beside him, his tone flat, as if discussing a trivial matter.

"That ignorant ant who didn't know his place has finally been crushed."

"Change the tune. Sothing more cheerful."

...

Imperial College, Director's Residence.

The study was piled high with ancient texts exuding an aura of antiquity.

Liu Wenyuan sat behind the desk, holding in his hand the governnt gazette that had just arrived.

His gaze lingered on that brief line of text for a long ti.

"Exiled convict Su Ming, en route to the Northern Frontier, was waylaid and killed by mountain bandits. Remains lost."

A long, drawn-out sigh, as if it had exhausted all his strength, echoed in the quiet study.

His withered fingers pressed lightly on a hidden compartnt at the side of the desk.

He retrieved a locked rosewood box.

The key turned. The lid opened.

Inside lay a file, resting quietly.

Three characters were clearly visible on the cover—Su Ming File.

Liu Wenyuan took out the file, caressing the slightly yellowed paper. Before his eyes, the image of that youth, taciturn at the Qionglin Banquet yet clear-eyed and upright in his presence, seed to reappear.

"This capital..."

"In the end, it cannot tolerate a living Su Ming."

He murmured to himself, slowly feeding the file into the bronze basin beside him.

Inside the basin, the charcoal fire burned bright red.

The paper t the flas. Its edges instantly curled and blackened. A fla "whooshed" upward, greedily devouring everything recorded upon it.

The forr top scorer, the forr second-class *jinshi*, that once vibrant youth, along with the final traces he left in this capital, all turned to ashes.

Black ashes rose with the heat waves, then slowly settled.

The flickering firelight reflected in Liu Wenyuan's clouded eyes, now devoid of any ripple of emotion.

The news in the gazette was like a pebble tossed into the deep waters of the capital, stirring a few insignificant ripples before quickly sinking into silence.

But these ripples traveled southward along the official roads, through the relay stations, finally arriving at a small town called Greenstone.