Two golden-feathered giant rocs emerged from the clouds one after another, landing on the slope of an unremarkable hill. Cai Zhao affectionately patted one’s head, saying, “Good boy, go play. I’ll call you later.” The other roc, which had been flying empty, also nuzzled its massive head against Cai Zhao’s palm, seeking equal attention. Despite their enormous size, their behavior was endearingly clumsy, making Cai Zhao chuckle despite her worries. “Ah you’re so adorable. Why is your master so detestable?” she sighed, shaking her head.
After bidding farewell to the rocs, Cai Zhao followed a faint path up the hill, pushing aside dense, dark vines until she spotted the cave she sought. Song Yuzhi, hearing movement outside, drew his sword and cautiously emerged. As he reached the entrance, he was surprised and delighted to see the girl he’d been longing for standing before him.
Inside the cave, a warm fire burned, with dried food and water nearby. Fan Xingjia lay sleeping on a pile of straw. “When I realized you’d given me your last ‘Tempest Thunder’ pill, I rushed back, only to find the back mountain empty,” Song Yuzhi said, stoking the fire. “Was it Sect Leader Mu who rescued you? It seems he truly cares for you.”
“What care? He has no heart! If he does, it’s a wolf’s heart and a dog’s lungs!” Cai Zhao fumed. “Don’t mention that scoundrel! Has Fifth Senior Brother not woken yet? I need to ask him about the true culprit!”
“No, he’s woken up. I gave him medicine to help him sleep. You can ask him yourself later,” Song Yuzhi replied, supporting Fan Xingjia and channeling his inner energy into him.
Fan Xingjia awoke, gasping. Seeing Cai Zhao, his lip quivered, “Zhao Zhao, I… I didn’t mean to…”
“Stop!” Cai Zhao held up a hand to halt his tears. “I only want to know: who instructed you to steal the Night Orchid branch? Was it Master or Uncle Zhou?”
Fan Xingjia looked confused. “What are you talking about? It wasn’t Master, nor was it, Lord Zhou.”
“Then who was it?” Cai Zhao asked, bewildered.
“It was Uncle Li,” Fan Xingjia admitted shamefully.
Cai Zhao’s jaw dropped in shock. Fan Xingjia explained in a low voice: “Before we left Qingque Sect, Uncle Li called me aside. He said we might enter the blood swamp in the dense forest near Guangtian Gate. There’s a type of orchid that only blooms at night in the swamp. Uncle Li asked me to bring back a large branch—it’s a sect secret, and we couldn’t let Guangtian Gate or the Demonic Sect know. That’s why he told me to keep it from you.”
The six Northern Chen sects each had their interests, and the Demonic Sect had been their enemy for a century. Fan Xingjia understood why Li Wenxun didn’t want the other two factions to learn Qingque Sect’s secret.
“I truly didn’t know the Blood Swamp Night Orchid was related to a demonic technique of the Demonic Sect!” Fan Xingjia cried out desperately. “Senior Brother, Junior Sister, you must believe me!”
“So it was him, it was him,” Cai Zhao murmured. Although still upset, she felt a sense of relief knowing it wasn’t Qi Yunke or Zhou Zhizhen.
Song Yuzhi said, “The night Wang Yuanjing was killed, you questioned all the elders. Remember, Uncle Li said he was patrolling that night. It wasn’t entirely a lie—he just took the opportunity to kill Wang Yuanjing over the wall while patrolling.”
Cai Zhao sighed, “He hid it so well, I didn’t suspect a thing!” She recalled Mu Qingyan’s words—the person who could tempt Song Xiuzhi to develop ambition, leading to him killing his brothers and forcing his father, causing chaos in Guangtian Gate, must have been close to the Song family. Was Li Wenxun close to the Song family? Moreover, Li Wenxun wasn’t among the disciples who attacked Youming Huangdao over a decade ago. So how did he blackmail Wang Yuanjing?
Song Yuzhi asked, “What should we do now?”
“What else? We must tell Master and Uncle Zhou immediately and expose Li Wenxun for the scoundrel he is!” Cai Zhao replied, eager for a quick resolution.
Song Yuzhi readily agreed.
Mu Qingyan re-examined the secret cave. He first returned to the ‘Forbidden Tomb,’ discovering that the two identical cave entrances had once been sealed by an ingeniously crafted stone door. From the outside, it appeared to be an ordinary large boulder, exceptionally hard. Unfortunately, the impatient Cai Zhao had violently destroyed the door with a single strike instead of searching for the mechanism to open it.
Lian Shisan held up a torch, looking around. “Master, which entrance will you explore first?”
“The left one,” Mu Qingyan answered.
The three senior brothers stared at the two haughty golden-winged rocs in bewilderment. Cai Zhao put on a full smile and coaxed softly, “Come on, lower yourselves. Let my senior brothers ride you, okay? He’s injured and can’t endure a bumpy journey…”
Big Gold proudly lifted its neck, while Second Gold raised its wings, both looking down their beaks at the strangers, refusing to let them ride.
Cai Zhao turned back sheepishly, “What should we do? They won’t listen.”
Song Yuzhi shook his head helplessly, “Time is of the essence. Junior Sister, you should ride the roc and inform Master first. I’ll take Fifth Junior Brother and travel slowly downstream. We’ll meet at Peiqiong Mountain Villa later.”
“Alright!” Cai Zhao smiled confidently. “Once we tell Master and Uncle Zhou, they’ll surely know what to do!”
Mu Qingyan entered the same cave for the second time, examining it closely as he walked, instructing Lian Shisan to light the oil lamps along the cave walls. He now realized that the narrow parts of the cave were passages, while the spacious areas were separate chambers. Some were set up as studies with writing desks and ink stones; others were filled with tools, resembling workshops; some were arranged as bedrooms; and the remaining few were practice rooms with either meditation platforms or weapon racks for martial arts training…
Mu Qingyan began to suspect something, recalling last night’s conversation:
“Nie Hengcheng was useless too. Mu Zhengyang practiced, studied, and schemed right under his nose, and he was none the wiser. No wonder he fell for it in the end!”
“Not only that, Mu Zhengyang came and went from the Hanhai Mountains, and Nie Hengcheng never suspected a thing. His guard was far too lax.”
“Ah!” Lian Shisan suddenly exclaimed, “There’s been a fierce battle here!”
Mu Qingyan looked where he was pointing—from this point forward, the ground and cave walls were covered with signs of combat: footprints, palm impressions, sword marks, and impact craters… It was clear that both combatants were first-class masters.
About ten zhang (about 33 meters) ahead, partially hidden by rocks, they saw a skeleton slumped against the wall.
“Master, look! A dead body!” Lian Shisan pointed.
Mu Qingyan bent down to examine it closely. The skeleton was quite large, with a height and shoulder width similar to Mu Qingyan’s. Although reduced to bones, the dark brocade robe with intricate gold patterns was still recognizable—the familiar celestial and sea patterns were the work of Uncle Cheng’s legendary needlework.
Carefully lifting the skeleton’s chest covering, Mu Qingyan revealed a deep sword wound slashing from the right shoulder to the left abdomen. The ribs along the wound had been completely severed, nearly cleaving the upper body in two.
Lian Shisan couldn’t help but exclaim, “Good heavens! What a fierce sword technique! It almost split the person in half!”
Beneath the outer garment, the skeleton wore a breastplate. Mu Qingyan removed it for closer inspection and found a heart-protecting mirror made entirely of dark iron embedded within it. He pieced together the split mirror and noticed an ancient character ‘羅’ (Luo) engraved on the slightly convex back.
Mu Qingyan was momentarily stunned, then recalled Luo Yuanying’s words from the Northern Chen Ancestor’s memorial ceremony two years ago. What did she say then? The Luo family had a hereditary dark iron heart-protecting mirror. Before Wu Yuanying left for Dinglu Mountain, Luo Yuanying had begged him to wear it.
Later, when Wu Yuanying was captured, the dark iron heart-protecting mirror naturally fell into the hands of the Yaoguang faction. However, Elder Yaoguang was soon killed by Yin Dai and Canghuan Zi. His loyal followers sought revenge, resulting in a brutal battle where most of them perished. Consequently, the captured Luo family mirror was forgotten.
Mu Qingyan suddenly recalled something he had read about Elder Qiu’s deeds: Elder Qiu noticed Nie Hengcheng becoming increasingly violent and unpredictable. Fearing for Mu Zhengming’s safety, he retrieved a treasured armor from the vault and presented it to Mu Zhengming at Nie Hengcheng’s birthday feast. All the guests understood that Elder Qiu’s gift was a veiled warning to Nie Hengcheng not to harm Mu Zhengming.
Mu Qingyan held the old breastplate, its two halves of the dark iron mirror still gleaming coldly. In a daze, he seemed to see two identical handsome young men talking:
“Yangyang, you should go out less often. Nie Hengcheng is getting older and more ill-tempered. The sect disciples are punished for the slightest offense. If he finds out you’ve been sneaking out, he won’t let you off easily.”
“Don’t worry about me. I know what I’m doing. Nie, that old dog, won’t let me off? Hah! I’m the one who won’t let him off! One day, I’ll make him beg for death! And those dogs under him, not one will escape!”
“I know you feel wronged. I won’t ask what you’re doing outside, but at least wear this breastplate. It might save your life in a critical moment. Be careful out there.”
“…Thank you, big brother.”
The two halves of the heart-protecting mirror clinked softly—Mu Qingyan snapped back to reality. He saw Lian Shisan fidgeting nearby, wanting to speak but not daring to. Mu Qingyan said, “Let’s check the other cave passage.”
The golden-winged rocs naturally disliked crowded places, so Cai Zhao had to land in an open area outside the city. The Jiangnan region was mild, even in the depths of winter, unlike the bone-chilling cold of the Hanhai Mountains. Cai Zhao took a deep breath of the crisp, refreshing air and strolled along the stone-paved street. Night had fallen, and paper lanterns of various designs hung from the eaves of shops on both sides, casting a soft, warm orange glow that was soothing to behold. Remembering her urgent task, she hurried through the crowd, exited through the town’s west gate, circled a mirror-like lake, and soon saw the elegant main gate of Peiqiong Mountain Villa.
Just as Cai Zhao was about to approach, she noticed some of Li Wenxun’s disciples patrolling the entrance. She decided to avoid the main gate and silently scaled the high wall from the side. Under the cover of darkness, she used her lightness skill to leap through the treetops like a small, fluttering flower, following the villa’s paths from memory.
Mu Qingyan finished exploring the right cave passage, which was similarly lined with night pearls and oil lamps. It contained identical study rooms, bedrooms, workshops, and training rooms, but lacked signs of battle or skeletal remains. Like the left passage, the exit of the right passage was outside Youming Huangdao, but at a different location at the foot of the mountain—one to the east, one to the west, far apart. From above, the two passages formed a figure-eight shape, with entrances close together at the top, gradually diverging in different directions down the mountain to their exits.
“What does this mean? Why would someone create two identical passages?” Lian Shisan asked, bewildered.
Mu Qingyan replied, “To practice in secret and to have an escape route if Nie Hengcheng discovered him.”
Lian Shisan still didn’t understand. Mu Qingyan explained somberly, “Put yourself in his shoes. Nie Hengcheng wanted to keep you weak, but you refused to accept that fate. Is there a better place in the Hanhai Mountains than the ‘Forbidden Tomb’ to hide and train?”
Although Nie Hengcheng could convince others that “the world belongs to the capable,” he felt uncomfortable facing the spirits in the “Forbidden Tomb.” He rarely came here himself and forbade his disciples from approaching to avoid desecration.
Mu Qingyan continued, “Moreover if Nie Hengcheng became suspicious, these twin caves could help him escape or split up his pursuers.”
“He went to such great lengths, digging two secret passages, just for this slim chance?” Lian Shisan marveled. “That must have taken tremendous effort. This person was truly determined!”
Mu Qingyan murmured, “If I had endured the same hardships, suffered the same injustices, and harbored the same deep-seated hatred as that person, I might have done the same.”
This person had once labored under the scorching sun as a young boy, not yet twelve, alone and enduring bullying and contempt, working all day for mere scraps of food. This person had also traveled great distances, risking danger for the faint hope offered by a dying man’s words, all for a chance at a future.
Mu Qingyan felt a deep connection to this person. They shared the same bloodline and the same physical appearance. Sometimes, he found he could understand Mu Zhengyang’s resolute actions better than his father’s detached self-restraint.
Zhou Zhizhen’s study was located in a secluded, elegant ebony courtyard. He disliked having too many servants around and often hid in his study to write and paint alone. Cai Zhao leaped down from the dense winter pine branches and saw Zhou Zhizhen engrossed in reading through the open window. She smiled mischievously, tiptoeing forward to surprise him.
Suddenly, she caught sight of Li Wenxun passing through the screen behind Zhou Zhizhen, approaching him from behind. Alarm bells rang in Cai Zhao’s mind. She sprang off the carved wooden railing like an arrow, racing towards the study. Leaping over several railings, she shouted, “Uncle Zhou, watch out behind you!”
At the same time, she saw Qi Yunke entering the study from another door. Overjoyed, she clung to the window frame outside the study and shouted, “Master, quick! Save Uncle Zhou! Li Wenxun is not to be trusted!”
As she called out, Li Wenxun had already leaped high, both palms poised to strike. Zhou Zhizhen seemed to sense the movement behind him and turned to defend himself. Qi Yunke appeared to have heard Cai Zhao’s cry and lunged towards Li Wenxun.
Cai Zhao tumbled into the study, thinking that Zhou and Qi together would surely overpower Li Wenxun. In a flash, two figures leaped through the air. With a loud bang, Zhou Zhizhen and Li Wenxun’s palms met. Evenly matched, they both grunted and bounced apart.
At that moment, Qi Yunke arrived. Cai Zhao smiled as she watched him lunge towards Li Wenxun… but her smile froze.
Qi Yunke struck Zhou Zhizhen heavily on the back. Zhou immediately coughed up blood and collapsed. Qi Yunke stepped forward, his foot on Zhou’s chest, pinning him to the ground. Zhou Zhizhen continued to cough up blood, his eyes filled with disbelief: “You… why…”
Cai Zhao was paralyzed, unable to move or speak, feeling as if she had been plunged into an icy cavern. The bone-chilling cold numbed her to her core. She leaned weakly against the window frame, her fingers digging into the wood until splinters pierced her skin. The pain brought her back to reality.
“Master, what are you doing?” she asked stupidly. “Master, what are you all doing?!” she screamed, tears suddenly pouring down her face.
Qi Yunke seemed not to hear. His right hand made a grasping motion in the air, and the sword hanging on the wall flew into his hand. He pointed the sword at Zhou Zhizhen beneath his foot. “All because you didn’t treat Pingsu well.”
“If you had treated Pingsu well back then, she would never have left Peiqiong Mountain Villa. It’s all your fault. You broke Pingsu’s heart, which is why she was bewitched by Mu Zhengyang.” His gaze was eerily calm as if stating something perfectly natural. “You and Pingsu were betrothed since childhood. She’s been gone for five years. It’s time for you to go join her.”
As Qi Yunke raised his sword high, Cai Zhao screamed and lunged forward to stop him. Li Wenxun moved to intercept her, and their palms met forcefully in mid-air. Li Wenxun staggered back three steps, while Cai Zhao’s chest heaved, her back slamming hard against the wall before she fell to the ground, a trace of blood at the corner of her mouth.
Qi Yunke gave Li Wenxun a reproachful look. “Why use such force against a child?”
Li Wenxun, catching his breath, replied, “She was raised by Cai Pingsu. If I hadn’t used my full strength, I would have been the one defeated.”
“That’s true,” Qi Yunke said with a proud smile, casually swinging down his sword. Blood sprayed as Zhou Zhizhen’s throat was cut, killing him instantly.
“Uncle Zhou! Uncle Zhou!” Cai Zhao fell to her knees, clutching her chest, staring in disbelief at the scene before her. She choked, her head spinning, feeling as if countless black crows were swooping down on her with fierce wings, their sharp beaks pecking her body until she was covered in painful, bloody wounds.
Qi Yunke tossed aside his long sword and slowly approached Cai Zhao. “It’s good that you’re back, Zhao Zhao. Are your third and fifth senior brothers following behind?”
Despite Zhou Zhizhen’s lifeless body lying nearby, eyes wide open and blood still steaming on the ground, Qi maintained a gentle, fatherly expression. Terrified, Cai Zhao stumbled backward, seemingly unable to recognize the elder who had cherished her since childhood.
“Be a good girl, Zhao Zhao,” Qi coaxed. “Return to Qingque Sect to rest. Once your master settles everything, the world will be yours.”
Cai Zhao struggled to speak. “Did you kill the Chang family, Nie Zhe, and Sun Ruoshui?”
Qi nodded.
“And Lu Fengchun and Song Xiuzhi—did you orchestrate their deaths too?”
“You could say that,” Qi admitted.
Cai Zhao turned to Li Wenxun. “What about Wang Yuanjing? Did you kill him?”
“Indeed,” Li confessed without hesitation, his voice dripping with contempt. “That despicable wretch deserved to be torn to pieces long ago.”
Confused, Cai Zhao pressed on. “But neither of you participated in the six sects’ attack on Youming Huangdao, did you?”
Li explained, “My fourth senior brother saw Wang Yuanjing heading towards the Eight-Claw Sky Prison. He mentioned it to me in passing, but I didn’t think much of it at first. However, when the sect leader learned that Wu Yuanying was imprisoned there, we immediately deduced Wang’s treachery.”
Qi interjected, “They all deserved to die, Zhao Zhao. Don’t be upset.”
“What about my father?” Cai Zhao cried. “Did he deserve to die too? Those black-clad men at Xuankong Temple—you sent them, didn’t you? They injured my father and tried to silence us!”
“You’re mistaken, Zhao Zhao,” Qi corrected. “They only meant to kill the people at Xuankong Temple. Injuring you was for your protection, to keep you out of the way. Now, Xiaochun, Xiaofeng, and Master Jingyuan are safely tucked away in Luoying Valley. Isn’t that better?”
Cai Zhao recalled that night. The black-clad assassins had indeed targeted Master Jingyuan when they called for “elimination.” If she hadn’t unleashed her “Thunderstorm” technique, they might not have turned so violent.
“But why?” she asked, her mind in turmoil. “Why did you do all this? Why kill so many people?”
Qi soothed her as if she were still a child. “Be a good girl, Zhao Zhao. Your master has important matters to attend to. I won’t harm you, but you must obey.”
Growing impatient, Li suggested, “Let’s restrain her first. You can educate her later.”
Qi nodded. As they moved to act, a resounding Buddhist chant echoed from outside.
“Amitabha!” The familiar, aged voice drew closer. An elderly monk with white hair and a beard appeared, his face stern. “Benefactors, even Buddha cannot condone your actions!”
“Attack!” Li commanded. He and Qi leaped forward, assaulting Master Faking from both sides.
“Master, be careful!” Cai Zhao cried, reaching for her blade and joining the fray. Despite his advanced age, Master Faking held his ground. With a sweeping left arm, he repelled Li, then countered Qi’s attack with the Angry-Eyed Vajra Punch, a secret technique of Changchun Temple.
Qi, his face impassive, met the punch with a single palm strike. The collision sent Master Faking flying, but Cai Zhao managed to catch him mid-fall. Qi’s palm strike had unleashed a tempest, scattering dust and sending nearby objects airborne.
Gasping and bleeding, Master Faking accused, “This… this isn’t Qingque Sect’s technique! It’s not even a righteous martial art! What evil have you been practicing?”
Qi remained silent. Cai Zhao realized, “Master, have you started practicing the Purple Micro Heart Sutra?” The thought of the final stage of this evil technique filled her with dread.
Shocked, Master Faking exclaimed, “The Purple Micro Heart Sutra? You dare practice Nie Hengcheng’s evil art? Have you forgotten how many innocents he slaughtered? This is betrayal!”
“Spare us your sanctimony, old monk,” Li sneered. “Where was your righteous indignation when Deng Fangwei questioned our masters’ deaths at their funeral? You were too busy chanting sutras.”
“Besides Cai Pinsghu, no one in the martial world spoke up for our masters,” Li continued bitterly. “You kept quiet then, so stay quiet now!”
Master Faking struggled to defend himself. “The demonic sects were powerful then. The righteous sects needed unity. How could we question the leader of the greatest sect without evidence?”
“What evidence do we need?” Li roared. “Yin Dai and Cang Huanzi fought Elder Yaoguang—two died, and one was injured. Our three Qingque masters fought Elder Kaiyang—he survived unscathed while our masters died. How does that make sense?”
Master Faking closed his eyes in anguish, knowing further argument was futile. Cai Zhao silently reasoned that capturing a top expert like Elder Kaiyang alive would naturally be more difficult than killing him. But remembering that this had likely been Yin Dai’s idea, she remained silent.
As Qi approached her, urging her to come, Cai Zhao shrank back, desperately thinking, ‘I must escape!’ Suddenly, Master Faking sprang up, tossing Cai Zhao out the window with a shout: “Run!”
He then positioned himself before the window, striking out at both Qi and Li. Cai Zhao sprinted away with all her might. Looking back, she saw Master Faking crumpled on the ground, covered in blood. Tearful, sweating, and spattered with blood, she fled like a beaten dog.
In the night, Cai Zhao ran for her life across the wilderness. Behind her, numerous pursuers with bows and swords advanced, their torches like the red eyes of countless venomous insects. The damp soil of Jiangnan, softened by the night’s dew, was almost muddy. Cai Zhao hid among the dense undergrowth and vines, not daring to make a sound.
Suddenly, a familiar whistle pierced the air. Two giant golden rocs appeared through the drizzle, circling low and calling out as if searching for someone. The pursuers drew their bows, eager to shoot down these rare birds. However, having learned from their encounter with the Song family archers, the rocs maintained a safe distance, soaring higher when arrows flew near.
Cai Zhao watched them longingly, desperate for escape. She hesitated to use her golden whistle, knowing the young, timid rocs lacked self-defense skills. Calling them down would make them easy targets. After much deliberation, she threaded the whistle onto a hair tie. Stealthily, she crept behind a lone pursuer, knocked him unconscious, and took his bow and arrows.
Hidden behind a bush, she aimed at one of the rocs. Despite her average archery skills, her superior cultivation lent power to her shot. The arrow struck one roc’s neck, causing it to cry out in pain. Realizing the danger, both birds swiftly flew away.
“She’s here! Everyone, come quickly!” a pursuer shouted, discovering his unconscious comrade. Cai Zhao dropped the bow and plunged into a thorny thicket. Ignoring the cuts and scratches, she scrambled through the undergrowth.
In her panic, she stumbled into a muddy pit. Through the tangled vines above, she saw the approaching torches. The search was intensifying. Immobile in the foul-smelling mud, memories flashed through her mind: her master’s cruel indifference, Li Wenxun’s cold resentment, Zhou Zhizhen’s lifeless body, Master Fakong’s bloody collapse, her injured father, her distraught mother, and Master Jingyuan’s stubborn defense of Luoying Valley. It felt like an inescapable nightmare.
Hungry, exhausted, and chilled to the bone, the warm orange glow of the torches seemed eternally out of reach. Suddenly, her father’s words echoed in her mind: “Xiaozao, one day you’ll find that mountains crumble, seas dry up, and the earth splits. When that time comes, you can only rely on yourself.”
Cai Zhao’s eyes snapped open. She curled up tighter in the mud, focusing on her breathing and waiting for the search to end.
Outside, dawn had broken, but Mu Qingyan remained in the cave. He sat lazily against the wall, opposite the skeleton, toying with the broken breastplate. The Luo family’s Mythril breastplate lived up to its reputation, even surpassing the giant gong at Chaoyang Hall in hardness and flexibility. Years ago, Elder Yaoguang’s Venomous Snake Heart-Drilling Palm had only left a dent, failing to harm the flesh beneath. Wu Yuanying had merely been stunned by the elder’s inner force.
Yet this breastplate had been cleaved in two by a single, diagonal stroke that cut through flesh and bone. Such a ruthless, decisive blow could only have come from someone of fierce temperament, dauntless and filled with rage.
Cheng Bo approached quietly. “Young Master, you’ve been here for two days. You should rest.”
Mu Qingyan, seemingly unhearing, continued to jingle the breastplate. “How much hatred must one have to strike so fiercely, leaving no room for mercy?”
Cheng Bo spoke softly, “The Master said that the Second Young Master caused many innocent deaths. His death wasn’t unjustified. Young Master, please rest. We still need to search for Miss Zhao…”
Mu Qingyan froze, then laughed bitterly. “She hates me to death. Why bother finding her?”
As he stood to leave, he casually instructed, “Cheng Bo, you wanted to give Mu Zhengyang a proper burial. Now that we’ve found his remains, prepare a coffin for him.”
Cheng Bo sighed, gazing at the skeleton. “Although the Master had told us the Second Young Master was gone, I held onto hope that without seeing a body, there might be a chance. I didn’t expect he truly died, over a decade ago. Ah the Second Young Master’s life was full of hardship.”
Mu Qingyan paused. “Was it Cai Pingshu who told Father that Mu Zhengyang had died?”
Cheng Bo nodded. “Yes, that night when Master Chang brought a young lady who coughed frequently to visit the Master at Busi Pavilion. I didn’t know then that she was the renowned heroine Cai Pingshu.”
“Cheng Bo,” Mu Qingyan hesitated, “did Father… love Cai Pingshu?”
Cheng Bo’s expression grew complex. He didn’t answer directly but recounted, “I asked the Master something similar back then. I saw him sitting by the window, watching the young lady leave, so I asked if he had feelings for her.”
“What did Father say?” Mu Qingyan asked curiously.
“The Master said he felt more saddened than anything else,” Cheng Bo replied. “When I asked if he regretted not meeting her earlier, he said no. He was sad that he couldn’t help her when she was at her lowest point.”
“The Master said he couldn’t bear to see that young lady driven to such extremes, using the Heaven Demon Disintegration Technique, which left her crippled with shattered meridians.”
“He said she was the best girl in the world, who should have lived a life full of joy and freedom. What a pity…”
Cheng Bo’s words trailed off as he left, sighing. Mu Qingyan stood stunned as if struck by lightning.
Back at Busi Pavilion, after bathing and changing, Mu Qingyan lay on a lounge chair by the window, pondering his father’s feelings. “She’s the best girl in the world, deserving a life of happiness… a life of happiness.”
“Does it not matter whether I’m part of her happiness or not?” he mused.
As he drifted between wakefulness and sleep, the sky darkened again. Suddenly, Lian Shisan burst in, breathless: “Young Master, come quick! Dajin and Erjin are back!”
Mu Qingyan immediately roused himself and hurried out. In the courtyard, two enormous golden-feathered rocs had landed, whimpering and nuzzling against Cheng Bo.
“Young Master, look!” Lian Shisan forcefully turned Dajin’s head, revealing its golden collar—used for stability when riding the rocs, like a horse’s bridle.
Mu Qingyan parted the thick feathers on Dajin’s neck, finding an arrow shaft embedded in the intricately carved golden collar. A familiar silk ribbon was tied around the shaft, from which hung a small object—his golden whistle. The arrowhead had been removed, but the startled roc, thinking itself injured, had flown back to the Hanhai Mountains.
Holding the blood-stained whistle, Mu Qingyan’s mind filled with ominous thoughts. Lian Shisan slapped the roc, cursing, “Useless coward!” He turned to Mu Qingyan, “Young Master, has Miss Zhao returned Dajin and Erjin to cut ties with you completely?”
“No, something must have happened to her,” Mu Qingyan murmured. “If she were safe, she wouldn’t have returned them so readily. Perhaps all of Beichen is in trouble.”
He faced a dilemma: should he wait for the righteous sects to exhaust themselves before intervening, or swallow his pride and play the thankless role of a demonic cult member?
“Zhaozhao, what would you do?” he wondered.
After searching the area for a day and a night without success, the pursuers finally concluded that their quarry had escaped and withdrew. Cai Zhao waited a while longer to ensure safety before struggling out of the mud pit. She washed her face in the icy mountain spring and set off determinedly towards the faint light on the horizon.