Chapter 37#
An Empty Room#
The pill dissolved in his mouth, slid down his throat, and spread through his lungs and the furthest reaches of his limbs — a clean freshness rising in its wake, sharpening everything. Whatever Yan Wushu gave was always good. The man had shoved it in uninvited, so Xiao Man offered no thanks. He watched him for a moment and said: “You tracked Jinshi Street through my blood.”
“Mm.” The reply was mild, neither confirming nor denying.
That Yan Wushu could do this was not surprising. Between them was a bond tied by Heaven itself — the connection was fated to run deep. Xiao Man looked away and asked quietly: “What did you find?”
“I’ll tell you once we’re back.” Yan Wushu picked up two paper lanterns from the stall and turned them left and right, appearing to deliberate between them.
“Then I’ll go back to the inn first.”
On the last word, Xiao Man turned. He was wearing the dress Yan Wushu had altered with his own hands — the cuffs taken in, the sleeves not as wide as his usual clothes, leaving a length of wrist exposed. Yan Wushu caught it with casual ease.
Yan Wushu’s hands had gripped a sword his whole life. His knuckles had built up a layer of sword-callus that wasn’t exactly rough, but had a definite presence. Xiao Man’s fingertips flinched; he moved instinctively to pull free — but this man was faster than him by a wide margin. A light tug, and Xiao Man was drawn back to stand before the stall.
“Here. Pick a lantern.” Yan Wushu placed the two he’d selected in front of Xiao Man.
They were carousel lanterns. The one on the left had flowers and birds painted on its panels; the one on the right showed a landscape. Xiao Man glanced at them, applied some force, pulled his hand free, and said flatly: “Pick one yourself.”
“I can’t decide which is better.” Yan Wushu stretched out the syllables — then, unable to stop himself, muttered under his breath: “Do you dislike me that much?”
“Then buy both,” Xiao Man said, expression blank.
“Fair enough,” Yan Wushu said, and turned to the stall keeper. “I’ll take both.”
The stall keeper was delighted, wrapped both lanterns up with practiced speed, handed them back to Yan Wushu, named a price, and then bowed toward Xiao Man with warm attentiveness: “Thank you, madam.”
Xiao Man: “…”
Xiao Man’s face darkened. He turned and walked away.
The autumn moon’s light settled over a street full of lanterns; the wind turned and sighed as it passed through. Night was deepening, the air growing cool with it, becoming clear and quiet the further one walked. Xiao Man rounded a corner and returned to the inn.
West wing of the front courtyard — in the far room at the end, the candles had been lit. By reason of the concealment spell, however many people were inside, no shadows showed through. When Xiao Man pushed the door open, he found that Wei Chuyun and Qu Hanxing were there too, sitting around the table with Mo Juntian and Shi Tang, deep in discussion about going to Jinshi Street that night.
“We don’t need to go.” Xiao Man turned and pulled the door shut behind him, saying quietly to the room.
Wei Chuyun looked up, puzzled. “Why not?”
“Someone found some things out for us.” Xiao Man walked over.
“Who? Can we trust them?” Qu Hanxing was startled, and looked at Xiao Man with a stream of questions.
Xiao Man had barely opened his mouth when someone else entered the room. No one saw how — the door behind Xiao Man did not appear to have opened or closed at all. The arrival was perfectly soundless.
Everyone rose immediately and bowed. “Senior Wu.”
“Sit down.” Yan Wushu’s tone was easy; he pulled Xiao Man along with natural familiarity and settled beside him. “Earlier today I paid a visit to Jinshi Street.”
“What did you discover, Senior?” Qu Hanxing leaned forward across the table, curious.
The square table was pushed against the wall; since they had moved in, no one had repositioned it, which meant there were only three sides to sit on. Qu Hanxing and Mo Juntian shared one side; a single space remained empty. Shi Tang shifted her stool slightly and moved to fill it; Wei Chuyun came to her left, sitting opposite Xiao Man and Yan Wushu.
A pot of water was heating on the brazier on the table — someone had been about to steep tea. It had not yet boiled, only producing thin curls of white vapor.
“The place isn’t heavily occupied — it may be only one of their bases. From what was said there and what I observed in the room, they belong to an organization called the Qinghui Sect.”
“The Qinghui Sect?” “What is that?” “Some kind of school?”
Qu Hanxing and the others looked at each other blankly. None of them had ever heard of it.
Yan Wushu smiled slightly. “Not surprising. This sect ceased to exist thirty years ago. They were a branch of Buddhist cultivation — if demon-Buddhism counts as Buddhism.”
He gave a brief account: “Thirty years ago, the Qinghui Sect entered the Cang Kingdom and began spreading its teachings in the southwest. They lured several thousand ordinary people into joining, promising to lead them out of suffering and into paradise — but in practice, they ‘sacrificed’ their followers. Which is to say, they killed them.
“Deaths, however, tend to attract notice. Before long, the Heavenly Astronomical Bureau sent a team of cultivators to investigate. The Qinghui Sect proved difficult enough to deal with — it took several months before they were finally destroyed.”
“Well, the Western Pure Land is where you go when you’re dead — so telling people that’s the destination isn’t entirely misleading,” Qu Hanxing remarked after a moment’s thought, and gave a shrug.
Xiao Man was focused on something different: “They sacrificed people to the demon-Buddha? To call the demon-Buddha into the mortal world?”
“Mm.” Yan Wushu nodded.
“So the people now are remnants of the sect from thirty years ago. What are they doing in the capital?” Xiao Man asked.
Yan Wushu said, almost offhandedly: “What they intended to do — is already done.”
Xiao Man’s brow drew sharply together. “What?”
“They plan to destroy the capital. The preliminary preparations are complete. They’re waiting for the festival to begin.” Yan Wushu said.
Everyone went still.
The water on the brazier reached a boil — a steady, bubbling rush. No one paid it any attention. After a stretch of silence, Qu Hanxing found his voice: “Destroy… the whole city?”
Xiao Man turned to look at Yan Wushu. The emotion in his eyes carried a distinct edge of accusation. “You discovered all of this… and then you just came back? You didn’t do anything?”
“Of course.” Yan Wushu nodded, pointed two fingers together and extinguished the fire in the brazier, then lifted the pot down. He was about to measure out a spoonful of tea leaves, then seemed to remember something — his hand moved away from the tea tin, flipped over a teacup, poured plain water into it, and placed it in front of Xiao Man. After that he turned back and added tea leaves to the pot.
The accusation in Xiao Man’s eyes turned to anger. He stared at Yan Wushu with wide eyes, on the verge of slamming his palm on the table.
Qu Hanxing quickly pressed his arm down, said “Mǎn-gē” twice in a conciliatory tone, and then said:
“There’s still some time before the festival starts. We now know what they’re planning, and we know the river has something wrong with it — doesn’t that make it pretty easy to work out that they’ve done something at the river bottom?
“If we dive down there, figure out what their so-called ‘preparations’ actually are, and destroy them — the threat to the capital would be neutralized.”
Yan Wushu had been about to reach out and pat Xiao Man on the head; the current situation made that impossible, so he settled for lowering his voice and explaining: “That place is only one of their bases. The people gathered there aren’t decision-makers — just a rank-and-file group of followers. There was nothing useful I could or needed to do.”
He then addressed Qu Hanxing’s suggestion: “No need to go to that trouble.”
“Then what should we do?” Qu Hanxing asked at once.
“Someone is trying to move against the capital. The Astronomical Bureau, the imperial guard, the city garrison — none of them can ignore that. They must have intelligence already. If you want to investigate further, go ask them directly.” Yan Wushu said.
This time it was Qu Hanxing who stared. Wei Chuyun’s brow shifted, barely perceptibly. Mo Juntian rested his chin in his hand and looked at the candle flame dancing on the table, deep in thought.
“What if they haven’t received any intelligence?” Xiao Man set aside his expression and asked.
“Then let them go and find out. One can’t do everything for everyone.” Yan Wushu turned his folding fan, said it with a light, dismissive smile.
Then he handed Xiao Man something: “This is an authority token.”
“Then what are we waiting for — let’s go!” Qu Hanxing grabbed Xiao Man’s arm and pulled him toward the door.
Mo Juntian asked over his shoulder: “The Astronomical Bureau, the imperial guard, the garrison — which do we go to first?”
Xiao Man stopped and thought carefully. “The Astronomical Bureau manages cultivators. The imperial guard handles capital security. The garrison handles civil affairs… The imperial guard.”
Qu Hanxing stepped out again, and Mo Juntian asked from behind: “But do you know which way the imperial guard’s gate faces?”
Xiao Man pulled out the map and checked: “East.”
The group left at once. Xiao Man couldn’t take everyone on wind-riding together, so Wei Chuyun produced the cloud skiff and activated its concealment array.
Speed was pushed to the limit; the exquisite vessel became a streak of flowing light and was gone.
Yan Wushu did not follow. He picked up his teacup with unhurried ease and took a sip of the tea he’d brewed himself.
He’d used too many leaves. It was a little bitter.
He shook his head and set the cup down.
The senior guide from the neighboring team — the one surnamed Zhou — appeared across from Yan Wushu and bowed. “Lord of Radiant Light, according to protocol, Gushan should not be deeply involved in national affairs of this kind. Are you not being somewhat too permissive with them?”
“Did you not also promise to keep them safe?” Yan Wushu replied with a smile.
Senior Zhou bowed again. “True enough.”
With the festival approaching, security in the capital had grown steadily tighter. The imperial guard’s offices blazed with light well into the night; figures moved in and out at intervals, the atmosphere busy and grave.
Xiao Man’s group stepped down from the cloud skiff and made quickly for the great vermillion-lacquered gate — but before they had drawn close, two long spears crossed to bar their way.
“No unauthorized persons are permitted to approach!” The guards’ voices were sharp.
Xiao Man’s expression did not change. He produced the authority token Yan Wushu had given him.
One of the guards took it, held it up to the lantern light — and his expression shifted to shock. “This is — please allow me to report inside.”
“Much appreciated,” Xiao Man said calmly.
The guard carried the token quickly inside. Qu Hanxing watched him go, clicking his tongue in admiration. “What is this token? It carries that much weight in the capital?!”
Xiao Man didn’t answer. He didn’t know either.
Shortly after, the token was returned, and Xiao Man’s group was brought inside. When they were shown to the officer in charge, Xiao Man wasted no time: “Sir, we have come regarding the Qinghui Sect.”
The officer was a cultivator, his realm placing him somewhere in the middle of Guiyuan. He took one look at the group of young faces at the Baoyu Realm and the gravity left his expression. He flicked his sleeve. “The Qinghui Sect? An evil cult destroyed thirty years ago — what could there possibly be to say? What business brings you here?”
“How can you be like that!” Shi Tang stared at him, disbelief written plainly on her face. “Their remnants want to destroy the capital!”
The officer narrowed his eyes. “Destroy the capital? Do you have evidence?”
Shi Tang pointed toward the outside. “The river has something wrong with it — it’s full of spirit-energy!”
At that, the officer raised his hand, back of the wrist facing outward, and made a dismissive shooing gesture. “A few children — even with that token, this is not the place for games. Go on, go home, and do not go around talking nonsense.”
“You—” Qu Hanxing was beginning to bristle.
At that moment, a messenger came sprinting to the doorway, dropped to one knee, and shouted:
“Report! Sir — the Qinghui Sect’s base at West Tang Crossing has been raided. But the prisoners all took poison and died. There are no survivors!”
The moment fell on everyone — not just Qu Hanxing and Mo Juntian, but Xiao Man as well — like a stone into still water.
A silence, almost eerie in quality, followed. Then the officer in charge of the imperial guard let out a furious shout: “Idiots!”
The messenger, having no idea what he had done wrong, looked genuinely bewildered.
“So that’s why they said it wasn’t the only base — there was one at West Tang Crossing too,” Mo Juntian said, coming back to himself, sounding rueful.
“‘Too?’ You know about another base?” The officer turned on them immediately.
Xiao Man raised his eyes. His manner, compared to before, had shifted slightly: “Jinshi Street.”
“Is this true?”
“Absolutely.”
The officer’s attitude dropped its loftiness and disdain and became measured, respectful. He made a “please” gesture toward Xiao Man. “Would you be so good as to lead the way.”
This time they rode in the imperial guard’s vehicles. Xiao Man had already studied the map carefully, and when they reached Jinshi Street, he located the position quickly.
The result was —
“They’re gone.”
On a street thick with filth and stagnant water, the imperial guard formed a perimeter keeping away the clusters of curious onlookers trying to peer in. The buildings here were thrown up haphazardly; the outer walls were black with grime, seemingly unwashed for years untold.
Xiao Man swept his gaze across the surroundings and let it settle on the stone building currently being searched. He said two words, quietly.
“Gone” was understating it.
The room held nothing beyond the bare necessities for living — not a single scrap of anything incriminating had been left behind. Even the traces had been wiped clean.
The officer inside could still be heard ordering his subordinates to search carefully for any overlooked evidence, his voice sharp with anger, audible even from outside.
Qu Hanxing came out of the building shaking his head, and gave a contemptuous snort. “That’s the caliber of person they put in charge of the imperial guard?”
“Even I — someone who has barely read any military texts — know that you don’t make your move until you’ve worked out how many dens the enemy has!” Shi Tang rolled her eyes. “Look at it now — you’ve startled the snake before it left the grass!”
“This might even push the Qinghui Sect to act ahead of schedule,” Mo Juntian said with a quiet sigh.
“How does someone this incompetent end up leading the imperial guard?” Shi Tang looked skyward in despair.
“Because the capital has been trouble-free for many years, and there is a city-protecting formation in place. Unless someone at the Taiqing Saint Realm appears in person, it poses no real threat.” Yan Wushu materialized somewhere on the street — no one had seen him arrive — and on hearing their conversation, gave a quiet laugh.
“This is the person you sent us to?” Xiao Man said it flatly, making no effort to soften the criticism.
Yan Wushu was momentarily at a loss for words. After quite a while, he touched his nose and said: “I did not anticipate that this particular imperial guard commander would be quite so remarkably stupid.”
Xiao Man didn’t spare him a glance. He took the map from his Qiankun ring and unfolded it.
The red point was still there, moving steadily.
“Are we following it?” The others crowded their heads close and asked in low voices.
“The imperial guard must know things we don’t. Let’s get it out of them first — then follow.” Xiao Man said.