Although Cai Zhao was intelligent, her youth and limited experience in the martial world hindered her. Normally, she wouldn’t have connected the gold chain to the gold rings on the bedchamber walls so quickly. However, she had recently seen an identical device—in a mansion in Qingque Town where Qian Xueshen was confined. She had witnessed firsthand the delicate iron shackle on Qian Xueshen’s ankle, with a thin chain disappearing into the wall.
It was because of that chain that she couldn’t free Qian Xueshen at the time.
After hurling the white jade box and shrine contents at Mu Qingyan, she silently grabbed the gold chain and raced back to the bedchamber. As a rigorous righteous female warrior, she didn’t want to wrongly accuse anyone. Crouching by the wall’s gold ring, she carefully aligned the chain. With a soft metallic click, the chain’s lock clasp fit perfectly into the ring.
Cai Zhao was devastated: This chain and ring were meant to restrain someone!
At that moment, Mu Qingyan arrived, just in time to see the perfect match between the chain and ring. The enraged young girl immediately launched her attack.
Her left palm spread like an orchid, while her right hand formed a blade. Twisting her body, she targeted several of Mu Qingyan’s major acupoints. If he dodged this acupoint-sealing technique, he’d run into her knife-hand strike. This was the first move of the Dragon-Catching Hand technique, “Unique Form, Wondrous Shape.”
Cai Zhao’s skills were formidable, and the Dragon-Catching Hand was Cai Pingshu’s signature move. Mu Qingyan couldn’t underestimate her. In a normal fight, he could have used the Nine Netherworld Soul-Breaking Hand to strike her wrists, potentially crippling her hands or even damaging her dantian—but he couldn’t bring himself to use such a vicious technique on Cai Zhao.
Mu Qingyan initially planned to leap backward but changed his mind, instead charging towards Cai Zhao like a battering ram.
Cai Zhao hesitated, her right hand instinctively reaching for her waist. If she drew her Blazing Sun Blade, she could cleave the oncoming figure in two—but she didn’t want to cut Mu Qingyan in half.
Mu Qingyan was counting on this moment of hesitation.
He closed in, grappling with her.
Cai Zhao refused to surrender, immediately counterattacking.
However, at such close quarters, neither could fully execute their techniques, and neither wanted to risk a direct clash of internal energy. Their fight degenerated into something less dignified than a street brawl.
One used sloppy grappling techniques, the other a crooked version of the Dragon-Catching technique. They resorted to ear-pulling, chin-biting, elbow-jabbing, and head-butting.
This is why fights between skilled martial artists often devolve into childish wrestling matches.
Finally, Mu Qingyan used his larger frame to pin Cai Zhao to the carpet. “Cai Xiaozhao, be reasonable! How am I responsible for something that happened 120 years ago? Why are you attacking me?”
Struggling to breathe, Cai Zhao retorted, “… Aren’t you a Mu? Who else should I blame for your ancestor’s despicable actions?”
“I’m not from Mu Donglie’s branch! My direct ancestor is Mu Dongxu!”
“Can two Mu characters be written with one stroke?!”
Mu Qingyan sighed heavily. He stood up, pulling Cai Zhao with him while restraining her arms to prevent further fighting. “You think your ancestor Luo Shiyun was forced and abused by Mu Donglie, right? Fine, come with me and look!”
He dragged her to an embroidered couch near the coral bed, pointing at a pink jade basket. “Look at this!” Then he indicated a jade sewing box beside it. “Now look here.”
The pink jade basket contained piles of clothing, with a half-mended men’s robe on top. The robe was exquisite and valuable, with only a tear at the elbow. The sewing box held various colored threads and silver needles of different sizes.
After a century, the jade items, silver needles, and most of the fine fabrics remained intact, but most thread spools had turned to dust, maintaining the shape left by their original owner. When Cai Zhao touched one spool earlier, it immediately crumbled.
Mu Qingyan pointed at the various thread spools in the jade box. “Look at these spools of different sizes. The largest is as big as a fist, while the smallest white thread is barely there. Lady Luo mended more than one garment. But when we searched the wardrobe earlier, we found only new clothes, with none showing signs of repair—what does this mean?”
“It means your Mu family is rich and wasteful, throwing away mended clothes!” Cai Zhao retorted.
Mu Qingyan continued, “It means when Mu Donglie left, he didn’t take many of the palace’s pearls, corals, jades, or gold. Instead, he took all the robes his wife had mended, unwilling to leave them behind—meaning they were a loving couple, not a case of forced subjugation!”
“What a storyteller you are! You should write novels!” Cai Zhao struggled, but her voice had softened.
Mu Qingyan forced her to look at the half-mended robe in the jade basket. “Look at the stitching on this robe—as a woman, tell me, under what circumstances would you see such stitching?”
Cai Zhao couldn’t help but respond, “You know I’m hopeless at needlework. At the Snow Mountain Inn, you were the one who mended the tear in my clothes. Are you trying to humiliate me now?!”
Mu Qingyan nearly choked, “Who’s asking you to do it? I’m just asking you to look! Can’t you tell good stitching from bad? Compare the clothes I mended for you by lamplight to store-bought ones!”
Cai Zhao’s gaze wavered.
She might be terrible at sewing, but Mu Qingyan had never touched a needle before. Even at Huanglaofeng’s Busixi, though Mu Zhengming lived simply, he ensured his son had the best in food, clothing, and shelter to make up for earlier hardships.
After the age of five, Mu Qingyan never wore clothes needing repair. The Snow Mountain Inn incident was likely his first time handling a needle, though his dexterity far surpassed Cai Zhao’s, allowing him to learn quickly.
In terms of sewing skills, how could he compare to professional tailors?
So Cai Zhao instinctively began, “Naturally, it’s…”
Seeing Mu Qingyan’s dangerous glare, she quickly changed her tune, “Naturally, your stitching is better! You worked so hard mending it for me by lamplight. I remember you even pricked your finger.”
Mu Qingyan’s brow relaxed, and he smiled with mock indignation, “Good that you remember!”
He pointed again to the robe in the basket. “These stitches are dense, tiny, even, and neat—more labor-intensive than ordinary mending. If Lady Luo were forced to stay here, would she have such tender affection to patiently mend Mu Donglie’s clothes?”
“Moreover, look at the potted plants by the window. According to notes in the study, Lady Luo tended them herself. Daily watering, pruning, fertilizing… Would an angry, resentful woman have such leisurely pursuits?”
Cai Zhao glared, “Are you done? If so, let me go!”
“Not yet, one more thing.” Mu Qingyan held her tightly. “No matter what we say, it’s all ancient history. The Six Northern Chen Sects and our sect have been at odds for two hundred years. If you hold me accountable for past grudges, then how… how can we… what should we do?” His face showed anxiety as he spoke the last words.
Cai Zhao calmed down and said softly, “I understand. I won’t hold you accountable anymore.” Unlike her hot-tempered peers, she was usually cheerful and agreeable.
“I don’t know why I suddenly lost my temper,” she said, feeling weary.
Mu Qingyan slowly relaxed his grip. “It’s okay to lose your temper. I’m here for you.” He gently stroked her arm. “I was too rough earlier. Did I hurt you?”
Cai Zhao, unwilling to dwell on the matter, replied, “It’s fine. Let’s set this aside for now. I wonder what’s happening outside. We should hurry and leave.”
Mu Qingyan patted her head and led her out.
Passing through the study again, they deliberately detoured to the shrine. Mu Qingyan replaced the jade marriage certificate under the ancestor’s statue. Cai Zhao tidied the incense table. Together, they bowed three times to the statue, unsure what to pray for.
Exiting through the palace’s main doors, Mu Qingyan turned back to look. He saw a gold-threaded jade plaque hanging from the high eaves, bearing the ancient characters for “Dong Yun.”
Mu Qingyan felt a lump in his throat. After all the earth-shattering events, only these two characters remained for posterity.
Outside the main doors, beyond the jade steps and arched bridge, stood a jade screen wall. It bore a massive mural of phoenixes in harmony, with another Eight Trigrams map at its center—the last such map they’d see in this underground palace.
Cai Zhao sighed, “You said earlier that this underground palace seemed designed to hide something. But it wasn’t hiding things; it was hiding people. Whether to confine or protect Lady Luo, Sect Leader Mu Donglie built this vast underground palace to prevent intruders. He never intended anyone to leave alive.”
Mu Qingyan mused, “But Lady Luo worried her Falling Petals Valley family might stumble in while searching for her. That’s why she left escape clues everywhere. However, without Mu Donglie’s tacit approval, she couldn’t have carved all these Eight Trigrams maps. I truly don’t understand. If they were in love, why go to such extremes as building an underground palace to marry?”
Cai Zhao sighed softly, “Perhaps it’s easier to fall in love than to spend a lifetime together.”
Mu Qingyan turned to look at her, his eyes clouded with an impenetrable gloom.
Following the final Eight Trigrams map, they found a fake mountain in the palace courtyard’s grove, revealing a hidden passage within. Unlike the previous iron-cast tunnels, this one resembled the path to Fleeting Beauty, with floors and ceilings of blue stone.
As they progressed, they sensed the terrain rising, clearly heading towards the surface. Despite nearing their exit from the underground palace, they felt an odd heaviness rather than joy, speaking little.
Even the longest road has an end.
Mu Qingyan pushed open a stone door carved with a landscape scene. Expecting daylight, they instead found darkness and a musty, putrid odor.
Cai Zhao was puzzled. “Are we still in the underground palace?”
Mu Qingyan looked around and realized, “No, we’ve left the underground palace. This is an intermediate layer.” As he released his hand, the stone door behind them closed immediately.
They noticed the door’s exterior was covered by a three-foot-thick iron wall. Once closed, the iron sealed seamlessly, making it impossible for others to find the hidden stone door.
Hand in hand, they circled the area, discovering it was originally a vast square iron room. However, later occupants had haphazardly constructed several stone chambers within, similar to Nie Zhe’s stone mechanism room.
Mu Qingyan explained the details to Cai Zhao. Years ago, Mu Donglie had built an underground palace beneath the Palace of Ultimate Bliss. To avoid easy detection, the underground palace was far from the main structure. This iron room served as a transition between the two.
Those authorized by Mu Donglie would know how to access the underground palace through the stone door. Otherwise, even if the entire iron room were demolished, the secret passage couldn’t be found. Nie Zhe, unaware of this secret, thought it was just a hidden underground space and used it for his nefarious purposes.
Cai Zhao casually opened a stone chamber door, revealing mountains of desiccated corpses. Their clothing indicated they were villagers and ordinary sect members. The bodies were shriveled as if drained, with skin barely clinging to their skeletons. Their skull-like faces bore eerie, numb expressions.
“Are these… corpse puppets?” Cai Zhao nearly vomited and quickly retreated.
“Not entirely,” Mu Qingyan stared at the scene. “It seems Nie Zhe was practicing the Spirit Leech Technique.”
Cai Zhao was horrified. “The Spirit Leech Technique? Wasn’t that evil art banned? Wait, it can’t even be practiced! Those who tried all had their dantians explode.”
Legend had it that the Spirit Leech Technique was an extremely vicious and evil skill, said to absorb others’ true power from their dantians, even draining their entire body to a husk.
Initially, progress would be rapid, but martial arts styles vary greatly. Some are cold and yin-oriented, others fiery and yang-based. Even the Six Northern Chen Sects, sharing a common origin, developed different internal energy techniques over two centuries.
Even if an elder wanted to transfer their power to a junior, they had to be of the same lineage and cultivation system. For instance, Cangqiong Zi of Taichu Temple could transfer power to Qiu Yuanfeng because they were uncle and nephews in the same sect.
Martial artists can practice various techniques because they assimilate different attributes during training. But directly absorbing another’s dantian energy is like swallowing it whole, leading to self-destruction.
Mu Qingyan explained, “Nie Zhe forced these people to cultivate the same internal energy as him before absorbing it. Hmph, what a waste, resorting to such vicious methods.”
The villagers and low-level sect members couldn’t have developed profound skills in a short time, so Nie Zhe aimed for quantity, harming as many as possible.
“Does this work?” Cai Zhao could hardly imagine it.
Mu Qingyan sneered, “It can work, but how else could a waste like Nie Zhe use this method for a year? Nie Hengcheng was too busy vying for power to teach his nephew anything, leaving Nie Zhe ignorant.”
Cai Zhao shook her head. “Although our Six Northern Chen Sects have some treacherous and fence-sitting scoundrels, at least we don’t openly create corpse puppets and harm innocents on such a scale.”
They explored the remaining stone chambers: a blood-splattered torture room, a chamber full of dismembered limbs, and an eerie green-lit alchemy room.
Cai Zhao was sickened by the sights. Finally, they opened the fourth chamber door. Instead of more corpses and limbs, they found a single figure chained to the wall.
Mu Qingyan pushed Cai Zhao behind him as they approached cautiously.
The person had white hair and beard, a small frame, and was wrapped in iron chains. Several major acupoints were pierced with soul-disturbing needles. If not for the faint breathing, they might have thought it was a corpse.
“Who’s there?” The person suddenly raised his head at the sound, his voice hoarse but eyes gleaming with intelligence.
He looked at Mu and Cai, then fixed his gaze on Mu Qingyan. His expression turned uncertain. “Young… Young Master? How did you get here?” The dim light fell on the youth’s face, revealing familiar handsome features. Though he resembled someone known, his cold and wary expression was unlike Mu Zhengming’s easygoing nature.
The old man quickly realized, “No, you’re not the Young Master. Who… who are you…”
Mu Qingyan sneered, “So you’re Nie Hengcheng’s dog. How did you end up locked here by Nie Zhe?”
During Nie Hengcheng’s rule, his attitude towards Mu Zhengming’s succession was ambiguous. The sect members split into two factions: loyalists like Elder Qiu Baigang still called Mu Zhengming the “Young Lord,” while Nie Hengcheng’s supporters vaguely referred to him as the “Young Master”—Mu Qingyan immediately understood this distinction.
The old man’s head jerked. “You’re Mu Qingyan? You’re Sun Ruoshui’s son? You’ve grown so big!”
At this moment, Mu Qingyan noticed the old man’s left hand had six fingers. A thought struck him, and he blurted out, “You’re Elder Yuheng, Elder Yan Xu?”