The hour of the Tiger approached, and the moon had passed its zenith.
In the steam-wreathed thermal pools, the fragrant red lotuses had vanished, leaving only a few stray petals drifting upon the water’s surface.
The Haoran Grotto-Heaven was now silent and empty. The neatly bundled firewood lay ignored on the ground; every private conversation had been swallowed by the damp rock walls, and the torches on the wooden racks had flickered out completely.
Without light, not even a shadow could be seen.
In the center of the spring, where hot and cold currents converged, something was churning deep beneath the dark water.
Had anyone dared to reach into those depths, they would have been astonished to find a living figure holding his breath in a deep dive.
Amidst the turbulent currents, the youth kept his eyes tightly shut, groping for an invisible target in the perilous darkness.
*No sound is too small to be heard; no action is too hidden to take form.*
He sought sound within silence and form within the formless. It was as difficult as capturing a stray breeze or picking up a shard of moonlight.
The thunderous beating of his heart nearly overwhelmed his five senses. The suffocation of the water was nothing compared to the threat posed by the thermal currents; the erratic shifts in temperature served as a constant reminder that a deviation of even a hair’s breadth would result in being scalded or boiled alive.
The faint pop of breaking bubbles, the pungent scent of sulfur, the tiny eddies formed when the current met an obstacle—he distinguished these sensations on the razor's edge between life and death, finally thrusting his hand firmly toward his target in the dark...
*Snap.*
The youth’s left hand snatched two bamboo chopsticks stained with soybean paste, but he missed the high stack of wine bowls.
The old elm table groaned under the force of the falling bowls. A woman’s voice pierced the ceiling, loud enough to shake the roof tiles.
“How can that be called stealing?!”
Li Qiao shrank his neck, trying his best to ignore the dissatisfied glares from the surrounding patrons. For the seventh time, he convinced himself to look at the big picture and maintain his composure.
“Fine, it’s not stealing,” he finally conceded.
But she felt he was being perfunctory and leaned in relentlessly. “What kind of attitude is that? Do you think I’m being unreasonable?”
When drinking reached this stage, the tongue grew thick and the chatter became incessant. Ignoring her didn't work, but neither did engaging.
The youth, hounded beyond endurance, finally looked up. “You said you went deep into the enemy camp alone to steal military intelligence. Whose intelligence was it?”
“The enemy’s, of course.”
Before her words could even land, the youth questioned her mercilessly. “You went to their territory to take their things. How is that not stealing?”
The woman let out a wine-scented hiccup. She reached up to steady the small yellow flower tucked behind her ear and replied with perfect composure, “The intelligence belonged to them, but the content written on it was about *us*. I was simply bringing back our own information. How can that be stealing?”
He was speechless, his arguments defeated.
The woman reached out and ruffled his hair as if patting a dog’s head. She seemed to be offering earnest guidance, or perhaps she was just muttering drunken nonsense to herself.
“Little Thirteen, remember this: taking back what belongs to you is not stealing. Even if others have occupied it through force or guile for many years, it doesn't change the fact that it once belonged to you. One day, you must take it back. Nothing is more gratifying than recovering what was lost.”
Having said her piece, she drained the last drops of wine from the bowl. Grabbing a leftover chicken bone, she began tapping the rim of the bowl, singing a tuneless ditty at the top of her lungs.
He couldn't understand the clumsy border dialect, and the drunkard’s off-key singing followed no melody he knew.
Yet, strangely, he seemed to hear within that song the snowy nights of the Great Desert, wolves running through the dark, the cold glint of a lone blade, and strong wine offered to the souls of the fallen...
The night grew late. The other patrons, annoyed by the woman’s drunken antics, finally dispersed.
The culprit herself didn't care in the least, laughing as she sang.
She seemed to have forgotten her missing hand, her layers of old and new scars, and everything she had ever lost. She had returned to the memories of a distant past. Fine lines appeared around her bright eyes; the marks of time rippled vividly across her, stirring the depths of his heart. He had never noticed these details before, for they had been of no use to him.
He thought he had long since forgotten it all.
Li Qiao opened his eyes. The moment he broke the surface of the water, he gasped for air involuntarily.
The sudden intake of breath after such a long time underwater forced his lungs to expand violently. He had no time to regulate his breathing, however, as he stumbled away from the spring.
Only this time, there was no woman on the shore watching for him with an anxious gaze.
He clutched the blade in his arms tightly, as if clutching himself.
For some reason, he had been thinking of his master more and more frequently of late.
Perhaps... it was because he was finally close to his master’s blade.
Li Qiao lowered his head, gazing silently at the ancient, simple blade resting quietly in its sheath.
He had only heard of this blade through his master’s brief mentions, yet the moment he touched it, a powerful sense of familiarity surged through him, as if he were touching a part of his master’s soul.
He had been right.
Di Mo had never sent the true Qingwu Blade to the Inauguration Ceremony. He had hidden it in the thermal springs leading to the Haoran Grotto-Heaven, never moving it from the start.
But if the goal was merely to use the Qingwu Blade as a decoy for the ceremony, why bring the real blade to the island at all? Unless...
“So, you are Jia Thirteen.”
A young but icy voice rang out abruptly, instantly stripping the last vestige of warmth from his skin.
Li Qiao did not turn around, but his left hand already gripped the hilt of the Qingwu Blade.
The year he left the villa, there were seven experts in the Jia Battalion whose skills were not inferior to his own. Though only three remained now, they were undoubtedly the elite survivors of the "Gu" struggle. Having served as Di Mo’s confidants all these years, he had every reason to believe they were well-prepared for this ambush.
In a flash, countless possibilities flickered through his mind.
His first thought was that Lord Yan had sold him out to Di Mo, having conspired with the First Villa Under Heaven. But he quickly dismissed this. Back at the Treasure Mirage Pavilion, Lord Yan had several opportunities to seize him. Even if he had changed his mind later, there was no need to use a secret prescription to control him or reveal so much on the boat to the island.
The second possibility was that he had been exposed during his first trip to the island to kill Jade Flute. But at that time, he had only scouted the entrance to the spring; he hadn't made a move. How could they have known his intentions and been certain he would reappear today?
Di Mo clearly knew he would come. Perhaps the man had guessed his relationship with Li Qingdao and knew he would feel obligated to retrieve her belongings. But Li Qingdao was dead. No matter how important a blade was to a swordsman, it shouldn't be enough to drive a villa assassin who had been a fugitive for years to walk into a trap. Di Mo should have known this.
There was one final possibility.
The Qingwu Blade itself held a greater secret—a secret known only to Li Qingdao. Di Mo had exhausted every effort to decipher it and was convinced that Li Qingdao had passed the secret to him before her death, ensuring he would try to reclaim the blade at all costs.
However, while the Master of the First Villa might understand secrets, he did not understand Li Qingdao.
His master had lived a carefree life, dying without attachments. She had never breathed a word of past secrets to him. If she were alive now, she would probably just use the Qingwu Blade to peel a pear for him to quench his thirst.
Because of this, Di Mo had guessed his plan to steal the blade, but he had failed to guess his motive.
After all, who would believe that a lowly person from the First Villa, someone who would use any means necessary to survive, would one day risk his life for another?
Seeing that he remained silent, one of the three shadows finally spoke.
“You don't seem as handsome as the rumors suggest. I wonder if your body is as durable as they say.”
Li Qiao said nothing. While the other was sizing him up, he was evaluating his opponents.
Another shadow spoke, his voice condescending as he urged surrender. “The Villa Master showed great sincerity in luring you here. If you understand the situation, you should reveal the secret Li Qingdao took with her.”
Li Qiao lowered his eyelids slightly and spoke in a flat tone. “I don't know what you're talking about.”
The three figures were silent for a moment before conversing in low, unrestrained voices.
“He says he doesn't know. He must be lying.”
“Maybe not? I think Li Qingdao might not have truly favored him, so she didn't tell him everything.”
“It doesn't matter. He will spit out everything he knows. The Villa Master will judge for himself then...”
Li Qiao closed his eyes, shutting out the noise. In his heart, there was only the blade he held firmly.
It was a blade of freedom, and the woman who once wielded it had forever sealed her courage within it.
He had never possessed that kind of courage.
But he wanted to live to see her again.
*So... Master, if you can, please lend me your courage for a moment.*
A cold light flashed. The sharp blade, long unsheathed, cut through the mist. Carrying an unstoppable killing intent, it struck directly at the three ghostly shadows on the cliff.
The long night was half over, and the flowers of blood catalyzed by slaughter were only just beginning to bloom.
***
*Drip.*
Qin Jiuye blinked. She reached up to touch her cheek, then stared blankly at the droplet of water on her fingertip.
She had noticed earlier that there were underground thermal currents beneath Qionghu Island, making some of the stone walls very damp, but this was the first time she had felt a drop of water on her face since entering the grotto.
The droplet seemed to carry an omen, reminding her of the ladle of water that had fallen from the sky when she crossed the Bridge of No Return.
Her heart tightened with an inexplicable, dull ache...
“Di Mo has left.”
Qiu Ling’s voice pulled her back. Looking toward the distance, she saw that the masked man had indeed departed, flanked by several villa disciples. He seemed to be in a hurry, as if he had received some news.
Qi Gu had been gone for less than fifteen minutes; a minor matter like stealing wine wouldn't alarm someone like Di Mo. What had happened?
The unease in her heart grew more pronounced. She forced herself to stay alert and observed the surroundings.
Di Mo’s sudden departure was clearly unexpected. The guests were like chess pieces left behind on a board—wandering, anxious, and speculating, unable to move forward or back.
She still hadn't seen the "servant" who had guided her to the Haoran Grotto-Heaven. Just as she was about to look away, she caught sight of something else.
Yuan Qi was being helped out of the cave by others. It seemed his illness was too much to bear, forcing an early exit. The attention of the others was not on the Fangwaiguan Sect, so no one bothered to investigate.
“Before we landed, you mentioned that Xiaozhou and the others suspected something was wrong with the Fangwaiguan ship. Is that true?”
Qin Jiuye’s voice rose abruptly. Qiu Ling instantly understood her intent, his gaze shifting to the departing Yuan Qi.
“It is. However, everyone who stepped onto Qionghu Island tonight took every precaution. Now that Fangwaiguan has the backing of the First Villa, I’m afraid they won't be easy to approach.”
More than just difficult to approach—based on her previous experience boarding their ship, Fangwaiguan seemed to share the same lineage as Lord Fan, acting as if they wanted guests to never return.
But the more they acted this way, the more it suggested there was indeed something wrong with that ship.
She hadn't dared to probe Fangwaiguan before, partly because she feared Yuan Qi would vent his pain-induced rage on her, and partly because she worried the truth of the Qingping Path would implicate her after learning about the Clear Wind Powder. But after seeing tonight’s drama, she had a feeling that Yuan Qi might not care about the truth of the massacre within his sect at all. Instead, Li Qingdao and the Chuanliu Courtyard seemed to pique his interest more.
After a moment of reflection, Qin Jiuye licked her lips and spoke cautiously.
“During the consultation, I saw Yuan Qi using Wusong seeds to numb his pain. His chronic illness cannot be cured in a day. Even with acupuncture and medicine, he won't last long. He’s likely rushing back to the ship for relief. Since Di Mo has been lured away, something must be happening on the island. Moving amidst the chaos is our best chance. Yuan Qi just won a battle; he’s currently satisfied and proud. He won't take a wandering physician like me seriously...”
Seeing the woman use the most cautious tone to speak the boldest words, Qiu Ling fell silent for a moment.
He didn't know why he had previously thought such a person was a cowardly, profit-driven scoundrel, even repeatedly assuming the worst of her. Perhaps he had always been that way, and she was simply one of the few who had given him the chance to know her deeply.
Once she finished her analysis, Qiu Ling paused before speaking.
“If we can find a reason to get close, I have my own ways to handle what follows. But I heard from Zican that the situation was perilous when you treated him before. If you show your face again, he might become suspicious. I’m worried you’ll be in danger. Besides...”
Besides, this matter had no direct benefit for her. She was willing to investigate the case with him, but that didn't mean she was willing to risk her life for it, and he had no right to ask her to do so.
Qin Jiuye saw his hesitation. Understanding his doubt, she spoke with determination.
“We won't know if it works until we try. Are you willing to take the risk?”
Qin Jiuye wasn't worried about the answer. She knew that despite his hesitation, he wouldn't let such a good opportunity for investigation slip by.
However, she hadn't expected that even with Qiu Ling’s help, tracking a Jianghu sect would be no easy task.
Fifteen minutes later, Qin Jiuye was panting as she followed Qiu Ling’s lead, her heart filled with confusion.
Even while supporting a patient who had just recovered from a serious illness, were the people of Fangwaiguan really that fast? They had vanished in the blink of an eye. If not for Qiu Ling’s expertise in tracking, she would have been helpless even with all the skill in the world.
Passing through several narrow stone gates, a sudden cold wind hit her. Qin Jiuye stepped out into the night unprepared, the sweat on the back of her neck instantly chilled by the breeze.
The night wind, carrying the fishy scent of the lake, blew against her. The sky turned white, a flash blinded her, and a moment later, a crack of thunder exploded in her ears, making her stumble.
She was currently walking along the edge of a narrow cliff path. The Lixin Lake, which had been as green as jade during the day, now looked like a pot of black soup boiled by demons. In the distance, the rolling clouds seemed to hide another monster breathing lightning. The monster’s roar rushed toward her, turning into a gale that whipped sand against her body. The scent of earth and impending rain filled her senses.
When she used to follow her master into the mountains to gather herbs, she had encountered such stormy nights. Thunder sounded exceptionally loud in the mountains, like someone striking a massive iron chisel against her ear. But standing on this isolated island cliff, she truly understood the meaning of a raging storm and lightning that tore the sky.
On a night with such foul weather, no one would notice or care even if stars were falling, let alone the Seven Stars Alignment.
Qiu Ling’s figure paused ahead. Qin Jiuye looked away from the sky and saw they had reached a barren stone cliff. Behind the cliff, the massive silhouette of the Fangwaiguan ship rose and fell with the waves.
A young woman stood before the ship. Though she wore the deep green Daoist robes of the sect, she looked like a lonely ghost. She spoke only when they drew near.
“The Observer is unwell and has retired to the ship to rest. To what do we owe this uninvited visit, Lord Duanyu?”
Qin Jiuye didn't recognize the face, but she recognized the expression. It was the unique look of a First Villa assassin, identical to Xin Yu’s in the Su Manor.
They moved fast. One moment they were publicly presenting a gift, and the next they were secretly welcoming the new, replacing the Fangwaiguan disciples with those from the First Villa. It was a seamless transition.
Understanding the situation clearly but unable to show it, Qin Jiuye signaled for Qiu Ling to remain silent while she bowed respectfully.
“The Daoist may not know, but yesterday I boarded the ship to provide acupuncture for the Observer. Thanks to his kindness, I received a generous fee. It seems we are fated to meet again today, so I wished to pay my respects. However, I couldn't find an opportunity earlier, so I took the liberty of coming under Lord Duanyu’s name. I wonder how the Observer is feeling today? Has the prescription I left been effective?”
Qin Jiuye finished and peeked at the woman’s expression.
This villa disciple had clearly just taken over this post at Fangwaiguan and likely didn't know the state of Yuan Qi’s health. Normally, she should report to Yuan Qi, but given Di Mo’s arrogant style, the villa disciples would surely prioritize the villa’s interests and might not truly respect Yuan Qi. Thus, Qin Jiuye wasn't entirely certain and began preparing her next move.
For some reason, the young woman’s expression was strange. It wasn't disdain or suspicion, but rather a playful look, as if she were watching a show...
Just as Qin Jiuye thought her plan would fail, the woman finally spoke.
“The lady has a miraculous touch; the medicine worked wonders. The Observer is indeed much better today. However, perhaps because he is still recovering, he has little appetite. Since the lady has come to inquire, would you be willing to go inside and examine him once more?”
Things were going so smoothly it was almost unbelievable. Qin Jiuye felt a surge of joy, followed immediately by unease.
Was this *too* smooth? It was as if the other person knew her intentions and was leading her into the depths of the cabin as a matter of course.
However, having come this far, she couldn't retreat.
“It is my honor to treat the Observer. But the weather looks poor; I fear there will be heavy wind and rain soon. Could the Daoist allow Lord Duanyu to board the ship to take shelter?” She quickly added, fearing hesitation, “I know medical consultations are private and shouldn't have outsiders present. He only needs to wait outside for a moment.”
“The lady’s friend is a friend of Fangwaiguan. Besides, I must thank Lord Duanyu for his fair words earlier. Please, Lord Duanyu, come aboard. I will have someone serve fresh tea as a token of our gratitude.”
The woman agreed readily, and Qiu Ling bowed in return. “In that case, I thank the Daoist.”
Qin Jiuye gave him one last look and whispered, “I’ll be back soon. I’ll meet you outside in a moment.”
She intentionally emphasized the word "outside." The hint was clear: they would split up and act as the situation required. If necessary, he should prioritize exposing Yuan Qi’s secrets and not worry too much about her; she would find her own way out.
Qiu Ling clearly understood her meaning and nodded slightly. “The light is poor and the deck is slippery. Be careful.”
***
Shouqi Street was unusually quiet tonight.
Most of the Jianghu had flocked to Qionghu Island for the annual spectacle. Even those who hadn't landed on the island were staying overnight around Lixin Lake. Consequently, the Jianghu travelers who usually gathered in the back alleys were nowhere to be seen.
A storm was gathering in the eastern night sky outside the city. Lightning flickered within the clouds. The air before the downpour was humid and stifling, without a breath of wind.
Tang Shenyan stood on the two stone steps before his door, hands behind his back, seemingly listening to the sound of the night wind.
The street corner was silent. No wind blew, and no other sounds were heard.
He still wore that tattered, discolored long robe, but a coarse cloth sack was slung over his back. Because his head was tilted up, his posture seemed much more upright than usual.
Finally, he picked his ear, coughed twice, and looked up at the paper lantern hanging over the back door, which was half-covered in dust.
One of the bamboo ribs in the old lantern was broken, and a swallow was crudely painted on the torn paper. After years of sun and rain, the swallow had almost faded away.
Tang Shenyan stared at the swallow, lost in thought for a moment.
It was time to change the lantern again.
Since Tingfeng Hall had opened on Shouqi Street, he had changed the lantern over twenty times.
In the beginning, there was no lantern at the door of his dilapidated tea hall. Lamp oil cost money, and keeping it lit all night was a waste.
But later, as more Jianghu travelers came to loiter for free tea without supporting his business, people started nitpicking. They said the broken road behind his hall was unacceptable; if someone tripped in the dark, they’d blame Tingfeng Hall.
As an honest scholar, he couldn't win against such twisted logic. After swallowing his frustration, he decided to spend the least amount of money to solve the problem once and for all.
And so, the paper lantern was hung.
It was the most ordinary bamboo and oil-paper lantern, fueled by the lowest grade, smoky hemp oil. It stayed lit, but it couldn't even illuminate a three-meter radius, let alone the entire alley.
However, those Jianghu travelers were easily satisfied, and no one mentioned the matter again. Over time, that lantern became the embodiment of Tingfeng Hall—shabby, weak, yet stubbornly unextinguished. Though it was just one of the most inconspicuous lights among the thousands in Jiugao City, it was a lone star that never flickered out in the night rain of the Jianghu, a brief sanctuary for the drifting wanderers, and the only constant in a changing world.
As long as the lantern was lit, the pushover storyteller was there. In the storyteller’s domain, anyone could flip tables or wreck the place over a bit of gossip, but no blood was to be shed.
The storyteller had never officially set this rule, but within these four walls, there was a hidden, unspoken Jianghu.
Tang Shenyan thought for a moment, then took a pole from behind the door, lowered the lantern, and carried it back into Tingfeng Hall.
Six years and three months had passed since he bought this place at the age of thirty-eight.
*I’ll add lamp oil one last time. Let it burn as long as it can.*
After some tinkering, the oil was in place and the lantern was lit again. Tang Shenyan’s feet, which were already moving toward the back door, suddenly stopped.
Perhaps because the air before the storm was stagnant, Tingfeng Hall was unusually quiet tonight. The slightest sound could reach one's ears, but the silence was even more unsettling, almost creating the illusion of auditory hallucinations.
He stood motionless for a moment. The faint sound of grass rubbing together rang out again.
It wasn't an illusion.
Tang Shenyan took a deep breath, glanced toward the accounting room, and then walked toward the base of the courtyard wall.
The swaying light of the paper lantern illuminated the messy grass ahead. The figure rooting around in front of the dog hole froze, only turning around after a long pause. He held a stone in one hand, and beneath a mess of hair were a pair of confused eyes.
“Brother Tang isn't asleep yet?”
Tang Shenyan said nothing. He stood in the darkness, appearing more silent than ever before.
Old Dog Du felt a bit guilty and quickly shook his right hand. A jar of wine hung there; the jar was a bit dirty and looked to be of questionable origin.
“A few days ago, I observed the celestial phenomena and calculated that tonight is the night of the Seven Stars Alignment. Such a sight is rare in a thousand years. I thought I should have a drink and a chat with Brother Tang, so I came uninvited.”
The sky was pitch black, with muffled thunder rolling in the distance. Not only were there no seven stars, but even the moon was invisible.
But the Jianghu swindler was used to lying through his teeth. After giving this grand excuse for drinking and avoiding the rain, he noticed the other man was carrying a cloth sack and a lantern. He asked curiously, “Is Brother Tang going out? It’s so late, and it looks like it’s going to rain...”
After he said this, the courtyard fell into silence.
The distant thunder paused. Echoes collided in the night, faintly mixed with a subtle sound that was hard to distinguish.
Tang Shenyan finally smiled.
When he smiled, wrinkles bunched up on his face, making him look more alive—as if he had returned to being Old Tang the manager, who could sit in the hall and tell stories all day over a pot of coarse tea.
“Very well. But I don't have any snacks here. Why don't you go to Wang’s Pickles on Bobo Street and buy some pickled beans and snow mustard? I’ll wait for you here.”
As he spoke, he pulled out a few copper coins. Seeing this, Old Dog Du forgot everything else and instinctively took them. He grinned as he counted the coins, then hesitated.
“It’s so late. Is the shop on Bobo Street still open?”
Tang Shenyan smirked. He walked into the grass in the courtyard, pulled something out, and shared the "secret" to buying the beans.
“I know the owner. This earthenware jar belongs to his shop. Knock three times on the wood where the paint has peeled off, say you’re here to return the jar, and hand over the money. He’ll naturally sell you some more.”
“That’s perfect then. I’ll be off. Wait for me, Brother Tang.”
“Wait.” Tang Shenyan called him back, stuffing the old paper lantern into Old Dog Du’s hand. “The road is dark. Use this for light.”
Old Dog Du, his mind on the pickled beans, took the lantern and the jar and hurried out of the courtyard.
He was in high spirits. The yellow light of the lantern swayed with his steps as he hummed a little tune, the sound fading as he turned the corner of the alley.
Tang Shenyan stood in the darkness. Not a single candle was lit in the vast Tingfeng Hall, and there was no light from the stars or moon.
Perhaps because of the impending storm, the insects in the grass had gone quiet, and the usually noisy ducks were nowhere to be found. The courtyard was deathly still.
Tang Shenyan took a deep breath and turned toward the accounting room.
The surroundings remained pitch black, but he had walked the paths of this hall thousands of times. He could go anywhere with his eyes closed, his footsteps never missing their mark.
The old door hinges creaked. He stepped into the darkness of the room and leaned over the cluttered desk.
An inch-long fuse was hidden in a concealed spot under the desk. Because it had been touched and checked a thousand times, it felt a bit rough and frayed.
Tang Shenyan took out a fire starter. He gazed at the flame for a moment, then without further hesitation, he lit the fuse.
The small point of light hissed as it burned into the depths of the desk. Soon, a glow emanated from within.
The fire grew stronger, illuminating the storyteller’s weathered face. The rolling smoke from the combustion instantly filled the room.
Tang Shenyan stood up and pushed open the broken window facing the courtyard. Thick smoke mixed with sparks drifted outside. The wild banana trees swayed in the night, and the air was thick with the scent of rain.
The next moment, a loud, muffled boom came from the roof of the small accounting room. Broken tiles and half a roof beam, severed by a swift blade, collapsed, smothering the burning desk with a crash.
Sparks flew in the dark room like falling stars, flickering a few times upon hitting the ground before being extinguished completely.
Tang Shenyan looked up into the dust-filled darkness and spoke in a deep voice.
“Come out.”
***
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