If the martial world were divided into ranks, qi was the most mysterious element of all—some people trained their whole lives without ever cultivating true internal force. Whether a technique belonged to the highest or lowest tier could be told at a glance from the practitioner’s bearing—and that, too, came down to their command of qi.
That silver spear swept down from the roof, and in an instant, the already battered inn suffered further damage—roof tiles scattering everywhere as the spear’s force bore down.
The once-respectable inn had now lost half its roof. The owner, past the point of caring whether he lived or died, wailed from below: “You people from the Elm Matron shrine, I curse your ancestors eight generations back…”
Someone clamped a hand over his mouth.
As the tiles fell, the still-unconscious nuns on the ground suffered for it, those struck crying out in pain. Spotting the figure on the roof, they wailed: “Shrine Master, save us!”
Huo Qiqian paid no mind to this commotion. As the spearhead closed in on her face, she tilted slightly to the side and casually caught hold of the spear shaft. Once she’d grasped it, she frowned—this move felt oddly familiar.
It seemed some old man, years ago, had also favored this very technique. What was his name again?
Ah, right—that fellow was called Pang Tu!
He’d ruined a fine set of her clothes once, and had even wanted to go to the capital to destroy Chen Choutou. Between old grudges piling up, she’d beaten him into mincemeat.
What state of mind had she been in back then—not long removed from hatred, her belly full of hellish resentment, ready to ignite into a wildfire at the slightest spark. If Uncle Xin hadn’t carefully nurtured and guided her, she truly didn’t know what she might have become.
She might well have turned into some split being—a person by day, a demon by night.
Ah! Not that she didn’t regret it, looking back. She’d been rather ruthless in her dealings back then—hadn’t thought to build merit for the children’s sake. If someone deserved to die, better to give them a clean death rather than mince them into paste.
With that thought, Qiqian’er turned to look at the ferocious-faced Daoist priest drawing back his spear for another strike.
This priest’s dress was odd, unconventional—he wore a Daoist cap and a blue Daoist robe, but unlike ordinary Daoists, in place of the usual sun-moon-stars motif, he’d embroidered a large elm tree—and was that her own likeness from the main shrine on Baiquan Mountain stitched there too? Even his boots had elm trees embroidered on them—and her clay idol’s image as well? This didn’t look like the attire of an Elm Matron shrine master at all—more like he was trampling her underfoot on purpose.
Straining with all his might, he tried repeatedly to wrench the spear free but failed, so with a cold curl of his lip, he twisted the tail end—the spear split cleanly in two, and he thrust the shorter half straight at Huo Qiqian’s face.
Hah… this move too, felt familiar.
Since their encounter began, this fellow had shown no restraint, aiming every strike at Huo Qiqian’s vital points. In the blink of an eye, Huo Qiqian caught hold of this short spear as well. Emboldened, the priest sneered menacingly: “Boy—you’ve got some nerve. You’ve entered Baiquan Mountain territory and dare stir trouble on Elm Matron’s own ground? Don’t you know she’s already reached half-sage cultivation, with scarcely a rival under heaven? If you don’t want to die, kill yourself now, and don’t drag your whole family down with you when we hunt them to extinction…”
Hearing this reputation invoked, Huo Qiqian felt a flash of irritation—and, whole family? Since when did she even have a sect?
In this new life of hers, everything at home was going exactly as she wished—the one and only source of frustration was this endless petty nuisance from the Elm Matron shrine.
How disgusting.
Looking at it from the perspective of an ordinary housewife—his ancestors be damned—the old woman took a few coins from them and now they had to consult the shrine before so much as breaking ground at home? She wasn’t even a real deity!
Even more disgusting—the temple fair kept growing bigger every year, and she had to fund opera performances for her own clay idol, year after year, and accompany Granny to burn incense before her own statue. What kind of nonsense was this!
With that thought, not bothering to argue further with the man, Qiqian’er pulled the spear close to her chest and struck him unconscious from the side with a single blow.
The priest collapsed, and the nuns who’d looked up to him as their living deity and pillar of support were left stunned.
After a moment of silence, someone off to the side burst into tears, pleading: “Have mercy, good sir, I too come from a decent family, I was tricked and lured here by them…”
Another wailed: “My whole family’s lives are held hostage by them, I truly am wronged…”
Qiqian’er waved a hand, and someone else moved in to cover the mouths of these various demons and spirits, silencing them.
Their true faces just moments ago hadn’t looked anything like this.
Judging right from wrong wasn’t Huo Qiqian’s place to decide.
She walked to the table, gathered up the petition, and handed it to Bai Ying: “I’m troubling my Beggars’ Sect brothers—along with everyone here on the ground—to travel through the night and deliver them all to Minister Chen at the Ministry of War. As for this petition, I’ll trouble Uncle Xin to help beat the Grievance Drum with it.”
After all, this whole mess had been brought on by that old man in the first place—if she wasn’t going to have an easy time of it, no one else would either. Better to clear her own name thoroughly, or things would get far worse.
Bai Ying laughed helplessly: “Do you really need to go this far? Isn’t this a matter for the martial world?”
By the usual conventions, they should have gathered the nearby sects to discuss the matter together before settling accounts with this bunch.
Qiqian’er shot her a look: “Such shallow thinking. Hurry along—see them out of the city first, then come back.”
Bai Ying shrugged, tucked away the petition, and joined the group of beggars in loading the nuns from both shrines onto a donkey cart. Fortunately the local Beggars’ Sect leader was resourceful enough to find that many carts—though on closer inspection, some of them were manure carts with the buckets removed.
Once they’d gone, Huo Qiqian sat there mulling things over. Why nuns, of all things? For the sake of appearances, monks still had more standing in this day and age.
Just as she was pondering this, a group of people came rushing up in a panic from the old street—upon getting closer, it turned out to be a runner along with several white-clad constables. Once they’d taken in the scene, even they weren’t bold enough to approach, and hung back warily, gripping the long swords at their waists as they shouted: “How dare you cause chaos within Guangshun County’s borders—are you not afraid of the law? Release these people at once! Do you know those are the venerable nuns of the Elm Matron shrine? Do you—who do you think you are? Let me tell you, you’ll bear consequences you can’t afford…”
When help was actually needed, all these people had vanished into thin air—now that there was someone to arrest, this bunch finally dared show their faces.
Qiqian’er felt nothing but contempt for the law at that moment.
She reached into her pouch again, selected the token of highest rank, and tossed it over: “Guangshun County’s got some nerve—threatening an official? I won’t waste words with the likes of you—go fetch your county magistrate to speak with me.”
The one who caught it clearly couldn’t read, and ran back holding the token aloft.
Once they’d left, Huo Qiqian exchanged a glance with Bai Ying. Bai Ying quickly directed the others to haul the nuns away—one of them wailing loudly along the way was promptly knocked unconscious—and they vanished with remarkable speed, leaving only the spear-wielding priest lying alone on the ground.
Having witnessed the ferocity of the fight, the restaurant owner had hidden himself under the table once more, trembling with fear so violently that the table rattled along with him.
Qiqian’er reached out to steady the wooden table, saying good-naturedly to the space beneath it: “I’m troubling you, shopkeeper—please boil some more hot water.”
After a long moment, the owner crept out shakily, went to bang on his own door, and once it opened, darted inside and immediately bolted it shut behind him.
A few more screams sounded not long after, and then he emerged carrying a teapot, setting it over the fire to boil while continuing to tremble the whole time.
As the kettle began to hiss, Huo Qiqian took five copper coins from her waist pouch and carefully set them down on the table one by one. She was a practical, thrifty person—even out and about with plenty of funds, she wouldn’t throw money around carelessly. A bowl of plain tea normally cost at most one coin; five was already quite generous.
Unexpectedly, these five coins gave the frightened shopkeeper a boost of courage, and he stammered: “It’s, it’s just plain water, no, no, I dare not accept your money, sir, I really dare not…”
Huo Qiqian smiled, pulled a cloth bundle from her sleeve, and pinched out a small amount of tea leaves to place in a clay bowl. Just as she was steeping it, a whole crowd came rushing up noisily from the street entrance, not daring to speak loudly as they approached, and dropped to their knees in a row before her, civil and military officials alike.
The one in front reeked of wine, his round, pale, portly frame prostrate on the ground like an old turtle, both hands trembling as he held up a token. This was called the Golden Qilin token—a patrol officer’s token under His Majesty’s direct command, a military post.
In recent years, His Majesty had taken to setting up some new office every few days, only to dissolve it again not long after. Everyone had gotten used to this by now, understanding that he trusted people less and less as time went on.
Seeing this whole group of officials kneeling before her, Qiqian’er was startled for a moment, and a strange, subtle feeling welled up from within—so this was why they went to such lengths, scrambling up and down—this kind of authority felt this good, did it?
Each of these men had read countless books, studied hard, worked their way up through the examination system, wielding power over the life and death of an entire county’s populace.
And now they were kneeling before her like this? Like dogs, no less. So this was what being an official felt like.
Being one rank higher meant they didn’t even dare meet her eyes.
She stood up, reached for her own token, and this time, instead of tucking it away carelessly, placed it securely inside her robe.
She didn’t care to ask who was who among them, or who oversaw which matter—in officialdom, once you started splitting hairs, there was no end to it; not scrutinizing was the easier path, but scrutinize and you’d find fault in every household.
Looking at their kneeling postures, they’d surely done no shortage of shady dealings—this bunch who fed off the people’s blood and sweat had had the misfortune of falling into her hands today.
Besides, word of this would eventually reach Yandu regardless, and once it did, this wouldn’t remain a small matter—who knew how many Elm Matron shrines existed across Baiquan Mountain’s territory, or even across the whole realm.
Sitting back down, Huo Qiqian took a sip of plain tea from her clay bowl, feeling her stomach settle somewhat, then spoke unhurriedly, her tone carrying an acerbic edge reminiscent of She Qingling that she herself wasn’t even aware of: “Does Guangshun County not know that any monk or Daoist establishment wishing to open a new place of worship and preach in a new location must first properly register with the Bureau of Buddhist Affairs, the Bureau of Daoist Affairs, or the Bureau of Sacred Seclusion, and have their credentials verified?”
The Bureau of Sacred Seclusion was a newly established office—nowadays even old hermits and martial sages of the wulin world were supposed to register with the court. In practice, it was quite lax—at present the court hadn’t formally forbidden hermits from accepting offerings. Still, few actually bothered to register. Huo Qiqian’s Elm Matron identity was one of the rare few that had been registered with the court—she held official standing.
The portly county magistrate, sweat beading on his forehead, pleaded: “This official, this official, we of Guangshun County…”
Huo Qiqian cut him off with a wave: “Enough of that! Matters under your jurisdiction fall under the Ministry of Personnel’s authority, and if you’ve erred, the Censorate will come to investigate you. As for me—hmph, this isn’t my concern! You needn’t tell me who you are or whose protégé you might be—whoever you are, I don’t recognize any of it!”
She set down her clay bowl, reached to pour herself more water, and continued: “To put it plainly, today it’s simply your bad luck that I happened to be passing through. Given my duties, I couldn’t very well ignore what I saw and heard—it’s a serious matter. Naturally I won’t be negligent about it—arresting the criminals and escorting them back to Yandu is only proper.”
The magistrate wiped his sleeve across his sweating brow: “It’s not that we haven’t managed it—it’s just that within Baiquan Mountain’s territory, this Elm…”
Qiqian’er flared with anger, slapping the table first before standing and cupping her hands toward the direction of Yandu: “Nonsense! In the past, Elm Matron rendered a service, and His Majesty rewarded her with a single shrine—I’ve never heard of there being a second one! You’re an official appointed by the court—what are you afraid of from her? What threats has she made against you people? You needn’t waste more words with me—if you’d simply exercised a bit more diligence as parents of this county and verified their credentials when they sought to open their place of worship, none of today’s trouble would have happened. Am I wrong?”
Yet this Guangshun magistrate remained stubbornly insistent, pleading shamelessly: “My lord, we are but powerless civil officials, bound by brush and paper alone. We fear that the slightest lapse in vigilance could see every last one of us silently done away with without a trace…”
Huo Qiqian, thoroughly irritated, forced herself to hold back and snapped: “Enough of that. This place is less than two hundred li from the capital—a single sealed letter sent by courier relay would reach Yandu, and the proper authorities would come to investigate. I suspect there’s something fishy going on here—did you take a bribe from them?”
“No!” the magistrate protested, waving his hands frantically. “My lord, please understand, this official…”
Bai Ying ran back from outside and nodded at Qiqian’er, who waved toward the horses and stood up: “Don’t bother pleading your case with me here—you’ll have your chance to explain when the time comes. Let’s go!”
Why would she stay and listen further—to accept a bribe herself? By the time the officials of Guangshun County came to their senses, that superior official had already mounted her horse and ridden off with her people.
After all this upheaval, the town was clearly no place to stay the night. Fortunately, her husband had thought of everything, and even oxhide tents and other camping gear for spending the night outdoors had been fully prepared.
Bai Ying, eyes shining with admiration, gave Huo Qiqian two enthusiastic thumbs up. Huo Qiqian felt secretly pleased but maintained her composure, asking as if she didn’t know: “What are you doing?”
Bai Ying grinned: “Just now, when the Matron stood there like that—heh! Those bastards were scared out of their wits, so commanding! Not the least bit inferior to any man, more composed even than the usual magistrate presiding over his own court and striking the gavel.”
Ah, really? Was it that impressive?
Feeling a bit smug inside, Huo Qiqian nonetheless kept up appearances, waving it off casually as if it were nothing: “Ah, hardly a big deal—small matter, just doing what little I could for the peace and safety of the local folk. I simply can’t stand this sort of thing.”
“The Matron’s sense of righteousness knows no bounds.”
“Exaggerating now, I don’t care for such talk. Heh, who could have known—fortune from misfortune, that scoundrel of a son getting into trouble on the road would lead to something like this. Well, consider it building merit for his safety, and…” She glanced at the dimming sky. “This matter, I fear, won’t turn out to be so simple after all.”
The night wind swept through the old forest, distant owls hooting in the valley, the campfire burning bright red, crackling as it roasted two dripping rabbits over the flame. Under the triangular frame of wooden supports, a small iron kettle hung, the water inside nearly at a boil.
The priest stirred groggily awake, first catching the scent of roasting meat, and in his daze tried to shake his head side to side, thinking hazily it must be nearly mealtime, hungry as he was—time to serve the food, perhaps?
Then, with a jolt, he snapped fully awake—only to discover both his arms had been dislocated, a strip of cloth crudely binding him to a tree.
By the campfire, that detestable figure sat cross-legged on a sheepskin cushion, turning over the broken halves of his spear, examining them. Without looking up, she asked: “Awake? What is Pang Tu to you?”
At those words, the priest broke into a cold sweat, and a strange, strangled sound tore from his throat: “Who—who are you?”
Qiqian’er tilted her head toward Bai Ying: “I think I recognize this fellow—go shave his beard off, I want a good look at his face.”
Bai Ying nodded, pulled a flat-bladed knife used for trimming horse hooves from her saddlebag, and approached the priest. Despite his fierce struggling, she managed to clean his beard off completely—though her technique wasn’t the best, leaving him with quite a few nicks.
Once it was done, Huo Qiqian studied him carefully by the firelight, and finally laughed: “I knew it—no wonder there was such deep hatred there. So it’s an enemy of Elm Matron’s, is it? What, did Yuegong Mountain’s decline under Qin She’s hand leave you unable to survive elsewhere, so you crawled into your enemy’s pot to stir the ladle instead? Hmm—rather clever, actually, killing two birds with one stone.”
Having his secrets so precisely exposed sent a cold sweat pouring off the priest, but with his aching jaw he didn’t dare move, forcing himself to endure the pain and ask: “You—who are you? Are you—North-South…”
Huo Qiqian waved a hand quickly: “Enough, enough, enough—quiet!”
She detested that sort of theatrics most of all—all that posturing with bowls and teapots, dramatic flourishes worthy of an opera performance. These martial world conventions were always so tediously long-winded.
She finished speaking, brushed off her clothes, cleared her throat, and said with full official authority: “This lord is an official of the imperial court! Never mind your roundabout underworld cant—your precious martial world died out long ago in this age of peace!”
The priest froze at these words, his face first filling with sorrow, then bursting into laughter. Well, people always had to put on a show when facing calamity, it seemed.
Once he’d finished laughing, he said: “Right, right! If someone as accomplished as yourself has thrown in your lot with the court, what martial world is left to speak of…” He paused, then twisted his body forward, pleading: “This one, this one, senior…”
Qiqian’er tossed aside the spear, wiped her hands with a cloth, and instructed Bai Ying: “Hit him!”
Bai Ying raised her hand and struck the priest with a backhand slap, sending him staggering, blood on his lips.
These two women were quite the ruthless pair.
Once the beating was done, Huo Qiqian tore off a rabbit leg and blew on it to cool it: “This lord is an official of the imperial court.”
The wild rabbit, though a bit gamy, had its own particular flavor. She’d barely taken a couple of bites when she heard the priest’s voice again, coaxing: “My lord, my lord, you’ve thrown yourself into the martial world, braving wind and rain, wasn’t it for money? This humble one—this humble one’s hidden chamber at the shrine holds no less than five or six hundred thousand guan…”
This fellow had exploited his position to the fullest—six hundred thousand guan, how many crimes had that taken, how many cases lay buried behind it? Qiqian’er felt a surge of anger and looked up, tilting her chin toward Bai Ying.
Bai Ying raised her hand for another slap, but seemingly finding her hand sore, picked up a piece of firewood instead.
The priest heard that ruthless woman speak again: “This lord is an honest official.”
He eyed the piece of firewood and shrank back, thinking to himself—was this really it for him?
He couldn’t win a fight, and after barely two exchanges he’d ended up like this, now facing someone who wouldn’t be swayed by soft words or hard threats either. Was he truly going to die here?
Fear overtook him, his will crumbling entirely, and the priest finally gave in, lowering his head for a long moment before looking up: “L-lord, what is it you want?”
Huo Qiqian had a small appetite and was already full after one rabbit leg. She wiped the corner of her mouth with a handkerchief, took a few sips of hot water from a bamboo tube, then asked: “Your name?”
The priest thought for a long while before answering: “Pei—Pei Daohai.”
That name hadn’t been used in many years.
Qiqian’er’s eyebrows rose—so it really was him.
Back when the stage duel had enraged his master’s senior disciple, Guan Zhuping, to death, this fellow had disappeared. Of course, by the conventions of the martial world, being hunted afterward was only to be expected—though Qiqian’er hadn’t much cared about such things back then, and had simply let him go when he fled.
Later, the only news she’d heard connecting him to anything was that Qin She had sought revenge against Yuegong Mountain—the court, ever biased, had repeatedly struck at them in secret, and after heavy losses among the old hermits, Yuegong Mountain’s reputation had collapsed.
Not long after, it was said Yuegong Mountain had been reduced to nothing but a band of roaming bandits.
At that thought, Huo Qiqian stood, dragged her sheepskin cushion over, and sat down across from this Pei Daohai, asking: “How did you end up at Baiquan Mountain? And how did you come up with the idea of building the Elm Matron shrine to extort money? Was this your own idea, or—someone else’s?”
At this question, Pei Daohai clamped his mouth shut.
Huo Qiqian didn’t resort to torture, but she was skilled at intimidation, and said with a smile: “Don’t want to talk? No matter. I hear Meng Dingchen’s been nursing a bitter grudge, itching to reclaim his standing but lacking the opportunity. Why don’t I just send you over to him? He’s just an idle warden right now, doesn’t even have to attend court, nothing to do—we’re colleagues after all, why not hand him a nice bit of merit?”
Pei Daohai was seized with terror, his face turning ashen.
The entire martial world, regardless of faction or allegiance, harbored deep hatred for the former Jiu Si Tang and for Meng Dingchen specifically—back in the day, the man hadn’t committed just one or two massacres; that was what made him truly ruthless. Aside from Baishi Mountain, which he couldn’t touch, and Gu Hongyun, whose backing made her untouchable, he’d cut down every root and branch of everyone else without exception.
The atmosphere grew tense. After a long silence, Pei Daohai spat out bitterly: “So what if you do? Worst case, I die.”
Huo Qiqian sneered, pointing first at her own eyes, then at Pei Daohai’s, smiling: “Trust me, I don’t have the heart to torture people, but I’m never wrong about reading a person. You want to live, you want to turn things around, you want great wealth and glory—those eyes of yours are full of greed and desire for the finer things. This world is too good to give up on—you can’t bear to let it go.”
Having said this, she reached out and gave two quick, sharp knocks, setting his dislocated arms back into place, then tossed the silver spear back on the ground in front of him, smiling: “Go on, then—die, and let me see.”
Pei Daohai flinched back in terror, stopping only when his back hit a tree trunk. He looked down at his weapon, extending a trembling hand toward it, fingers shaking, when he heard the demon at his ear say: “That day, your master died, your master’s senior disciple died, your fellow disciple died too. If you’d had any real spirit, you’d have lived up to your own name—’crossing rivers and overturning seas’—and stirred up some real trouble by now. And yet, heh, you did nothing at all—vanished without a trace, gave up all sense of dignity, unwilling to take even the smallest risk, not a shred of courage in you. And you dare speak of dying now… Go on, die, let me see. If you actually dare to, I’ll truly respect you as a real man.”
Pei Daohai, face twisted with fury, demanded: “Who—who exactly are you?”
Huo Qiqian smiled, positively radiant: “A deity.”
Pei Daohai, mouth full of blood, cursed furiously: “Shameless. If you’re going to kill me, just kill me—why humiliate me like this?”
Quick as lightning, a dagger suddenly flashed in Huo Qiqian’s hand, thrusting straight toward Pei Daohai’s eye. Pei Daohai cried out: “No! No…”
Beside his ear, that wicked woman laughed mockingly: “Just as I said—you’ve got no backbone, you wouldn’t dare. Your fellow disciple, reckless as he was, still had far more spine than you.”
The words cut straight to the bone, tearing open old wounds Pei Daohai could never face, festering wounds now oozing foul, rancid pus. All these years, hadn’t it been them he’d never been able to confront?
Unable to bear it any longer, Pei Daohai suddenly grabbed the broken half of his spear and lunged at Bai Ying beside him.
Bai Ying stepped back just in time, and his thrust missed entirely, earning him two more blows from the firewood in return.
Two more teeth spat out, Pei Daohai collapsed to the ground, staring at his spear. After a long moment, he finally reached out, picked it up, sat up, and pressed it against his own throat, voice trembling: “I—I will become a vengeful ghost…”
Huo Qiqian nodded: “Fine! Come find me for revenge then.”
“You—you, you…”
Huo Qiqian clicked her tongue: “Hurry up and die then. It’s getting late, we still need to set up the tents, and we’ve got more road to cover tomorrow.”
Yet Pei Daohai didn’t dare die after all.
They stared at each other for a long while, Pei Daohai gesturing the spear tip toward himself, unable to force out a single word, and finally broke down crying.
In truth, his courage had once run deeper, only to be worn thin over the years.
It had been shattered that time Qin She came seeking revenge. Back when his master’s senior disciple had died, he’d still dared to talk back to Huo Qiqian below the walls of Qingfeng City—but by the time he’d returned to Yuegong Mountain, the entire estate had been carved up and divided among others, and having lost his standing, he’d been bullied at every turn. When Qin She finally came to their door, it was him they’d pushed forward to face the enemy.
That time, Qin Zhuo had cut men down like melons—he’d taken a blade straight through the chest, his innards nearly spilling out. If not for his master’s old friend, unable to bear watching, stepping in to save him, that life of his would truly have ended there.
That life he’d clung back to hadn’t come easily.
He’d spent over a year bedridden recovering, and by the time he emerged, Yuegong Mountain had already fallen. He’d drifted from place to place with the elders of his family, searching for somewhere to settle—but who in this vast world would dare take in someone from Yuegong Mountain?
In the end, Pei Daohai didn’t have the courage to die. He finally cast the weapon aside, wiped a hand across his face, and said: “I—my family really does have three daughters. I—I still can’t die.”
Qiqian’er nodded: “That’s more like it. Whatever’s on your mind, first you need to stay alive, right?” She reached back and tore off a fragrant, roasted rabbit leg, handing it to him, her tone easy and casual: “You’re hungry, aren’t you? No rush—say what you need to say after we eat.”
A woman’s gentle persuasion was always the more effective weapon.
But Pei Daohai could hardly eat anything now—he simply held the rabbit leg and wept again, crying until Huo Qiqian finally grew impatient and said: “Stop crying.”
Pei Daohai immediately stopped. Despite being a grown man, said to be a father himself, he’d been crying like a woman—and now, wiping his tears, he began: “Eight years ago, the elders of my family took us to Jindian to seek refuge with the Old Master.”
“The Old Master?”
Pei Daohai nodded: “Yes—ah, I mean the founding marquis, Jindian’s Provincial Administration Commissioner, Tan Shouyi…”
Qiqian’er bared her teeth in a grin: “Oh-hoho~!”
Pei Daohai had no idea what she was thinking, but having already started, he simply spilled everything he knew: “My family elders said the Old Master harbors great ambitions, hoping to usher in an age of prosperity, but has been wronged by treacherous men. Our Yuegong Mountain has been allied with him for generations, and if we hoped to restore our sect’s former glory, nothing short of pledging service to a future emperor would do…”
At these words, a piece of firewood clattered to the ground—Bai Ying, a mere wanderer of the martial world, had gone pale with shock.