Chapter 32: Examiner
Nightfall brought blessed silence to the morgue. Qifeng finally finished processing the last of his "inventory"—a full day's work that would have left any normal person questioning their life choices. Fortunately, his Dead Bone Pulse had upgraded his recovery abilities to something approaching superhuman, though it did nothing for the psychological wear and tear of spending eight hours elbow-deep in dead people.
His mental health, however, was still firmly in "needs therapy" territory. Which is why he decided to skip his usual midnight corpse-fondling session and actually get some sleep like a quasi-normal person.
He was just stepping out of the morgue, keys in hand, when he noticed a figure lurking in the shadows like some kind of discount serial killer.
His first instinct was defensive panic, but as the figure emerged from the darkness, Qifeng felt his heart sink. Honestly, he would have preferred an actual enemy trying to steal corpses. At least those he could stab without political consequences.
Orochimaru stepped into the light with the fluid grace of someone who'd spent far too much time practicing intimidating entrances.
"Lord Orochimaru," Qifeng said with the carefully respectful tone he reserved for people who could end his existence with minimal effort.
Those serpentine eyes fixed on him with the intensity of a predator examining potential prey. "Qifeng-kun," Orochimaru began, his voice carrying that particular brand of unsettling curiosity that made normal people break out in cold sweats. "I've been wondering about your remarkable survival record. The Mist ninja in Hot Springs, the Rock ninja at the checkpoint—both jonin-level threats. How exactly does a genin walk away from encounters that should have required coffin shopping?"
The question hung in the air like a particularly uncomfortable smell. This wasn't the first time someone had asked, but coming from Orochimaru, it felt less like curiosity and more like vivisection prep.
Qifeng summoned his most innocent smile—the one he'd perfected for explaining away impossible situations. "Pure luck, Lord Orochimaru. Apparently, Konoha ninjas have built up quite the reputation for being surprisingly hard to kill."
"Luck," Orochimaru repeated, the word dripping with skepticism. His smile was the kind that belonged in horror movies.
That gaze made Qifeng feel like his soul was being X-rayed for hidden compartments. He forced himself to maintain his expression, knowing that any micro-expression could be interpreted as guilt or deception.
The truth was, he needed to stay under the radar. Drawing too much attention would mean uncomfortable questions from uncomfortable people—and Danzo was exactly the kind of uncomfortable person who collected interesting specimens for his personal use.
He was already formulating contingency plans. If pressed too hard, he might need to create his fictional protector—some mysterious benefactor who could be blamed for his impossible survival rate. The key was timing the "reveal" properly.
But Orochimaru wasn't done probing yet. "There's something else that intrigues me, Qifeng-kun. The first time we met, your reaction wasn't just awe or respect. There was genuine revulsion—almost like you knew something about me that others didn't."
Qifeng's blood pressure spiked. Of course Orochimaru had noticed. The man probably catalogued people's facial expressions like other people collected stamps.
Think fast. Fortunately, he'd prepared for this exact scenario.
He scratched his head with practiced embarrassment, putting on his best sheepish expression. "Actually, Lord Orochimaru, I have a bit of a phobia. Snakes terrify me. It's embarrassing, really."
It wasn't even a lie. He was afraid of snakes—especially ones named Orochimaru who collected human beings like action figures and had flexible definitions of consent regarding medical procedures.
"Afraid of snakes," Orochimaru mused, as if this was the most fascinating psychological profile he'd encountered all week. "How perfectly fitting, Qifeng-kun."
The response was impossible to read. With Orochimaru, you never knew if he believed you or was just filing the information away for future psychological manipulation.
Deciding that defense was getting him nowhere, Qifeng switched to offense. "Was there something specific you needed, Lord Orochimaru? It's getting rather late."
Those pale lips curved upward in what might generously be called a smile. "Indeed there is."
Orochimaru moved to one of the carefully prepared corpses, running his fingers along its surface with the reverence of someone appreciating fine art. "We have such similar relationships with the dead, don't we, Qifeng-kun?"
The comment made Qifeng's skin crawl for reasons he couldn't quite articulate. When Orochimaru found common ground with you, it was generally time to reevaluate your life choices.
"The village is hosting Chunin Exams soon," Orochimaru continued, as if discussing weekend plans.
"Chunin Exams? Now?" Qifeng couldn't hide his surprise. "Isn't the timing a bit... suicidal? What happens if visiting ninja decide to turn it into a surprise invasion?"
Then a horrible thought occurred to him. "You're not suggesting I participate, are you?"
Orochimaru's smile widened, which was never a good sign.
Qifeng felt his stomach drop. "Come on, really? I'm just one person, no team, no social skills, no business being anywhere near something that political. Can't I just keep collecting corpses like a normal, well-adjusted mortician?"
"Oh, you won't be participating," Orochimaru said, and Qifeng relaxed for exactly half a second before the next words hit him. "You'll be examining."
"Examining? Me? The genin who spends his days talking to dead people?" Qifeng pointed at himself incredulously. "That's like making the janitor CEO because he knows where all the bathrooms are."
Orochimaru approached with the deliberate pace of someone about to deliver news that would ruin your week. "Not as a genin. Those A-rank missions you completed—whether through luck, divine intervention, or sheer bloody-minded stubbornness—they count. I convinced Sarutobi-sensei to promote you to chunin."
He leaned closer, close enough that Qifeng could see his reflection in those unsettling eyes. "After all, if you can survive encounters that should have killed you, you're clearly ready for more responsibility."
Qifeng stared at the ground, afraid that eye contact would somehow reveal his entire secret identity. After a long moment, he looked up hopefully. "Does chunin pay better?"
"...Yes," Orochimaru replied, clearly not expecting that to be the first question.
"Right, but don't you normally need to pass the actual exam to get promoted? Unless..." He trailed off, realizing the implications.
"Unless it's ANBU, or we activate wartime protocols," Orochimaru confirmed. "Do you think it's premature to assume we're heading for war?"
After everything he'd witnessed at the checkpoint, Qifeng had to shake his head. The writing was already on the wall—they were just arguing about font size at this point.
"Can I decline the examiner position?" he asked hopefully. "I'm much better at dealing with people after they stop moving and complaining."
The Chunin Exams would put him in front of ninja from multiple villages. Visibility was the last thing he wanted when he was still pretending to be a lucky mediocrity with a body disposal fetish.
"Certainly," Orochimaru agreed, and Qifeng's hopes rose briefly. "If you become my direct subordinate, you won't need to participate."
And there it was. The trap he'd been dodging for months, dressed up as career advancement.
Qifeng rubbed his nose awkwardly, buying time. "Well, when you put it like that, the Chunin Exams sound like a great networking opportunity. And I'd love to work under you, Lord Orochimaru, but I feel like I need more experience before I'm ready for that level of responsibility."
The look Orochimaru gave him suggested this deflection was getting old, but he seemed more amused than annoyed.
"The Cloud, Mist, and Sand delegations arrive within the week. Report to Nara Shikaku—he'll brief you on your specific duties."
As Orochimaru spoke, his body began dissolving like particularly disturbing mud, sinking into the ground until only a small snake remained. The serpent gave Qifeng what might have been a sardonic look before slithering away into the night.
Left behind was a small black book—his chunin certification.
Qifeng picked it up, staring at the official designation that had just made his life exponentially more complicated.
"Fantastic," he muttered. "From corpse collector to chunin examiner in the space of a conversation. What's next, promotion to Hokage because I filed my paperwork on time?"
The timing felt surreal, like organizing a school festival while the building was on fire. He couldn't shake the comparison to those Olympic Games held on the eve of World War II—a desperate attempt at normalcy while everyone pretended not to notice the tanks gathering at the borders.
The difference was, this time he was going to be standing right in the middle of the diplomatic powder keg, trying to look competent while secretly hoping nobody noticed he was making it up as he went along.
"Well," he said to the empty morgue, "at least the pay increase will help with my eventual therapy bills."
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