As the sun gradually sank, a gray-blue mist enveloped the mountains.

Chang Ning lay on his yellow pear wood bed, adorned with delicate gauze curtains. His jet-black, thick hair spread across half the bed, undulating like luxurious, heavy silk. He gazed silently at the patterns on the canopy, where elegant cyan bamboo branches were embroidered alongside clusters of small red flowers. In the distance, a small golden toad seemed to leap.

The jade-cut curtains, embroidered with lotus-fallen needles, bore patterns drawn by Cai Zhao.

Chang Ning’s lips curled slightly—he knew the young girl secretly cursed him, but he pretended not to know.

Rising and dressing, he briefly groomed himself. The face in the mirror was covered in poisonous sores, its features blurred.

He couldn’t help but smile. The girl had often expressed disgust at his face, yet she always stayed by his side, caring for him attentively these days.

If others tried to bully him, she would protect him; if he tried to bully others, she would stop him. Whenever he saw the girl’s anxious and fiery demeanor, he found it indescribably amusing.

She was tough on the outside but soft-hearted. Even if she discovered his secrets in the future, she wouldn’t stay angry for long.

Since she treated him so well, he would treat her well in return.

Sitting at the table, he spread paper and took up a brush. Closing his eyes in concentration, he searched through the forest of memories in his mind. Finally, on an inconspicuous small tree, he found a mottled leaf fragment:

“…In the second month of the Guiyou year, Sect Leader Nie heard that Elder Yaoguang Zuo Qianqiu had conspired with Yin, the bandit of the Qingque Sect, and Chu Guan Canghuan. Grieved, he ordered his subordinates to rescue Elder Kaiyang. Alas, they failed on the brink of success, losing many brave warriors. Elder Kaiyang also perished. The northern bandits were heavily guarded; let this be a warning to future generations.”

Below was a rough sketch: a pointed shadow stretched on rocky ground under the setting sun.

Beside it, a small note read: “This is the beginning. Three li east, then turn and go four li. Repeat twice. Upon reaching a shallow stream, head north. It’s not far from there.”

Chang Ning carefully reproduced the sketch from his memory, examined it twice, then folded it and tucked it into his robe.

He then pushed open the door and stepped out.

The evening breeze was refreshingly cool, especially invigorating as it caressed his face.

Cai Zhao’s door remained tightly shut; she was still sound asleep.

Chang Ning wanted to see the girl’s sleeping face before leaving, but he found Feicui standing guard at Cai Zhao’s door, cold as ice, hand on her sword.

Furong smiled apologetically. “The young miss hasn’t awakened yet. This… um, perhaps you should wait, young master…”

Chang Ning wasn’t angry; the two maids were loyal and reliable—a blessing for Cai Zhao.

He said gently, “Just open the window. Let me take a quick look.”

This was acceptable, so Furong quietly opened the window halfway.

Behind the cyan gauze curtains, the girl slept peacefully, her breathing even, her cheeks flushed, like a porcelain doll.

Chang Ning watched for a moment, unconsciously smiling.

“I’ll be back soon. Take good care of Zhao Zhao,” he said.

Then, sweeping up his long sleeves, he vanished into the gray-blue twilight like the wind.

The wind was cold and the dew damp, but knowing the girl was sleeping soundly filled his heart with indescribable warmth.

Since Cai Pingchun’s disappearance two nights ago, the girl hadn’t rested properly. Last night, after returning to Qingjing Zhai, they each retired to their rooms. He awoke at midnight to see a dim light in the room across, where the slender girl paced back and forth.

Poor thing, he thought. She’d encountered an unreliable master who fell for a trick so easily, leaving her without support.

At dawn, Cai Zhao hurried to find Fan Xingjia. Fan was utterly confused, remembering only that he had been talking with Steward Chen before suddenly losing consciousness. When he awoke, he found himself in a small alley in town, with his senior disciple Zhuang Shu nearly shouting at him deaf.

Fan rubbed his head, wincing slightly. He suspected he had been transported down the mountain in a box, explaining the several bumps on his head.

He had intended to question Steward Chen, but Zhuang Shu had discovered Chen’s body in a ravine early that morning. Allegedly, Chen had fallen and hit his head while drunk—though Chen wasn’t known for heavy drinking.

An atmosphere of anxiety and unease enveloped the Qingque Sect. Under ‘Qi Yunke’s orders, dozens of grim-faced strangers entered Wanshui Qianshan Cliff. The disciples sensed an inexplicable danger approaching.

Lei Xiuming and Li Xunxin felt uneasy and wanted to speak with Qi Yunke. However, they were stopped outside the infirmary. Observing the heavily guarded main courtyard and Chuitian Wu, which was as impenetrable as a fortress, they both felt a chill run down their spines. They could only return and instruct their disciples to stay indoors.

Jiuli Mountain no longer echoed with its usual laughter and cheer.

Cai Zhao intercepted Fan Xingjia as he was heading to the medicine pavilion. She asked if the Qingque Sect had any prisons.

Fan affirmed they did. “Our Qingque Sect follows the law. How could we not have prisons? Dry prisons, water prisons, ordinary prisons—we have them all.” He not only told Cai Zhao where the prisons were but also offered to show her personally.

The dry prison was the busiest. It held two thieves, seven or eight street thugs, and a despicable man who had sold his infant son while drunk and insulted his wife’s sister who had come to visit.

Elder Li suggested castrating him and sending him to hard labor—quick and efficient.

Elder Lei proposed using him as a test subject for medicines—no waste that way.

They were still discussing the matter.

The water prison was located in a cave beneath a stream. It was damp, cold, and terrifyingly dark. Even the toughest person would be broken after half a year there. It was said that in the past, prisoners from the demonic sects begged for death but couldn’t die there.

Since Qi Yunke had taken over, the jianghu had been peaceful, and the water prison had fallen into disuse.

The ordinary prison held five or six sect disciples who had violated rules—typical cases of drunken brawls or extortion among peers, nothing unusual.

The enthusiastic Young Master Fan explained all this in great detail, seemingly forgetting his headache.

Cai Zhao knew that the Thousand-Faced Young Master wouldn’t simply be thrown into a prison cell—he wasn’t a fool. Still, she couldn’t help feeling disappointed. After some thought, she decided Muweixing Palace was the most likely location. She was about to rush off to investigate when Chang Ning stopped her.

“Muweixing Palace has three front halls, three back halls, plus annexes and guest rooms. The impostors don’t have enough manpower to guard all that,” Chang Ning explained. “Unless they’ve put him in the main courtyard where the Sect Leader resides.”

He sneered, “Keeping him with the Thousand Faces Sect members would be risky. The one surnamed Qian must be held elsewhere.”

Cai Zhao’s eyes darkened, and she gritted her teeth. “He must be somewhere in the sect. I’ll turn this place upside down to find him!”

“Who goes digging around in broad daylight?” Chang Ning placed his hand on the girl’s shoulder and said gently, “Go rest first. When night falls, I’ll accompany you to search every courtyard thoroughly.”

Cai Zhao agreed, realizing how tired she was, and returned to her room to rest.

When she finally awoke, darkness had fallen completely.

The door creaked open, and a young man in flowing robes entered, carrying a lamp. In the dim, yellow light, his tall, slender figure resembled an elegant mountain peak from a faded painting.

Cai Zhao sat up in bed and observed him for a moment. “…You have two fewer sores on your face,” she noted.

“Is that so? They must be healing,” Chang Ning replied nonchalantly, placing the lamp on the table.

Cai Zhao lowered her head and rubbed her eyes. She thought to herself that he must have been very handsome originally, both heroic and beautiful. Unfortunately, she might never see him that way.

Chang Ning sat on the edge of the bed, gazing at the girl’s fluffy hair and her soft cheeks marked by sleep. A wave of affection washed over him.

“Get up and wash,” he said gently. “After you’ve eaten, we’ll set out.” He knew what weighed most heavily on her mind.

As expected, Cai Zhao immediately raised her head, grasping his sleeve. “Do you know where to look?” she asked eagerly.

Chang Ning replied confidently, “I went out to investigate earlier. I believe I’ve found the place.”

Cai Zhao’s excitement was palpable, but suddenly she felt something cold and wet in her palm. Opening her hand, she realized it was Chang Ning’s sleeve. Understanding dawned on her, and she felt a pang of guilt. “…Is the dew outside very heavy?” she asked hesitantly.

Chang Ning’s smile deepened. “The mountain air is particularly damp tonight, and it’s bitterly cold. You should dress warmly when we go out.”

Cai Zhao turned her face away, then after a moment, murmured a soft agreement.

…

The world outside was pitch black.

Neither stars nor moon shone through the thick, gathering clouds. Howling mountain winds bent trees and grass, making it difficult even to stand. The towering peaks loomed overhead, seeming ready to swallow them whole.

“It’s over there,” Chang Ning pointed to an unremarkable compound in the distance.

The Qing Que Sect occupied vast grounds, with dozens of courtyards scattered about. Chang Ning indicated a storage area near the back mountain—a desolate, secluded place shielded by dense forest, rarely visited by anyone.

Cai Zhao could already make out more than a dozen shadowy figures moving slowly through the waist-high wild grass, silently guarding the perimeter of the building like ghosts in the moonless night.

However, the darkness also worked to Chang Ning and Cai Zhao’s advantage.

They approached silently, avoiding the patrolling black-clad figures when possible. When they couldn’t evade them, they swiftly incapacitated them and gently laid them in the grass. Finally, they slipped in through a side window.

The building had front and back sections, with at least seven or eight rooms in total. Each room was crammed with an assortment of miscellaneous items. Chang Ning, holding Cai Zhao’s hand, felt his way to the second-to-last room.

“It should be here,” he whispered.

Cai Zhao took out a night pearl wrapped in gauze. By its faint light, they surveyed the room.

They had entered from the south. The east wall was stacked high with tables and chairs, covered in cobwebs. The west wall was bare. Against the north wall stood several enormous chests.

After carefully examining the room, Cai Zhao walked directly to the north wall and pointed at the largest chest. “There’s a mechanism here,” she said.

Chang Ning asked, “How do you know?”

Cai Zhao sighed. “Mechanisms and formations were my maternal grandfather’s true expertise. But his parents said it was an unorthodox practice, so he had to practice in secret while traveling.” She paused, then added, “That was before he met my Buddhist-inclined grandmother.”

Chang Ning chuckled softly.

Cai Zhao handed him the night pearl and began feeling around the chests. Suddenly, she exclaimed, “Found it. Here.”

Chang Ning squinted to see. One of the chests was firmly nailed to the floor.

As he moved to shift the chest, Cai Zhao stopped him.

Her eyes were fixed on the large black iron lock on the chest. While dust covered everything else around, this lock, though dull, felt smooth to the touch.

“Someone touches it frequently,” Chang Ning observed quietly.

Cai Zhao removed one of her earrings, straightened the thin silver hook, and carefully probed the lock’s grooves and indentations. After a moment, a smile spread across her face. “Got it,” she whispered.

In the darkness, they heard a faint click. Cai Zhao had pressed down on one of the lock’s indentations, causing the entire mechanism to slowly turn open, revealing a rope handle behind it.

Chang Ning and Cai Zhao exchanged glances. They both reached for the handle but hesitated, worried that pulling it might alert the guards outside.

Just then, a deafening rumble of thunder shook the air. They froze, then broke into smiles of relief—it was indeed going to rain tonight!

Chang Ning gripped the rope handle firmly. When another thunderclap boomed, he pulled with lightning speed. A series of creaking sounds followed as another chest slowly moved aside, revealing a hole in the floor with a deep staircase leading underground.

Chang Ning couldn’t help but laugh softly. “Fan Xing Jia was right. The Qing Que Sect truly has every kind of prison imaginable. Even an underground dungeon.”

Cai Zhao chuckled, lightly hitting him before jumping into the hole.

Chang Ning followed close behind.