Since Cai Zhao was eight years old, when the silk shop across the street changed hands due to the inheriting son’s gambling addiction, she understood that everything in the world, from restaurants and inns to the Jade Emperor’s celestial throne, needed someone to inherit it.
Qingque Sect’s rule was that the most capable should lead. Even if you were the Sect Leader’s child, you couldn’t inherit the position if your martial arts and scholarly abilities were insufficient. This seemingly impartial approach stemmed from profound lessons learned in the past.
After all, the Qingque Sect was the leader of the Six Sects. Externally, they faced the watchful eyes of the Evil Sect, while internally, the brother sects smiled to their faces but harbored potentially ill intentions. If the Sect Leader weakened and lost respect, the Evil Sect would smell blood and come charging up the mountain, knives sharpened.
Even if the Evil Sect suddenly turned vegetarian, you could ask the other Northern Chen descendants if they fancied the beautiful scenery of Wanshui Qianshan Cliff, or if they’d like to move to Muwei Palace. While others might not know, Cai Zhao was certain that the glittering Master Song of Guangtian Gate would be more than willing.
In comparison, Luoying Valley was much more relaxed. Sons were sons, daughters were daughters, and if there were neither, then sons-in-law or daughters-in-law would do—after all, heaven always provides a way, and fate favors the simple-minded.
Guangtian Gate, Siqi Gate, and Peiqiong Manor all practiced hereditary succession, but they developed their unique inheritance methods based on different foundations and local conditions.
The successive masters of Guangtian Gate had two very clear life goals: to expand and glorify the sect and to marry many wives and concubines to produce many sons—with more sons, there was a better chance of an outstanding one to inherit the position of the sect leader.
Of course, if the wife’s family was powerful and noble, it was better to be more discreet.
Take Song Shijun as an example. He had three sons in quick succession, which was not only enough but also allowed him to spare one to compete for the position at Qingque Sect.
Although Song Maozhi had a bit of a temper, his martial arts skills and charisma were quite good. In bloody battles where others lost arms and legs, he only injured a toe.
Given the sect’s circumstances, even someone as proud and intelligent as Lady Qinglian had to grit her teeth and accept her husband’s child with a maidservant from before their marriage, even raising Song Xiuzhi with a facade of kindness.
For this reason, the struggles among wives and concubines in Guangtian Gate had been extremely fierce and varied over the past two hundred years.
Everyone wanted their son to succeed, and since a larger pool increased the chances of success, the wives and concubines all wanted to bear more sons. As a result, the successive masters of the Guangtian Gate were inevitably “overworked.”
They were truly “overworked” to the point of exhaustion.
The ladies, big and small, were all like hungry wolves with gleaming eyes. Who had the mood for romantic poetry, philosophy, or the meaning of life? Lying down obediently and working hard was the reality.
Song Yuzhi’s grandfather, the old master Song, started his carnal activities at thirteen with a maidservant. He lost over a dozen children before only Song Shijun survived.
In two hundred years, the Qingque Sect had passed through ten generations of sect leaders, while the Guangtian Gate had gone through ten masters in rapid succession.
Overexertion had worn out the oxen, so to speak.
If Guangtian Gate’s records were a volume of tragicomic folklore, then Siqi Gate’s was a stack of bloody and insane death notes. Guangtian Gate’s conflicts were limited to struggles among wives and concubines. As long as the master husband maintained some principles, everyone drew their lines and competed based on their ability to bear children. There was still a bottom line. After all, Guangtian Gate was wealthy and powerful with many branch sects, so even the losing sons and grandsons had places to go.
Siqi Gate was an entirely different matter.
Guangtian Gate believed in the saying “It takes an entire clan to catch a tiger,” while Siqi Gate followed the principle “If you don’t remove the roots when cutting the grass, it will grow again in the spring breeze.” Brothers fought brutally, resulting in either exile and disinheritance in minor cases, or murder and arson in severe ones. In the end, only one person could remain to control Siqi Gate.
Compared to these two sects, Peiqiong Manor was much more civilized.
From the first generation of inheritance, the family rules clearly stated that as long as one was of the Zhou family’s direct bloodline and good character, they could compete for the position of manor lord.
At first glance, this seemed fine, but there were still issues.
Guangtian Gate’s conflicts were among wives and concubines, Siqi Gate’s were among brothers, and Peiqiong Manor’s were among sisters-in-law. As the saying goes, “The first thirty years depend on your husband, the next thirty on your son.” After being the lady of the manor for half a lifetime, upon the husband’s death, a previously despised sister-in-law might replace you. Who could stomach that?
Strangely enough, the Zhou family had inexplicably produced only sons for three consecutive generations. The most outstanding brothers of a generation, Zhou Yuqian, and Zhou Yukun, were already three layers removed from the direct line and posed little threat.
Then there was Taichu Temple.
When Cai Changfeng returned from his wanderings in the jianghu, he found that his brother and sister-in-law’s graves were already overgrown. Only after asking around did he learn that his niece and nephew had been adopted by the Zhou family. He couldn’t help but remark that Taichu Temple’s inheritance method was the most harmonious, neither overly demanding perfection nor causing bloodshed, while also avoiding decline and maintaining a balance between cultivation and virtue.
However, judging from the tragic scene at the Northern Chen Ancestor’s bicentennial ceremony, Taichu Temple was not as peaceful as it seemed.
“If you want to talk about your Evil Sect, just say it directly. Why keep dragging us Northern Chen into it?” Cai Zhao raised her head from the steaming, enormous bathtub, revealing her small, delicate shoulders.
She was furious. “And why are you in my room while I’m bathing?!”
The handsome young man sitting at the table frowned slightly. “There’s such a large screen between us. I can’t see anything.”
The entire room was divided by a large, exquisitely embroidered four-panel screen. The left side was misty and warm with moisture, while the right side was bright and clean, with only a table, a chair, and a person.
Cai Zhao was almost spitting fire with anger. “Do you understand propriety at all? Don’t you know there should be separation between men and women? I’m bathing in here, whether you can see or not, you shouldn’t be in the room! When I once burst into Third Senior Brother’s room, he was wearing only his undergarments, but he hurriedly put on his outer robe—look at his manners and etiquette. You’re really…”
“What did you say?” Mu Qingyan’s face immediately darkened. “A grown man not even fully dressed, and you dared to barge right in? Don’t you know about the separation of men and women? You’re so grown up now, don’t you know to avoid suspicion?”
Cai Zhao nearly fell headfirst into the bathtub.
“You’re a man! Why aren’t you avoiding suspicion?” she shrieked.
“I’m different,” Mu Qingyan said righteously. “My mind is pure. Hmph, people like Song Yuzhi, already engaged yet still entangling with other women, who knows what he’s thinking.”
Grateful for Song Yuzhi’s previous help, Cai Zhao couldn’t help but defend him: “Third Senior Brother doesn’t like Senior Sister Lingbo.”
“If he doesn’t like her, why doesn’t he break off the engagement early? Does he have to wait for another family to come along before speaking up? Hmph, coward.”
Mu Qingyan’s jade-like fingers pressed slightly, leaving a clear handprint on the yellow pear wood table. “Let it go this time, but if I find out again that you’re not maintaining proper distance from other men, don’t blame me for taking action!”
Cai Zhao rested her chin on the edge of the bathtub, feeling the urge to sigh to the heavens.
This morning, when she encountered him at the foot of Jiuli Mountain, she initially didn’t want to acknowledge him.
Knowing he wasn’t welcome, he silently followed until they left Qingque Town and passed the fork in the road. Only then did he suggest that Cai Zhao and the Thousand-Faced Young Master bathe, change clothes, and rest for a while.
The Thousand-Faced Young Master didn’t need to be told twice. Although the swill barrel was empty, he had lain in it all night, and the smell on his body was indescribably pungent.
Cai Zhao was covered in blood and sweat, utterly exhausted. To alleviate Cai Zhao’s wariness, Mu Qingyan even offered to take Luoying Valley’s poison as a form of restraint.
“Why would I want to poison you?” Cai Zhao was completely puzzled.
Mu Qingyan patiently explained, “What if I were to attack you while you’re resting, or quietly steal away the Thousand-Faced Young Master? So you should give me a poison you control, and then provide the antidote when it’s safe. That way, it’s secure.”
Seeing the girl’s bewildered gaze, he asked in surprise, “What? Doesn’t Luoying Valley have such a poison? With your mother’s talents, it shouldn’t be beyond her capabilities.”
Cai Zhao expressed her shame: “…When I go back, I’ll remind Mother.”
It was an elegant bamboo grove retreat, quiet and secluded, with only the sound of birdsong around.
A sprightly old servant with white hair and a beard waited quietly nearby. Cai Zhao heard Mu Qingyan call him ‘Uncle Cheng,’ his attitude unusually close and respectful.
The Thousand-Faced Young Master initially wanted to head straight to the main residence to wash up and change, but Mu Qingyan knocked him down with a palm strike through the air. Then Uncle Cheng dragged him to the woodshed to clean up.
Cai Zhao’s treatment was much better.
In the warm inner room, a huge bathtub made of oiled paulownia wood, standing over half a person tall, was filled with hot water. A complete set of clean, new clothes and shoes, already perfumed, awaited her, along with a soft bed piled high like clouds.
The only annoying thing was that Mu Qingyan refused to leave, no matter what.
“Fine, fine, continue talking about the internal affairs of your Evil Sect,” Cai Zhao waved her hand resignedly and lay back in the bathtub to rest.
The first leader of the Evil Sect had the surname Mu, and most of the sect leaders over the past two hundred years were named Mu.
Simply put, like the wonton shop Cai Zhao often visited, the Evil Sect was essentially a family business.
However, sect leaders were human, and humans inevitably produced unworthy descendants.
Problems emerged as early as the third-generation leader’s time—his only son was weak and quiet, visibly unfit for the great responsibility. If he became the sect leader, the Six Sects of Northern Chen would collectively laugh their heads off.
If the position of sect leader were given to someone else, the Mu leader would feel utterly uncomfortable and would be letting down his ancestors. So, this very creative leader came up with the ‘adopted son system.’
He meticulously selected an orphan with outstanding talent but a loyal disposition, carefully nurtured him, and constantly instilled in him the idea that gratitude was heavier than the sky. After his death, the adopted son would assist his biological son as the Guardian King, and when his capable grandson grew up, the transition would be smooth.
“How did he know his grandson would be capable? What if the grandson was also quiet and weak?” Cai Zhao thought this leader was being too presumptuous.
A strange expression appeared on Mu Qingyan’s face: “The Mu family never had two consecutive generations of outstanding descendants—that was how it was before Nie Hengcheng.”
Cai Zhao was startled: “Nie Hengcheng was an adopted son of the Mu family?”
“That’s right.”
Before Nie Hengcheng, the Mu family had produced three adopted sons who became immensely powerful Guardian Kings.
Two of them were utterly loyal. Although they might have been reluctant to give up power, they still transferred authority according to plan when their adopted brothers’ sons grew up. One was slightly unwilling, but after marrying his daughter to the new leader, he retired promptly and reportedly spent his later years happily with his grandchildren.
But Nie Hengcheng was different.
Nie Hengcheng was the adopted son of Mu Qingyan’s great-grandfather. He was clever and capable from a young age, beginning to assist his indecisive adoptive father at fifteen.
After his adoptive father passed away, he continued to assist his sickly adopted brother—Mu Qingyan’s grandfather.
Unexpectedly, Mu Qingyan’s grandparents died early, when Mu Qingyan’s father, Mu Zhengming, was not yet ten years old.
The Evil Sect was large, powerful, and far stronger than any of the Six Sects of Northern Chen. Therefore, the sect leader had to be iron-fisted and authoritative. Even those with slightly soft methods couldn’t control the wolves and tigers below, let alone a child.
So, Nie Hengcheng, the Mu family’s adopted son, took control as the acting leader for the first time.
Cai Zhao listened, somewhat dumbfounded: “Then what about your father? Where is he now?”
“He passed away four years ago.”
Cai Zhao immediately retreated into the bathtub, then said after a moment, “Your father died four years ago, so it wasn’t Nie Hengcheng who killed him? I thought Nie Hengcheng was unwilling to return the leadership position to your father and then killed him.”
Mu Qingyan: “Nie Hengcheng was indeed unwilling to return to the leadership position, but he never harmed my father.”
Cai Zhao blinked, not quite understanding.
Mu Qingyan: “Because my father didn’t want to take over the leadership position.”
Cai Zhao let out an “Ah,” and asked in a small voice, “Was your father in poor health?”
“No, my father was healthy, highly skilled, and not weak-willed. He simply preferred a life of leisure—he truly disliked power struggles, scheming, and killing.”
One year, Nian Changhao followed the heroes of the Six Sects of Northern Chen to attack the Youming Bamboo Path. After half a day of intense fighting in the dark, he wandered aimlessly and accidentally encountered Mu Zhengming, who was raising cranes and feeding phoenixes in the mountains.
Mu Zhengming didn’t raise an alarm. He silently pointed out a path for Nian Changhao to leave, left a bottle of medicine for wounds on the ground, and quietly departed.
“Later, Hero Nian must have met my father a few more times,” Mu Qingyan said.
“I see,” Cai Zhao realized. “That’s why Hero Nian was willing to trust you.”
“Yes, Hero Nian always remembered my father’s kindness. Father once said that if I ever faced urgent trouble in the future, I should seek Hero Nian’s help. Although Hero Nian kept saying on his deathbed that the destruction of the Nian family had nothing to do with me, I know that I brought calamity to the Nian family—when I return to the sect, I will surely gouge out the eyes, cut out the tongues, strip the tendons, and flay the skin of those who did it.”
Mu Qingyan’s tone was calm, but every word was chilling.
Cai Zhao knew that when ordinary people swore to “gouge out eyes, cut out tongues, strip tendons, and flaky skin,” it was often just talking. But Mu Qingyan would do it.
She shrank her neck and sighed after a moment: “Your great-grandfather was weak-willed, your grandfather was physically weak, and your father was indifferent to fame and fortune. This means Nie Hengcheng held power for three generations. Sigh, such a long period of power in hand, even if he didn’t have ambition before, it would breed ambition.”
Mu Qingyan tilted his head back, his neck long and beautiful. “…Sometimes I wonder, if Father hadn’t been so committed to a quiet life and had fought for the leadership position, would many people’s lives have been different?”
“Nie Hengcheng might not have practiced that evil technique, Wu Yuanying wouldn’t have been tortured for over a decade, Luo Yuanrong might have been able to stay by her loved one’s side, the Three Elders of Qingfeng would all be alive, keeping each other in check—at least, Heroine Cai Pingshu wouldn’t have died so early.”
Cai Zhao felt a pang in her heart. After a moment, she said softly, “I don’t think we can blame your father. It wasn’t his fault; he simply couldn’t go against his nature.”
Mu Qingyan stared at the screen in surprise, as if trying to see Cai Zhao’s expression—he had thought she would agree.
The girl continued, “It’s like my aunt. Old Mrs. Min always complained that she didn’t know how to cook or do needlework, didn’t know how to be gentle and virtuous, and wouldn’t even stay at home waiting for her fiancé to return, always wanting to compete and take the lead outside.”
“My aunt can cook and sew, and she tried staying at home obediently—but it didn’t work. Aunt said she had been brave since she was little, but just thinking about living that kind of life in the future made her break out in a cold sweat, so scared that she would wake up from nightmares. So she stole Master Lei’s clothes and ran away in the middle of the night. Fortunately, later Uncle Zhou understood my aunt’s feelings and could accept her.”
“Perhaps for your father, being the leader of the Evil Sect was like asking my aunt to be a virtuous wife who manages the household and cooks—something so terrifying it would wake him up in the middle of the night.”
“So, don’t blame your father. I think he must have been a good person. Hero Nian wouldn’t have trusted you so much based on just one act of kindness. It must have been your father who made him believe you weren’t a bad person.”
The girl’s voice was gentle and peaceful, lingering in the air.
Suddenly, Mu Qingyan said, “Zhao Zhao, can I remove the screen and come to your side?” He suddenly wanted to see the girl’s face and the expression on it, to soothe the lingering discontent in his heart.
A ladle of hot water hit the embroidered screen hard, accompanied by the girl’s intense anger—
“Get out!”