10. Shrouded in Mist (3)

It is the season of Frost’s Descent. Outside, the wind howls with a biting chill, yet within this west side chamber, it is as warm as if one were nestled beside a furnace.

Tao Hong finishes brewing a pot of fragrant tea. Cen Lan nods, signaling her to go and rest, then turns, her slender fingers delicately grasping the porcelain spout to pour the tea into small cups.

"Miss Xiaoman, please, have some tea."

Jiang Xiaoman takes the cup, feeling the warmth seep through the ceramic, soothing and gentle.

"Thank you."

Her heart, however, is a whirlwind of mixed emotions. Cen Lan never once doubted her; not only did she intercede on her behalf, but she even brought her into her own private chambers.

The young girl bites her lip. "You... do you not suspect me?"

Even earlier in the main hall, she had shown not a shred of wariness toward her.

Cen Lan pours a cup for herself, wiping away a stray drop from the spout with a silk cloth.

"Not just you; even I find that Master Baihua highly suspicious. He is clearly not of the orthodox immortal sects, yet he boasts of being able to banish evil spirits."

Jiang Xiaoman cannot help but sigh. Unexpectedly, while the Old Madam harbors deep-seated prejudice against the immortal sects, this second young lady of the Cen family is the complete opposite.

Cen Lan carries her teacup and sits leisurely beside Jiang Xiaoman, her voice gentle. "As for Uncle Ma, he may look fierce, but in truth, he is a kind man... please do not hold a grudge against him."

Jiang Xiaoman offers a soft "Mm." She certainly wouldn't hold a grudge; if anything, the guard was merely doing his duty and hadn't wrongly accused the innocent.

Cen Lan takes a delicate sip of tea, smiling as she observes Jiang Xiaoman. "Though I do not know why you choose to pose as a mute, everyone has their own secrets. If you do not wish to speak of it, I shall not ask."

Listening to her, a warm current flows through Jiang Xiaoman’s heart. This second Miss Cen is truly as kind-hearted as she is beautiful!

Afterward, the two sit quietly in the room, enjoying the sweet fruit pastries Tao Hong brought. Starting from the melody Cen Lan played when they first met that night, they chat extensively about music. Her passion for the zither is no less than her sister’s; she speaks eloquently on everything from ancient classics to the popular tunes of the day.

Jiang Xiaoman listens more than she speaks, offering only an occasional question. Being with Cen Lan, she feels no discomfort; the spiritual aura surrounding Cen Lan is so soft, and combined with the pleasant warmth of the room, she finds herself completely relaxed.

Time slips away unnoticed. When she glances out the window, the sun is already sinking behind the western hills, and the sky is filled with dusk clouds.

Jiang Xiaoman jumps to her feet.

Oh no! Four hours have passed—that fake pill meant to buy time must have dissolved by now!

*

After bidding farewell to Cen Lan, Jiang Xiaoman rushes back to the alchemy room. Seeing white mist rising outside, she fears a fire and quickens her pace.

As she pushes the door open, a familiar figure comes into view.

She breathes a sigh of relief.

Thankfully, the mist is merely steam billowing from a basin set atop the earthen stove. The boiling vapor rises in a thick white plume toward the rafters, and the medicinal scent is even more pungent than it was this morning.

The fake pill is surprisingly effective; left to boil like this, it wouldn't raise suspicion even if no one were in the room.

Ling Sichen has removed his outer robe, his hair tied up and sleeves rolled back. He holds a long spoon from somewhere, stirring the boiling water in the steamer while saying with nonchalance, "I sent you to gather intelligence, and you truly just abandoned your post."

Unable to find an excuse, Jiang Xiaoman feels a bit stifled. She mutters, "Well, I had you here, didn't I?"

Pinching her nose, she leans in to take a look; the pill has completely dissolved into a bowl of white, viscous liquid.

Ling Sichen scoops up the liquid and slowly pours it into a jade vial.

"I have other matters to attend to shortly. You take this to the Old Madam."

Jiang Xiaoman takes the vial, the surface still radiating a gentle warmth.

Wait, take it to the Old Madam?

She exclaims, "This is the real medicine?"

Ling Sichen glances at her.

"What else would it be?"

Jiang Xiaoman is shocked. This is the medicine concerning the Old Madam’s condition!

"Something this important, and you are handing it to me so casually!?"

Ling Sichen remains calm. "I have already used the Spiritual Condensation technique to refine the medicinal essence into this pill; all that remains is for it to be dissolved. You are a member of a respectable immortal sect—surely you are capable of completing the simplest step?"

Jiang Xiaoman is rendered speechless. Is he mocking her? His words are so biting, yet she cannot refute them.

Ling Sichen pours out the excess medicinal broth and begins to clean up the basin and stove. "You've worked hard. Tell me, what did you discover?"

Standing to the side, Jiang Xiaoman knits her brows, organizing her thoughts.

After a moment, she recounts the layout of the servants in the west courtyard and what she discovered in Xing'er’s room.

"Aside from the owners, there are eight servants and laborers in total. As for Steward Zeng, who often visits the courtyard, he knows everything about the estate; he doesn't seem like something a demon could impersonate. Although Guard Ma looks fierce, his strength is too weak compared to a demon."

"Strength?" Ling Sichen looks up.

Jiang Xiaoman awkwardly scratches her cheek.

"I wasn't very good at tailing him and got caught red-handed. Luckily, A-Lan helped me out of that predicament..."

"..."

She pauses, then continues, "However, I did hear something from A-Lan."

"What is it?"

"Her nephew, Cen Shen, was sent away to his father's family by his brother-in-law a month ago. They say he took the path by the Plum River... but it is a blessing that he doesn't have to stay here in this villa right now."

Ling Sichen pauses his movements for only a moment, remarking lightly, "He knows how to pick his timing." He then goes back to his work.

Jiang Xiaoman nods in agreement. "Isn't that the truth! If he had left a few days later, he would have run right into the water demon in the suburbs. It would have been dangerous."

After these words, Jiang Xiaoman suddenly realizes that she has, for the first time, spoken so fluently and at such length with another person. She feels a sense of refreshment and an unprecedented joy.

After all, when she was home, she would occasionally speak this much, but only to the spiritual beasts her family had possessed. In comparison, speaking to an actual person like this is far more pleasant.

Ling Sichen listens; though his hands never stop, a glimmer of contemplation flashes in his eyes.

"Are you very close with the second Miss Cen?"

Jiang Xiaoman nods. "A-Lan is a good person. She plays the zither well, and she took very good care of me today."

Seeing Ling Sichen’s piercing gaze, she feels a touch of anxiety.

"You—you aren't suspecting her of being the 'Ghost Melody,' are you?" she asks defensively. "Impossible! It absolutely cannot be her!"

"Why?"

Jiang Xiaoman widens her eyes. "Why... are you blind? That aura of hers is so pure!"

Ling Sichen scoffs coldly.

"Let me ask you: how many Earth-grade demons have you encountered?"

"None," Jiang Xiaoman mumbles.

"For an Earth-grade demon, disguising demonic energy as spiritual energy is as simple as eating a meal. You haven't seen an Earth-grade demon, but surely you've heard of the incident with the Thorn Owl."

Jiang Xiaoman sighs helplessly.

The notorious Earth-grade demon, Thorn Owl, had disguised itself as a cultivator to infiltrate the Yuqing Sect, slaughtering twenty disciples in a single night and even placing the elder’s head on a chessboard. It was a terrifying tale known to all in the immortal sects, and naturally, she had heard it.

It was from that time that all sects invested heavily in installing anti-demon barriers at their gates. Even if a disciple returned and released every ounce of their spiritual energy, it was useless—they had to pass through the barrier to enter.

With Jiang Xiaoman left speechless, Ling Sichen continues his questioning: "Furthermore, what normal young woman doesn't sleep at night and instead goes to the back mountain to play the zither?"

Jiang Xiaoman is unimpressed. "In the dead of night, when inspiration strikes and one cannot sleep, playing the zither is quite normal." As soon as she says it, she becomes alert. "Wait, how do you know about that?"

The more she thinks, the more wrong it feels. She stammers, "You—don't tell me—you weren't asleep at all last night!"

Could he have been feigning sleep? Thinking of her own behavior—peeking under the covers—she feels a wave of panic and her face flushes red.

"The courtyard guard told me; she has a habit of playing at night. Isn't it a coincidence that the three victims also disappeared at night and died the next morning? Moreover, before the estate was sealed, she was the last person to leave." Ling Sichen answers unhurriedly. He then looks up vaguely. "What did you say just now?"

Jiang Xiaoman turns her head away. "Nothing."

She hadn't expected him to be so busy; while playing the role of a fake miracle doctor, he was also investigating in the dark.

Ling Sichen continues, "The day she returned from that trip happened to be the twenty-fourth of the ninth lunar month."

"Wait! Isn't that—"

"That's right. It is the exact day the first victim, Zhang Zhong, met his end."

"..."

The room falls into a sudden, heavy silence. They look at each other, and Jiang Xiaoman’s heart is a tangle of complex emotions.

Killing the original owner and stealing their identity while they are away is a common tactic for Earth-grade demons. Combined with the coincidence of her "playing the zither at night" and the victims "dying at night," Ling Sichen’s suspicion is perfectly logical.

Yet, if this truly involved Cen Lan, it felt wrong somewhere. Thinking back, the feeling Cen Lan gave her—the warm, gentle spiritual energy and the tender zither music—hardly seemed like something that could come from the hands of a demon.

After a long silence, Ling Sichen asks, "Since you are close with Cen Lan, do you know if she has any other hobbies besides playing the zither?"

"Other hobbies?"

"For instance, humming short tunes."

"Short tunes?"

The mention of short tunes again makes Jiang Xiaoman feel a vague sense of unease.

"I have only heard her play the zither once; I have never heard her sing. ...Strange, why are you all asking about this?"

Ling Sichen raises an eyebrow. "All of you?"

"That Master Baihua, he asked this as well," Jiang Xiaoman says, deeply puzzled. "Could this singing have something to do with the Ghost Melody?"

Ling Sichen is intrigued. He stops what he is doing, turns around, and scrapes his chin with his fingers.

"Interesting. What else did he say?"

Jiang Xiaoman then relates everything she heard while tailing Master Baihua, every detail told faithfully. She hadn't expected Ling Sichen to be interested in a wandering rogue, which is why she hadn't mentioned it at first, but she hadn't expected him to ask.

Ling Sichen says nothing after listening, but a cold, sharp light flashes in his eyes.

*

Jiang Xiaoman is completely baffled.

She sits alone on the guest room bed, her mind replaying everything she saw and heard today.

What is the connection between these short tunes and the Ghost Melody?

And the victims—why, in such a massive Plum Snow Estate, were these three the ones to lose their lives? According to Steward Zeng, Zhang Zhong and Jian Er were unruly and had offended many people, but that hardly warranted death. And if it were truly because of trivial grievances, would a demon use human morality to weigh whether or not to kill?

Enough, stop thinking! She pats her head.

The more she thinks, the more her head aches. It’s better to put it aside for now and find a way to sneak into Xing'er’s room tomorrow to search for clues.

It is near midnight, and the moon hangs high outside the window.

When she passed by the main chamber earlier, she saw the Old Madam had already retired, so she handed the medicine vial to the maid on duty before returning to her guest room. After a simple dinner brought by a servant, she began to meditate on her bed.

She sat like that for three hours, yet there was no sign of Young Master Ling returning.

Drowsiness begins to take hold, so she stops waiting, blows out the lamp, and lies down.

But lying on the cool mat, her heart feels as if it were being crawled over by a thousand ants; she cannot find peace.

...

Ling Sichen still hasn't returned. What on earth did he go to do?

On one hand, he asks for her cooperation; on the other, he tells her nothing. Such high-handed, arbitrary behavior is truly infuriating.

Wait, could it be that he already knows who the Ghost Melody is?

If he has already slain the Ghost Melody, perhaps he has already taken the two demon cores and flown away!

—No, he wouldn't be such a scoundrel.

Besides, even if he did find the Ghost Melody, could he defeat it alone?

The legends of the Three Realms say the Ghost Melody was once a subordinate of the Eastern Demon Lord. After the Battle of the Wei River during the Great Immortal-Demon War, she went missing, only to reappear three hundred years later. It is said that in her great-grandfather’s generation, four sect leaders joined forces to surround and suppress the Ghost Melody, and she still managed to escape unscathed. One can only imagine how terrifyingly powerful she is.

If the Ghost Melody has recovered from her old wounds, even a prodigy of this age like Ling Sichen might struggle to stand against her.

While she is lost in thought, her gaze inadvertently sweeps to the opposite bed—and she suddenly spots the Cold Star Sword Ling Sichen left under his pillow.

It’s over. He didn't even bring his sword; he definitely couldn't have won.

Jiang Xiaoman’s heart tightens.

—Oh no, what if he’s already been killed? Wouldn't the Ghost Melody's next step be to follow the trail and kill her?

She bolts upright.

At this moment, the wind outside the window suddenly surges, and footsteps approach step by step. Jiang Xiaoman feels her heart pounding, her breathing quickening as her heart jumps into her throat.

"Yue'er!" She unseals her spiritual bird and, in a blind panic, grabs the jade flute she carries with her, gripping it tightly.

The footsteps grow closer. She swallows nervously.

"Creeeak—!"

The door opens.