11 The First Signs Emerge (1)
The door was gently pushed open.
A long shadow stretched across the bed, and upon closer look, it was a familiar figure.
“You’re still awake?”
Ling Sicheng stared blankly at the person before him. Her face was pale, and in her hand she gripped an immortal flute — a weapon used by the disciples of the Jiang family. On her head perched a yellow spirit sparrow, seemingly ready to pounce at any moment.
“Chirp!” The sparrow called out, sounding as if it were welcoming him home.
Jiang Xiaoman’s tense expression softened, her pallor giving way to a flush of color. She exhaled deeply, called the sparrow’s name, and withdrew it back into its seal.
“Why are you only just back...”
Ling Sicheng flicked his fingers, invoking a flame technique to light the candle. He teased lightly, “What, you can’t sleep without me?”
“Exactly! If you were dead, where would I find the demon pill?” Though she shot back with no mercy, Jiang Xiaoman felt a faint happiness within.
With him alive, and the demon pill safe, and no disturbance from earth-level demons, at least it was a peaceful night.
Ling Sicheng smiled lightly, no longer arguing. He calmly set down his medical satchel and quickly untied the hairband that disguised him as a doctor. Once loosened, his long hair flowed smoothly over his shoulders.
“When I returned, I ran into Cen Yuan. I saw him sneaking out from the side gate of the left courtyard, carrying something. So, I followed him all the way, which is why I was delayed.”
Cen Yuan?
Jiang Xiaoman grew interested. “Then? Where did he go?”
“He went to the back mountain, dug a hole, and buried the thing he was carrying.”
Jiang Xiaoman listened intently, curiosity piqued. She wondered what secretive object the mysterious son-in-law had buried.
“I overheard earlier that he said something was an item belonging to the Jiang family in Tuzhou. Don’t know if it’s related to this.”
She pondered, deciding to find a way to investigate the back mountain tomorrow.
Unexpectedly, Ling Sicheng tossed her a dirt-stained cloth bag.
“Here, take a look. Do you recognize what’s inside?”
Jiang Xiaoman’s eyes widened. No wonder Second Young Master Ling’s actions were thorough and full of surprises!
She hurriedly opened the bag, finding a hairband, a bracelet, and some old jewelry. The bracelet and jewelry seemed ordinary, but the hairband looked somewhat familiar. It was made of coarse yellowish hemp cloth embroidered with auspicious cloud patterns.
It didn’t seem expensive nor did it resemble an immortal sect artifact.
Ling Sicheng lifted the hairband. “Is this Jiang family’s?”
Jiang Xiaoman inspected it carefully. “Doesn’t look like it, but it does seem familiar.”
“Funny, I thought so too.”
She flipped the hairband over several times, brow furrowed, trying to recall where she had seen it but couldn’t. She struggled in vain, “But it really isn’t ours... Maybe Cen Yuan was mistaken.”
In the end, they couldn’t determine what exactly the “Jiang family item” Cen Yuan had mentioned was.
Probably just a mistake, Jiang Xiaoman thought.
Hearing this, Ling Sicheng didn’t press further. He put the hairband and jewelry back into the bag, but held onto the jade bracelet, examining it briefly before slipping it into his pocket. Jiang Xiaoman frowned, surprised by Second Young Master Ling’s habit of pocketing things. Still, it wasn’t her concern, so she said nothing more.
The girl was now exhausted, stretching lazily. She glanced back to see Ling Sicheng retrieving the Cold Star Sword from under his pillow. By the dim candlelight, he slowly drew the blade and wiped it with a fine cloth.
It was said that the Ling family cherished their swords dearly, wiping them with fine cloth every night before sleep to purify the blade with spiritual energy. That seemed true. With him here, even if the Sound of Deception launched a surprise attack, they could hold it off for a while.
Comforted by this thought, she snuggled into bed and fell asleep.
At the third quarter of the hour of the Tiger, the night was deep and dark.
---
Jiang Xiaoman was fast asleep, utterly exhausted after two sleepless days. Even the fiercest thunder could hardly rouse her now.
But the bed opposite her was empty.
*
The guest room in the right courtyard of Meixue Manor was newly built to facilitate treatment of the Cen family’s matriarch by various doctors. The manor’s original guest rooms were all located in the back courtyard.
The back courtyard’s guest rooms were more spacious, featuring a cool courtyard in front. A few rockeries and plum trees adorned the area, though not yet in bloom this season, their branches bare and desolate.
Under the bare plum tree stood a man, leisurely fanning himself with a folding fan. He seemed to be enjoying the cool night breeze or admiring the bright moon above.
This man was none other than Mr. Hundred Flowers, who usually wore an iron mask by day. But now, late at night, he had removed it to let the weary, stifled face breathe in the evening air.
The night wind was chilly, sending a shiver down his spine.
A cold sword silently pressed against his neck from behind.
Even with the blade at his throat, Mr. Hundred Flowers remained unflustered, continuing to wave his fan.
“I wonder, revered doctor, do you carry a healing blade, or a slaughter blade on this midnight visit?”
...
The person behind him said nothing; Mr. Hundred Flowers could only continue to smile wryly.
“I am but a nobody. Why would you be so guarded against me?”
He tried to brush away the sword at his neck but was firmly repelled.
Ling Sicheng’s voice was cold as a blade, calm and steady: “The earth-level demon Sound of Deception ranks twenty-eighth, skilled in illusionary sound techniques. Three years ago, the entire He Xi Yue family was massacred by demons, their deaths tragic, with residual traces of sound illusion corruption on the corpses. This was the style of Sound of Deception. Neighbors reported hearing faint humming of a short tune from the estate on the day of the tragedy, a chilling wind whispering in the ears.”
“...”
“Last year, the He Dong Fan family met the same fate, also caused by Sound of Deception. Fortunately, one guest hid in the cellar and survived. He also heard the eerie short tune on that day.”
The man laughed helplessly. “These stories are interesting, but what do they have to do with me?”
The figure behind ignored the question and continued: “Coincidentally, both incidents were handled by the Ling family and the Xuanyang Sect, who sealed off all news, so only a few insiders know of the tune. Tell me, who are you? And how do you know this?”
“I told you already, I am from the Thousand Machines Pavilion—”
The sword pressed harder.
“Stop your nonsense! I’ve walked this world for more than a decade and have never heard of this Thousand Machines Pavilion.”
“There are countless things you haven’t heard of. Does that mean they don’t exist?”
The sword pressed even closer.
Mr. Hundred Flowers inhaled sharply but spoke teasingly, “So, according to you, I am Sound of Deception?”
“The demonic path’s four elements interact in birth and restraint. Sound of Deception is water, which is overcome by wind. I set up a wind-element anti-demon talisman here but detected no demon energy. So, you are not it.”
Mr. Hundred Flowers was startled, then grinned. “You really aren’t afraid that the great demon will come charging at you for setting an anti-demon talisman within its barrier?”
Seeing no response from behind, he sighed lightly and said, “Then I’ll be honest. I’m also here to kill Sound of Deception.”
The voice behind chuckled, “You alone?”
Mr. Hundred Flowers smiled faintly, finally turning around. Ling Sicheng could now clearly see the face beneath the mask: a refined, handsome man in his thirties, but with the upper half of his face marred by severe burn scars. No wonder he wore a mask during the day.
Using his folded fan, Mr. Hundred Flowers forcefully pushed the sword away, saying, “You are from the immortal sect; naturally, you look down on someone like me from a minor path. However, the sect has its secrets, and I have my own unique ways of gathering information. Moreover—”
Ling Sicheng sensed the other was not an enemy and ceased his insistence, retracting the Cold Star Sword.
His expression remained unreadable, apparently not surprised that this man had seen through his identity. After all, the Ling family’s Qi refinement techniques were unique; even those with some understanding of immortal magic could recognize the spiritual energy on the Cold Star Sword.
Mr. Hundred Flowers’ eyes sharpened, a half-smile playing on his lips. “How about a wager? If you kill Sound of Deception, you give up the path of immortality. How’s that?”
Ling Sicheng’s expression flickered from slight surprise to disdain. “Ridiculous. Leaving aside your nonsense, what does my path have to do with you?”
Mr. Hundred Flowers laughed heartily. “Whether it concerns me or not is my business. Whether you accept the bet is your choice.”
Ling Sicheng mocked, “Trying to provoke me?”
“Not at all. I have a bargaining chip. If you kill Sound of Deception, I’ll give you the location where Yan Jue hides.”
Ling Sicheng’s scorn vanished, replaced by widening pupils.
“Yan Jue!? You mean Yan Jue, the top-ranked earth-level demon?”
“Exactly. The former top general under the Northern Demon Lord, Yan Jue.”
“But isn’t he... dead?” Ling Sicheng’s eyes were full of doubt.
Five centuries ago, the Northern Demon Lord’s army was besieged by the Celestial War God and Yuqing Sect. Yan Jue was severely wounded and captured, imprisoned in the Kunlun dungeon, but escaped a century later. Since then, he’s reportedly hidden among mortals for three to four hundred years, never attacking or revealing any trace. The Penglai and other immortal sects believed he was fatally wounded and dead.
Mr. Hundred Flowers smiled faintly, folding his fan with one hand while pulling a cloth bag from his bosom with the other. Calmly, he handed the bag to Ling Sicheng.
After a moment’s hesitation, Ling Sicheng took the bag slowly and opened it. Inside were a few strands of golden hair.
“You think he’s ‘dead,’” Mr. Hundred Flowers chuckled. “It’s reasonable to doubt, but these hairs belong to him alone—they do not lie.”
Yan Jue’s element is earth, said to have golden hair. Could this truly be his?
Ling Sicheng accepted the evidence with suspicion, unwilling to trust fully, for men of the wandering path were the slickest talkers — who could tell how many of their words were true?
The wind howled, drowning out the two men’s voices as they faded away.
...
Regardless of the guesthouse, the night was indeed peaceful and pleasant. Late autumn, the night breeze was cool. Wrapped snugly in blankets, one enjoyed the warmth close to the skin, sleeping soundly in dreams.
On such an ostensibly tranquil night—
Someone slumbered in dreams;
Someone sharpened their blade;
Someone awoke in the night to find their husband absent from the bed, hesitated, yet did not search;
Someone played the zither in the dark, a maid in a pink dress stood quietly behind, eyes closed, listening obediently;
The evening wind whispered, and the cricket song finally subsided somewhat.
After the crickets fell silent, other sounds became clearer.
Tick, tick.
Tick, tick.
The sound of liquid droplets splashing on stone.
*
Morning arrived once again.
“Eeeeeek—!!!”
A piercing scream erupted from the direction of the back mountain, thunderous and shattering the quiet of the guest room.