Xuanming the Shanren, incensed to the point of spitting blood by the obscenely wealthy “Flower God,” had been bedridden for several days. In his dazed stupor, only his junior disciple Xuanqing the Shanren had remained faithfully at his bedside, serving him tea and water without once removing his robes to rest. Xuanming was deeply moved, and resolved that once he had recovered, he would find a way to properly repay this devoted and loyal disciple.

Days spent lying in bed passed quickly. Before he knew it, it was the first day of the sixth month — the Longshen Temple’s monthly offering day. The thought of another round of profitable tributes lifted his spirits considerably, and he rose early to bathe and change, then sat upright in the main hall to prepare for the worship of Cheng County’s people.

Xuanming had even prepared a speech, intending to give the impostor “Flower God” a thorough dressing-down before the gathered people and make Cheng County recognize, once and for all, who was truly the master here.

But he waited and waited, and by the time the hour of Si had well passed, not a single soul had come to pay respects. He was still puzzling over this when Xuanqing came rushing breathlessly into the hall, crying out:

“Senior Brother, this is bad — Clerk Zhu has opened the Dragon Gate on the south side of the city! Everyone in Cheng County has gone to the offering platform at Longshen Lake!”

Xuanming the Shanren leapt to his feet. “What are they doing at Longshen Lake?”

Xuanqing looked at Xuanming with longing eyes, struggling to speak.

“Say it!”

“…The people of Cheng County built — built a shrine to the Flower God on the offering platform. Today is the day of its completion,” Xuanqing said, his voice growing smaller and smaller. “And — and apparently today not only will the Flower God be distributing Hundred Flower Dew, but also throwing money around without restraint… Everyone in Cheng County has gone to worship the Flower God…”

Xuanming the Shanren’s throat lurched; he nearly vomited blood again, and barely managed to choke it back down.

This Flower God was climbing over his head and trampling the Longshen Temple underfoot without the slightest regard!

Very well, very well! Today it was either his death or theirs — he had nothing left to lose!

“All disciples of the Longshen Temple hear my command — arm yourselves and follow me to the offering platform at Longshen Lake!”

“Senior Brother, hold a moment.” Xuanqing stepped forward and lowered his voice. “I feel that something is off. This band of false Flower God followers came with momentum and appear to have come well prepared. Should we not keep some forces in reserve, so as to have a backup plan?”

Xuanming paused. “What is Junior Brother suggesting?”

“Preserve the root and the branches will grow back, Senior Brother.”

Xuanming considered for a moment and found his junior disciple’s counsel well-reasoned.

What if the false Flower God was using a ruse to lure away all the Longshen Temple’s disciples to Longshen Lake, then send another force to break into the temple and destroy the raw Longshen Fruit? At the thought of the burned-out secret vault, a fresh wave of agony shot through Xuanming’s chest.

“Junior Brother, you are as thoughtful as ever.” Xuanming drew a small scroll from within his robes. “Make haste — take the disciples and harvest all the Longshen Fruit into crates. If this battle goes against me, you must see to it that every last Longshen Fruit is moved out of Cheng County. Remember: the Longshen Fruit is the foundation upon which we stand.”

Within the scroll was a map of a previously uncharted section of underground tunnels — unfamiliar to Xuanqing. At its center, a location was marked with an illustration of a Longshen Fruit branch; this was presumably Xuanming’s most secret Longshen Fruit cultivation site.

Xuanqing quickly tucked the map away, his expression full of deep concern. “And what of you, Senior Brother?”

Xuanming flicked his horsetail whisk and gave a cold smile. “Don’t worry — Senior Brother still has one more trick left.”

Xuanqing’s eyes glimmered, as though tears were welling up within them. He clasped his fists and bowed solemnly. “Xuanqing will not fail Senior Brother’s trust.”

Xuanming dispatched half the Longshen Temple’s disciples to Xuanqing, then led more than fifty disciples in a grand procession straight through the heart of Cheng County toward the shores of Longshen Lake. One look at the scene before him, and he nearly burst with rage.

The Longshen offering platform, which he had built two years ago at a cost of a hundred and twenty strings of cash, had been brazenly occupied.

On both sides of the altar stood banners more than two zhang tall, embroidered with enormous golden peonies — clearly the handiwork of Si Mian Manor, judging by the craftsmanship. In just a few days’ absence, those embroiderers of no great distinction had apparently made tremendous strides: the peonies were lush and sumptuous, blazing in the sunlight with full-bloomed splendor that was, if anything, more magnificent than the Dragon God’s own banners.

Every person in Cheng County had gathered before the altar platform, hands pressed together in prayer, heads tilted upward, gazing devoutly at a small shrine upon the altar — no taller than a person, four red-wood pillars and a roof of vivid green glazed tiles. It was compact, but exquisitely wrought. Inside hung a portrait of the Flower God, robes billowing, so lifelike one almost expected it to breathe.

Zhu Dachang, dressed in a pale blue official’s robe and black gauze headpiece, led a procession of county officials, clerks, and constables in lighting incense and kneeling before the shrine, reciting the memorial text in a raised voice:

“In the sixth year of the Xuanfeng reign, on the first day of the sixth month, Zhu, Chief Clerk of Cheng County, leads the people of Cheng County in solemn offering to the spirit of the Flower God. Alas: Cheng County of Qingzhou has been afflicted by evil forces for years; the land has been barren and its people sickened, livestock perished in multitudes, demons and monsters have run rampant, and the people have suffered without end.”

“Fortunately, Heaven in its mercy saw fit to let the Flower God manifest, bringing the radiance of the divine way across ten thousand li, so that no impurity could hide — plagues were averted, evil spirits put to flight, the people settled peacefully, their hearts serene and at ease—”

This was simply insufferable! What contemptible drivel — this was nothing but an undisguised condemnation of the Dragon God as an evil spirit!

Xuanming the Shanren flew into a towering rage. At his command, the Daoist disciples shoved aside the people and surrounded the altar platform on all sides. Xuanming charged up onto it, his horsetail whisk flying, and pointed his finger directly in Clerk Zhu’s face, launching into a torrent of abuse. “Zhu Dachang, your Zhu clan has eaten my food and used my resources, and now you dare rebel?!”

The crowd erupted in chaos. The clerks and constables quickly formed a protective ring around Zhu Dachang. The Longshen Temple disciples outnumbered them three to one, and bearing down with this kind of pressure, if it came to actual fighting they would stand no chance. All the clerks’ legs were trembling, and they kept looking anxiously toward Zhu Dachang.

Strangely, the usually timid and hesitant Clerk Zhu was utterly unlike himself today. He straightened his back and turned to face Xuanming the Shanren with the memorial text in hand, meeting his gaze squarely and raising his voice:

“Today, we make this offering to declare Cheng County’s will before the spirit. May the Flower God’s divine power help Cheng County uproot its evil affliction and restore a land of purity. Should the evil spirit refuse to be destroyed and persist in its turmoil, all of Cheng County, without fear and without hesitation, shall cut down the wicked, destroy the evil — those who follow us shall flourish, those who oppose us shall perish—” His gaze sharpened abruptly. “Summon — the — Flower — God!”

A blaze of light suddenly burst across the sky. A cascade of gold foil fluttered down, blanketing everything. Such a magnificent and extravagant display left not only the assembled people and the Longshen Temple disciples speechless — even Xuanming the Shanren was stunned, one word reverberating through his mind:

Throwing money around without restraint!

The people erupted in cheers that shook heaven and earth, raising their hands high to receive the shower of gold foil. Atop the city gate tower, two figures rose as one, treading on ten thousand zhang of rosy light across the clear blue sky, their robes flying as they descended from the heavens and floated down onto the offering platform.

The cheering cut abruptly to silence. The lake wind sent the rosy light swirling in all directions. Xuanming the Shanren gave a start and came back to his senses, realizing at once that what he had taken for “rosy light” was in fact a kind of gossamer-thin silk, so fine it was translucent as a cicada’s wings, catching the sunlight and refracting it into brilliant rainbow hues — hence the illusion of “rosy clouds.”

But the two figures before him were no illusion, and most certainly no flower god.

They were two people.

One was a young gentleman in wide flowing robes, with beautiful features and a jade hairpin, holding a large crimson peony fan. His robes were like the petals of a white peony, opening layer upon layer in the wind.

The other was a young woman in close-fitting black, with long elegant brows, phoenix eyes, and a straight, upright bearing. Her left arm was hooked around the young gentleman’s waist; her right hand held a horizontal blade two chi in length, its scabbard black and rough-hewn.

They stood shoulder to shoulder — one in white, one in black; one luminous, one fierce — with the vast expanse of the lake behind them and the endless clear sky overhead. Truly, they held the world beneath their gaze, peerless in their splendor.

The people were overwhelmed with excitement and fell to their knees in a single mass, crying out: “We welcome the Flower God!”

Xuanming the Shanren’s pupils contracted sharply. He recognized them now. The young gentleman was Mu Tang from the Fang Family Clinic. As for the young woman — he had never seen her face before — but that nightmare of a blade was something he would know even if it had been reduced to ashes.

“So it was you two all along!” Xuanming gnashed his teeth. “Yun Zhong Yue!”

“My, my.” Lin Sui’an raised her hand in greeting. “Xuanming, Master of Longshen Temple — you look as commanding as ever after all these days.”

Hua Yitang smiled serenely, maintaining a dignified and imposing bearing. “Xuanming, in the presence of the true Flower God — do you not kneel?”

“This person is the greatest thief in the world, Yun Zhong Yue!” Xuanming declared. “All disciples of the Longshen Temple — cut him down at once!”

At Xuanming’s command, twenty disciples surged forward in a mass, swords, clubs, axes, and halberds all hurtling toward Lin Sui’an. The clerks and constables were horrified and were about to rush in to help — when a streak of green light split the sky. Qian Jing cleared its scabbard. The young woman’s black robes swirled around her, the blade’s chilling light plunging into the enemy formation. Countless bursts of blood bloomed in unison, creating a tableau of brutal, terrible beauty — the blue of the sky, the white of the clouds, the green of the blade, the black of the robes, the crimson of the blood.

In fewer than ten breaths, all twenty disciples had their hand and leg tendons severed simultaneously, collapsing to the ground and convulsing.

Xuanming the Shanren’s face turned white as paper. Lin Sui’an had deliberately avoided him in every strike, yet had contrived to spatter blood all over his head and face, dripping down along his eyebrows. The blood was still warm, yet carried a chill that reached the marrow of his bones.

Lin Sui’an shook the blood from her blade, slung Qian Jing back over her shoulder, and in the fierce daylight, the blade’s jade-green radiance ran clean, casting a gleam over Lin Sui’an’s pair of eyes — luminous and bright as the eyes of a demon.

Xuanming’s features twisted. “You — just who are—”

Lin Sui’an couldn’t be bothered listening to anyone ramble. She launched a flying kick squarely into Xuanming the Shanren’s chest. Without so much as a grunt, he toppled straight off the altar platform.

The thirty-odd disciples who had not yet reached the platform went pale with shock. They scrambled forward in a panic to surround and protect Xuanming. Lin Sui’an shouldered her blade and led more than a dozen farmhands to block them at the foot of the altar. Those farmhands were nothing like their usual honest, simple-minded selves — they raised their hoes, axes, and iron spades with the air of men ready to fight to the death. Though they were not the larger force, with Lin Sui’an holding ground, their momentum crushed the opposition into submission.

“The Flower God has compassion for all living things and spares your worthless lives,” Hua Yitang gathered his sleeves and smiled. “Kowtow and give thanks.”

Xuanming struggled to his feet, coughing up a mouthful of old blood. “He is not the Flower God. He is Mu Tang from the Fang Family Clinic! Cough, cough—”

“Mu Tang is merely this deity’s mortal vessel,” Hua Yitang smoothed his sleeves, and his smile vanished in an instant. His voice turned sharp. “An evil spirit in Qingzhou’s county has spread false teachings under the name of the Dragon God, treating human lives as worthless and causing harm in all directions. Heaven in its righteousness could not bear it. The Flower God was specially dispatched to subdue demons and banish evil. Contemptible little creature — do you not surrender?”

“Don’t let them deceive you!” Qiu Hong’s eyes were shot through with red. He leveled a finger at Lin Sui’an and shouted, “She is Fang’an, the one who killed the late Manor Master Qiu!”

“It was not Fang’an who killed the late Manor Master Qiu,” Hua Yitang shot back, pointing directly at Qiu Hong. “It was you.”

“There are witnesses and physical evidence proving Fang’an killed the late Manor Master Qiu—”

“Who are the witnesses? Where is the physical evidence?”

“Everyone in my Xian De Manor is a witness!”

“Is that so?” Hua Yitang looked steadily at the Qiu clan members gathered below. “Is there any among you who personally witnessed Fang’an commit the killing?”

The Qiu clan members, including old Qiu’s steward, exchanged glances with one another. Not one dared speak falsely. Qiu Laoban jumped forward and bellowed, “I didn’t see anything!”

“What about the rest of you?” Hua Yitang asked.

The Qiu clan members lowered their heads one by one.

Hua Yitang gave a cold smile. “You have no witnesses. I have one.”

“What?!” Qiu Hong exclaimed.

Hua Yitang folded his fan and pointed it with perfect composure toward the city gate. “Bring — forward — the — witness!”

Everyone turned to follow the direction of his fan — and immediately went pale with shock.

An elderly man was walking slowly toward them, supported by Mu Xia and Ita. He wore a pale blue official’s robe; his graying white hair was wrapped in a headpiece, with a few stray wisps falling loose at his temples. His complexion was haggard, his frame frail, and he paused to catch his breath every few steps.

The crowd was stunned. This man was Cheng County Magistrate Qiu Liang — older brother of the late Qiu clan head Qiu Wen. They had not seen him in just a few months, and he had deteriorated to this wretched state.

In the midst of profound silence, Qiu Liang made his way through the parting crowd unimpeded and ascended the altar platform.

Zhu Dachang led the county officials in a respectful bow. “We greet Magistrate Qiu.”

Qiu Hong was drenched in sweat. “You — how, how did—”

Qiu Liang gestured for Mu Xia and Ita to release him and stood upright on his own strength alone. He turned to face the people below the platform and raised his voice: “I am Qiu Liang, Magistrate of Cheng County. Half a year ago, I was imprisoned by Qiu Hong and forced to serve him. My life was worse than death. Fortunately, I was rescued a few days ago, and I can now see the light of day again and bring Qiu Hong’s crimes before the public!”

Qiu Hong’s body swayed violently.

Qiu Liang turned and fixed a fierce gaze upon Qiu Hong, his gaunt, skeletal face as rough as the bark of a gnarled tree. “Qiu Hong used my elder brother Qiu Wen’s life as a threat and had me locked up in the prison beneath Xian De Manor’s tea room. Qiu Hong lit poisonous incense in the tea room, forcing my brother to inhale it. The poison invaded my brother’s body, making his mind more and more confused, until he gradually lost all consciousness. In the end, in the end he became nothing more than a walking corpse—”

Qiu Liang drew a deep breath. Clouded tears streamed down the channels of his wrinkles. “I watched all of this clearly through the ventilation gap in my cell. On that day, it was also with my own eyes that I saw — when this young woman entered the tea room, Qiu Wen had already suffered a full onset of the poison. There was nothing to be done. In the end… he vomited blood and died. The culprit responsible for everything is Qiu Hong!”

A deathly silence fell over the altar and the surrounding crowd. The lake wind whipped the Flower God’s banners with a fierce, resonant sound. The golden peonies blazed in the sunlight, dazzling to the eye.

The Qiu clan members went pale with shock, their faces full of disbelief.

“Seize Qiu Hong at once!” Zhu Dachang thundered.

The constables surged forward and wrestled Qiu Hong to the ground.

“Qiu Liang, you are speaking nonsense!” With his face pressed against the ground, Qiu Hong strained and struggled, his screams piercing the sky. “The incense I sent to the late Manor Master was a specially-prepared medicinal incense — it cures all ailments, it prolongs life, it cannot possibly be poison!”

Hua Yitang gave a cold smile. “Bring forth the physical evidence!”

Fangke, dressed in blood-red robes, gripped a scroll as he cut through the crowd, ascended the altar platform, and first held up his coroner’s official plaque. “I am Fangke, coroner appointed by the Court of Judicial Review.” He then unfurled the scroll. “This is the autopsy report for Qiu Wen. The deceased had no external injuries. His flesh was a sallow yellow; the skin was finely scaled. His organs were a putrid green; the chest cavity and abdominal cavity were filled with fresh blood. Upon dissecting the heart for examination, a rupture of the aorta was found. Cause of death is determined as follows: the deceased suffered chronic poisoning over many years. When the accumulated toxins reached their peak, blood flow accelerated, resulting in a fatal cardiac rupture.”

The crowd below erupted in an uproar.

Upon hearing Fangke announce his identity, Xuanming stumbled, and his gaze lingered on the faces of the “Flower God” and “Fang’an,” a suspicion taking shape in his mind.

In all of the Tang Kingdom, who could command such extravagant wealth — throwing money around without restraint just to impersonate some ridiculous Flower God?

In all the world, who possessed the terrifying combat power of gods and demons, capable of standing against a hundred alone?

A surge of blood-heat welled up in his chest again and again. Xuanming’s wrist trembled and the gourd hidden in his sleeve dropped into his palm.

Very good, very good! To meet such an adversary — this was his honor!

Hua Yitang looked down from the platform at Qiu Hong. “Qiu Hong — you poisoned the Qiu clan head Qiu Wen, imprisoned the Cheng County Magistrate Qiu Liang, and used the magistrate’s name under false pretenses to dominate Cheng County and brutalize its people. Every one of these crimes has been proven with ironclad evidence. Under the Tang legal code, these constitute the ten grave offenses — punishable by decapitation. At this point, what more have you to say?”

Qiu Hong’s entire body shook violently, his eyes darting wildly. Then suddenly, his gaze locked onto Xuanming, and he gritted his teeth. “I had no idea the incense was poisonous! It was Xuanming the Shanren who gave it to me — it was Xuanming who wanted to harm the late Manor Master, I knew nothing!”

Xuanming glanced sideways at Qiu Hong. “You were the one who specifically sought that incense from me. What does it have to do with me?”

Qiu Hong: “You said at the time that the incense was made from the Longshen Temple’s ritual water distillate. Now that I think about it — you already knew the ritual water was poisonous, didn’t you?”

“The ritual water is a sacred offering bestowed by the Dragon God. How could it be poisonous?!”

“If it wasn’t poisonous, why did the late Manor Master die of a cardiac rupture?! And where did the fatigue, weakness, and heart palpitations afflicting every person in the county come from?!”

Xuanming’s face twitched; a thread of blood seeped from the corner of his trembling lips, and he fell silent.

Lin Sui’an exchanged a discreet glance with Hua Yitang.

Two dogs snapping at each other, both covered in mud.

The people were horrified by what they’d heard.

“The Longshen Temple’s ritual water is poisonous!”

“We’ve been poisoned too?!”

“Are we going to die?!”

Nanny Zhu from the crowd thrust her arm skyward and called out, “Everyone, do not panic! The Flower God himself said the ritual water is merely a minor contamination of evil! The Flower God’s Hundred Flower Dew can cure it!”

Xiao Yu: “I drank the Hundred Flower Dew — it really does cure the poison!”

Qiu Sanshier: “So did I!”

The farmhands all chimed in to confirm.

“That’s right!” Hua Yitang’s wide sleeves swept out, and the air seemed to fill with clear, brilliant light. “Everyone, there is no need to worry. This deity has already prepared the Hundred Flower Dew and will now bestow it upon all of you.”

Zhu Dachang commanded the constables to drag four large wooden crates from beneath the altar table. They were packed full of small glazed vials, each containing a crystalline liquid that, when gently swirled in the hand, released a waft of fragrant camellia.

This was the ultimate version of the antidote Fangke had formulated using Hundred Flower Tea as the catalyst — excellent efficacy, pleasant taste, with highly significant clinical results, as confirmed by Nanny Zhu, Qiu Laoban, and several farmhands who had tested it firsthand.

The people joyfully accepted their vials and were just about to drink — when at that moment, Xuanming the Shanren upended the gourd in his hand, downed the ritual water in one gulp, and thrust his arm into the air. “Have you forgotten the divine majesty of the Dragon God’s manifestation at the offering ceremony?! How dare you common mortals slander the Dragon God in this way — are you not afraid of heaven’s retribution?!”

The crowd’s faces shifted. The scene of the Dragon God’s manifestation was still vivid in their minds, and the deep-seated awe and terror it had left behind compelled them to halt, the antidote vials paused at their lips.

“A mere evil spirit daring to call itself a god — truly the greatest absurdity under heaven!” Hua Yitang fanned himself and smiled. “Your so-called Dragon God manifestation was nothing more than a mirage. Nothing remarkable about it at all.”

Xuanming the Shanren’s face changed drastically. “You — what did you say?!”

Hua Yitang raised his folded fan high. “Bring — forward — the — witness!”

A horse whinnied long and clear, and a rider charged out through the city gate on horseback, driving his heels hard into the stirrups. He vaulted into the air, leapt onto the altar platform on the wind, and stood straight, shaking out his robes. This man had a face as fair as polished jade and eyes like bright stars; he wore the dark green official’s robe of the sixth rank and a black gauze headpiece, and despite the dust of the road, his bearing was shot through with an upright integrity that could not be concealed.

“I am Ling Zhiyan, Judicial Inspector of the Court of Judicial Review. This is the county gazetteer of Cheng County, preserved in the Archives Hall of the Court.” Ling Zhiyan drew open the scroll in his hand and displayed it. “The gazetteer records that Cheng County’s topography is unique: at the end of the rainy season each year, mirages are known to appear. A mirage is simply a meteorological phenomenon, caused by the temperature and humidity differential between layers of air, which causes water vapor to rise from the surface of the lake and reflect the scenery of distant places.”

As he spoke, Ling Zhiyan drew out another scroll. Within it was a landscape painting depicting a continuous mountain range wreathed in wisps of mist and cloud, its contours bearing a striking resemblance to a dragon at first glance.

“This mountain is called Qinglong Mountain, located fifty li to the south of Cheng County. Because of its exceptionally unique position and climate, it has become the very source of the mirages reflected in Longshen Lake. What everyone witnessed as the Dragon God’s manifestation was in reality nothing more than the reflection of this mountain.”

Silence fell along the lakeshore.

The people of Cheng County looked up, fixing their gaze on the two scrolls for a long moment. Then suddenly, someone let out a wailing sob. One after another, more and more people sank to the ground, clutching their heads and weeping bitterly. As the weeping continued, some began to laugh — crying and laughing all at once, shouting and calling out, as though they were pouring out every last drop of the long-suppressed anguish and fear.

Lin Sui’an let out a quiet, inward sigh.

When faith collapses, the pain cuts to the bone — but it is a pain that cannot be avoided.

Hua Yitang fanned himself and sidled up to Ling Zhiyan, his expression rather displeased. “I only asked you to come as a witness. Was there really any need to steal the spotlight so thoroughly?”

“It was the Flower God himself who invited me,” Ling Zhiyan said, “so naturally I had to conduct myself with some gravity — lest I diminish the Flower God’s dignity.”

The upright and incorruptible Judicial Inspector of the Court of Judicial Review, handsome as jade and completely earnest in his expression, was entirely convincing. Hua Yitang was caught off guard and blinked. “You have a point.”

Ling Zhiyan turned his head and barely managed not to laugh out loud.

“Damn your Dragon God, damn your Longshen Temple — Xuanming, you have deceived us so cruelly!” A loud cry burst from the crowd. It was Qiu Sanniang who came charging out, scooping up a stone from the ground and hurling it at the Longshen Temple’s crowd. This act became an instant spark: the people snapped out of their daze, their heavy grief and anguish transforming into towering fury. Stones began raining down on Xuanming the Shanren amid a torrent of shouts and curses, and in a moment the sound of wailing and imprecation shook the sky.

Faced with the surging rage of the people, the Daoist disciples had no courage left to fight — they could only crouch down with their heads in their arms, begging for mercy. Xuanming the Shanren, the target of everyone’s wrath, was pelted until his nose was bloody and blue, his forehead gashed and bleeding. Yet rather than flinching, he threw his head back and burst out laughing. “Hahahahahahaha!”

Lin Sui’an’s expression changed. She drew Qian Jing. “Watch out — stand back!”

Xuanming the Shanren looked over at her even as he laughed. The whites of his eyes were bleeding into a rippling blue-green that spread in an instant to consume the entire eyeball. At his temples and throat, terrifying blue-green veins bulged and writhed like maggots.

The crowd recoiled in shock. The people surged back in a mass — except for Lin Sui’an, who stood firm before them like a mountain, the clean jade-green of Qian Jing’s blade catching the light against the faint curve of her mouth.

“Xuanming, Master of Longshen Temple — taking too much medicine does have side effects, you know.”

Xuanming opened his cavernous mouth and let out a howling shriek — a sound barely human, almost unbearably shrill, as if his internal organs were boiling and rotting inside him, being squeezed up through his throat. In the next instant, he launched himself into the air, the silver threads of his horsetail whisk exploding into thousands of bright filaments, engulfing Lin Sui’an from above in a sweeping downward strike.

Lin Sui’an’s pupils contracted. She touched her toe to the ground and met him head-on, her wrist spinning wildly as she whirled Qian Jing into a blur like a spinning propeller, shredding the whisk as it came. The severed threads scattered like windborne dandelion seeds in every direction, landing on the Longshen Temple disciples, who let out piercing screams — twisting their bodies, rolling across the ground, hideous blue-green veins leaping out across their faces.

The whisk had been poisoned too. Lin Sui’an’s brow twitched slightly. The blade’s movement shifted abruptly. Five strikes of “Blade Cauldron, Severed Fate” carved through the air from above, the fierce pressure of the blade forming a vortex that swept the severed whisk fragments upward into the sky. Three more strikes of “Throat Cut, Blood Ten Zhang” drove Xuanming back. Lin Sui’an turned and shouted, “Hua Yitang — the antidote!”

“Coming!” Hua Yitang kicked the altar table flying. Mu Xia and Ita dragged out the last large wooden crate. Zhu Dachang led the constables, who snatched up the leather water pouches from within, gulped down the contents, charged down from the altar platform, and sprayed them over the fallen Daoist disciples: “Spit, spit, spit, spit—”

Fangke pressed his hand to his forehead, unable to look. Ling Zhiyan silently averted his gaze.

The antidote, mixed liberally with saliva, was sprayed across the Longshen Temple disciples — soaking their heads and faces, leaving every one of them looking like a drowned rat. The blue-green veins disappeared. The screaming weakened. The disciples sprawled on the ground, retching blue liquid one after another — whether from the side effects of the poison or purely from revulsion at the treatment method, it was impossible to say.

The watching crowd saw all this and burst out laughing. Following the constables’ lead, they began spitting at the disciples too, cursing all the while — two activities proceeding simultaneously without getting in each other’s way. The merriment was tremendous.

Xuanming was so astonished by this bizarre antidote delivery method that he was momentarily stunned — and in that split second of inattention, green light erupted across his vision. In a flash, Qian Jing’s blade was lying flat against his throat.

Lin Sui’an’s smiling face was inches from his, and she had not even drawn an extra breath. “Brother Xuanming, we anticipated this little trick of yours long ago.”

Xuanming’s face twitched uncontrollably, his joints cracking. He reflected that, for all his worth, even with three times the ritual water running through him, he could last no more than ten strikes under this person’s hand. The gap between them was too great.

But no matter — as long as the Longshen Fruit remained, they could rise again—

Abruptly, Xuanming’s pupils contracted violently. He could hardly believe what his eyes were showing him. From the direction of Cheng Mountain, thick columns of smoke were billowing skyward.

Lin Sui’an glanced back, then mimicked Hua Yitang’s infuriating manner. “Oh my, your Longshen Fruit has probably been burned up completely. What a terrible shame.”

Xuanming’s eyes bulged. “How — how is that possible — Xuanqing, Junior Brother — what have you done with my Junior Brother?!”

Lin Sui’an rolled her eyes, pulled out a vial of Hundred Flower Dew, flicked the cork open with her thumb, and shoved the entire bottle into Xuanming’s mouth — then gripped his throat and gave him a firm shake.

The clear, fragrant liquid flowed down his throat into his stomach, and the strength drained from Xuanming’s entire body like water from a broken vessel. He sank to his knees, his spirit utterly broken, and wept bitterly without end. “Xuanqing, Junior Brother… Junior Brother, it is Senior Brother who has ruined you—”

Lin Sui’an could barely keep a straight face. “Xuanqing, Junior Disciple — your senior brother is worried sick about you.”

“Better not be remembered by someone like this — it’s no blessing.”

Yun Zhong Yue had been a hundred paces away one moment, and was standing before them the next, his blue-gray Daoist robes leaving three overlapping afterimages. He clasped his fists toward Xuanming. “Junior Disciple has not failed Senior Brother’s trust. Every last Longshen Fruit has been harvested and burned to ash. Senior Brother need no longer lose sleep or peace of mind over them.”

Xuanming felt as though a bucketful of icy water had been poured over him from head to toe. A Daoist with this kind of transcendent lightness skill — that was impossible for Xuanqing. This person was not Xuanqing at all. He was — he was—

“You are Yun Zhong Yue!”

Yun Zhong Yue was greatly pleased. “Now there’s a name that sits well in the ear.”

Xuanming’s face went the color of gold paper. He stared, dazed, for a long moment — then slowly pressed his forehead to the ground, pounding his fists against it with all his might and letting out a heartrending wail: “AAAAAHHHHH!”

Hua Yitang strolled over with his fan, regarding him with cold eyes. “Xuanming — where did you sell the ritual water and embroidery made from the Longshen Fruit? What were the distribution routes? Who were the buyers? Are there any account books or ledgers?!”

“If you confess honestly,” Ling Zhiyan added, “I can appeal to the Court of Judicial Review on your behalf and leave you with an intact corpse.”

Xuanming’s wailing gradually faded. He raised his head and stared directly at Hua Yitang. “Who are you, really?”

Hua Yitang raised an eyebrow. “Surely you’ve already guessed, haven’t you?”

Xuanming nearly ground his teeth to powder. His gaze shifted to Lin Sui’an. “Bearer of Qian Jing, Lin Sui’an — you traitor!”

“Hmm?” Lin Sui’an blinked.

Xuanming’s eyes blazed with a bone-deep hatred. Then suddenly he spat out a mouthful of blood and howled skyward: “Han Tai Ping — what are you waiting for?!”

This shout left everyone bewildered.

“Han Tai Ping?” Lin Sui’an said. “Who’s that?”

Hua Yitang frowned. “The name sounds familiar.”

Just then, Zhu Dachang suddenly let out a sharp cry: “Who goes there?!”

Lin Sui’an, Hua Yitang, and Ling Zhiyan turned — and all three immediately widened their eyes. On top of the city wall, a ring of black-robed figures had appeared from nowhere, wearing masks made of dried bark, each holding a high-quality replica of Qian Jing. They numbered nearly a hundred, with one figure standing right in the center of the city gate’s approach, fanning himself with his bark mask, looking thoroughly impatient.

This man was sturdily built and reasonably featured, and his face did look vaguely familiar. Zhu Dachang was the first to recall who he was. “You are — Han Tai Ping, the neighborhood head of Penglai Ward! What do you think you’re doing?!”

Han Tai Ping smiled. “Exactly as Third Master predicted — Xuanming, you really are someone who can’t accomplish anything but ruins everything. Now that you’ve lost the Longshen Fruit, Cheng County is no longer worth staying in.”

Lin Sui’an also remembered now. On their second day in Cheng County, this neighborhood head Han had come to the clinic to offer “guidance,” and had accepted a tip of one string of cash from Hua Yitang.

Hua Yitang tapped his forehead with his fan, looking rather vexed. “I truly never imagined that a complete nobody would come along to steal this deity’s thunder.”

Lin Sui’an and Ling Zhiyan turned to look at him.

Yun Zhong Yue had a revelation. “So this is what Senior Brother meant by his ‘backup plan.'”

Xuanming appeared not to hear Yun Zhong Yue at all. He pressed his forehead to the ground again and again through his tears. “Xuanming has failed Third Master’s trust. I know my crimes are grave and I willingly accept punishment!”

Then, just as he was about to bite down on his tongue to end his life, Yun Zhong Yue moved in a flash and dislocated his jaw — then knocked him unconscious.

Han Tai Ping let out three loud laughs, then flipped his bark mask back over his face and swept his arm down in a sharp command. The black-robed figures atop the city wall fell like black paper kites drifting down from above, drawing their blades as their feet hit the ground, advancing one step at a time toward Longshen Lake. A sudden squall rose; black robes thrashed in the wind. More than a hundred masks radiated a murderous ferocity, their collective presence utterly formidable.

The crowd of people went pale with fear and backed away step by step.

Zhu Dachang moved quickly to Lin Sui’an’s side, his voice urgent. “County Officer Hua — who are these people?”

“Bad ones, obviously,” Hua Yitang said.

Zhu Dachang nearly broke down crying, wondering how this wastrel could still be joking at a moment like this.

Yet looking at Hua Yitang’s expression — sharp and cold — it didn’t seem like he was joking at all.

“There are one hundred and sixteen of the black-robed figures,” Ling Zhiyan said. “On our side, counting Yun Zhong Yue and Li Nili along with the constables and county clerks, we have only thirty-eight. Lin Niangzi — what are our chances?”

Zhu Dachang felt hope flicker back to life in his heart. He had almost forgotten: Hua Sui’an of the Hua family carried the reputation of one capable of fighting off a hundred alone. With the county constables and clerks added—

“Looking at their gear, they seem to be the same group as the black-robed figures from the Yunshui River,” Lin Sui’an said, twirling a single sword flourish. “These people are skilled fighters, and they know formation tactics. It’ll likely be tough going.”

Zhu Dachang nearly choked.

Ling Zhiyan let out a sigh, drawing the horizontal blade at his waist. “Lin Niangzi, shall we?”

Lin Sui’an raised an eyebrow and smiled. “Ling Judicial Inspector, shall we.”

Before the last syllable had landed, both had shot forward like arrows loosed from their bows into the black-robed ranks. Li Nili let out a long battle cry and led the county clerks and constables charging after them. Han Tai Ping barked the order, and the black-robed figures surged forward carrying a world-shaking killing intent.

Lin Sui’an dropped her center of gravity extremely low, moving like a bird skimming the surface of water — feet barely touching the ground, body wrapped in a fierce wind. Her right hand held Qian Jing in a reverse grip; her left hand gripped the scabbard in a reverse hold. As her form moved with lightning speed, both hands erupted in attacks with the swiftness of thunder before one could cover one’s ears — precise and lethal, every strike decisive. She was like a needle driving deep into the heart of the enemy formation. Wherever she passed, blood flew and bloomed — yet not a single drop fell upon her own body, only staining the cloud of dust that rose in her wake.

Lin Sui’an’s speed had grown faster still!

Ling Zhiyan was inwardly shaken. Even at his full effort, he could barely keep up behind her, picking off stragglers. Yet without quite realizing it, he had already cut down more than ten of the black-robed figures. Li Nili and the others fought with their blood up, laughing and declaring they had never cut enemies down with such exhilaration — but as they kept fighting, something began to feel wrong. Lin Sui’an ahead had turned left and turned right, and somewhere along the way she had been lost — black-robed figures had surrounded them on all sides, appearing from every direction.

Trouble. Ling Zhiyan broke into a cold sweat. “It’s a trap — fall back!”

Too late. Wave upon wave of attacks from the black-robed figures crashed over them. Each one cut down was immediately replaced by another; with their identical uniforms and masks, it was impossible to know which one had been struck. The group was on the verge of being overwhelmed, when a swathe of green blade-light tore open the black-robed ranks from the left flank — Lin Sui’an came cutting back through, her form spinning as she exploded two strikes, dropping eight of the black-robed figures.

The black-robed figures’ blades surged in an instant, filling the gap — and surged forward again.

“It’s a formation,” Lin Sui’an said.

Ling Zhiyan’s heart sank. Indeed.

Li Nili and the constables were falling back repeatedly. They were just minor county officials and had never seen a battlefield this brutal. Every face was drained white with terror.

Han Tai Ping’s voice cut through from a distance: “Bearer of Qian Jing — stop this futile resistance. All of Cheng County is surrounded. You cannot escape.”

Lin Sui’an looked up and saw that yet another group of black-robed figures had appeared along the city walls — dropping down one after another like dumplings being tossed into a pot. There was still more in ambush! If they kept hacking away at this rate, even if she were made of iron, she wouldn’t last — this enemy was limitless!

Their only option was—

Lin Sui’an swung Qian Jing again and plunged back into the enemy ranks, tearing her throat open to call for backup: “Hua Yitang!”

As if answering her voice, from the altar platform came a great bellowing shout from Hua Yitang: “Open your damn eyes! Are you all idiots?!”

This shout was not aimed at the black-robed figures — it was aimed at the people of Cheng County, who had frozen in terror. At these words, the crowd fell to their knees as one before the altar, bowing to Hua Yitang and chanting over and over: “Flower God protect us! Flower God protect us!”

Hua Yitang’s white robes swirled wildly around him, his expression frost-hard. “To hell with the Flower God! I am Hua Yitang, County Officer of Cheng County, dispatched by Imperial Order to investigate the Longshen Temple of Cheng County for its crimes of inciting chaos under the guise of the Dragon God! The chief criminal Xuanming has now been brought to justice. The light of Cheng County is right before you. Are you going to stand here and watch while villains destroy Cheng County before your eyes?!”

The people stared at Hua Yitang blankly, their eyes confused.

“Is the Flower God also a fake?”

“If the Flower God is also false — then who can we believe in?”

Hua Yitang’s eyes flooded with crimson. His voice rang out with fierce intensity across the sky and earth: “The Dragon God was false. The Flower God was false. The true god lives not in heaven or earth — but in the hearts of every common person. The god of Cheng County is no one else — it is us. Rise up! With our own hands and our own fists, we protect our home!”

With that, Hua Yitang snatched up a horizontal blade from the ground and charged at the black-robed figures. Zhu Dachang, not to be outdone, roared and surged right after him. Behind them came Mu Xia and Ita — Yun Zhong Yue and Fangke didn’t move, standing firm to guard Qiu Liang and the unconscious Xuanming — and then Qiu Laoban with his wolf-tooth club caught up to Zhu Dachang; Nanny Zhu, Xiao Yu, Qiu Sanshier, the farmhands, the Zhu clan head, Qiu Sanniang… More and more people seemed to jolt awake from a dream, grabbing whatever weapons were at hand — hoes, carrying poles, rocks, and some even bare-handed — and charged into the fray.

“The Flower God is right — our home, we protect it ourselves!”

“Charge!”

“Give it to them! Who’s afraid of who!”

“We have this many people — can we really lose to a handful of scoundrels!”

“Get out! Get out of Cheng County!”

Lin Sui’an, trapped inside the formation, broke into a smile. “Brothers — follow me and break out together!”

And as it turned out, however formidable a formation might be, it cannot withstand the pressure of overwhelming numbers. A surrounding charge from nearly a thousand people, combined with Lin Sui’an and the others breaking from within, and the formation of a mere hundred was shattered in no time at all.

Beneath the Flower God’s banners rippling wildly in the wind, war cries shook the sky and curses shook the earth. The blue lake of Longshen gradually took on a tinge of crimson.

Jin Ruo urged his horse forward, his heart a knot of anxiety. By the plan, they should have arrived in Cheng County by the hour of Chen — but a downpour upstream had swept out the bridge on their only route, forcing a detour through the mountain road and costing them three full hours.

Behind him rode three hundred garrison soldiers dispatched by Prefect Che of Guangdu City, led by Tang County Judicial Adjutant Ren Bing — all elite soldiers of Guangdu City, skilled riders every one, who had galloped for hours without a word of complaint.

The dense forest and wildflowers had nearly swallowed the mountain path. Hooves pounded through the mud as the glimmer of Longshen Lake flickered in and out through the leaves. Almost there — just through this stretch of forest and they would arrive!

Master. That Hua fellow. Doctor Fang. Mu Xia. Ita. Please, all of you — be safe.

Then suddenly, the forest opened up, and the vast, boundless expanse of Longshen Lake spread out before them like a mirror. Jin Ruo saw the great altar platform on the lakeshore, the Flower God’s banners flying in the wind — and the entire lakeside was eerily silent, not a single human sound.

His head rang. He lashed his horse hard; behind him, the horses screamed; the entire company charged at maximum speed into the altar’s perimeter. Jin Ruo hauled the reins with a sharp pull — front hooves rearing up, then pounding back down.

Jin Ruo stared. Adjutant Ren and the three hundred cavalry stared too.

Scattered throughout the space beneath the altar platform sat a great many people — old and young, men and women, all dressed as the common people of Cheng County. Every one of them was gasping for breath, splattered with mud, hair in disarray, faces swollen and bruised, utterly disheveled. Yet their faces were full of joy, their eyes shining brightly, as if they had just accomplished something extraordinary.

Among them were Zhu Dachang, Qiu Laoban, Li Nili, Xiao Yu, the constables, Nanny Zhu, Old Qiu’s steward… who greeted Jin Ruo warmly when they caught sight of him.

Jin Ruo dismounted and walked forward, where he discovered that in the center of these people lay a great heap of black-robed figures. Their bark masks had been stomped to splinters; their blades were nicked and blunted; their clothing was torn and ragged, barely covering them. Some had blood gushing from their heads; others had red seeping elsewhere. There was breath going out but none coming in — they were no more than a finger’s width from the Bridge of Helplessness.

In one corner crouched dozens of Daoist priests, all huddled into a trembling mass, looking as though they had been frightened out of their wits and had lost their minds entirely.

Adjutant Ren stared wide-eyed. “These are—”

“My, my — little Jin Ruo, you’ve arrived too late.”

A leisurely voice drifted down from the altar platform. Hua Yitang was sitting on the platform with his legs stretched out, his arms hanging limp from his shoulders as though he no longer had the strength to lift them. His handsome face was smeared with blood and grime, his expensive and beautiful robes shredded to rags — yet his pair of eyes remained clear and bright, putting the whole of Longshen Lake to shame.

Jin Ruo saw Lin Sui’an. She sat just behind Hua Yitang, the hair at her temples still dripping blood, her back resting against his as she leaned in a relaxed, at-ease posture, her face tilted up toward the drifting clouds at the edge of the sky.

Jin Ruo’s joy surged. “Master!”

Lin Sui’an turned, and broke into a wide, brilliant smile. “Good apprentice — we won!”

Scattered laughter rippled through the crowd below, growing and growing, louder and louder.

“Hahahaha, we won!”

“We won! Hahaha, we won!”

“We WON!”

Side story:

Adjutant Ren: Where’s my screentime? Gone just like that again?!!

This Ni You Qian Wo You Dao – Chapter took a full four days to write — completely drained. Going to lie flat.

Little one finally recovered from the flu and went back to school — crying tears of relief.

Please everyone take care of your health.