As they approached the small town, the martial cultivator from Zhenwu Mountain released his grip on Ma Kuxuan's shoulder. The boy, slightly dizzy and disoriented, shook his head and asked, "Do we know who caused the trouble? Could it be my father or uncle? Perhaps someone from outside laid eyes on one of our family's treasures, and either they refused to give it up or the other party tried to take it by force—just like Liu Xianyang's situation, and now it's turned into a huge mess?"
The sword-bearing man quickened his pace, pulling Ma Kuxuan along, and shook his head. "The reason the Mount Moving Ape from Zhengyang Mountain acted so rashly, even at the cost of breaking the rules, is partly because of how precious that sword manual is. But the deeper cause is the long-standing grudge between Zhengyang Mountain and Wind and Thunder Garden. If Chen Songfeng from Wind and Thunder Garden hadn't arrived at the town shortly after, that ape would never have resorted to violence. So even cultivators in this town, if they act, won't dare to do so too brazenly—after all, Mister Qi is still here…"
The man suddenly fell silent. His gaze had locked onto a rooftop in the distance, where a jet-black stray cat crouched like a shadow. The moment it saw Ma Kuxuan, it let out a sharp, chilling cry. As soon as Ma Kuxuan noticed it, the cat bolted toward Xinghua Alley.
In an instant, Ma Kuxuan's face went deathly pale. As if possessed, he tore off after the cat, dashing across rooftops in a frenzied sprint.
The man understood instantly, sighed softly, and followed the youth at a steady pace, always maintaining the same distance, never allowing Ma Kuxuan to pull away.
Ma Kuxuan soon arrived at that painfully familiar alley. When he saw the courtyard gate wide open, the daring boy who feared nothing in the world suddenly stopped outside, unable to bring himself to cross the threshold.
He knew better than anyone that the gate to their home almost never stood open for long—not once in a year. His grandmother had always said that Xinghua Alley was filled with hopeless paupers. The poorer the people, the weaker their will, and the more envious they became. Their family, with just a bit of good fortune, would easily become a target. The door must always remain tightly shut, or it would invite thieves.
Eyes rimmed red, Ma Kuxuan stepped into the courtyard. Even the main hall door was ajar.
There, on the floor, lay the frail and familiar figure of his grandmother.
The black cat crouched on the doorstep, letting out eerie cries that chilled the bone.
"Don't go in!" the sword-bearing man shouted, placing a firm hand on the boy's shoulder. "It's already come to this. Steady your spirit."
Ma Kuxuan fought back his tears, drawing deep, trembling breaths. He slowed his steps and softly called out, "Grandma…?"
The warrior from the Martial Sect was the first to reach the old woman's side. He pressed two fingers to her nose—there was no breath.
The black cat, spooked, fled inside the house and disappeared without a trace.
After a moment's thought, the man looked up and spoke gravely to Ma Kuxuan, still frozen outside the door: "Stop right there! Your body radiates an intense yang energy. If you take another step, even if her soul still lingers in this house, you'll burn it into nothing."
Ma Kuxuan's dark face twisted in anguish, but he forced himself not to make a sound—not even a whimper.
Resolute now, the man reached for the tiger tally at his waist and said solemnly, "Mister Qi, this matter is no trifling affair. You have your rules, and I have my reasons. I hope you'll refrain from interfering."
As soon as he finished, his aura transformed entirely. His robes fluttered, hair danced wildly, and after chanting a string of arcane incantations, he ended with five words:
"Zhenwu Mountain summons aid!"
Ma Kuxuan turned blankly toward the voice.
A golden-armored deity, more than ten feet tall, descended from the heavens. Its fists crashed against its chest with thunderous might.
"Descendant of Zhenwu, what are your commands?"
"I am forbidden from using spellcraft here, and I lack the skill to capture a wandering soul. I ask that you patrol this home. If you find the old woman's spirit, gather it gently—take care not to harm her essence."
The deity paused, then nodded.
"Understood."
With that, the golden light vanished, and the divine general disappeared.
—In the Office of Kiln Affairs Supervision, Chen Songfeng, a scion of the Chen family from Longwei Prefecture, sat in a spacious room, immersed in archives. Beside him stood a vermillion-lacquered wooden chest filled with yellowed, timeworn tomes.
Nearby, a woman surnamed Chen casually plucked a book from the chest and flipped through it slowly by the window.
Inside, an elderly steward of the office sipped tea on a wooden chair, exchanging pleasantries with Liu Baqiao, a sword cultivator from Wind and Thunder Garden. The steward, bright-eyed and full of spirit, smiled and said:
"How fortunate it all came together. Li Hong of the Li household came to our office personally, requesting the files for several Chen families from our town. She only asked for household records from the last three or four centuries. Once His Lordship approved, I let her take the top seventy or eighty volumes from the chest. The rest—the oldest volumes below—are just what Young Master Chen is after. Were it not for our office's tradition of airing out the books each summer and fall, the bugs would have devoured them long ago."
Still flipping pages, the woman named Chen asked indifferently without even looking up, "I heard that nowadays, everyone surnamed Chen in this town serves as maids or servants for the Four Surnames and Ten Clans of Fulu Street and Taoye Alley. Some Chen clansmen have even become lifelong houseborn servants, bowing and scraping for generations—and now they dare act high and mighty toward common townsfolk?"
The steward looked awkward. She repeatedly referred to those clans as "the Four Surnames and Ten Clans" or "great houses," but the true noble heir of the thousand-year-old Longwei Chen lineage—the young man—sat quietly like a humble servant, buried in books. Meanwhile, this woman, also surnamed Chen, spoke with the ease of one born to nobility. The steward, old and shrewd, knew at once the depth of her lineage.
Though he himself had no Chen retainers, he had always maintained cordial ties with the town's powerful families. He did not wish to offend what seemed like a fierce dragon crossing the river by handling this poorly.
After choosing his words carefully, he put down his delicate celadon teacup and said slowly:
"Miss Chen, this truly couldn't be helped. One of our old predecessors used to say there were once two distinct Chen branches in town. One migrated away long ago, leaving no direct descendants. It's said they left a gravekeeper behind, but the family charged with that duty has been lost to time. The other branch was once among the top families here. But fate is fickle—after several setbacks, their fortunes waned. Especially over the last few hundred years, as you said, they've declined with each generation. Now, only one direct descendant remains—his father was a master potter who earned praise from the last two supervising officials. That's why I remember him. But his father died early, and as for how the boy fares now, I cannot say."
He added, "Still, from what I've seen and heard, most people in town treat the Chen descendants fairly well—especially the Song and Zhao families. Their head stewards are both named Chen. Nominally servants, but in practice, nearly like family."
After recounting these long-forgotten affairs, the steward turned and sipped his tea again.
Miss Chen smiled and nodded. "Steward Xue, you are a man of insight. No wonder this office runs so smoothly under your guidance."
The steward beamed. "You flatter me, Miss Chen. We who serve simply understand our place. All we can do is serve diligently—such is the fate of the laboring class."
Chen merely smiled, then turned her gaze toward the upright, silent Chen Songfeng. Her voice turned cold:
"If nothing turns up, flip the chest upside down and start from the bottom. Steward Xue's words just now—you…"