Chapter 39#
Splitting Cloud and Sky#
But in the very next breath, Shèn Juàn’s manner shifted. “Though I should say — it has likely sustained some damage. It will need to be repaired before you can use it.”
A trace of uncertainty crossed Xiao Man’s face. He could not quite determine why this person was willing to help him. Shèn Juàn caught the look, gave a languid smile, and continued of his own accord: “If you cannot enter the palace yourself, you can have Little Yan go.”
“Little Yan?” Xiao Man had a guess, but wasn’t certain enough to commit to it.
“Yan Wushu,” Shèn Juàn confirmed, then turned his gaze back toward the distant palace. “The implement is in the palace building at the northwest corner. When you see it, you’ll know it at once.”
The surprise in Xiao Man’s eyes deepened into something closer to shock. Yan Wushu’s cultivation was at the Great Perfection of the Taixuan Upper Realm. To call someone of that standing — one of the finest cultivators on the entire Xuantian Continent, let alone within Gushan — by the diminutive Little Yan suggested a seniority of considerable depth. Xiao Man’s sense of who this person might be was beginning to take shape. He asked quietly: “May I ask the Senior’s name?”
The man made no effort to conceal it, and answered with a smile: “Shèn — given name Juàn.”
“Is Senior Shèn from Gushan?” Xiao Man asked.
This time Shèn Juàn did not answer directly. He only said: “Before long, we will meet again.”
He had arrived without a sound and left the same way; beyond his name and one piece of guidance, he left nothing behind. Xiao Man searched his memory carefully for the name “Shèn Juàn” and found nothing.
He gazed for a moment at the imperial palace sitting on the central axis of the capital, then glanced up at the crescent moon, stepped down from the pavilion, and headed back with his new information.
Yan Wushu was not at the inn, but finding him didn’t take Xiao Man much effort. He passed along what Shèn Juàn had told him — that there might be a magical implement in the northwest palace building that could deal with the Dān’ěr. Yan Wushu listened, and one eyebrow rose. “Where did you hear this?”
“A passing senior told me,” Xiao Man said.
“A passing senior.” Yan Wushu repeated the phrase, finding the whole thing altogether strange.
He had not grown up inside the palace, but he did know the northwest building — it was nothing but a cold palace, fallen out of use. What magical implement could possibly be in a cold palace?
Xiao Man thought it over, then said: “He told me his name was Shèn Juàn. Do you know who that is?”
Now it was Yan Wushu’s turn to look genuinely surprised.
“He really said that?” Yan Wushu tapped his folding fan rapidly with his fingers, his eyes fixed on Xiao Man.
“Why would I lie to you?” Xiao Man said.
Yan Wushu clicked his tongue, then gave a quiet, amused sound. “Little Phoenix — this is what they call a windfall.”
Xiao Man had read his answer in the tone. He looked at Yan Wushu steadily. “You know him.”
“What is our sect leader’s surname?” Yan Wushu put a question back to Xiao Man.
“…Shèn!” Xiao Man’s gaze dropped — then shot back up, a light kindling in his eyes.
“According to the stories, it was that founding patriarch who brought our sect leader back to Gushan.” Yan Wushu couldn’t help marveling at it. “For that patriarch to come to the capital — the capital’s fortune runs deep.”
Then he swept his sleeve. “Come. I’ll take you into the palace.”
Xiao Man didn’t move. He stood where he was and asked: “I’m allowed to come?”
Yan Wushu gave a low laugh, teasing him. “I can see it written in both your eyes — you want to go.”
“At this hour of the night — can we actually get in?” Xiao Man asked.
“Nothing can stop me,” Yan Wushu said, unconcerned. He reached out, drew Xiao Man in, and swept upward into the sky, moving toward the palace at speed.
They were almost level with the crescent moon. Xiao Man looked sideways at Yan Wushu and asked, with an expression that defied easy description: “So we’re breaking into the imperial palace?”
“Correct.” Yan Wushu nodded, smiling. After a moment, he added: “Thrilling, isn’t it?”
Xiao Man: “…”
He truly did not know what to do with this person.
The imperial city was protected by formations, and the palace within it by defenses still more layered and strict. Yan Wushu carried Xiao Man over the heads of a patrol of palace guards; a blocking formation flared up below — but Yan Wushu flicked two fingers at it and it broke. The guards below were alerted, but before they could give chase, Yan Wushu and Xiao Man had already vanished from sight.
In a matter of moments, the two of them arrived at the cold palace in the northwest. It had been uninhabited for years; the courtyard was overgrown with weeds, broken here and there by clusters of wild chrysanthemums blooming in unabashed abundance.
Shèn Juàn had said that when they saw the implement, they would know it. Xiao Man followed Yan Wushu fewer than ten steps into the abandoned palace — and spotted an… impressively unusual hammer.
The thing was about the length of a forearm. Its head was slightly bulbous, the surface rough and uneven, with spirit-stones set into each indentation — all of which had long since lost their spiritual energy. The grip at the bottom had several curved bends in it that gave it a distinctly contorted appearance.
“Calling this a magical implement is generous — it’s more accurately described as a blunt instrument. That senior was rather understating things. ‘Some damage’ is an understatement — it’s more than half destroyed. Repairing this properly would take considerable effort. An ordinary artificer would need perhaps ten days to half a month before it could be used again.”
Yan Wushu picked up the hammer, and immediately a scattering of small fragments of indeterminate material fell from its surface; when he gave it the slightest shake, the hammerhead nearly separated entirely.
Xiao Man lifted the other end and examined it carefully. “Traces of fine craftsmanship are still visible. The material is among the finest of the finest. But—”
But it was genuinely in terrible condition.
“What do we do?” Xiao Man asked Yan Wushu.
Yan Wushu gave a one-word answer: “Repair it.”
“You just said it would take ten days to half a month,” Xiao Man said.
“That’s an ordinary artificer’s timeline,” Yan Wushu said, unhurried.
“And your approach?” Xiao Man’s gaze moved from the hammer to him, curious.
“I’ll need to have a proper look first,” Yan Wushu said.
Xiao Man let go of the hammer and stepped up onto the roof, leaving Yan Wushu below to examine it undisturbed.
Yan Wushu wandered around the weed-filled courtyard, passing the hammer from his left hand to his right and back again. At last, he climbed up to the rooftop as well, sat down beside Xiao Man, and cast a technique to make the hammer float in the air before them.
He fell into deep thought. Xiao Man scanned the palace grounds, confirmed there was no one else within earshot, and said quietly:
“There is something I can’t quite make sense of. This is a vast imperial city about to host the greatest festival it sees in ten years, with visitors from across the realm. Why is the commander responsible for its safety so… remarkably incompetent?”
Yan Wushu looked up and stood, coming to stand shoulder to shoulder with Xiao Man in the wind. “Little Phoenix — what is your impression of this city?”
Xiao Man considered. “Most of the common people live well.”
Yan Wushu smiled at that — but the smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. “The imperial guard and the palace garrison are the same. Born into wealth, riding inherited titles and family rank to collect impressive-sounding posts — very few of them have ever seen a real battlefield. Of course they lack foresight.”
“And the Astronomical Bureau?” Xiao Man’s brow creased slightly. “I’ve been reading a great deal of history these past days. The Bureau is supposed to be responsible for cultivators entering the city. Yet they identified Xin Wo Ren’s infiltration and didn’t move to stop him or respond. Their passivity seems extreme.”
“That’s a different story.” Yan Wushu turned, and the hammer drifting beside him turned with him, pointing out toward beyond the palace walls. “Look at the capital again, Little Phoenix.”
Xiao Man had not been in the capital long enough to see past its comfortable, well-fed surface. “I’ll need you to say it plainly,” he told Yan Wushu.
“The capital has no ley lines. It has wealth and population in abundance, but spirit-qi is thin.” Yan Wushu spoke slowly. “The cultivators with spiritual roots and talent and ambition — do you think they’re content to stay here?”
He answered his own question: “Of course not. Cultivation means walking against the will of heaven. Even those who don’t expect to ascend still aim to rise, to grow stronger. The capital doesn’t offer those conditions. So most of the people in the Astronomical Bureau are half-measures.”
This had a logic to it. Xiao Man nodded — but was immediately followed by a new concern, or rather, a worry he couldn’t quite shake: “Then how are they going to deal with Xin Wo Ren?”
“The Bureau may be worth nothing, but the Emperor keeps a useful hound at his side. When the threat reaches the Emperor himself, that hound will move.” Yan Wushu said.
Xiao Man gave a quiet “mm” and let his gaze settle on the heart of the palace — the Qianyuan Hall, heavily guarded.
Yan Wushu touched the hammer with one finger, sent it spinning gently, and followed Xiao Man’s eyes. “You still have more questions.”
“I do.” Xiao Man made no effort to deny it. “Is the festival truly that important?”
“Of course it is.” Yan Wushu smiled, but the smile was thin. “To the common people, it’s a joyous occasion. To the Emperor, it’s a display of might before the entire Xuantian Continent. To some officials, it’s an opportunity to profit and accrue advantages. To others…”
His voice dropped: “If the festival goes wrong, wouldn’t that make a perfect pretext for starting a war?”
Xiao Man listened, and felt something settle in his chest like a blockage — not quite rising, not quite falling, extraordinarily uncomfortable.
“The human heart is truly a treacherous thing,” he said at last.
Yan Wushu lowered his eyes. “And that is why this imperial city is no place to linger.”
There was nothing more to be gained by dwelling on it. Xiao Man let it go and turned to a more pressing question: “Do you have a sense yet of what to do with this implement?”
The words had barely left him when the great doors of Qianyuan Hall swung open, and a eunuch walked out — glanced toward the cold palace where they were standing — and made his way briskly in their direction.
The Emperor had sent someone.
Yan Wushu put the hammer away into his Qiankun ring.
The eunuch was not the same one who had previously admitted Yan Wushu to Qianyuan Hall. He had some cultivation background; his realm was not high, but his footwork was quick — in less time than it takes to drink half a cup of tea, he had arrived at the cold palace and bowed toward Yan Wushu on the rooftop: “Second Prince.”
“Speak,” said Yan Wushu.
The eunuch glanced at Xiao Man at his side.
Yan Wushu gave a light, measured laugh. “No hemming and hawing.”
The eunuch opened his mouth: “His Majesty requests that Your Highness move to drive out Xin Wo Ren.”
“I’m busy. No time.” Yan Wushu declined without hesitation.
But the eunuch said: “In the whole of the capital, only you have the ability to face Xin Wo Ren in battle.”
This was at odds with what Yan Wushu had said earlier. Xiao Man looked at him sideways. Yan Wushu first raised an eyebrow, then asked in an even tone:
“Is Old Hong dead?”
The eunuch’s lips rose and brow creased simultaneously, producing an expression of extraordinary complexity.
Yan Wushu read it clearly and couldn’t conceal his surprise: “Actually dead?”
“Which is why His Majesty requests Your Highness.” The eunuch bowed again toward Yan Wushu, a note of supplication entering his manner.
“…No wonder they sent me to kill the Blade Saint.” Yan Wushu looked away, murmuring to himself.
The eunuch stood in the courtyard and waited — and waited — and received no definitive answer. He called out: “Second Prince…”
Yan Wushu looked back at him, let his eyelids fall and rise, and asked pleasantly: “But why should I intervene? Swap the Blade Saint for Xin Wo Ren?”
The eunuch clearly knew a great deal; he looked conflicted, pressed his lips together, and said: “His Majesty says you may name a condition.”
“Including having him abdicate so I can take the throne?” Yan Wushu replied at once.
A pained smile crossed the eunuch’s face. “Second Prince, please don’t say such things — you’re putting this servant in an impossible position.”
“I’m joking,” Yan Wushu said lightly. “Any condition at all?”
“Not the one you just named. Not anything that endangers the imperial family. Not anything that diminishes the prestige of our great Cang Kingdom.” The eunuch recited the limits.
Yan Wushu said “understood” and accepted the task.
The eunuch’s face broke into a grateful smile. He bowed. “Thank you, Second Prince. This servant will go and report at once.” He then remembered something. “Your Highness — the use of techniques is prohibited within the palace grounds. His Majesty was quite furious when he learned you had been here.”
Yan Wushu was unconcerned. Xiao Man watched the eunuch turn to leave, and spoke up to stop him: “Regarding the preparations the Qinghui Sect has made — what does your side intend to do about them?”
The eunuch turned around, first looked at Yan Wushu, and then answered Xiao Man: “That is a matter for the imperial guard and the Astronomical Bureau. This servant would not know.”
“If I could find a way to deal with the Qinghui Sect’s preparations as well,” Yan Wushu said, “what would His Majesty say to that?”
“This…” The eunuch’s expression went wide with surprise. “Please allow this servant to go and report back.”
Yan Wushu waved him off.
The abandoned palace fell quiet. Xiao Man found a perch on the roof ridge and sat down, asking as if in passing: “You’re going to kill the Blade Saint?”
“Mm.” Yan Wushu didn’t deny it.
Xiao Man didn’t follow up. He lowered his gaze, turned his prayer beads between his fingers, and began turning over his own calculations.
In his past life, he had sat in quiet cultivation in the mountains and paid little attention to the affairs of the world. He had no memory of whether the capital had held a festival of this kind, or how any trouble that arose had been resolved. But based on the situation now — if Yan Wushu hadn’t been in this city, if their group hadn’t become involved — wouldn’t the Qinghui Sect have had a very real chance of succeeding?
Perhaps not necessarily. Someone would always draw the errand of not hearing the bell, and come to the capital for Shi Tang’s sake. But he had no idea whether whoever that had been in his past life had discovered the currents running beneath the city — and whether they had done anything about it.
The more he turned it over, the more it seemed to become a loop with no exit, no answer to be found.
The silence stretched. Crickets began to sound in the overgrown grass. Yan Wushu, beside him, had waited for Xiao Man to ask why he was going — and when no question came, he found himself speaking of his own accord:
“You’re not going to ask me why I agreed?”
“You never let yourself be at a disadvantage in any transaction,” Xiao Man said, unhurried, without so much as raising an eyelid. “I assume you’ve reached some arrangement with the Emperor.”
For a moment, Yan Wushu found he had nothing to say. He was discovering that Xiao Man understood him, truly understood him — and that understanding, for some reason, made him want to tell him more things, not less.
But with a single sentence, Xiao Man had closed off every avenue. Yan Wushu wouldn’t stoop to prompting him, coaxing him, steering him toward more questions.
He crouched down, reached out, and pulled a single long grass blade from the crack between the roof tiles. He turned it between his fingers for a while, then said quietly: “It isn’t quite a transaction. It’s a promise I made, a long time ago, to someone I made it to in order to get out of this particular cage.”
Xiao Man said “mm.”
The eunuch went and came back at a brisk run, breathing hard when he appeared again in the courtyard and bowed toward Yan Wushu: “Second Prince — His Majesty says that if you resolve the matter of the Qinghui Sect, he will open the treasury and allow you to choose any one implement from it.”
“Consoling a beggar?” Yan Wushu said, his voice cold.
“Second Prince, please, please don’t say such things…” The eunuch went anxious — with Yan Wushu’s status, those words amounted to serious disrespect.
“Allow me to go back and ask again,” the eunuch added.
But before he had stepped out the door, someone else arrived.
It was the senior eunuch who had originally admitted Yan Wushu to Qianyuan Hall — expressionless as he bowed: “Second Prince. His Majesty sends word: if you resolve this matter, whatever you choose to do with the Zhāi Xīng Kè — he will no longer obstruct you.”
“…Now that is interesting.” Yan Wushu’s eyes curved into a quiet, unhurried smile. He glanced toward Qianyuan Hall, then said to the senior eunuch: “The imperial guard and the Astronomical Bureau are to continue working this matter — no stopping their investigation. And prepare several things for me.”
“Please name them.”
Yan Wushu listed several magical implements. Xiao Man recognized some of them — all ritual vessels of the highest grade. He had a growing sense of what Yan Wushu was planning.
When the two eunuchs had gone, Xiao Man turned to him: “You intend to elevate the hammer’s grade directly.”
“Precisely.” Yan Wushu smiled. “It’s simply too far gone. Repairing it from the outside would take too long. Better to let it repair itself.”
A magical implement that undergoes a grade elevation does indeed emerge renewed — but no one had ever tried feeding ritual vessels to a damaged implement. The idea was unlike anything Xiao Man had heard before. “I hope it works,” he could only say.
Yan Wushu took out the hammer and poked at it again. “It should work.”
Xiao Man did not undercut his confidence. While the two eunuchs were coming and going and there was time to spare, he stood up and walked along the roof ridge, raising something else: “You’re taking on Xin Wo Ren and also trying to deal with the Dān’ěr — isn’t the burden too heavy?”
“Naturally I won’t be doing everything by myself,” Yan Wushu said.
Which did not mean he was asking others to share the load — at least, not Xiao Man.
“Xin Wo Ren alone is formidable enough. He’s a half-saint who began in the Daoist path, moved to the Buddhist path, and then entered the devil path. You’re at the Great Perfection of the Taixuan Upper Realm — that’s a considerable gap. Can you truly handle him?” Xiao Man said, and couldn’t help rolling his eyes.
Which made Yan Wushu laugh softly. “Don’t worry so much. Focus on learning your dances — I’m genuinely looking forward to it.”
Xiao Man: “…”
Yan Wushu saw Xiao Man’s expression shift — a flicker of irritation — and quickly corrected: “Maintaining the peace of the common people is no small thing either.”
“So we maintain the appearance of peaceful celebration?” Xiao Man’s voice was cool — but the expression was gone in an instant, replaced by something more earnest: “The Qinghui Sect has murderous intentions toward me. When it comes to dealing with them — naturally that includes me.”
He paused, then added: “Everyone feels the same way.”
“You, my little Phoenix…” Yan Wushu heaved a resigned sigh. He studied Xiao Man for a long moment, then finally relented: “You truly want to be part of this?”
“I’ve been part of it from the beginning.” Xiao Man looked back at him steadily. “I was dragged in before I even knew what was happening.”
“Don’t act rashly,” Yan Wushu said.
“Of course not,” Xiao Man answered cleanly.
The Emperor had opened the treasury; the ritual vessels Yan Wushu requested arrived quickly. Neither he nor Xiao Man was willing to linger inside the palace walls any longer than necessary. They collected what they needed — the broken hammer included — and left.
Back to the inn, naturally. They traveled under stars and moon; Yan Wushu’s wind-riding was fast, and they arrived in no time.
The inn was dark throughout. When they pushed open the door of the small room at the far end of the west wing, they found a single lamp burning. Inside were Wei Chuyun and Shi Tang — Shi Tang curled up asleep under a blanket, Wei Chuyun sitting at the table with a book.
“Where’s Juntian?” Xiao Man asked, noticing.
“After hearing what we’d been through, the other fellows couldn’t keep still and went out to help look for the Dān’ěr’s location. Qu Shidi and Mo Shidi went with them.” Wei Chuyun said pleasantly. Then he noticed the figure behind Xiao Man, rose, and bowed — followed by a question: “You and Senior Wu…”
“We found a magical implement that should be able to deal with the Dān’ěr.” Xiao Man said.
“Thank you for your assistance, Senior Wu.” Wei Chuyun was visibly astonished, followed by evident relief — though a closer look at his eyes showed something faintly more complex beneath it.
Xiao Man’s gaze passed over him, then settled on the figure beyond the screen partition. “I’ll look after Shi Tang. Go get some rest.”
Wei Chuyun shook his head. “It’s all right. I find it easier to be still here.”
It was a slightly odd thing to say, but Xiao Man couldn’t think of an appropriate response and let it go.
Yan Wushu was still behind him. For some reason Xiao Man couldn’t name, he had always felt a subtle something in the air between Yan Wushu and Wei Chuyun.
Qu Hanxing’s manner toward Yan Wushu was the reverence, admiration, and easy warmth of a junior toward a venerable senior. Mo Juntian’s, after an initial brief curiosity, had settled into trust and respect. But Wei Chuyun… Xiao Man could never quite put his finger on it.
Probably the pressure of Yan Wushu’s cultivation realm weighing on a junior, he decided. He turned to send the man away — but before he could speak, he heard Yan Wushu say to Wei Chuyun: “Then you stay and keep watch over her.”
And then to Xiao Man: “Come with me.”
Xiao Man gave Yan Wushu a mildly puzzled look. Yan Wushu had already turned and walked outside.
In his current role — Xiao Man’s senior, the group’s guide — Yan Wushu’s instructions were nominally to be followed. Xiao Man exhaled quietly, unwilling as he was, and went.
Out in the courtyard, Yan Wushu produced a flying sword and pulled Xiao Man onto it.
The sword rose and reached the clouds in an instant. Xiao Man stood behind Yan Wushu, expression neutral. “What do you need me here for? I can’t help with repairing the implement.”
“Having you nearby,” Yan Wushu said, “makes it easier to be still.”
Xiao Man: “…”
He looked at Yan Wushu expressionlessly. “Shall I recite the Clarity Sutra for you?”
Yan Wushu turned around, seemingly let out a sigh, and said to Xiao Man: “Little Phoenix, you’re treating different people differently.”
“People are always treated differently,” Xiao Man answered placidly.
“You make tea for the others.”
“Everyone is working hard.”
“But you won’t make it for me.”
“…The most capable bear the greatest burdens.” Xiao Man fell silent for a stretch, ransacked his mind, and produced one complimentary phrase, tossing it at Yan Wushu. Then he changed the subject immediately: “Are you repairing the implement here?”
“Anywhere works, but this vantage point lets me see the whole capital. If Xin Wo Ren appears, I can act at once.” Yan Wushu said.
“The Lord of Radiant Light works hard,” Xiao Man said.
“Not at all. The most capable bear the greatest burdens.” Yan Wushu tossed the words right back.
“…”
Childish.
Xiao Man turned around. “I’m going back to the inn.”
Yan Wushu made no move to stop him at first — and then, just as Xiao Man reached the edge of the sword and was about to step off, he spoke: “You enjoy spending time with that young fellow surnamed Wei?”
“He and I are roughly the same age. He is my fellow disciple and my companion.” Xiao Man found the question puzzling.
“People the same age do have more to talk about — so is it that you find me old?” Yan Wushu’s tone was cool at the edges.
“…” Xiao Man genuinely did not know how to respond to that.
Because, in truth, he did find Yan Wushu somewhat trying. This man had changed somehow, somewhere along the way — had become sticky and clinging, like a piece of taffy, impossible to shake off no matter what.
Yan Wushu read Xiao Man’s face and clicked his tongue. “As I suspected — you do find me tiresome. And I’d imagine you’re half-tempted to kick me off this sword entirely.”
“Think what you like,” Xiao Man said, sweeping his sleeve.
In the end, Xiao Man did not leave.
As Yan Wushu had said, this vantage point offered an unobstructed view of the entire capital and the mountain ranges surrounding it on all sides. Xiao Man could see clearly — even from this distance — the Astronomical Bureau’s people busy on the waterways, with Qu Hanxing, Mo Juntian, and Qian San, Ma Wu, and Zhao Liu among them, helping search for where the Dān’ěr might be hidden. He could see Qu Hanxing’s face well enough to catch the frustration of finding nothing, round after round. It made him recall Qu Hanxing once lamenting that there was no magical implement in the world for finding other magical implements.
At his side, Yan Wushu had set up a ritual vessel formation. Using ritual vessels to refine a magical implement properly required specialized equipment — Yan Wushu bypassed this entirely, holding the formation aloft on his fingertips and channeling his own spirit-force into it, letting the ritual vessels rotate slowly around the implement at the center.
A soft luminescence turned and drifted; seen from a distance, it might have been a small constellation, unhurried in its orbit.
Xiao Man watched him for a while, then swept a drifting cloud away with his sleeve and turned his gaze to the horizon.
The search continued below.
The results were discouraging. By the time night gave way to dawn and the morning drum sounded, nothing had been found.
“That well hidden?” Xiao Man murmured.
He shifted slightly, changing a posture he had held for a long time — and at that moment, a message talisman flew to his face. Shi Tang’s voice came through it, faintly urgent:
“Senior Sister Qin is gathering us for float rehearsal again!”
Xiao Man’s expression barely changed. He had already read it in Senior Sister Qin’s manner last night. Infiltrating Sleeve Dance, helping Shi Tang — that too was part of this mission’s purpose. He looked at Yan Wushu. “I’m going.”
Yan Wushu’s attention was on the formation at his fingertips. He made a low sound of acknowledgment. Then, a moment later, he turned his head. “Don’t forget to rest.”
But Xiao Man was already gone, no trace of him remaining.
Sleeve Dance’s rehearsal stretched on again for a long while; Senior Sister Qin even had everyone wear their performance costumes. Xiao Man’s had been personally altered by Senior Sister Qin’s own people — the sleeves fitted close to the wrist, with a string of bells attached to his arm so that with every rise and fall of his hand, they rang out in a constant chime.
He had a great deal on his mind. The sound of the bells grated on him. He recited the Clarity Sutra silently to himself several times over, and it was only thanks to the concealment talisman paper that the others in Sleeve Dance didn’t notice his thoughts had drifted elsewhere entirely.
It was past noon before everyone finally went back to the inn to rest.
After the midday meal, Xiao Man went to check on Yan Wushu — to see how far the implement’s repair had progressed.
When he returned to the inn, the Astronomical Bureau and the imperial guard’s search had wound up for the time being, and the Gushan group had come back. Qu Hanxing, Qian San, Ma Wu, and Zhao Liu were all sprawled flat on their beds looking thoroughly half-dead; only Wei Chuyun sat at the table — though his color too left something to be desired.
“Did you find any leads?” Xiao Man asked.
Qu Hanxing shook his head. “Don’t ask.”
Someone sighed. Nobody seemed to know who.
“What happened, exactly?” Xiao Man turned to Wei Chuyun. Wei Chuyun had joined the search after Mo Juntian returned to the inn and went with Xiao Man and Shi Tang to the float rehearsal.
“They walked into a trap. The Astronomical Bureau lost a number of people,” Wei Chuyun said steadily.
“And the Qinghui Sect?”
“A number of their people died as well.”
Qian San began complaining: “The Astronomical Bureau’s people are genuinely useless.”
Ma Wu nudged him. “Don’t say that — we looked all night and all morning and didn’t find anything either. Makes us look equally useless.”
Xiao Man didn’t know how to offer comfort. He found a chair, sat down, and said: “So besides the trap — no other discoveries?”
“…That’s right.” Qu Hanxing replied without energy. “Maybe we shouldn’t have expected anything from the Astronomical Bureau in the first place.”
“Then let’s look at the map,” Xiao Man said quietly. “There’s still a lead here.”
The previous night on the flying sword, in addition to watching the search parties below, he had paid close attention to the movements of the red point on the map.
The important positions had been circled. Xiao Man tapped the map with his finger, then traced a line and stopped at a point. “He has moved around several times — but every time, he returns here.”
The people who had dragged themselves off their beds, along with Mo Juntian and Shi Tang, all showed a flicker of excitement.
Xiao Man shifted: “He is at the Guiyuan Realm. For any of us to capture him — or even to sneak close enough to investigate — would not be easy.”
“Baoyu Realm taking on Guiyuan Realm — that is a bit of a dream,” Qu Hanxing said dryly.
“It’s time to ask for help.” Qian San said it quietly, took out the jade pendant Gushan had issued for contact, and in a voice of the utmost respect and sincere entreaty, said:
“Senior Zhou.”
It did not take long before the Daoist surnamed Zhou appeared in the room. He had naturally heard their conversation; before they could even begin to ask, he said:
“Very well. I’ll help with this one.”
Then he added: “When you return — not a word of this to anyone.”
“Of course, of course.”
“Naturally, naturally.”
“Thank you so much, Senior Zhou!”
The group bowed and gave thanks from all directions.
“While I am out, that Senior Wu also has important matters to attend to. It would be best if you all stayed in the inn,” the Daoist advised them.
Everyone was quick to agree.
Senior Zhou dissolved into light and departed. Qu Hanxing stretched out his back and flopped down onto the bed again. “Let’s rest and recover first — wait for news before we move. The officials of this capital… they really can’t be relied on.”
“I’m going for a walk,” Xiao Man said.
Wei Chuyun immediately followed. “I’ll come with you.”
It was the small hours of the afternoon; the inn was quiet, with almost no one to be seen. Xiao Man and Wei Chuyun walked one behind the other through the courtyard. Wei Chuyun watched the figure ahead of him, pressed his lips slightly, hesitated, then asked:
“You and that… Senior Wu — you seem to know each other quite well?”
Xiao Man felt a faint surprise, and stopped walking to turn the question back on him: “What makes you say that?”
“He seems very good to you,” Wei Chuyun said.
“He is like that with everyone from Snow-Intent Peak,” Xiao Man said, with a light smile.
Wei Chuyun looked at him for a long moment, sensed that he was being somewhat evasive, and did not press further. Instead he changed course: “What implement did you find last night?”
“I don’t know its name, but in terms of appearance — it’s a hammer.” Xiao Man described it. “Badly damaged. Still being repaired.”
“That’s what Senior Wu is occupied with?”
“Mm.”
“If materials are lacking, tell me — I can have my family send them at once.” Wei Chuyun was serious about it.
“Understood.” Xiao Man nodded.
The two of them fell into silence. After a round of the courtyard, a thought surfaced in Xiao Man’s mind. He glanced sideways at Wei Chuyun: “Do you have thoughts of going to Snow-Intent Peak?”
Wei Chuyun’s expression shifted. After a moment, he said: “Still considering.”
“Snow-Intent Peak… is a good place,” Xiao Man said, weighing his words. “Not many rules. Quiet.”
The whole of the afternoon passed in waiting for word from Senior Zhou. Yan Wushu remained on the flying sword in the sky, waiting for the hammer to repair itself as its grade was elevated.
Night fell — soft and unhurried, swift and silent.
Only one day remained until the festival. The people of the capital were too impatient to wait any longer: stalls had opened all along the streets, performers were showing off their arts at every corner, lanterns hung so thick they might have been a sea, laughter and voices unceasing.
These sounds reached the ears of everyone in the inn, and in each of them, without exception, was a faint undercurrent of dread — a fear that at some unpredictable moment, whatever the Dān’ěr had absorbed in its hidden location would reach its limit and detonate, reducing the whole of the capital to rubble.
No one wanted to count how many hours were left, but they had to count. Every moment was precious.
Qu Hanxing drank an entire pot of tea alone, his expression frantic. “What if Senior Zhou hasn’t found anything either?”
“That can’t be right — our seniors from Gushan are a bit more reliable than the officials of this city?” Qian San said.
Shi Tang gave a long sigh, slumped back in her chair, arms draped to either side — this whole ordeal had stripped the well-bred reserve from a daughter of a good family: “The Qinghui Sect people are like earthworms that have burrowed all the way to the bottom.”
No sooner had she spoken than a Daoist figure stepped in out of the night. The lamplight illuminated his lightly greying beard; a thin sardonic smile curved his lips. “As you said — the Qinghui Sect buried the Dān’ěr underground. The cunning rabbit has three burrows. Took me quite some looking.”
He dropped the person he had been carrying by the scruff of the neck onto the floor. “Tell us everything you know. Otherwise — I will use the Soul-Searching technique on you.”
This was the very person who had been watching the inn that day. The Soul-Searching technique was terrifying; its victims often suffered lasting damage to their spirit-soul, their minds left dim and muddled. He scrambled to his knees, face crumpling, and begged at full volume: “Mercy — mercy, all of you great heroes, please show mercy! I’m only a lowly lackey!”
“A Guiyuan-Realm lackey,” Qu Hanxing said with a scoff.
Senior Zhou did not waste words on him. He raised a hand, formed a seal, and sent a technique into the kneeling figure.
It was not the Soul-Searching technique, but it was no small thing either. A cry of pain rang out immediately; the captured man was doubled over with it, crumpling to the ground and rolling:
“I’ll talk! I’ll talk! I’ll talk!”
Even his voice had gone hoarse, his eyes red. “We knew from the beginning that you would detect the anomaly in the river water. The upstream location was nothing but a decoy. The real place is beneath Mínghuā Qīngguó!”
“Mínghuā Qīngguó?”
Everyone startled at once.
Senior Zhou looked around the room. “Any other questions?”
Xiao Man stepped up to the man, his voice carrying a subtle weight: “How much sound can the Dān’ěr absorb?”
“That… I’m just a Guiyuan-Realm nobody — how would I know something like that?” The man bowed and pleaded.
Senior Zhou’s seal-form shifted instantaneously — and the next moment the man started shrieking:
“I’ll say it! I’ll say it! But this is only what I’ve heard — I can’t guarantee it’s accurate! When the festival reaches its final performance and someone mounts the stage of Mínghuā Qīngguó to perform — the crowd will erupt in cheers. When that sound is collected, the Dān’ěr will detonate!”
“How many of your people are guarding beneath Mínghuā Qīngguó?” Xiao Man asked.
“That goes without saying — of course there are.”
“How many? What are their realms?”
“I don’t know — I really don’t know that!” He shook his head frantically.
Senior Zhou’s hand shifted again; no matter how excruciating, no matter how anguished the cries, the answer remained the same.
“That’ll do. He’s no more use.” Senior Zhou gave the man an indifferent glance and said.
Gushan’s seniors had never been squeamish about using killing moves in front of their juniors. A sword appeared in his hand; it descended in one clean stroke. A head hit the floor. The sword trembled once, shaking off the blood, and he said: “Have someone come and clean this up.”
“Yes.” The junior disciples bowed. “Thank you, Senior Zhou.”
Shi Tang was huddled in a corner, hand over her eyes, unwilling to look at the blood on the floor, her voice faintly unsteady. “S-so… we need to deal with the Dān’ěr before anyone takes the stage at Mínghuā Qīngguó.”
“Meaning before the last performance of the festival,” Qu Hanxing said. He put his head in his hands and let out a strangled noise. “How are we supposed to deal with it!”
Xiao Man had not yet told anyone about what he and Yan Wushu had found the previous night. He had been worried the method would fail, and he didn’t want to raise everyone’s hopes only to dash them. He had been waiting for the hammer to be repaired first.
Yan Wushu came in at precisely that moment, glanced at the headless body on the floor, and said to Senior Zhou: “Thank you for your trouble, Old Zhou.”
Senior Zhou bowed properly. “You are too kind.”
“Is it repaired?” Xiao Man stood up and looked toward Yan Wushu.
“More or less.” Yan Wushu took out the hammer. Unlike the wreck they had found before, it was now smooth and unblemished, without a trace of imperfection; the spirit-stones set into it radiated a quiet light, genuinely beautiful.
Xiao Man told Qu Hanxing and the others: “This should be able to destroy the Dān’ěr.”
“Really?” Qu Hanxing came back to life, crowding in. “How do you use it?”
Yan Wushu considered briefly: “Hit it.”
“Then what are we waiting for — let’s go!” Qu Hanxing rubbed his palms together, a gleam in his eyes.
The whole room had found its footing again. Mo Juntian stepped forward. “Let’s not tell the Astronomical Bureau and the imperial guard — the last thing we need is those officials blundering in and ruining things.”
He had developed a particular contempt for those two bodies. Yan Wushu heard him and gave a quiet laugh: “Without them to clear the way, how are you going to get into Mínghuā Qīngguó?”
Qu Hanxing was still for half a breath. “Senior Wu has a point. I’ll notify Commander Chen at once.”
Yan Wushu handed the repaired hammer to Senior Zhou, and Xiao Man took a look at the sky outside. “Shi Tang — you stay here, with the Sleeve Dance troupe. Don’t be on your own for a moment.”
“Ah? I…” Shi Tang’s face fell, but she accepted the arrangement. “All right. I really can’t be of much help out there.”
Xiao Man removed his prayer beads and held them out to her. “My little deer is in here. If you’re in danger, it will protect you.”
“I understand. I’ll protect it too.” Shi Tang nodded.
Yan Wushu turned and walked out toward the courtyard. Wei Chuyun glanced at the item in Senior Zhou’s hands and asked: “Isn’t Senior Wu coming with us?”
“He’s keeping Xin Wo Ren in check,” Xiao Man answered quietly. Then he looked at Yan Wushu’s retreating back and asked: “Do you know where he is?”
“No.” Yan Wushu turned his head, answering with perfect equanimity. He watched the faint change that crossed Xiao Man’s face, smiled, and said: “I plan to call him out.”
How? Xiao Man wondered — but before he could form the thought into words, Yan Wushu stepped off the ground into open air, raised his right hand level, and brought two fingers together as if holding a sword.
One rise, one fall.
In the moment the wind held still, a cold light traveled to the horizon: sword-radiance.
A fierce sword-qi slammed into the magnificent stage called Mínghuā Qīngguó; the river water encircling it on all sides burst upward and scattered into the sky, transforming in an instant into rain that fell across the whole of the capital.
A single sword strike from the Great Perfection of the Taixuan Upper Realm — and in that moment, the intent of it filled the entire city.