Mingyao darted through the narrow streets, the world blurring at the edges. Her throat burned with every breath, her chest heaved, and deep in her core—right at her center, her dantian—a storm of fire raged. Not the good kind either. The poison or whatever it was still churned inside her, fierce and wild.
She had hoped—naively, perhaps—that Rouyan's appearance would defy her worst suspicions. But of course, it hadn't.
Mo Yan had taken her place.
Her pulse spiked. What did that mean? Was it already too late?
Beside her, Yue Ying kept pace—calm, composed, ever silent. Mingyao wanted to stop. To think. But she couldn't afford the luxury of hesitation. She was likely walking into a den of vipers: masters or worse… a grandmaster. If the Chen family was truly entangled with the royal court, then such threats were not only possible—they were inevitable.
And her body—damn her body—was betraying her. Her qi was fractured, her meridians in tatters. She could barely maintain her footing, let alone muster strength. The thing inside her still raged, searing her insides with cruel persistence. Yet Yue Ying said nothing.
She grit her teeth and pressed forward, the streets giving way to the looming gates of the Chen Manor.
Red. Everything was red.
Paper lanterns fluttered in the wind, and ribbons of silk hung limply from carved railings—vestiges of a wedding that had just ended.
The remnants of a grand wedding now silent — too silent.
Joy had left, but danger lingered.
Mingyao moved quickly, barely registering the halls they passed. The manor was a maze. Her steps echoed in the lacquered corridors, sharp against the hush. She didn't know these halls—she couldn't trust her senses in this state—but Yue Ying was poised and precise, a silent compass at her side. She might have found her own path, but her body was unstable, her emotions louder than her senses. Each breath was strained, each step heavier.
Suddenly, Yue Ying halted.
Mingyao's breath caught. "Yue Ying, what is it?"
"I've lost her signature, grandmaster." Yue Ying said, voice low, almost distant.
"Mo Yan?"
She gave a slight nod.
"What about Xue She? She was assigned the mission, wasn't she?"
"As you instructed, she was released from house arrest."
"Then… is she here? Her target was Chen Yichen, wasn't it? Try resonating with her qi... Is there any feedback?"
Yue Ying closed her eyes. She extended her senses, her qi pulsing out in waves. Silence followed—then a flicker.
"I feel something," she said finally. "But it's faint. Like a candle flickering in a storm."
Mingyao's thoughts spiraled. Was she too late? Were they both compromised?Did she miscalculate?. And now—
If they died here… how could she ever face the others? How could she face Yue Ying?
These women—they were not just subordinates. They were Yue Ying's family—her family.
Her mind howled with worst-case scenarios. Her vision wavered. Her breathing hitched. The fire—it's getting worse…
Her body, battered and burning, threatened to collapse. The walls seemed to tilt.
Then, a hand landed on her shoulder.
"Calm yourself, Young Master," Yue Ying said, her voice smooth and cold, like moonlight on still water. "Everything will work out."
Simple words — generic even — but something in Yue Ying's tone grounded her. Mingyao took a slow breath. Her chest loosened, just enough.
"…Thank you," she murmured.
"Yue Ying…" she exhaled. "Apart from Mo Yan and Xue She, can you sense any other disturbances? Anyone radiating qi—like a master?"
Yue Ying's face tightened. "I'm afraid not. It's too quiet."
"Too quiet…" Mingyao muttered. "Then what if it's not a master we're dealing with?" Her gaze swept the corridor now, truly seeing for the first time.
The manor was pristine. Too pristine. From the gates to their current location, they hadn't faced a single challenge. No guards. No obstacles.
Mingyao frowned. "Then… are we facing a grandmaster? Or something even less familiar…"
It hit her like cold water.
"Yue Ying…" she said slowly, "Are we being led into a trap?"
Yue Ying didn't answer, but her body subtly shifted—her stance grounded, hand near her sash.
Mingyao's voice dropped to a murmur. "Do you have your sword?"
Yue Ying nodded once, eyes alert.
"Good," Mingyao said, drawing herself up despite the fire in her veins. "Because I think someone's coming."
They slipped behind the stone columns, breath hushed, hearts pounding in unison. Yue Ying raised two fingers in a subtle motion, summoning the Moonveil Technique—a delicate shimmer of qi that bent the moonlight around them like mist. Shadows wrapped them in silence, blurring their presence from sight and sound.
Both women over-exerted their senses, their eyes strained through the darkness, ears tuned to every rustle of silk or creak of wood.
Then—footsteps.
Soft. Unhurried. Rhythmic.
From the far end of the corridor, a woman emerged.
She walked with grace, adorned in flowing silk robes embroidered with gold thread that caught even the faintest light. Her head was high, hair pinned with jade, a fan in her hand and her every step had the poise of a noble.
But something didn't sit right.
Mingyao narrowed her eyes. A decoy? Or worse—bait?
Was she truly unaware of their presence? Or was it all a performance?
She didn't know who the woman was. But she was certain of one thing—she was out of place.
Her voice was low but commanding.
"Yue Ying. Once she's close enough—restrain her. No killing. We need answers. She may lead us to Mo Yan… and Xue She."
A pause.
"Be cautious. She might be a decoy… or a grandmaster in disguise."
Yue Ying nodded once. And like a flash of shadow, she vanished from Mingyao's side.
The woman hadn't even realized what was happening until Yue Ying was behind her—arm locked around her shoulders, hand wrapped around her wrist in a restraining seal.
She yelped, startled, frozen mid-step. Her fan clattered to the ground.
Mingyao emerged from behind the column, walking toward her cautiously, one palm hovering—not quite summoning qi, but ready to at a moment's notice. Her qi pulsed erratically — pain flaring with every movement — but she didn't let it show. Her eyes locked onto the woman, searching for deceit behind the veil.
The woman trembled in Yue Ying's grip, wide eyes darting between them. Her fear seemed real. But so did her poise moments ago.
An act?
Or genuine fear?
"We don't want to hurt you,"Mingyao said calmly. "We only want information."
The woman stammered. "Wh-who are you? Why are you here?"
"That's not important."
"I… I just—"
Then her eyes flickered toward Mingyao's face. Something lit up behind her gaze.
"Wait… I know you."
Mingyao tensed. "You do?"
"You're the woman from the painting…"
In a heartbeat, Mingyao's hand flew to her face—feeling the silk veil still tightly secured over her mouth and chin. Her heart skipped.
"I think you've mistaken me for someone else," she said quickly.
But the woman shook her head, smiling brightly now. "I never forget a face. Are you here for my didi?"
"Didi?"
"Chen Xiao! Your lover?" she giggled. "The poems he writes—oh, they're so romantic. He's always going on about moonlight and silent beauty. Honestly, even in this light, you match them perfectly."
Mingyao's brows knit in disbelief. "What are you talking about? I'm not here for any Chen Xiao. I'm here for Chen Yichen."
That gave the woman a pause. "Chen Yichen? But… why?"
"It's his wedding night, isn't it?"
Her eyes widened further, and her hands fluttered as if she were holding back a squeal. "Wait—is this a love triangle?! Like, for real? I've read stories like this—but to see it play out in person—"
Mingyao faltered, taken aback by the sudden shift in the woman's tone. Gone was the graceful noblewoman; in her place, a bubbly girl beaming like a mischief-seeking child.
"This is not a love story," Mingyao snapped, voice colder now. "If you keep wasting my time, my partner will happily relieve you of your head. Now answer my question!!"
The girl blinked, the dramatic sparkle in her eyes momentarily fading. She pouted, twisting slightly in Yue Ying's grip. "Why are you so angry? He's already married, you know. If you're hoping to become a concubine, that's fine, but—really—Chen Xiao is much better."
"Enough." Mingyao's voice was ice. "Take us to Chen Yichen."
"Alright, alright," she sighed, clearly disappointed. "But you really are missing out."
Mingyao gave Yue Ying a quick signal. Yue Ying loosened her grip — not fully releasing, but just enough to avoid causing alarm. They still couldn't trust her. The girl stretched her shoulders, rubbing her wrist, but made no move to run. Her steps were light as she led them down a side corridor, the train of her dress sweeping silently behind her.
The corridors were eerily empty — no guards, no servants, no lingering guests. The silence pressed in tighter with every step.
Mingyao and Yue Ying exchanged a glance.
Too quiet.
Too clean.
Too intentional.
After several turns, they reached a courtyard veiled in moonlight. The door to a grand building stood ahead, lacquered in red and gold, lanterns still flickering.
"This is it," the woman said, gesturing lazily. "My older brother's quarters. But, you know, it is his wedding night. Maybe you'd rather I take you to my younger brother's chambers instead? Less awkward. And honestly, he's better looking."
Mingyao stared her down. "You've done enough."
She nodded to Yue Ying, who finally released her hold.
The woman stepped back, rubbing her arms, casting one last curious glance at Mingyao her lips curling in a bemused smile. "Don't say I didn't warn you…"
She gave a playful wink and turned, walking away without haste — as if none of this mattered in the slightest.
Mingyao watched her go, unease still prickling beneath her skin.
"She's strange," she murmured.
"Unpredictable," Yue Ying agreed. "But dangerous? Unclear."
"Let's not take chances."
The two of them stepped into the courtyard.
Then toward the door.
As Mingyao and Yue Ying stepped past the threshold, a wave of scent hit them—thick, cloying, and strangely familiar. It rushed up her nose, wrapped around her throat, and coiled into her lungs like smoke.
Sweet. Strong. Almost floral.
But something felt off.
Her body recoiled on instinct.
She clutched the silk to her mouth, but it did little to stop the aroma from seeping in. Her limbs stiffened, her heart racing.
Then her eyes locked onto the scene before her.
There—on the grand wedding bed—was Mo Yan, bound in thick red silk, her face bruised. And beside her, reclining as though this were a lazy afternoon, was Chen Yichen. He twirled one of Mo Yan's daggers between his fingers like a toy, his smile curled into something too casual to be sane.
"You're finally here," he said, his voice tainted with mockery. "Took you long enough."
Yue Ying moved without hesitation the moment her eyes landed on Mo Yan—but she froze mid-step. Her body locked, her qi sputtering like a flame in the wind.
She stumbled, as if tripping over something unseen.
Mingyao's instincts kicked in. She tried to summon her own energy—nothing. A hollow hum echoed in her energy center where her cultivation should have been. Her qi wasn't just suppressed—it was gone.
Chen Yichen chuckled, eyes glinting. "Don't bother."
Mingyao's breath caught as realization struck her.
The scent—the strange warmth in the air—the clarity in her body…
This feeling…
This was the same feeling she'd had that day.
It was the same technique used on her when she first lost her cultivation.
But strangely, instead of fear or rage—there was relief.
The poison. The wildfire inside her—it was gone. Her body felt like her own once more. No burning. No searing pain. Just stillness.
"You must be her backup," Chen Yichen mused, tilting his head toward Mo Yan. "Come to collect the rest of your little girl squad?"
He rose to his feet with almost theatrical flair, his gaze settling on Mingyao. "Or did you only come for this little mouse? I'd been wondering why some new mysterious woman was so intent on climbing into my brother's bed… but now," his lips curved faintly, "things make more sense."
Mingyao's mind churned. Was he hinting at a larger ruse? Had they misread the situation entirely? Was there a double meaning in his words? They had all assumed discord within the Chen brotherhood but now— There was discourse here. Things were deeper than she expected.
Her voice was steady when she spoke. "Why are you doing this?"
Chen Yichen tilted his head, as if amused by her simplicity.
"For protection," he said with a shrug.
"Protection?"
"Yes." He slowly moved, letting the dagger slip from his fingers onto the silk sheets. You monsters may not understand the concept, but I don't mind explaining it. Consider it... a favor, before the storm comes."
Mingyao's eyes flicked toward Yue Ying.
She gave the subtlest nod—a signal. If their Pavilion's reinforcements were coming, they'd need time. Minutes. Maybe seconds.
"Before we begin," Chen Yichen said, gesturing to her mask, "Lady Shen, would you mind? I'd like to see your full face. Feels wrong, telling a story to a half-hidden muse."
She hesitated—but only briefly. Then, with a smooth motion, she pulled down the silk veil from her mouth and chin, her expression unreadable.
"It really is you,"He muttered his smile deepening. "Fascinating."
A pause.
Something in his eyes dimmed, then reignited.
"Well then. Let's begin with a question. What do you know about my dear brother?"
Mingyao blinked, caught off guard."…Not much. His love of poetry, perhaps."
That, strangely, seemed to hit him. His smirk faltered just slightly. Then a single blink. A breath held just a little too long.
"I suppose… he does," he said softly, this hands grazing the dagger on the sheets picking it up.
"Do you want to know how he came to that?"
"Do I have a choice?"
"Probably not," he admitted. "But I'll tell you anyway."
He began to pace, slowly dagger in hand.
"But first—how much do you know of the old Jiangu?"
"The Dragon-Tiger List? Sword Qi? " His voice quickened slightly, a feverish note threading into his words. "How about that?"
"What does any of that have to do with this?" she asked.
Chen Yichen tilted his head, studying her.
"It has everything to do with this. With you. With him. With all of us."
He let out a long breath, then leaned forward, elbows on knees, voice dropping to a whisper.
"It seems you're unfamiliar with the old era of martial cultivation. You and your Pavilion… you're part of a new era that doesn't remember what it buried"
He chuckled.
"This will take time. But luckily for me—your backup still hasn't arrived. And I'm in the mood to tell a story."
Mingyao's jaw tightened.
He knows, she thought grimly. He's stalling just as much as I am. Does he have reinforcements on the way too? Or worse…
Is he hiding his true strength?
But he didn't move like a cultivator. He didn't feel like one. Could he be a sealed master? Or someone protected by a cultivator stronger than her entire pavilion?
"You knew?"
"I expected as much from a smart woman like you, Lady Shen."
He clapped his hands once, the sound echoing unnaturally loud in the still room.
"Now, shall I finish my story?"
"The old Jiangu," Chen Yichen stated, voice distant. "How much do you really know about it?"
Mingyao met his gaze. "Not much. Just that the system for measuring strength used to be based on grades—from ninth grade to first grade martial artists. Now it's ranked from Outer Strength to Grandmaster."
Chen Yichen gave a soft, hollow chuckle.
"So you know the surface of it," he said, twirling Mo Yan's dagger with one hand. "But the old Jiangu wasn't just about rankings. There was a different spirit, a different philosophy. The old world believed in tempering the body and spirit to forge the sword. The new path seeks balance—spirit, sword, and body, all in harmony with nature."
"I didn't realize it ran that deep," Mingyao admitted. "All I ever heard was that the old Jiangu had sword techniques powerful enough to split cities—but the martial artists couldn't bend heaven and earth like today's Grandmasters."
Chen Yichen gave her a look—half approval, half disappointment. "A shallow view… but not entirely wrong."
Mingyao narrowed her eyes. "So what does this have to do with your brother?"
"Oh, we'll get there," he said, pacing slowly across the chamber. "But to understand what happened to him, you need context. Tell me—have you heard of Heavenly or Earth Physiques?"
She blinked. "Physiques?"
"Don't play dumb," he snapped. "Or are you going to tell me you didn't come here hunting my brother's Nine Yang Body?"
Mingyao's voice was flat. "I don't know anything about that."
"Fine," he said with a shrug. "I'll explain."
He sat on the edge of a low table, voice steady, eyes never leaving hers.
"In the old Jiangu, there were two lists. The Tiger List—for those with raw martial prowess, even if their physique was ordinary. And the Dragon List—for those blessed by heaven. Martial artists with extraordinary, innate bodies. There was a time when both lists were merged—the Heaven and Earth List. The most complete display of strength, talent, and potential."
"Heaven and Earth List…" Mingyao murmured.
He nodded. "In today's Jiangu, those distinctions have faded. No one talks about physiques anymore. But they still exist. And my brother…" he paused, voice tightening, "possesses one of the most dangerous: the Nine Yang Body."
Mingyao's brows furrowed. "Nine Yang?"
Chen Yichen rolled his eyes. "Are you going to repeat everything I say?"
"…I can't help it."
He gave a tired sigh. "Fine. The Nine Yang Body is a blessing and a curse. It enhances strength, speed, recovery—every facet of martial potential. But the drawback is Yang Overflow. His body builds heat constantly, and if it's not balanced or expelled… it can poison him. Kill him."
"So… you destroyed his cultivation base to save him?" Mingyao asked, her tone sharper now.
"Quick on the uptake," Chen replied. "Yes. My brother, like our father, was a martial prodigy. But unlike Father, Xiao's gift came with a timer on his life. It was eating him alive."
Silence stretched between them for a beat. Mingyao studied his face—the flicker of grief there. Regret, sharp and bitter.
"You probably think this is just an excuse," he muttered, "that I was jealous of his gift. The untalented elder brother, stealing the gift of his bright younger sibling out of spite. Maybe I was. But I was also scared. He was becoming a weapon. And my father—he wanted a blade, not a son."
He looked at Yue Ying now, briefly, as if measuring her reaction, then back to Mingyao.
"I know," he said quietly, "there could've been another way. Yin-based techniques. A partner with a Xuanyin body. A sealed meridian technique. I know. But do you have any idea how rare, how risky, how costly all of that is? I'm a businessman, not a god."
"But you're his brother," Mingyao said. "His protector."
Chen's composure cracked. "You think I didn't try?!"
The words rang through the chamber, raw and unfiltered.
He turned away, inhaled deeply, and returned to a calmer tone as he paced.
"The Chen family used to be a martial clan. Our ancestors were war heroes, generals—kings, even—before the Qin unification. But that power… that legacy… it made the early kings nervous. We were forced into trade. Merchants. Stripped of our honor. And we complied."
He exhaled. "My father wanted to reclaim our place. So he became a wandering martial artist, breaking ties with the family to chase power. He only reached the level of semi-master—formed his energy center, but could never advance. Eventually, he returned, married into a noble family. My mother. But he never loved her."
Mingyao listened silently.
"The woman he did love was from the martial world. She gave birth to Chen Yuming and later… to Chen Xiao."
Chen Yuming? Mingyao's thoughts flashed back to the woman who had led them through the manor earlier. The one who acted so childlike…
"My sister," Chen confirmed. "She didn't inherit the martial talents. But my brother… he was the crown jewel. By ten, he'd reached Inner Strength. By eleven, nearly Semi-Master. And then the sickness began. Fevers. Uncontrolled aggression. His body burned with yang."
He paced more slowly now, as if the weight of memory was catching up to him.
"My father sought answers—herbs, pills, talismans. But nothing worked completely. Only a balance of Yin and Yang could stabilize him. He found hope in the Lu family—a girl born with a yin body. Their marriage would have secured our place and saved him."
"But…" Mingyao prompted, knowing what was coming.
"But nothing is ever that simple," Chen Yichen said bitterly. "Faction wars broke out. Princes were just boys, but the adults were already playing their games. Treachury. Power grabs. Scheming in their names. Entire clans destroyed in the shadows of a throne."
"The Lu family was caught in the middle. Their allies were wiped out. My brother… was caught in the bloodshed."
He turned fully now.
"He trained in their Yin techniques… but suffered. He bled. He screamed. I didn't see him again until he was thirteen."
"And?"
"And he was a weapon. Peak semi-master. Dead eyes. A ghost with a sword. Stronger than ever. But broken. A shell. His mother had died, and he had no will left. His heart… gone."
Mingyao's expression softened. "He never told me his mother was dead."
"Of course he didn't. Some wounds are too deep to share."
He moved to the window, looking out into the night.
"I did what I could—pulled him away from the blades, taught him poetry and art, tried to show him another path. And for a time, it worked. He smiled again. But then the Lu girl came to claim the marriage pact. How could she let him go, when he was her chance to advance so quickly? By then, though, his heart already belonged to someone else."
"His late wife?"
"Yes.The engagement fell apart. The alliance dissolved. And my brother… nearly died again."
He looked at her.
"Now do you see why I ruined his cultivation?"
"You wanted to protect him."
"I wanted to save what was left of him," he said. "Even if he'd hate me for it. Even if I had to be the villain."
He exhaled deeply.
"I spent my youth trying to become strong enough to rival him. Only then could I truly protect him. The wedding gift I gave him was a potion to seal his meridians, to silence the yang within him. And yes, my cultivation isn't much—only mid-inner strength."
"But I am not alone."
His gaze sharpened.
"I'm not the one you should worry about."
"Then who?"
He smiled grimly.
"You'll see."
Then, louder, he called toward the shadows, "You can show your face now."
The air thickened, sharp with an invisible current. A pressure rolled through the chamber, heavy and electric, until the lantern flames guttered low.
From the shadows behind Chen Yichen and the bound Mo Yan, a silhouette emerged—draped in black, still as a phantom. Only the faint curve of a woman's lips glimmered beneath the hood.
"Interesting," came the voice. Feminine. Familiar.
Mingyao's gut tightened. Her mind whirred, calculating. She swept the room, desperate for an exit, but her meridians remained fractured. Yue Ying was no better. To escape, meant sacrificing someone… yet her heart revolted at the thought. No. Not unless she had no choice.
She had to stall. To read this new arrival's intent.
"Miss Fei Xian… is that you?" Mingyao's tone was not inquisitive but deliberate—probing, buying seconds.
The figure's laugh was sharp, sudden, like glass shattering. "Ha! Very interesting indeed."
"I suppose it is." Mingyao replied coolly. "Then tell me, Miss Fei Xian—what is the true purpose of tonight's gathering?"
Fei Xian's head tilted, her laughter softening into a silken hum. "You're a clever woman, Shen Yueqing. Clever enough to strip away my veil with a single guess. Surely you already know the answer."
"Enlighten me." Mingyao's voice was steady, but her heart pounded.
The shadowed figure drew closer, the air bending faintly around her presence. "Enlighten you?" A pause, and then a whisper that seemed to coil around their ears. "If you insist."
A sudden gust tore through the room. Lantern light flared, curtains snapped, and in an instant—both Fei Xian and Chen Yichen vanished. Only the open window remained, moonlight spilling across the bed where Mo Yan still lay.
Mingyao and Yue Ying shared a brief, sharp glance—but there was no time to dwell. They rushed to Mo Yan, bound and bruised on the bed. Her breathing was stable. Alive.
Relief loosened Mingyao's chest if only for a breath.
But then, her dantian throbbed. Qi roared through her like a broken dam, her meridians spasming in violent protest. Pain lanced her body, white-hot, as though a furnace had been stoked inside her veins. Her cultivation… it was no longer gone. Unlike three years ago, it surged—wild, uncontrollable.
She staggered, clutching her stomach. The floor seemed to tilt beneath her.
A chilling wind swept in from the window. With it came the metallic clash of steel, the crack of wood, and the copper tang of blood.
Yue Ying was already gone, vanishing into the storm outside.
Mo Yan caught Mingyao's arm. "Lie down grandmaster—you'll tear yourself apart!"
But Mingyao shoved past the pain, teeth gritted. She stumbled to the door, each step an agony, until she forced herself into the courtyard.
The sight stopped her breath.
Snow carpeted the stones. Frost glittered under the moonlight, streaked through with blood. Her Pavilion's rescue party lay scattered, broken, groaning—or deathly still.
And at the center—
Chen Yichen. Chen Xiao. Xue Shi.
All three lay unconscious. Chen Yichen worst of all, blood pooling beneath him in a dark halo.
Mingyao's eyes darted wildly, searching. "Yue Ying…"
But before she could find her, a shriek split the sky.
She lifted her gaze.
The moon blazed unnaturally bright, the night pierced by fire. A blazing shape descended, wings unfurling wide—each beat scattering sparks that melted the frost below. In seconds, it resolved into a great bird wrought from flame, its body radiating an oppressive heat that seared the air.
The weight of its aura pressed down on the courtyard like a divine judgment. Every survivor dropped, paralyzed, unable to draw breath.
The bird hovered above, its ember eyes fixing on Mingyao.
"You…" The voice rolled like thunder, deep and unyielding, reverberating in bone and marrow. "…must die tonight."