“Pure yin bodies?” Zanxing said, “This demon specifically targets women with pure yin bodies—why? Can it increase demonic power?”

“I’ve never heard of such a thing,” Tian Fangfang sat down.

Mendong’s little face was tense, and he looked at Gu Baiying with lingering shock in his eyes, somewhat uneasy: “Master Uncle, I do know of a secret technique that requires the blood of women with pure yin bodies…”

Gu Baiying said, “The Yanyang Secret Art.”

“What is the Yanyang Secret Art?” Zanxing asked.

“It’s a legendary secret technique,” Gu Baiying’s expression darkened slightly: “The rumor says that by finding forty-nine pure yin maidens and using their blood for ritual sacrifice, one can achieve immortality and extend their lifespan.”

Tian Fangfang’s eyes widened: “How have I never heard of this?”

“This is just hearsay—no one knows if it’s true.” Mendong frowned: “Besides, this method is far too cruel. How could anyone in the cultivation world use it? Unless it’s some demonic practitioners who would do such things to harm people.”

Mimi jumped onto a stool and lazily yawned.

Zanxing looked at Gu Baiying: “You mean that the reason those women were murdered forty years ago might be because someone wanted to use the Yanyang Secret Art to extend their lifespan and achieve immortality?”

“This possibility cannot be ruled out.”

“But that’s not right,” Zanxing still didn’t understand: “Don’t demons have very long lifespans? Why would they go through such trouble?”

“Demon lifespans are indeed very long,” Mendong shook his head. “At least several hundred years, and if undisturbed and focused on cultivation, living several thousand years is not difficult. There really would be no need to use such an evil secret technique.”

“Then this technique has no other benefits. Surely it can’t be such a coincidence that the opponent randomly captured people to drink their blood, and they all happened to be pure yin bodies born in yin months, on yin days, at yin hours?” Tian Fangfang said, “That would be ridiculous.”

Zanxing didn’t speak, looking toward Gu Baiying and meeting his gaze.

When their eyes met, no words were needed—they both thought of the records about Emperor Shengning they had seen in Tianlu Pavilion today.

Emperor Shengning had been in poor health since childhood, coughing up blood daily from his youth, yet his health gradually improved after Princess Lizhu married over. His medicine list also looked abnormal—masses of medicinal herbs in the beginning, but the prescriptions stopped updating half a year before his marriage. Previously, Zanxing thought he had stopped for good luck, that the imperial physicians might have told him to stop medication to avoid affecting offspring. Now it seemed perhaps Emperor Shengning had already found other ways to extend his lifespan at that time.

Half a year before marriage was exactly when the demon shark began killing people in Li’er Kingdom that year.

And Princess Lizhu…

Thinking of Princess Lizhu, Zanxing’s heart jumped, and she said to Gu Baiying: “Master Uncle, Princess Lizhu’s marriage here was probably not coincidental.”

Li’er Kingdom’s late ruler went thousands of miles to marry a princess he’d never met from the eastern continent—while the common people of Li’er Kingdom called it a destined marriage, it now seemed rather terrifying.

Gu Baiying’s eyes darkened slightly. After a long while, he said, “Go find Princess Lizhu’s birth date and time.”

If Princess Lizhu was also born in a yin month, on a yin day, at a yin hour with a pure yin body, then the events of that year likely had other hidden circumstances.

……

The sunset fell from the far end of the sky, dropping below the sea level. Only a trace of faint red glow spread across half the seawater, like bright red crystals wrapped in an azure jewelry box, emitting scattered light.

Princess Lizhu stood by the window, wiping the horn bow in her hands with a cloth. Wind blew from the courtyard outside the hall, carrying the fragrance of magnolias everywhere. It made her wiping motion unconsciously stop, made her gaze at the bow in her hands with slight distraction.

Li’er Kingdom’s wind was also gentle. The climate here was humid, unlike the dry mountains. People always spoke harmoniously in gentle, slow voices, brewing sweet and refreshing syrup. This was naturally nothing bad, but many times Princess Lizhu still missed her homeland, missed the rough, loud voices of her countrymen, missed the fierce winds in the mountain forests, and the rich, spicy, strong liquor in the palace.

She missed freedom.

She had been married here for forty years. Forty years was certainly a long time. During the most difficult days, each day felt endlessly long and hard to endure, but looking back one day, she discovered time had passed swiftly—unknowingly, she had come so far and lived so long.

Perhaps because she was getting old, these past few days she kept frequently thinking of past events. She thought of when she first married into Li’er Kingdom, her utterly unwilling appearance.

The Princess Lizhu of Linshi Kingdom back then was not as taciturn and restrained as she was now. She liked wearing bright red riding attire, carrying bow and arrows to hunt in the mountain forests—even her brothers’ prey didn’t match hers in quantity. She thought she was like the wind in the forests, forever free and soaring, following her heart’s desires. Until the imperial edict for marriage alliance came down, she put down her bow and arrows, changed into exquisite dresses, and went to Li’er Kingdom—no longer Princess Lizhu, but someone else’s empress.

Emperor Shengning was naturally gentle, considerate, and handsome, but Princess Lizhu still wasn’t accustomed to it.

She wasn’t used to the nighttime tides, wasn’t used to the pervasive whiteness throughout the palace, didn’t like those overly fragrant magnolia blossoms, and didn’t like herself without her bow and arrows.

She was somewhat melancholy and dispirited.

Princess Lizhu had even thought about escaping.

She remembered one night, perhaps because the moonlight was too clear, she developed an impulse to flee the palace. So she secretly slipped out of the hall, but when she nearly reached the palace gates, she retreated. Just as she was planning to return, she encountered a young guard outside the hall.

The young guard was very young, keeping his eyes lowered, never daring to raise his head. He seemed very afraid of her. When Princess Lizhu questioned him, he didn’t answer—he was mute.

She suddenly had an impulse to confide in someone, pulling the young guard to sit on the ground and pouring out all her unwillingness and misery from these days.

The young guard was very quiet, always listening to her speak. Finally, as dawn gradually broke, Princess Lizhu patted off the dust and stood up, but was pulled back by him.

He carefully placed something in Princess Lizhu’s hand.

It was a blue conch shell.

Princess Lizhu looked at him, and he looked back—shy, anxious, cautious. Princess Lizhu took the conch shell and smiled at him: “Thank you.”

She never saw that guard again. People in the palace came and went—no one would always be there. Of course, she never again thought of fleeing the palace. Not long after, Emperor Shengning died fighting the demon shark. As empress, she had to give birth to the young ruler and raise him to adulthood. With responsibility upon her, the mountain winds of Linshi Kingdom could only become a dream.

That blue conch shell was stored in her jewelry box. Later, when leaving the palace, a maidservant packed it in a wooden chest but accidentally lost it—now it couldn’t be found anywhere. Originally, these were all stories from many years ago, but for some unknown reason, after seeing Zanxing and the others today, she thought of them again.