Chapter 81 - The Hidden Truth of Zhongli
The Eldest Young Master of Zhongli Manor believed that the great upheaval of his life began on a midnight when a man, drenched in blood and gravely wounded, stumbled into his private chambers.
Before that fateful night, Zhongli Zixu was merely a young master of a modest, unremarkable household. While he was not exactly the center of a thousand admiring gazes, he lived a life of comfort, free from the burdens of want. His world was small, quiet, and predictable—or so he had thought.
His younger brother, Zhongli Zixi, had been sent away on a long journey during their childhood for reasons Zixu never understood. When Zixi finally returned home six or seven years ago, the family dynamic fractured. In the first year of Zixi’s return, their father abruptly moved to a secluded mountain temple, claiming a desire for spiritual refinement and a life away from the world. Initially, Zixu visited him frequently, but his father’s responses were always evasive and strained. Eventually, the old man’s discomfort turned into a thunderous rage, accusing Zixu of disturbing his peace until he finally barred his doors to his eldest son entirely.
After being turned away several times, Zixu gradually ceased his visits. He limited his filial duties to sending seasonal delicacies and gifts to the temple during festivals, yet these offerings were like stones dropped into the vast ocean—they vanished without a trace, and he never received a single word in return.
As for his brother, Zhongli Zixi had undergone a total transformation during his decade away. He returned somber and melancholic, locking himself within his quarters and refusing to see anyone. Zixu would wait outside that closed door with longing, attempting to strike up a conversation, but the person inside was miserly with even a single word of acknowledgement. Over time, Zixu’s heart grew cold.
That tightly shut door never opened, yet it constantly exhaled an ominous scent of medicinal herbs and iron-rich blood that could be detected from a distance. The servants whispered in hushed, terrified tones that the Second Young Master was possessed by evil spirits or practicing forbidden, heterodox arts. They claimed that in the dead of night, one could hear the shrill, agonizing wails of ghosts echoing from the back courtyard.
Whenever Zixu overheard these rumors, he would harshly reprimand the servants for their insolence. However, one night, plagued by insomnia, he found himself wandering toward Zixi’s courtyard. There, he truly heard it—a low, pained groan that chilled his marrow. Just as he moved to investigate, a youth dressed in tight-fitting black attire seized him by the collar and hauled him away.
The youth’s face was partially masked, obscuring his features, yet his eyes remained visible—gentle and shimmering, as if adorned with the soft pink of peach blossoms. With a soft but firm voice, the youth warned Zixu never to approach the courtyard again before turning to vanish into the shadows.
Zixu realized then that this youth, known as Ye Jun, was the only person permitted to enter that silent, gloomy room. Every time Zixu had tried to see his brother, this guard had been the barrier. Watching Ye Jun return to the room alone, Zixu felt a pang of envy mixed with a bitterness he couldn't quite hide.
After six months of seclusion, Zhongli Zixi finally stepped out of his self-imposed prison.
Upon hearing the news, Zixu was overjoyed. Having not truly spoken to his brother in over a decade, he had an endless stream of stories to tell and a mountain of questions to ask. He practically bounded toward Zixi’s pavilion, his heart light with anticipation.
But the Second Young Master was nothing like the soft, clinging child Zixu remembered. He sat cold and detached, maintaining a distance of several yards. Whenever Zixu tried to take a step closer, he was blocked by the silent sentinel, Ye Jun.
Zixu tried to comfort himself, reasoning that ten years was a long time and that his brother was simply unaccustomed to his presence. He sat down, hoping to bridge the gap, but before he could even settle, Zixi spoke in a listless, weary tone.
"Brother, I am somewhat tired."
It was a blatant dismissal. Zixu had barely spoken three sentences and had done nothing but sit. He could think of no reason for such treatment other than pure rejection. Stunned, Zixu could only offer a few polite platitudes to save face. "Then... you should rest. I will come back tomorrow—"
No one waited for him to finish his pleasantries. Mid-sentence, Ye Jun had already moved with lightning speed, supporting the frail Zixi as they disappeared behind the heavy silk curtains. It was then that Zixu realized, for reasons he could not fathom, he had become a stranger in his own home.
He abandoned the idea of visiting his brother frequently. Consequently, he never knew that the moment Zixi withdrew from his sight, the younger brother’s body shook so violently he could no longer stand. Zixi’s back was drenched in cold sweat, and he only remained upright because Ye Jun was holding him.
Once inside the inner chamber, Ye Jun simply swept Zixi up into a horizontal carry. The Second Young Master panted, struggling to steady his racing heart. After a long silence, he squeezed out a sliver of strength to ask, "Just now... did I show any weakness?"
"No," Ye Jun replied, looking at Zixi’s deathly pale face. He couldn't help but add, "Master, the venomous *gu* was only purged from your system today. Your vitality is severely depleted. You should be resting, not forcing yourself to act as if nothing is wrong."
"My brother has been waiting for me for six months," Zixi whispered, his eyes fluttering shut as his voice grew fainter. "Last time, he asked me with a sob in his voice why I wouldn't see him. You... you don't know how much my heart ached. Besides... I missed him too."
Zixi’s breath grew weaker until he drifted into unconsciousness. Ye Jun knew, however, that the human heart was a fragile, sensitive thing. No matter how hard Zixi tried now, the damage to their relationship was likely irreparable.
From then on, Zixu forced himself to ignore his brother. He rarely visited unless Zixi specifically invited him to a banquet, considering it a matter of etiquette not to disturb the peace.
Under Zixi’s management, the once-modest Zhongli Manor began a meteoric rise. Their businesses expanded across the land, and both the legal and underworld factions treated them with profound awe. Gradually, the manor became the preeminent power among the great families of the Central Plains.
In the years that followed, Zixu spent his days seeking solace in the "tender country" of wine and women, growing accustomed to a life of aimless wandering. He preferred the bustling markets and the neon glow of the entertainment districts, finding the home where he had no kin or friends increasingly unbearable.
This lonely but carefree existence came to an abrupt end when that wounded man crashed into his life.
The man looked utterly ordinary—the kind of face one would forget the moment they looked away. However, the skin visible through his tattered rags was covered in the horrific scars of brutal torture. Kneeling in a pool of his own blood, he pleaded in a dry, raspy voice, "I beg the Eldest Young Master to save my life."
Outside the window, the distant shouts of pursuers could be heard. Zixu frowned. "Who are you?"
"Night Hidden," the man replied.
Zixu seemed to recognize the title. "Ah, are you the Night Hidden Mist Sovereign chosen by the Night Walk four years ago?"
The man shook his head weakly. "I am not him. That man was executed the year before last. The one who followed him based on rank was executed last year. I am already the third person to inherit the title of Night Hidden in this term."
Zixu was shocked. He knew that the titles "Night Monarch Imperial Sovereign" and "Night Hidden Mist Sovereign" both answered to his younger brother, but he had no idea the latter position had seen such a high turnover.
The man continued, "A Night Hidden is the world's greatest specialist in concealment. We track information; we do not fight. It is almost impossible for us to die in combat. We only die if our Master grows suspicious and decides to silence us. This term’s Night Hidden have been replaced so frequently that I was wary even before I took the post. Yet despite all my caution, a sudden rainstorm delayed my last mission by half a day. Because I missed the expected hour, the Second Young Master suspected I had ulterior motives and ordered my execution."
Zixu, who had always avoided the bloody conflicts of the martial world, remained unmoved. "Why should I save you?"
"I know information that you will find absolutely vital," the man said firmly. "The girls from Ke'an Residence, Lady Yuchu and Lady Xiaohai... the sisters Chuyue and Qiuyue from the Goulan Workshop... I know exactly what happened to all those women who suddenly vanished."
Zixu gasped. "Their sisters told me they had their contracts redeemed and had gone to live honest lives..."
"They all vanished without warning and left no trace. Did you never suspect anything?" Night Hidden sighed and prostrated himself. "In all of Zhongli Manor, only the Eldest Young Master’s quarters are not monitored by the Second Young Master. If you say no one has been here, he will not doubt you."
Zixu found it hard to believe that his brilliant brother could be fooled by a clumsy lie. Yet, when the pursuers arrived, Zixu spoke only a few words, and they departed without hesitation.
Night Hidden was incredibly lucky. At that time, Zixi’s most trusted confidants, including Ye Jun, were away on business. The guards who had lost their quarry were so terrified of Zixi’s wrath that they collectively decided to hide their failure.
Thus, Zixu was forced to learn the things that someone had spent years trying to hide from him.
He went searching for the "celestial sisters" he had once loved, hoping for a happy ending. Instead, he found only a series of desolate, unmarked graves in a barren village. He had thought they were the lucky ones who had found good homes; he never imagined they had all been sent to the Yellow Springs.
The girls he had liked were of humble birth and had known much hardship, yet they were resilient and proud, growing like lotus flowers from the mud. They were finally stepping into the sunlight, only to be cut down and buried because of their association with him.
He also learned that his father was not in voluntary seclusion. He was under house arrest in the Taoist temple, his every move monitored, his every word dictated by Zixi’s will. During festivals, when Zixu’s gifts arrived, his father could only look at them from a distance, too terrified even to let out a sob.
When Zixu next sat down to dinner with his brother, he finally understood the cold madness lurking in Zixi’s eyes.
The food turned to ash in his mouth. He sat on pins and needles, the memory of those lonely graves making him shudder with horror. He no longer dared to spend the night in brothels. Instead, he frequented the music houses to listen to the zither. Fearing that a sudden change in behavior would arouse Zixi’s suspicion, he used the pretext of being hopelessly infatuated with a specific musician, claiming that no other "common powder and rouge" could catch his eye.
At that time, a new star named Yue Changsheng was rising in the Ye Workshop, his performance of "Three Variations on the Yang Pass" famous throughout the land. Zixu, on the verge of a mental breakdown and lacking the energy to be creative, simply attached his pretext to the name of this famous zither player.
By the time the rumor that the Eldest Young Master of Zhongli Manor was obsessed with Yue Changsheng had spread through the city, Zixu didn't even know what the man looked like.
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