Volume One: The Youngest Among Three Hundred Chapter Sixty: At the Entrance to Black Robe Alley

Since that dinner at Fragrant Pavilion with a few nobles from Chang’an, Chen Chang’an had spent the following days idly at home, taking full advantage of the current momentum to integrate himself into the household, and the results had been remarkable.

For instance, where once he always sat facing the door at the dining table, now Qin Fuluo would deliberately call him over to sit by her side—a privilege that, according to family rules, belonged to Su Dingfeng. Thus, as the Su family’s eldest son and the white-robed swordsman, Su Dingfeng would symbolically feed himself two or three grains of rice before leaving, the sourness of his departure accentuated by the look he shot at Chen Chang’an, a silent threat to draw his sword.

Another time, Zhu Jiawen was reading in the courtyard when he overheard Chen Chang’an whispering to the stone in the center, reciting lines about facing utter destruction without fear, and preserving one’s purity in the world. Zhu Jiawen promptly tossed his sage texts aside, grabbed Chen Chang’an’s sleeve, demanding an explanation.

Then there was the occasion when Su Wanqing, the second daughter, was suffering from her monthly pains. Chen Chang’an, with rough efficiency, prepared some brown sugar water for her, warm and comforting. Not just warming her heart, but her belly too, earning endless praise from the woman who once despised him most deeply in the entire family.

Over several days, the relationships had become increasingly harmonious. The only regret, perhaps, was Su Wanqiu; Chen Chang’an wished to do something for her, but never found the opportunity.

Beyond household trivialities, other matters occupied him. Ye Lin would drop by every now and then to discuss professional knowledge about solving cases and tracking criminals. Chen Chang’an would enthusiastically share all sorts of storylines he’d gleaned from Detective Conan, Fatty Di’s Adventures, and Song Dynasty Magistrate, making their conversations lively.

Afterwards, Ye Lin would pat his shoulder, saying, “Once I’ve established myself in the Black-Clad Guard, I’ll definitely recommend you to join.” Chen Chang’an replied with a smile.

On another day, Mao Ji invited him back to Fragrant Pavilion for a sumptuous meal, thanking him for the ingenious idea of fireworks. Thanks to their invention, Mao Ji’s already skyrocketing reputation in Chang’an soared even higher, winning him an imperial plaque inscribed by the Empress herself: “The Greatest Artisan of Da Min.” At last, he’d secured a place in the annals of craftsmanship.

Moreover, fireworks had become exclusive royal items—a supreme honor.

During this time, Chen Chang’an also visited Perfumed Courtyard. Lacking any new gadgets or flirtation techniques, he simply chatted with Peach Blossom, gaining little in terms of tangible reward. The only thing worth celebrating was his eyesight improving; upon leaving, he found he could now see for extended periods without sharp pain, only a mild soreness reminiscent of his previous life’s excessive scrolling on certain apps.

“Nice!” Chen Chang’an felt utterly delighted.

He couldn’t recall how much time had passed, only that it was the day after enjoying thirteen breakfasts and dinners courtesy of his mother-in-law Qin Fuluo’s generous hospitality. Su Qingtang was already dressed, standing in the courtyard: “Come on, today the Black-Clad Guard is recruiting. Let’s go watch the excitement.”

So, everyone except Zhu Jiawen—who was buried in his books in the corner—and Su Dingfeng, who stood atop the roof beam, hands clasped behind his back, reciting grand ambitions to cleave through countless mountains and rivers, followed along.

As in years past, the Black-Clad Guard’s recruitment was held at the entrance to Black-Clad Alley, and this year was no exception.

Chen Chang’an had not revealed his intention to join the Black-Clad Guard, nor that he’d already been preselected. He played the role of a mere spectator.

When they arrived at Jiahui Lane, at the alley’s mouth, the throng was immense—shoulder to shoulder, barely able to move.

The crowd was evenly split between Chang’an’s citizens and martial artists from the jianghu, each numbering five or six thousand.

Chen Chang’an looked around, genuinely surprised at the prestige the Black-Clad Guard held among martial artists. Upon reflection, it made sense; scholars had the imperial examinations to become officials, while warriors needed their own path.

As he eagerly observed, he felt a pat on his back and turned to find Ye Lin.

“You’re here too, brother Chen. Seems your obsession with the Black-Clad Guard runs deep. Even if your eyesight has temporarily recovered, your cultivation level remains a challenge.”

“Perhaps wait until next year to try.”

He’d finally changed his tune. Chen Chang’an secretly breathed a sigh of relief, but before he could fully exhale, Ye Lin added, “Of course, if I establish myself sooner, you won’t have to wait until next year. I can recommend you ahead of time.”

He meant it sincerely, nothing more.

“Thank you, Brother Ye!” Chen Chang’an responded politely.

Ye Lin nodded, saying no more, his anxious eyes searching the crowd.

“What are you looking for?” Chen Chang’an asked.

Ye Lin’s dark eyes kept darting. “I’m looking for Miss Ruan. Isn’t she participating in the recruitment as well? Yet I don’t see her.”

Chen Chang’an teased him with the expression of one friend mocking another’s infatuation: “Maybe she thinks her status too low to appear before the esteemed Lord Ye of the Ministry of Justice.”

Ye Lin’s forehead was instantly covered in black lines.

Suddenly, above the clamorous crowd, an arrow shot skyward, whistling sharply as it broke through the air. At a certain height, propelled by the archer’s internal force, it split the air with a loud howl.

At the sound, the crowd divided into two groups: residents of Chang’an to the left, martial artists to the right.

Two rows of men, clad in black, blades strapped to their backs, marched out from the alley, forming a neat line at the entrance. Then, a burly, rough-featured man, Cheng Mulong, strode forth.

The martial artists immediately shouted as if on stimulants: “Look, that’s Cheng Mulong, one of the few life-and-death realm warriors in all Nine Provinces!”

“Even within the same realm, there are levels. I believe Cheng Mulong is the top life-and-death realm expert.”

“He’s so handsome. I adore him.”

“Quiet… quiet!” Cheng Mulong pressed his hand down, his voice booming across all Jiahui Lane, amplified by internal energy. “Maintain silence. Next, I will explain the Black-Clad Guard’s examination rules and standards.”

“There are currently 5,362 applicants. This year, we plan to recruit 300, meaning 5,062 will be eliminated.”

“The examination, or rather the elimination process, consists of three steps. The first will take place at Qinghua Mountain, north of Chang’an. The Black-Clad Guard will scatter 20,000 copper coins there. You will draw lots, forming groups of four to search for them.”

“The time limit is two hours. At the end, the ranking will be determined by the number of coins each group collects. The last hundred groups will be eliminated.”

“The second assessment will be announced after the first, and the third after the second. Understood?”

“Understood!” The response thundered like the tides of the Qiantang River, making the spectators tremble.

“How uncouth these martial artists are!” someone immediately sneered.

Chen Chang’an calculated on his fingers: over five thousand participants, divided into groups of four, making about 1,300 groups, but only 300 will be recruited—just over forty groups. The odds were no easier than passing the graduate exams.

Utterly absurd.

Fortunately, it mattered little to him, being a preselected candidate.

“Good!”

At the alley’s entrance, Cheng Mulong continued, “Now, everyone come forward to draw lots. Those who draw the same number will be in the same group.”

“During the coin collection, you may seize coins from others, but causing serious injury or death will result in immediate elimination.”

“Begin drawing lots!”

With this, the martial artists, men and women alike, lined up and shuffled forward, reaching into a wooden chest before Cheng Mulong.

Ye Lin clasped his fists to his heart, silently praying, “Let me be grouped with Miss Ruan, let me be grouped with Miss Ruan.”

The crowd was so large that the lot-drawing took half an hour, after which participants began seeking their group members by number.

Ye Lin glanced at his lot: 1111!

“Hey, 1111 is over here! Everyone, come over!”

He shouted, hoping to spot Ruan Jingchu, but was instead joined by three who, in his eyes, were nothing short of misfits—a man with a hammer, a girl with a whip chewing on a bun, and a boy with a fish spear who looked rather slow.

“These are my teammates?” Ye Lin was in despair.

Chen Chang’an, not far off, covered his mouth, snorting with laughter.

“Commander Cheng, our group is short one member—only three!” a pleasant voice rang out, drawing everyone’s gaze. Ye Lin looked too, and to his surprise, saw it was Ruan Jingchu speaking.

Ye Lin jumped up, eager to volunteer, “Commander Cheng, let me join their group!”

“Quiet!” Cheng Mulong rebuked him without ceremony, then fell silent in thought. Normally, uneven groups would have their standard lowered or their final ranking raised a few places.

But this year, he seemed to have a better idea.

Cheng Mulong retreated into Black-Clad Alley, climbing to the nearest watchtower, where a woman in white with a ponytail sipped tea leisurely—Cao Wu.

“My throat’s sore from shouting below, while you sit here enjoying your tea,” Cheng Mulong grumbled, greeting her.

Cao Wu pushed a porcelain cup toward him. “Prepared for you!”

He shook his head, “Not needed for now. I’m here because a group is short a member. I’d like your preselected candidate to join the exam, is that possible?”

“He’s here, and seems his eyesight is fully restored.”

“Oh?” The words “fully restored” seemed to hold some magical power, startling Cao Wu to her feet, her tone urgent and questioning, “Really?”

Cheng Mulong rolled his leopard-like eyes, “Of course it’s true.”

“Good, let him participate then. It’ll prove to you that my choice is never wrong,” Cao Wu’s gaze gleamed, her confidence unshaken.

...

At the alley entrance, after laughing innocently at Ye Lin’s predicament, Chen Chang’an turned his gaze to the other martial artists, sighing, “To think there are people who still need to go through the exam to join Black-Clad Guard…”

He broke off mid-sentence as Cao Wu’s voice called out, “Chen Chang’an, get ready and join group 1314 for the examination.”

Chen Chang’an: “…”