OUT OF ALL THOSE who had the ability, the only one he could trust was Jiang Yexue. Mo Xi wasted no time rushing toward Cixin Forge.
The hour was very late. Cixin Forge was tucked away from the noisy heart of the city, so he encountered few people on the journey. Halfway there, a carriage burst from the cold fog; he could see as it neared that it was painted with vermilion bat sigils, the four corners of its elaborate canopy draped with golden bells that tinkled as the wheels spun. The coachman wore a short gauze hat, and his sleeves were narrow. With a crack, his crop landed on the flank of the goldenwinged pegasus in the carriage traces.
"Make way! Make way for Wangshu-jun—"
Mo Xi frowned. Murong Lian? Where was he off to at this time of night?
He had no time for further thought before the carriage was hurtling toward him. It was too dark for the coachman to see Mo Xi's face. He shouted, "Make way, make way! Don't block Wangshu-jun's path!"
Mo Xi dove out of the way. A man behind him pulled his wife to the side and respectfully lowered his head to wait for Murong Lian's carriage to pass. The moment it rattled off, he spat in disgust, "It's the dead of night, but he's still yelling make way, make way. Tch, is he shouting at the ghosts to clear the roads? There's barely anyone out; what's the point?"
Inwardly, Mo Xi sighed. Truly Murong Lian was an unpopular rich wastrel.
But as he turned back to glance at the dust kicked up by the carriage's passage, he felt vaguely that there was something strange afoot. Murong Lian was a lazy man; he wouldn't get out of bed early, and he definitely wouldn't leave his manor in the middle of the night if it wasn't urgent. So what was happening tonight…?
The Wangshu Manor carriage swiftly disappeared around a corner.
Mo Xi was overcome by an ominous premonition, his heart thudding violently. But at the moment, he had his own urgent task. He wasn't the type to put much stock in intuition, so he paid it no heed.
Mo Xi turned away and strode toward his destination.
The rheumy-eyed Uncle Song opened the door to Cixin Forge. When he glimpsed Mo Xi's face in the clear moonlight, he stood stunned for a moment. "Ah… It's Mo-gongzi…"
"Is Qingxu Elder here?"
"Oh, Yexue." Song-laoban coughed, voice thick. "Yexue isn't at the shop tonight. He said he had something to do and slipped out earlier." This man had the tendency of the very old to ramble, so he happily continued, "He said he'd get me some desserts from Lianhua Stall tomorrow morning. What a filial child; he knows that store has the best osmanthus cakes, I—"
If Mo Xi let the old man natter on, he'd be standing here all night. He gently cut him off. "Uncle, I have urgent matters to discuss with him. Do you know where he went?"
The old man beamed. "Of course, of course I do. He went to the academy; he probably won't be back until morning."
"I see… Uncle, many thanks."
Mo Xi coaxed Uncle Song back into the shop to rest. As he left, he closed Cixin Forge's doors on Jiang Yexue's behalf, then put up the "Closed" plaque before setting out for the academy.
But soon enough, Mo Xi crossed paths with another traveler. This time it was a black and blue carriage hung with silver skeleton bells, with an owl totem painted on the cabin.
This carriage belonged to the Sishu Terrace elder, Zhou He.
Zhou He was a noble quite close to the imperial family. His status wasn't as high as Murong Lian's, nor did he throw his weight around like Wangshu-jun. But all of Chonghua knew he was cruel, volatile, and eccentric, for he loved Sishu Terrace and its magical knowledge more than he loved his own Zhou Clan. He was an absolute madman when it came to spellcraft.
As Zhou He's carriage flew over the limestone path, Mo Xi found himself frowning. What was going on tonight? Despite the late hour, instead of remaining asleep in their beds, Murong Lian and Zhou He were rushing through the city streets. Could the emperor have taken a turn for the worse?
But if the emperor were that ill, Mengze wouldn't be going over scrolls so calmly, and he himself would've at least heard something…
He watched Elder Zhou He's carriage lights dwindle into two orange specks that flickered like stars, swallowed up by the endless night. The anxious thud of his heart grew stronger. He felt as if a shapeless outline hovered before him, the specter of a crisis yet to occur.
"Xihe-jun."
When he arrived outside the academy, those spiritual jade doors as tall as ten men were shut for the night. The guard was pleasant, but still conscientiously stopped Mo Xi. "It's very late; the academy doors are already locked. Is there something I can help you with?"
The academy was a unique place. Here, all of Chonghua's brightest young talents cultivated in seclusion before emerging into the world; hence its moniker, Dawn Academy. Since the academy was filled with inexperienced children, its protections rivaled those of the imperial palace. The same Xihe-jun who could go unannounced into the palace would be interrogated at the doors of the cultivation academy. Mo Xi knew the rules and remained calm. "I'm looking for someone. Is Qingxu Elder staying within the academy tonight?"
"So Xihe-jun is here for Qingxu Elder." The guard smiled. "Qingxu Elder is receiving a guest today, and the guest has not yet left. Would you like to wait?"
Jiang Yexue was a gentleman through and through, and many came to him with requests because they knew he was kind and easy to talk to. But Mo Xi was still surprised to hear a guest had come to call immediately after they returned from Bat Island and stayed so late. Mo Xi didn't wish to intrude, but the repair of the jade scroll could not be delayed. "No matter. I'll go see him myself."
In accordance with academy rules, he took a visitor's jade token and left his seal on the booklet. The great doors opened to him, and he stepped into the cultivation academy's grounds.
It was a quiet, clear night. The little cultivators had to abide by the rules set by the elders and were asleep by the hour of hai, shortly after full dark; this late, there was no one about. The eaves of the sprawling academy rooftops swooped up like wings, their golden tiles glowing in the silver light like a butterfly perched quietly on the curtain of the sky. Under the bright moonlight, it was like walking in a dream.
After graduating and enlisting, Mo Xi had rarely returned to the academy. Fortunately it had not changed much; neither the drill grounds and courtyards nor the halls and dormitories were much different from when he was cultivating and learning magic. Mo Xi didn't waste time reminiscing. He clutched the qiankun pouch holding secrets and hopes and strode purposefully toward the residences where the elders lived.
When he reached the white jade bridge that linked the elders' residences with the sword practice platform, he spied a figure walking toward him from afar. Mo Xi stared for a moment in some amazement.
…Murong Chuyi?
The man's head was lowered, so he didn't see Mo Xi standing at the other end of the jade bridge. He walked alone in silence. Absent was his usual immortal aura and floating grace. His steps were slightly unsteady, his hair-knot slightly askew, wisps falling loose around his jade-like face.
Mo Xi frowned. "Murong-xiansheng."
Murong Chuyi's head shot up. His usually aloof and proud face wore a layer of panic and distress he hadn't time to conceal. Yet what astonished Mo Xi most were the ends of Murong Chuyi's eyes, which were reddened as if he had endured some extraordinary disgrace. All his humiliation seemed to have transformed into scarlet fish tails, like rouge spreading in water toward the sharp corners of his phoenix eyes.
"You…"
Murong Chuyi bit his pale, dry lips. They were bleeding; scarlet appeared where his lips touched. He whipped his head aside—but as if afraid evasiveness would be more conspicuous, he forced himself to turn back before long, gazing at Mo Xi through eyes cold as frost and sharp as a knife.
Those eyes were misty. Perhaps Murong Chuyi thought he was hiding his emotions well and managed to look imposing. Mo Xi only felt that he was concealing his turmoil poorly. Vulnerability, resentment, shame… All of it was plain to see.
After a long silence, Mo Xi asked, "Xiansheng, are you well?"
A pause. "Yes."
They looked at each other, hearts heavy with their own concerns. Neither had a gentle temperament, nor were they especially close; expressing any more care was futile. Mo Xi didn't like meddling and Murong Chuyi liked it even less. "Good night," Murong Chuyi said.
They both performed a shallow obeisance and strode past each other.
The night wind set Murong Chuyi's snowy white robes aflutter, the faint scent of orange blossoms rising from his sleeves. Mo Xi tilted his head as he caught the hint of a second scent beneath that refined fragrance, one he had smelled on someone else before. But when he tried to pin it down, it was like grabbing smoky mist with his bare hands. It slipped his grasp.
Mo Xi frowned as he watched Murong Chuyi's silhouette melt into the darkness. "What did he come to the academy for…?" he murmured.
Of course he received no answer. Mo Xi stood for a moment, then turned back toward his destination. Although the elder's residences were all in the same area, they were well spaced out, and each was constructed according to the occupant's tastes. For example, the residence of Caiwei Elder, who taught wood elemental magic, was hidden within a jungle of plants and vines, the walls covered with rose climbers. Each flower was the size of one's spread hand, and bloomed thick and lush year-round. Changhong Elder, who taught swordsmanship, lived in a residence surrounded by a barrier the white-yellow of lightning. A large garden surrounded his house as well, but it contained neither plants nor stones. Instead, what sprouted from the ground were a few thousand swords of different shapes and ages.
Jiang Yexue lived in a simple wooden house with a row of elegant bamboo swaying outside. Among this crowd of crazies, his home seemed uncommonly restrained.
Mo Xi followed a narrow path of white gravel to Jiang Yexue's door. He crooked his slender fingers and rapped sharply on the wood. "Qingxu Elder."
There was no movement from within the house. After a few more knocks, the door opened with a creak.
A little clay servant falteringly peered out through the crack in the door. Someone had smashed its clay skull—only half its head remained, and it was sobbing pathetically. Jiang Yexue had always cherished these clay servants; he would never break them himself. Mo Xi's heart skipped a beat as he asked, "Where is your lord?"
"My lord… Lord…" The servant stuttered incoherently. It had been damaged too badly, and stalled on the same words over and over again as it tried to complete its sentence. "My lord… Don't… Lord…"
Seeing as the door was now ajar and the clay servant was broken, Mo Xi was afraid something had happened to Jiang Yexue. He pushed the door open and stepped into the room.
What he encountered inside was only more chilling. The bamboo flooring was splattered with blood. Next to the screen door, the exquisite Ru ware vase, with its round base and elegantly tapered top, lay in forlorn shards on the ground.
"Jiang-xiong!" Mo Xi strode into the inner hall and found it empty. He continued to the bedroom, opening the door to total darkness— no lamps were lit, and the window screen was tightly shut. But the air was suffused with that familiar scent, the one he couldn't place. Mo Xi raised a hand and summoned a fireball, throwing light over the room. There was no one inside, but the bedding was in disarray. A few wrinkled, snow-white garments were tossed in the corner, but nothing else was out of place…
"Xihe-jun?"
A surprised voice sounded from behind him. Mo Xi whirled to see Jiang Yexue sitting in his wheelchair, clad in a loose bathrobe the color of flax. He was wiping at dripping hair like inky jade as he looked at Mo Xi in shock. "What are you doing here?"