The Library within the Qingque Sect wasn’t a forbidden area. Generally, entry was permitted with the approval of either the sect leader or the key-holding disciple. Song Yuzhi held this position for the current generation.
Inside, bookshelves stretched to the ceiling, housing various martial arts manuals, mental cultivation texts, and chronicles of the past two hundred years of martial arts history. Hidden compartments were scattered throughout. Without guidance from someone familiar with the layout, a newcomer would be lost in the vast sea of disorganized scrolls.
Cai Zhao recalled Mu Qingyan mentioning that the Nine Provinces Treasure Scroll Hall of the Separation Sect followed a similar pattern. Known for their ruthlessness, they had amassed countless dark secrets and sinister martial arts techniques over two centuries. Eventually, the presiding sect leaders only knew the records of the previous two generations. Since the Hall was off-limits to outsiders, uncovering older information required the sect leader to personally sift through voluminous historical texts.
As incense wafted through the air, Cai Zhao patiently leafed through delicate, yellowed papers at the desk. Song Yuzhi climbed a ladder, retrieving yet another dusty scroll from the high shelves. He placed several thin papers from inside the scroll before Cai Zhao, saying, “These are the last ones. All of my grandfather’s hidden notes are here now. The rest of the records were officially documented in the sect’s books.”
Cai Zhao couldn’t help but admire the strategy. “No wonder they say ‘the tree hides in the forest, and the great hermit in the marketplace.’ Even if someone knew Old Master Yin left secret notes, they’d never find them.”
Thinking Cai Zhao was mocking his grandfather, Song Yuzhi explained, “My mother said on her deathbed that this information was crucial. Grandfather feared causing chaos if it became known.”
Cai Zhao waved one of the thin papers, smiling. “If this got out, it would certainly cause an uproar in the Siqimen.” She was referring to the scandal involving Yang Yi, Siqimen’s former leader, who had affairs with seven of his father’s eight concubines in his youth.
Song Yuzhi blushed, realizing which incident Cai Zhao meant. He praised his grandfather’s meticulous research, noting that Yin Dai had carefully pieced together evidence as a mere disciple, unable to directly spy on Yang Yi. He even refrained from including the eighth concubine due to insufficient evidence, merely noting “behavior unclear.”
“Your grandfather had quite a way with words,” Cai Zhao remarked, having read through several secrets. She found Yin Dai’s writing vivid and engaging, blending shock, suspense, and even romance. For a moment, she felt transported back to her days of reading novels in bed.
Remembering her task, Cai Zhao asked about the Purple Meridian Heart Sutra, finding it on a mostly blank sheet. Song Yuzhi’s expression grew complex as he confirmed its location.
Unlike other scattered secrets, the Purple Meridian Heart Sutra was recorded separately. Yin Dai didn’t explicitly state it was the evil technique Nie Hengcheng practiced in his later years, only mentioning “a powerful but extremely unorthodox skill passed down by the Demonic Sect elders.”
After years of investigation, including infiltrating the Demonic Sect with carefully trained spies and examining records left by the Six Orthodox Sects, Yin Dai concluded that the Purple Meridian Heart Sutra was a mysterious technique passed down by the Demonic Sect’s founding leader, Mu Xiujue. Both he and his eldest son could practice it. However, after their deaths, the third son, Mu Lanyue, who succeeded in leadership at a young age, couldn’t master the technique.
The Separation Sect claimed Mu Xiujue’s other children had gone into seclusion, which was only half true. They had left the Hanhai Mountains to avoid martial world conflicts but continued cultivating. Most, however, went mad or died trying to practice the Purple Meridian Heart Sutra. Seeing his siblings’ tragic fates, Mu Lanyue forbade future generations from practicing it but kept the manual out of sentimentality.
By the sixth-generation leader Mu Song’s time, his exceptionally gifted son seemed to have mastered the Purple Meridian Heart Sutra but died mysteriously soon after. Mu Song then fell gravely ill, and upon recovery, burned down a garden behind the Palace of Extreme Pleasure. He became obsessed with Taoist alchemy until his sudden death in the alchemy room. A power struggle ensued, with Mu Yinong emerging victorious with his foster brother’s help.
Yin Dai noted at the end: “After extensive research, I found no records of widespread killings or massacres during this time.”
Cai Zhao was startled by this revelation. “So, Mu Song’s son could master the Purple Meridian Heart Sutra without absorbing the energy of numerous masters like Nie Hengcheng did?!”
“Correct,” Song Yuzhi replied. “If Lu Chengnan’s words are true, then Nie Hengcheng must have practiced it incorrectly.”
Cai Zhao mused, “How did someone manage to deceive a genius like Nie Hengcheng? It couldn’t have been easy.” She then realized, “So Old Master Yin knew early on that Nie Hengcheng’s cultivation had gone awry.”
“Not just that,” Song Yuzhi handed her another paper. “My grandfather also deduced that Nie Hengcheng had at most three to five years left to live.”
After Lu Chengnan’s injured escape, Nie Hengcheng became increasingly volatile and murderous. Even in his madness, he sought medical attention for minor ailments like colds. To keep his condition secret, he killed the physicians who treated him. Unbeknownst to him, two of Yin Dai’s spies were among these doctors. Before their deaths, they managed to relay crucial information through the sect’s secret channels. Based on this, Yin Dai concluded that Nie Hengcheng’s mind had collapsed, his meridians were in chaos, and his life was nearing its end.
“After realizing Nie Hengcheng was practicing a strange technique, my grandfather spent years establishing a secret network within the Demonic Sect, exhausting almost all of his most capable confidants,” Song Yuzhi explained softly. “If not for this, he wouldn’t have fallen victim to Zhao Tianba and Han Yisu’s ambush.”
Cai Zhao understood: “So your grandfather wasn’t certain my aunt could kill Nie Hengcheng. He knew Nie wouldn’t live much longer anyway, which is why he didn’t arrange more support for my aunt…”
Song Yuzhi was overwhelmed with shame: “I’m truly sorry.”
Cai Zhao, struggling to control her emotions, stood and paced before sitting down again, trembling slightly. “Don’t dwell on it, Third Senior Brother. Even if my aunt had known this, she would still have gone to Tushan to kill Nie Hengcheng. In just one year of his madness, the martial world was already awash in blood. How many more innocent lives would have been lost if he continued for three to five more years?”
Song Yuzhi felt even more ashamed but didn’t defend himself, silently accepting her words.
Thinking of the sickly, bedridden Cai Pingxu, Cai Zhao turned away to wipe tears from her eyes. She pressed her hand to her chest, trying to steady her breathing. After a moment, she said, “Third Senior Brother, I’d like to see the records of the Demonic Sect’s activities during those years.”
“Of course,” Song Yuzhi replied eagerly. “These aren’t in the secret notes but in the sect’s official records.” He hesitated, then added, “I’ve always wanted to make these notes public, but I worried about damaging my grandfather’s reputation. I planned to incorporate them into the sect’s books after I became… well, later.”
Over the next few days, Cai Zhao carefully studied the records from those years. Meanwhile, Song Yuzhi grew increasingly anxious as he hadn’t received a reply to the message he’d sent to Guangtian Gate inquiring about his father.
“Stop pacing, Third Senior Brother. You’re making me dizzy,” Cai Zhao said, looking up from the records. “With Guangtian Gate’s influence, who could trouble your father unless Yang He’ying has irrefutable evidence?”
Just then, Fan Xingjia burst in, out of breath: “Third Senior Brother, terrible news! Disciples near Guangtian Gate report that Master Yang of Siqimen has found evidence of your family using living people to create corpse puppets! They’ve not only unearthed villagers’ bodies killed by Guangtian Gate’s sword techniques but also captured over a dozen corpse puppets!”
Cai Zhao was momentarily stunned. “So they caught them red-handed.” She realized she had jinxed it. Song Yuzhi’s face turned ashen.
“Elder Li has already sent a message to Master,” Fan Xingjia said, wiping sweat from his brow. “He told me to inform you.”
Song Yuzhi collected himself. “I’ll ask Elder Li for leave immediately. I need to go home. Xingjia, come with me. We might have many injuries to deal with, and we’ll need your skills.”
Fan Xingjia was startled but agreed, though reluctantly.
Cai Zhao, her finger resting on a specific part of the open records, casually stood up. “I’ll go too. An extra pair of hands could be useful.”
Song Yuzhi hesitated. Cai Zhao smiled warmly. “Third Senior Brother, not to brag, but I’m quick-witted and reasonably skilled. Whether it’s arguing or fighting, I’m a valuable ally.”
Song Yuzhi was tempted. Cai Zhao pressed further, “Think about it. The second Senior Brother is with Senior Sister Lingbo visiting her hometown, the Fourth Senior Brother is out with the Master, and the Big Senior Brother is always busy. Now you and Fifth Senior Brother are leaving too. I’m the only one left in the inner sect. Are you comfortable leaving me alone?”
Song Yuzhi closed his eyes briefly. “Alright, you can come. But don’t interact with anyone from the Demonic Sect. We don’t want Master to be furious.”
Cai Zhao smiled. “Don’t worry, Third Senior Brother. Apart from their leader, when have I ever associated with anyone from the Demonic Sect?”
Song Yuzhi felt he might die of frustration first.
Fan Xingjia was still concerned. “Little Sister Zhao, you’ve truly parted ways with Mu, right?”
“Of course,” Cai Zhao assured them. “We separated amicably, without any resentment. From now on, we’ll each follow our paths.”
Song Yuzhi felt relieved. As he was about to leave, he turned back and pulled something from his robes, placing it in Cai Zhao’s hand. “When you helped… that person escape, I traced your path through the villages and found this. I thought you wouldn’t want your belongings left behind, so I redeemed it for you.”
In her pale palm lay a delicate, fine gold chain, coiled into a small heap.
Cai Zhao forced a smile, clutching the chain. “Thank you, Third Senior Brother. If I ever run out of money, I can pawn it again.”
Song Yuzhi laughed. “How could I let you pawn your things while I’m around?”
Cai Zhao casually tossed the chain into her waist pouch. “Indeed. Why would I make the same foolish mistake twice?”
Meanwhile, Mu Qingyan had spent several days at Funiu Fortress, repairing the broken gate and even sending the ghost doctor Linzhu to cure Madam Xue’s chronic illness. Xue Youfu was deeply moved.
Mu Qingyan sighed lightly. “Madam Xue is kind and compassionate, deserving of respect. If my great-grandmother, Madam Ouyang, had even a fraction of her virtues, many things might have been different…”
At the mention of “Madam Ouyang,” Xue Youfu’s heart skipped a beat.
Mu Qingyan’s clear eyes fixed on him. “I know, and you know, that my great-grandmother’s coffin is empty.”
Xue Youfu broke into a sweat. “That’s because…”
“Where did Mu Zhengyang take her remains?” Mu Qingyan’s voice was calm, but it hit Xue Youfu like a thunderbolt. He couldn’t even raise his head.
“Did Mu Zhengyang grind her bones to dust and throw them in a sewer?” Mu Qingyan asked placidly.
Though not entirely accurate, it wasn’t far from the truth. In Mu Qingyan’s view, considering that Ouyang Xue’s narrow-mindedness and madness had caused Mu Zhengyang’s lifelong tragedy, this revenge wasn’t excessive.
Xue Youfu anxiously defended Mu Zhengyang, explaining how Madam Ouyang’s cruelty had caused him immense suffering.
Mu Qingyan’s tone grew even gentler. “Don’t worry, Chief Xue. I understand — not all parents deserve to be parents. While Madam Xue endured hardships for her children, my great-grandmother unjustly blamed an innocent child, ultimately leading to disaster… Sigh… Chief Xue, you should take good care of Madam Xue. After all her suffering, she deserves a long and healthy life.”
These words nearly brought tears to Xue Youfu’s eyes.
Mu Qingyan patiently continued, “Now that Nie Hengcheng is dead, you don’t need to hide in this remote bandit stronghold anymore. If you’re interested, I can find you a pleasant place to settle down, where you can care for Madam Xue and raise your children.”
Xue Youfu was too moved to speak.
The next morning, as Mu Qingyan prepared to leave with his group, Xue Youfu, who had tossed and turned all night, came to see them off with dark circles under his eyes. After several attempts to speak, he finally asked Mu Qingyan for a private word just as they were about to exit the fortress.
“Do you remember what I told you about my second meeting with Brother Zhengyang?” Xue Youfu’s voice trembled slightly.
Mu Qingyan smiled. “Of course. You said he was overjoyed and brought a snow lingzhi to nourish Madam Xue’s health.”
“I had never seen him so happy in all our years of friendship. He didn’t have many reasons to be happy in his life,” Xue Youfu said wistfully. “That night, we drank over a dozen jars of wine. When we were completely drunk, Brother Zhengyang mentioned a place…”
Mu Zhengyang was an extremely careful person, which allowed him to hide from Nie Hengcheng for so long. Although he had many conversations with Xue Youfu, he never mentioned specific names of people, places, or events. Xue Youfu still didn’t know who the “little Su” girl was or where to find Mu Zhengyang if he disappeared.
But that night — with the initial success of their plan and his blossoming romance — Mu Zhengyang believed he was finally escaping his ill fate and was genuinely happy.
“Brother Zhengyang kept mumbling about taking care of his mother and how there would be better days ahead. I casually said, ‘Mother’s quite healthy lately, but you shouldn’t risk going to some desolate place in the heavy snow.’ He muttered something about having to go to ‘Snow Marsh’…”
Mu Qingyan’s eyes flashed. “Snow Marsh?!”
“Yes, I remember wondering if there were marshes in the snowy mountains,” Xue Youfu scratched his head. “When Brother Zhengyang sobered up, he sternly warned me not to tell anyone. I swore on my blood not to. Is this important, Sect Leader Mu?”
Mu Qingyan smiled. “Even if it were, it’s already a matter from over a decade ago.”
After Xue Youfu left, You Guanyue approached Mu Qingyan, who was standing silently at the edge of a cliff. Before You Guanyue could report, Mu Qingyan said, “Prepare for a light, quick journey. We’re going to Blood Marsh.”
You Guanyue was momentarily confused. “What marsh?”
“Blood, as in bleeding. Blood Marsh,” Mu Qingyan clarified.
You Guanyue remembered the name and frowned. “Oh, that place.”
Mu Qingyan’s eyes glinted. “Indeed, the Blood Marsh is hidden in the dense forest behind the northern mountain of Guangtian Gate.”