Xuán Líng did not land. Instead, she merely appeared before the frightened man and his entourage of four, whom she had pinned to the ground with the mere force of her will. They trembled, unable to move a muscle, their faces pressed into the dirt.
"You," she pointed at the one who had spoken. "Continue." She eased the spiritual pressure on him just enough to allow him to form words.
The man gasped, sucking in a desperate breath. "M-My Lord, Master Gù Tiěshān of the Moon Shadow Sect sensed the presence of a being of immense power and sent me to deliver a message. He humbly requests your aid. Our city… something is terribly wrong, but the source is…we do not know the source. We cannot find any evidence," the man pleaded, his voice raw.
"You are speaking of Yǒngshèng Jīng, are you not?" she asked, though her tone made it clear she already knew.
"Yes!"
"The Moon Shadow Sect…" she said, her voice a low purr of danger as she narrowed her eyes. "That name sounds very familiar. It carries the stench of blood money and poisoned wine."
"Now, I know what you are thinking, Great One!" the man stammered, the words tumbling out in a frantic rush. "The sect has changed! It has been nearly a century since we have dabbled in… that kind of work. The world moved on, and so did we. Under Master Gù, we now serve as the Foremost Curators of the Yǒngshèng Grand Archive. We are historians, scribes, preservers of knowledge! Our blades are still sharp, but they now only guard the past."
A slow, predatory smirk touched Xuán Líng's lips. "I see. And has Gù Tiěshān ever found a cure for his limp?"
"You… you know my master?" the man asked, a flicker of desperate relief in his eyes.
"How do you think he got that limp?" Her grin was a flash of white in the gloom, utterly menacing. "He must have seen it was me."
With a thought that resonated like a struck gong in the spiritual realm, she released the men from their immobile prison. They groaned, limbs aching as blood flow returned.
Before any of them could fully rise, Xuán Líng grabbed the speaker by his arm. "I'll see him now." She took a single, deliberate step forward, and the two of them vanished not in a blur of speed, but into a faint, sparkling mist the color of freshly spilled blood.
The four remaining guards, left in the sudden silence, could only stare, dumbfounded, at the empty space where their leader and the demon matriarch had stood. Slowly, they gathered themselves, their mission complete in the most terrifying way imaginable, and began the long, silent journey back to the Moon Shadow Sect.
Back at the cottage, having overheard the entire conversation, Li Wei seized the chance to redirect everyone's attention from his accidental "oozing." "The Moon Shadow Sect. Assassins. We've encountered them once or twice."
"Oh, I remember that sect," Yisha added, snapping her fingers. "Gu… something-or-other was hired to kill that weird magistrate with the beetles living in his beard."
"Right," Qianyi jumped in. "And after we intervened, he gifted me that rare serpent-scale whip as a thank you."
"After you refused his marriage proposal, what, ten times?" Li Wei added, a rare, genuine scoff of amusement in his voice.
"Well, if the Moon Shadow Sect itself is asking for help, then this is definitely going to get messy before it gets better," Yisha concluded, summing up the collective feeling.
Xuán Chè, who had been sitting quietly through the reminiscing, finally interrupted with the most pressing, practical concern. "This cottage only has two beds. How are we all going to sleep?"
The courtyard fell into a sudden, comical silence.
Wu Feng was the first to speak, his tone pragmatic. "That is an easy fix. Li Wei must recover without disturbance. The girls can share a bed. You and I can take the floor."
"What about Matriarch Ling?" Xuán Chè asked.
"She'll likely not return tonight," Qianyi said with certainty. "And if she does, it will be because she has already secured us far better lodging."
Meanwhile, at the Moon Shadow Sect…
Xuán Líng materialized from her crimson mist in the center of a austere, lantern-lit receiving hall. Before her, a man with greying temples and a pronounced limp leaned heavily on a polished blackwood cane. Despite his infirmity, his posture was ramrod straight, his eyes sharp.
"Líng Niángniang. It is… such an honor to have you here," Gù Tiěshān said, his voice a gravelly mix of reverence and old pain.
"It has been a while, Gù Tiěshān. Master Gù Tiěshān, now," she acknowledged, her tone cool and assessing.
He offered a faint, wistful smile and recited, his voice low and deliberate:
"Years fall like autumn leaves, rivers ever flow,
Yet the moon on the pool remains, untouched by time's woe.
The phoenix's plumage, still radiant and bright,
A beauty time cannot wither, a timeless, piercing light."
Xuán Líng listened, her expression was a contradiction of annoyed amusement. "What do you need, Master Gù?"
The flattery having failed, he got straight to the point. "I know you know what is happening in Yǒngshèng Jīng."
"Perhaps," she said cryptically.
"There's something sinister going on. I know you don't interfere in the affairs of mortals unless it's absolutely necessary. But this—what's happening in Yǒngshèng Jīng is not of the mortal realm. This is your domain. And the gods… the gods have no eyes."
"Oh, Master Gu," she replied, her voice dripping with cynical wisdom. "Of course, the gods have eyes. They simply have no heart."
"There's something else," he confessed, his voice dropping, the formal master replaced by a desperate father. "My wife and daughter are in the city. I sent men to retrieve them… I could not find them."
"You were able to get in?"
"Yes, we can enter. But leaving… leaving is the problem. Especially for women and girls. They just… disappear. They are taken. And I…" He swallowed hard, his knuckles white on his cane. "Though my wife and I do not get along, she is still my wife. And my daughter—she's my only child. She's the apple of my eye. A more talented girl you will never find."
Xuán Líng studied him for a long moment, reading the truth in his desperation. "My children and I will stay here. Prepare our rooms," she commanded, her decision made. "We thank you for your hospitality in advance."
Just as Gù Tiěshān was about to bow and assure her he would see to everything, Xuán Líng took a step back and dissolved once more into her signature bright red mist.
Xuán Líng materialized in the center of the cottage courtyard just as the debate over sleeping arrangements was reaching its peak.
"Gather your things," she announced, her voice cutting through the discussion without needing to rise in volume. "We are guests of the Moon Shadow Sect."
Qianyi flashed a smug, satisfied smile as she turned to Xuán Chè. "I told you," she quipped.
After traveling on the dark, dirt road for an hour, they reached the Moon Shadow Sect's manor. Qianyi took in her surroundings as the guards allowed them through the gate. "For a centuries-old sect known for their grisly assassination-for-hire past, their dwelling was surprisingly modest and tranquil, unlike the ostentatious Shen mansion," she thought to herself. The air smelled of old pine and ink, a scholar's retreat rather than a killer's den.
Standing in the moonlit courtyard, leaning on a bamboo cane, was their host, Master Gù Tiěshān. He was an older fellow, though not as ancient as the deities and demons among them. One could tell he cared a great deal about his appearance, and it was evident he had been a devastatingly handsome man in his day.
He bore long, thick locks of salt-and-pepper hair, though more 'salt' than 'pepper.' His frame was that of a martial artist whose most active days were behind him, though he hadn't quite accepted it. His skin was the warm, golden brown of the sweetest honey.
"Líng Niángniang. Welcome," he said, his voice a gravelly rasp as he offered a shallow, respectful bow, his eyes lingering on her with a complex mix of awe and old, unhealed wounds.
Xuán Líng acknowledged him with a slight nod that was both regal and dismissive. "These are my children." She gestured behind her, the simple phrase a shield and a declaration of absolute possession.
Gù Tiěshān's sharp eyes, once trained to assess threats and weaknesses, swept over the group. He saw the elegant woman with the calm, discerning gaze, the radiant one whose very presence seemed to brighten the lantern light, and the young man who stood with an earnestness that felt out of place amidst such power. His gaze then fell upon the pale, stern-faced man being supported by the elegant one, and a flicker of recognition passed through his eyes.
"We have met before," Gù Tiěshān said, his focus settling on Li Wei and Qianyi. "Though under less… cordial circumstances. You cost my sect a very lucrative contract." There was no accusation in his tone, only a dry statement of fact.
"The client was a monster," Qianyi replied, her voice cool and even. "And the whip he gave me was a fair trade for his life."
A faint, appreciative smile touched Gù Tiěshān's lips. "So it was." His gaze then shifted to Wù Fēng, who stood slightly apart, his hands tucked into his sleeves, observing everything with an air of detached amusement. The air around him was… different. It wasn't the fierce pressure of Xuán Líng or the sharp auras of the others. It was vast and calm, like the sky. Gù Tiěshān, a master of reading people, knew better than to even attempt to read this one. He simply offered another, deeper bow. "Sir."
Wù Fēng responded with a mild, pleasant smile, as if he were just a friendly traveler.
Finally, Gù Tiěshān's eyes returned to Xuán Líng. "Rooms have been prepared for all of you. Please, rest. We have much to discuss at first light." The unspoken plea for his family hung heavy in the quiet night air, a father's desperation thinly veiled behind the demeanor of a sect master.
The following morning, Wù Fēng was at Li Wei's bedside as soon as the first rays of light filtered through the paper window. He tended to him quietly, checking the pulse at his wrist. Li Wei, still groggy, winced at being awake so early. His body felt incredibly weak, a deep exhaustion that made even breathing feel like a chore, and all he wanted was to sink back into oblivion. Though his skin was still sickly pale, a faint, healthy warmth had returned to his cheeks—a small but significant sign of improvement.
"Don't worry," Wù Fēng began, his voice a soft, steadying presence. He gently laid Li Wei's arm back down. "Your body is fighting a war on a level you cannot feel. This exhaustion is a sign it is winning, using all your energy to purge the last dregs of that resentment." He offered a reassuring smile. "You just need more rest and proper nourishment. Qianyi already asked the kitchen to prepare you a rich jī yōu tang."
The scent of the restorative chicken soup simmered with goji berries, astragalus root, and ginger soon filled the room with a comforting, earthy aroma that seemed to gently push back the lingering chill of Li Wei's illness.
As he drifted back into a more peaceful sleep, the rest of the group gathered in the sect leader's private study.
The room was a testament to the Moon Shadow Sect's reformation. Scrolls of history and poetry were stacked neatly beside treatises on sword forms, and the morning light streamed through a window overlooking a meticulously raked rock garden. It was a place of quiet contemplation, a far cry from the war room it might have once been.
Master Gù unrolled a large, detailed map of Yǒngshèng Jīng onto a low table, his hands, once used to wielding deadly weapons, now tracing the city's canals and districts with a scholar's care. His usual composure was frayed, the fear for his wife and daughter a silent tremor in his voice.
"The disappearances are not random," he explained, his finger circling the opulent Noble's Quarter where the palace stood. "They are a harvest. The energy in the city... it feels like a held breath. The palace is the lungs, and it is slowly suffocating everyone else."
Xuán Líng listened, her expression unreadable, but her silence was a weighty agreement.
It was Qianyi who spoke first, her voice soft but decisive. "We cannot storm the palace. Not yet. We need a foothold inside the city, a place that is both our sanctuary and our eyes." She looked at her mother. "The Yǒngshèng Zhēnbǎo Gé. Its foundations are warded. It will be the one place their influence cannot easily penetrate."
"A sound strategy," Wù Fēng agreed, his gaze meeting Yisha's for a brief, resonant moment that spoke of shared understanding before he turned back to the map. "We will appear not as invaders, but as merchants. It will allow us to move with a freedom soldiers never could."
Yisha's eyes brightened with the thrill of the plan. "Well, that's easy. We are merchants. Technically speaking. We can assess the situation from the inside. Find the cracks in their facade."
Xuán Chè, who had been quietly absorbing everything, nodded. "I can help. I'll keep my senses open, try to feel for... echoes. Any trace of where the missing might be held."
In perfect, unthinking unison, Yisha and Wù Fēng both turned and said, "I know where they are."
The synchronized declaration hung in the air for a breathless moment. They exchanged a single, swift glance, a silent acknowledgment of the shared vision that now connected them.
"We saw Línglóng," Yisha explained, her voice softening. "And other women. They're being held in a fortified building near the palace. We can rally at the Zhēnbǎo Gé and go from there."
"There is just one problem," Xuán Líng admitted, her voice a low murmur that commanded absolute attention. "I have not received a single word from inside the Zhēnbǎo Gé for several days."
A flicker of cold concern passed through Qianyi's eyes, but Yisha merely squared her shoulders, her light seeming to burn all the brighter against the shadow of the news. "All the more reason to get inside."
"Then it is settled," Xuán Líng affirmed, her tone leaving no room for doubt. The plan was set. They would be a needle, not a hammer, slipped into the fabric of the corrupted city.
As the group prepared to leave, Li Wei struggled to sit up, a protest dying on his lips as a wave of dizziness washed over him. The frustration in his eyes was a tangible thing.
Xuán Líng placed a firm hand on his shoulder, pushing him back onto the pillows with gentle, unyielding strength. "Your fight is here for now, A'Wei. Rest. Regain your strength."
Seeing the stubborn set of his jaw, Master Gù intervened. "Young Master Li, while you recover, you are welcome to our archives. We are curators of knowledge, after all. There may be texts there that could prove useful... perhaps even about the nature of the poison you faced."
Left alone in the quiet manor, the silence felt like a cage. But as the afternoon light slanted through the window, Li Wei demanded to be taken to the library. It was a vast, hushed space that smelled of aged paper and sandalwood.
For hours, he pored over texts on demonic cores and celestial poisons, his mind racing but his body failing. It was amidst a stack of crumbling folios on forgotten imperial history that his search truly began. And then he saw it: on an isolated shelf, surrounded by mundane wooden scrolls, sat a box.
It was carved from divine peachwood, its surface a tapestry of intricate, unfamiliar sigils that seemed to shift in the dim light. But it was not the box itself that stole his breath. It was the seal—a faint, bright red aura that glowed with a familiar, formidable power. He did not recognize the carved symbols, but he knew the spiritual signature as intimately as his own.
It was the same aura that had comforted him as a child and shielded him in a hundred battles. It was the aura of someone who shared a profound blood tie with Xuán Líng. This was not merely a secret; it was a family secret, deliberately hidden and powerfully warded. And it was waiting.