The air on the second floor of the Scripture Pavilion froze solid.
Jiang Muchen pulled Zhou Xiaohuan deep into the shadow between the shelves. He could hear his own heartbeat pounding against his ribs, heavy and unsteady. In Xiaohuan's trembling hands, the concealment paper rustled softly—the ink was already fading, thinning by the breath. In half an incense-stick's time, every word would vanish.
They didn't have that long.
Footsteps stopped on the far side of the shelves.
Through narrow gaps between stacked volumes, Jiang Muchen caught sight of a corner of white robes—and a pair of satin-white embroidered shoes. Pearls no larger than grains of rice adorned the tips, glowing softly under the eternal lamps.
Su Qingwu.
She stood only three shelves away.
"The Calming Xiao Score you seek," the elderly guardian elder said respectfully, "should be on the third tier of the Ding Section. But the manuscript is incomplete—only the first half remains. The latter portion was lost over a century ago."
"That is fine," Su Qingwu replied, her voice cool and unhurried. "The first half will suffice."
Footsteps resumed, moving toward the Ding Section.
Jiang Muchen's mind raced.
Su Qingwu sought the Calming Xiao Score—this much Wang Duobao had learned from the markets long ago. That she came in person, at night, meant the score mattered deeply to her. But it was incomplete. Only the first half remained.
Suddenly, fragments surfaced in his mind—blurred images from within the Green Jade Xiao.
Among them, a memory of Bai Gui's remnant soul playing a melody. Vast. Empty. Capable of soothing the mind and combing spiritual channels.
Could that be the missing half?
No.
Too dangerous. He hadn't even seen the manuscript yet. To claim knowledge now would be to expose far more than he could afford.
If he did nothing, Su Qingwu would retrieve the score and leave. He and Zhou Xiaohuan could escape—provided the fading ink wasn't discovered first.
He glanced sideways.
Zhou Xiaohuan's face was deathly pale. Her lips were bitten raw as she frantically stuffed copied pages into her robes. There were too many. The papers bulged awkwardly, her collar already stretched.
Footsteps drew closer.
Su Qingwu and the guardian elder were coming this way.
Jiang Muchen made his choice.
He stepped out of the shadows.
"Disciple Jiang Muchen greets the Saintess. And the elder."
His voice was calm—but in the dead silence of the pavilion, it landed like a stone dropped into deep water.
Su Qingwu stopped. Turned.
The elder frowned. "Who are you? Why are you here at this hour?"
"I serve as medicinal-field steward under Senior Sister Lin Yueyao," Jiang Muchen said with a respectful bow. "I was instructed to consult texts on field maintenance. I was searching the Wu Section when I heard a noise—thought it might be spirit mice—and came to investigate."
The explanation was plausible. A field steward had clearance for such texts, and spirit mice gnawing books at night was hardly rare.
The elder's expression softened slightly. "If you were studying, why no lamp?"
"I feared disturbing others," Jiang Muchen lowered his head. "And oil is costly. Where it can be saved, it should be."
The elder fell silent.
Poor disciples studying by feel alone to save lamp oil was nothing new.
Su Qingwu, however, watched him closely.
"You said you heard a noise," she said suddenly. "What kind of noise?"
A precise question.
If he answered "footsteps," he admitted overhearing them.
If "pages turning," it sounded rehearsed.
After a brief pause, Jiang Muchen replied, "A book falling. A dull sound—like a thick volume. When I came closer, I found Records of the Nine Provinces' Sects on the floor. Perhaps the shelf was loose."
He gestured.
Sure enough, a heavy tome lay open nearby, pages disordered—one he had deliberately knocked loose earlier.
Su Qingwu glanced at it. Said nothing.
The elder retrieved the book, brushed it off. "Indeed. Very well. Continue your study. Keep quiet."
"Thank you, Elder."
Turning, the elder gestured. "Saintess, the Ding Section is this way."
Su Qingwu didn't move.
She looked at Jiang Muchen. "Do you understand music?"
His heart skipped. "A little."
"The xiao?"
"I can play a few rustic tunes."
After a pause, she drew out a yellowed bamboo scroll and handed it to him. "Then look at this."
Jiang Muchen accepted it carefully.
The score was written in cinnabar ink—neat, elegant—but stopped abruptly midway, the rest blank. A note beside it read:
Calming Melody. Requires a still heart and even breath.
At the third cycle, pacifies inner demons.
At the sixth, smooths spiritual channels.
At the ninth… unknown.
He studied it closely.
The melody was lofty and serene—but something was missing. Like her sword. Too clean. Too cold. Lacking the warmth of mortal life.
"Well?" Su Qingwu asked.
He chose his words carefully. "The piece is refined and tranquil. It can indeed calm the mind. But it pursues stillness too strongly—at the cost of vitality."
Her gaze sharpened. "Go on."
"Music flows like water," Jiang Muchen said, pointing to several passages. "It must rise and fall, slow and quicken. These sustained notes create calm, but prolonged, they may cause stagnation. If brief leaps were added—like water striking stone—it might achieve true serenity through motion."
He stopped there.
Just enough.
Su Qingwu studied him for a long moment. Then she extended her hand.
"The xiao."
The elder stiffened. "Saintess—?"
"The Green Jade Xiao," she said, eyes on Jiang Muchen. "You carry it. I sensed warm jade energy."
Jiang Muchen's breath caught.
She could sense it?
He steadied himself, drew the xiao from his robes, and offered it with both hands.
She brushed her fingers along its surface—hesitating, just for an instant—before returning it.
"Play," she said. "The leap you described."
This was an examination. And a probe.
Jiang Muchen lifted the xiao.
He couldn't play Bai Gui's full melody. He selected only a few leaping notes, weaving them lightly into the framework of the incomplete score.
The sound rose.
Clear. Brief. Like dew rolling off a lotus leaf—two, three notes, and gone.
Silence followed.
Su Qingwu closed her eyes.
When she opened them, something had shifted. "Where did you learn this?"
"As a child," Jiang Muchen said, choosing the safest lie of all, "I herded cattle in the mountains. Once met a wandering elder who played something similar. I remember only fragments."
"Wandering elder…" she repeated, without pressing further.
She turned to the elder. "I won't borrow the score tonight."
"Saintess?"
"This disciple understands music—and insight," she said after a pause. "Perhaps… one day, he may complete it."
Then she walked toward the stairs, white robes trailing cool light.
At the landing, she turned back once more. "When we enter Qingming Herb Valley—you will follow me."
Not a question. A statement.
Jiang Muchen bowed. "Yes."
She left.
Only after the footsteps faded did Jiang Muchen exhale. His back was soaked through.
Zhou Xiaohuan peeked out, clutching the fading papers. "Brother Jiang… she wants you with her in the valley?"
"Yes," he said softly. "Let's go. The ink's nearly gone."
They escaped through the ventilation passage. When they emerged, dawn was breaking.
Zhou Xiaohuan unfolded the last pages—barely legible now. "I copied the valley map. And the weakness of the Azure-Scaled Python. And… something strange."
"What?"
"There's a plant called Wraith-Bloom deep in the valley," she whispered. "It creates illusions—shows people their deepest fear. A disciple entered a century ago. He came out mad, muttering, 'She's back.'"
Jiang Muchen's heart tightened.
"And more?"
"The northern slope has an ancient cave. A warning was carved at the entrance—but someone scraped it away. Only the words 'Devouring Souls' remain."
Devouring souls.
Jiang Muchen recalled the final line of the journal he'd seen.
The secret of the valley lies beneath the Nine-Turn Soul-Return Pill.
"This trip won't be simple," he said quietly.
They parted ways.
Jiang Muchen stood alone in the morning mist, turning the Green Jade Xiao in his hand.
Su Qingwu had chosen him.
Opportunity—or danger.
More importantly—
What had she seen?
Him?
Or the shadow reflected through him?
A faint golden shimmer pulsed within the jade.
The Seven-Star King's resonance.
When she touched the xiao… had she felt it too?
Tongue of the Path – Thirteenth Maxim
When someone offers you an opportunity, don't rush to celebrate.
First ask yourself—
are they choosing you,
or the reflection of someone else they glimpse through you?