To travel from Dayuan’s Anfeng City to Yinshan’s Baidong Mountain, one would first follow the banks of the Heng River upstream, going westward until they reached Yinshan’s borders. From there, the terrain would gradually become rougher, and travelers would have to navigate the paths through the region’s mountains and valleys. For an ordinary person traveling on foot, the journey would take roughly a month if there were no incidents— but for a cultivator flying on a sword, the distance could be crossed in a matter of days or less, depending on how fast they could fly.

Song Mingzhen had been to Baidong Mountain at least once before, during the war. Because it was the most isolated of the great clans’ strongholds, the Nameless had launched their first all-out attack on the cultivation world there. During the attack, the Qin clan found that their defensive mechanisms had failed, and the Ning clan’s fighters were scattered throughout the region dealing with the rogue cultivators that had suddenly sprung up out of nowhere. Because of the close friendship between their families, Song Weicheng had sent Song Mingzhen with reinforcements to turn the tide of battle— and they had eventually beaten back the Nameless heretics, though not before the former Qin clan leader last his life.

Of course, Song Mingzhen couldn’t remember any of this for himself now, so he was glad to have a guide along with him to show him the route.

It was easy to skip past the twists and turns while flying. Instead of climbing into the mountains, the mountains rose up to meet them instead, growing nearer and nearer through a thin, intermittent layer of wispy clouds. A frigid wind was blowing. The mountains below were already laden with snow, and already more was threatening to fall from the heavy-bellied clouds above. Yinshan’s largest cities and towns were in the plains and foothills near the border. As one went further into the mountains, they would only find small villages perched precariously atop the ridges and tucked into the valleys, the homes of miners or herb-gatherers. Closer to Baidong Mountain, even these small villages became a rare sight.

Unlike Ruijian Pavilion’s central location, the Qin clan’s headquarters were located in the far western regions of Yinshan, several days’ travel on foot from the nearest town. There were multiple reasons for this— the first one being that within Baidong Mountain ran dense veins of spiritual ore, making it the best place in the region for cultivating and forging spiritual tools. Not only that, but if just anyone happened to stumble into the caves beneath the mountain, then they would be able to become a peak-stage Ningqi cultivator in a single step, so of course this resource had to be jealously guarded to keep it from being misused.

The second reason was because the greater portion of the Qin clan’s cultivators were toolmakers.

Two thousand years ago, the gods and immortals walked within the mundane world. They shared their power freely, and legends say that there were ceaseless wonders in that time— all manner of spiritual beasts roamed the earth, no more rare a sight than common animals, while mystical flowers and herbs sprouted in every garden. Spiritual qi flowed through the waters and sang on the wind, and almost anyone who sought the path of cultivation could find it with enough effort.

This era was one of boundless prosperity and beautiful, inconceivable to those living in modern times— but of course, there were some who fell prey to greed, who were not satisfied with the bounty that was freely shared among all, but instead wished to surpass the gods and hoard the world’s power for themselves. Their machinations plunged the world into darkness and strife, and though they were ultimately defeated, the time of prosperity had come to an end. The gods retreated to the highest heavens, beyond the reach of the world, and the immortals vanished to places unknown, never again to reveal themselves to mortals. The spiritual qi that flowed through the natural world became limited, and the entrance of the three thousand paths narrowed so that few could find it— and so the world became as it was today.

Those who sought to overturn the heavens, who had succeeded in reshaping the order of the world, had accomplished this through the aid of spiritual tools.

The five greatest among these first heretics became known as the Five Great Demonic Gods, and from their machinations originated all manner of demonic pestilence and corruption. Each one of them created and wielded a spiritual tool with unmatched power, and together, these tools were able to bend reality to their wielders’ whims. Though the Demonic Gods were originally mere mortals, with these tools in hand they held power equal to the gods. Only after a great and terrible struggle, where the sun did not shine for a hundred years, were they finally defeated and destroyed, with their remnants sealed beyond the boundaries of the world.

Fortunately, ordinary spiritual mechanisms could not compare to the tools possessed by the Demonic Gods. The power of the items crafted by the Qin clan was bound by the limit of their creator’s power— while they could convey certain advantages, they could no longer elevate their wielders to the heavens with a single touch. Nonetheless, that wasn’t to say that accidents wouldn’t occur. Out of all of the three thousand paths, the way of toolmaking was one of the most intricate and complex, and the materials were often volatile. If something were to go wrong, the consequences were not limited to one’s own body, but could also affect the surrounding regions— in some cases for centuries to follow.

If such an accident were to occur, it was best to limit the potential casualties. In an isolated location like this, the fallout could be contained more easily. Not to mention, the distance and the quiet allowed the Qin clan’s cultivators to work in peace, unbothered by the affairs of the mundane world— their seclusion rendering the Ning clan’s role as intermediary quite essential.

Three days after departing from Ruijian Pavilion, the travelers reached their destination. As they approached Baidong Mountain, Song Mingzhen perceived the security array that was set in a dome all around it. The air distorted into shimmering, silvery hues, branching out into a network of threads like lotus fibers, brightening here and nearly vanishing there with the ebb and flow of spiritual qi. When they entered the array, it was as though they had breached a cloud barrier. Song Mingzhen felt those spiritual threads parting and reshaping themselves. They wrapped around him as he passed through, enclosing him like mist as they resonated with his spiritual flow.

It only took a brief moment to pass through the array. Once they reached the other side, the hum of spiritual qi faded from Song Mingzhen’s senses and the clouds parted to reveal Baidong Mountain rising up before them. Because it was surrounded by mountains and hills, it did not immediately appear as tall as the Yantai Mountains of Dayuan which abruptly rose up from the flatlands, but in reality it was quite a bit taller. Clouds adorned the uppermost reaches, caught within the mountain’s jagged peaks. White banners hung from the external structures, white paper lanterns burning and casting a soft glow onto the snow-covered mountaintop. This place truly had an air of seclusion that was unmatched— though it didn’t seem to be particularly tranquil.

Song Mingzhen wondered if it would be different in ordinary times, and supposed that the sense of melancholy was most likely caused by the recent tragic events.

Before he could spend any more time taking in the view, though, he came to a sudden halt, the hair on the back of his neck prickling. To his left, there was a flash, and a beam of golden light rushed toward him. Without skipping a beat, another flash came from the right.

He reacted instantly, forming a hand seal and drawing up a protective barrier around himself and his travel companion. The poor messenger was caught entirely off-guard, letting out a cry of alarm.

The attack was not meant to harm them, though— instead, a net made of spun-gold threads wrapped around the outside of Song Mingzhen’s barrier, trapping them inside. Song Mingzhen’s spiritual sense was cut short and his consciousness was firmly rooted to his body, unable to reach past the golden net. This was one of Yinshan’s most well-known spiritual tools, one that was widely used throughout the cultivation world— the spirit-binding net!

“Ai! What have we done wrong?” The messenger yelped, his hands drawn up protectively close to his chest.

Just beyond the spirit-binding net, the air appeared to distort. Three of the Ning clan’s cultivators deactivated their concealment mechanisms, appearing one after the other as they surrounded the spirit-binding net’s hapless prisoners. The leader of the group drew near, and a surprised expression dawned upon his face as he got a close look at the people he had ensnared.

“Ah— it really is you. And this is…” he trailed off, looking Song Mingzhen up and down with a wary, confused expression. Then, all of a sudden, his eyes lit up with recognition. “Song-gongzi! My most sincere apologies for all of this— the watchtowers have been on high alert recently, and I didn’t quite recognize your spiritual imprint. We feared that this fellow might have gotten himself into some trouble…”

The messenger’s shoulders slumped, whether from relief or embarrassment Song Mingzhen couldn’t tell. Still, it was good to know that it had all been a misunderstanding. Once their identities had been confirmed, the cultivators began to remove the spirit-binding net, setting them free.

Baidong Mountain’s security array was extremely sophisticated, powered and run by many different mechanisms that had been placed all around the area’s perimeter. If an ordinary person without a spiritual sense were to wander into the barrier, they would be turned around and around until they ended up back where they started, oftentimes none the wiser as to what had happened, or perhaps a little bit dizzy and disoriented at most. Cultivators were unaffected by this enchantment, and could directly pass through the array— but as they did so, the nearby watchtowers would be notified, and a spiritual imprint of the intruders would be transmitted to the crystal reflecting basins located in each of them. When the guards stationed at the watchtower gazed into the basin with their spiritual sense, they would see both a the physical appearance of the one who passed the barrier, as well as their cultivation level and path. This way, they would be able to tell whether the intruder was friend or foe without even having to leave their posts.

When the array was operating properly, it would be extremely difficult for someone with nefarious purposes to get past, but it was not infallible. During the Nameless’ invasion of Baidong Mountain, the barrier had failed, leaving no warning of the attackers’ approach until it was too late. When Song Mingzhen had arrived with reinforcements, the barrier was still down, and it had long been suspected that the invaders had gotten help from inside, though the investigation turned up nothing and was ultimately dropped…

The situation was oddly similar to the one that Yinshan faced today.

Could the traitor who disabled the security array back then be the same one who had released the imprisoned general?

Song Mingzhen would have to consider this more later. He offered a congenial smile to the cultivators who had apprehended them, shaking off a few threads of the spirit-binding net that had fallen over his shoulders when he released his shield. “The confusion is entirely understandable— quite a lot has happened since my last visit, after all. Perhaps my spiritual imprint has changed a bit.”

There was no reason to hold this mishap against the guards— these fellows had just made an honest mistake out of concern for their stronghold’s security. While he couldn’t say that he had loved being caught in a spirit-binding net, at least the misunderstanding was quickly set right.

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“I suppose that may be possible,” the leader conceded. He still seemed a little confused about the situation, though. Yinshan’s cultivators put a lot of faith in their spiritual tools. They didn’t know how to react when one didn’t work the way it was expected to. “Please, allow us to escort you to Baiyu Palace. We must inform Ning-zongzhu of your arrival.”

Once the threads of the spirit-binding net had been fully cleared away, the group continued on in silence. Near the summit of Baidong Mountain was a large stone platform, jutting out from the mountainside. Tiles of ivory and silver were inlaid on its surface in subtle yet intricate patterns. On the far end of the platform, recessed into the stone mountainside, was a large set of doors decorated with masterful metalwork— the entrance to the Qin clan’s seat of power, Baiyu Palace.

The group landed on the platform, returning their swords to their scabbards. A moment after their arrival, the large door opened, and a tall man dressed in fine attire strode out to meet them, accompanied by a pair of halberd-wielding guards. He was a cultivator of roughly Song Mingzhen’s own level who carried himself with both confidence and elegance.

“Ning-zongzhu!” the messenger and the others saluted.

Ning Jianlin was broad-shouldered and sharp-featured, with a short beard. Though Ning Feiyun was not his son by blood, and for the most part they did not resemble one another at all, their eyes were the same— sharp and attentive, with a keen glint that could cut like a knife in the right circumstance. There was a warmth to Ning Jianlin’s demeanor, however, that he had not imparted to his third son.

“Song-gongzi, how fortunate that the rumors of your recovery were true,” he greeted his guest with a mild, pleasant expression on his face, “I suppose you have been sent here to aid us in our time of need once more.”

“That is correct,” Song Mingzhen replied, inclining his head slightly. “My father sends his regards.”

“And we are grateful for Song-zongzhu’s support.” Ning Jianlin dismissed the others and led Song Mingzhen inside Baiyu Palace.

Great pillars of stone and steel rose up to support the ceiling, with tapestries and banners hanging between. Song Mingzhen could easily imagine this as a lively place, filled with music, wine, and feasting. Now, though, the banners were all plain white silk and the hall was silent and empty. Song Mingzhen and Ning Jianlin were the only ones there, aside from the handful of guards stationed near the exits.

Ning Jianlin began to explain the current situation.

“Right now, my clan’s people are spread quite thin. The guard has been doubled everywhere on Baidong Mountain, and patrols throughout Yinshan had already been increased before this,” he said. “Qin Rui— that is, Qin-gongzi— is still in shock after his father’s death. Besides that, he is only twelve years old this year, and one can hardly expect such a young child to take on the leadership of a region. I’ve taken over managing Yinshan’s affairs for now. I have the assistance of my children, and that of the branch families, but our numbers are still not what they were before the war.”

They made their way up to the front of Baiyu Palace’s main hall. As they walked, crystal lanterns mounted on the great stone pillars flared to life, glowing with a warm light that was indistinguishable from the sun’s.

“My youngest son is the one responsible for capturing the fugitive,” Ning Jianlin continued. “I believe the two of you are already acquainted?”

Song Mingzhen nodded his head. “We are. He visited Ruijian Pavilion not too long ago.”

“Good. You have already had many dealings with the Generals of the Nameless, so I am sure that your experience will be invaluable. Feiyun is out right now conducting a preliminary search and investigation, but he should return within the next few days. If you would lend him your aid, it would be most appreciated.”

Ning Jianlin summoned one of Baiyu Palace’s servants, instructing him to take Song Mingzhen to a guest house where he could stay.

“I will send for you once Feiyun has returned,” he concluded, “Until then, you may rest and recover from your journey. If you wish to wander Baidong Mountain’s grounds, then you have may do so. I will tell the guards that you are not to be disturbed.”

Song Mingzhen was led out to a guest house a short distance down the slope from Baiyu Palace. The lodgings were comfortable and cozy, and there was a little porch off the side that overlooked the valley below. The clouds were more dense now than they had been earlier, and they were so close that Song Mingzhen thought he could reach out to touch them from the balcony. Within the house were smaller versions of Baiyu Palace’s crystal lamps, which turned on and off when Song Mingzhen tapped them.

He dismissed the servant, then took a moment to settle in.

His father’s predictions had been correct— Ning Jianlin currently held administrative power in Yinshan, and Ning Feiyun was the one carrying out the investigation.

The clan leader had spoken fondly of the young Qin Rui, and he seemed to be a forthright and sincere person. If there had been foul play involved, Song Mingzhen doubted that Ning Jianlin had had anything to do with it. The two clans had worked closely together for thousands of years, and Qin Wenying’s principal wife was Ning Jianlin’s own younger sister. It wasn’t only out of duty that Ning Jianlin was aiding the little Qin-gongzi— it was also because the boy was his nephew.

Song Mingzhen hoped that Ning Feiyun had nothing to do with all of this. It would truly be heartbreaking for the rest of his family.

He also felt quite a bit of sympathy for the little young master. Qin Rui would have been around five years old when the Nameless attacked Baidong Mountain. In his short life, he had already lost both father and grandfather, and now the ill-fated role of the head of his family hung over his own shoulders, ready to descend heavily upon him as soon as he came of age. Even Song Mingzhen had not faced so much responsibility as his age— but as he was now, he could understand the feeling of suddenly being thrust into a precarious situation.

After all, had he not rushed off to save Anfeng City almost immediately after he regained consciousness?

What a complicated situation all of this was…

He spent a little bit longer reflecting, then decided that he would go out to wander the mountain for awhile. The sun was setting, and a few snowflakes had begun to drift down from the heavy-bellied clouds. The air outside was shockingly cold— even though he was usually unaffected by the winter winds in the skies above Dayuan, Song Mingzhen had to don a fur-ruffed cloak before leaving his room.

Like most places he visited, there was an odd sense of familiarity to Baidong Mountain’s grounds. Though Song Mingzhen couldn’t remember it, he still felt that sense of having been here before. Stone paths wove up and down the slope between rocky crags, meandering between houses and workshops with narrow trails leading off here and there toward the countless caves and caverns that gave the mountain its name.

Ruijian Pavilion’s construction favored wide open spaces, where the Song clan’s cultivators could practice their swordsmanship or study with the soft breeze brushing the sweat from their brows. Baidong Mountain’s buildings, on the other hand, were fully enclosed— if not by the mountain itself, then by solid walls on either side. Some of the workshops didn’t seem to have any windows, but with the aid of the crystal lamps the Qin clan’s cultivators likely weren’t suffering from any lack of daylight. Song Mingzhen wondered if he might be able to take one of the lanterns back home. It could be quite useful for those times he woke up in the middle of the night.

The paths were completely empty. Song Mingzhen didn’t see anyone else the entire time he spent wandering the mountain, aside from the occasional patrol. Between the shock of recent events and the frigid temperatures, it wasn’t surprising. Most people probably wanted to stay safely tucked away in their homes until the storms blew over.

As the sky darkened to a deep indigo, Song Mingzhen decided to return to his room and get some rest. On the way back up the slope, he tilted his head toward the sky, letting the snowflakes drift down to land on his cheeks. He wouldn’t be able to find anything useful tonight. No matter how he thought about it, everything seemed to be obscured beneath the snow.

A flicker of movement far above caught his eye. On the roof of one of Baiyu Palace’s outlying structures, a small figure stood gazing out into the gathering snowstorm. He was wrapped in a white cloak, the fabric rippling in the gradually-quickening wind. There was an intense melancholy and loneliness to the sight.

This must be Qin Rui.

Song Mingzhen reflexively glanced around to make sure no one was watching, then leapt up toward the solitary young master. He landed a short distance away, close enough to call out but far enough away that Qin Rui didn’t notice him just yet. He wasn’t sure what sort of relationship the boy had had with his father, but there was at least a small chance that he might have some suspicions as to how it all happened. Song Mingzhen didn’t intend on forcing the boy to recall painful memories— but perhaps by offering conversation and companionship, Qin Rui would open up just enough for Song Mingzhen to find out what he may or may not know. Even if he knew nothing at all, there wouldn’t be any drawback to initiating a good relationship with the young future clan leader.

“Qin-gongzi, it’s quite cold out— shouldn’t you go inside?” he called out.

Qin Rui startled, spinning around to stare at Song Mingzhen with wide eyes, like a cat that had been caught stealing food from the kitchen. He was wrapped up tightly from head to toe in his cloak, his cheeks rosy and his nose red from the cold. He was visibly shivering.

“Ah…” he murmured, still seeming quite wary. “Have we met, Xianshi?”

Song Mingzhen shook his head. “No, I don’t believe so,” he said— even if they had, he didn’t remember it, and Qin Rui would have probably been too small to remember either. “My father was close with yours— I’ve come to help out a little.”

“Oh! You must be Song-gongzi,” Qin Rui sighed in relief, his breath like a puff of smoke in the cold air. “I will go in soon.”

He’d probably been scared when a strange cultivator had approached him out of nowhere, given the current circumstances. Now, though, that tension was gone, and his fear was replaced with listlessness.

Song Mingzhen approached the boy, frowning. “Do you often come out here alone?”

Qin Rui shrugged his shoulders, then crouched down and wrapped his arms around his knees. He returned to gazing out toward the mountain array. The air was thick with clouds now, and even the nearest mountain peaks were obscured. There really wasn’t much of a view to speak of, but the boy was still transfixed by the hazy grey-white scenery. “A-Niang says I shouldn’t… but I don’t want to stay inside,” he said.

“Mn. You must have quite a lot to think about right now.” Song Mingzhen nodded understandingly. “Still, at least there are many here who wish to help you, like your mother. There’s no need for you to shoulder the burden alone. Ning-zongzhu and his children also want to help— and I do as well.”

For a moment, Qin Rui didn’t respond. Then, he quietly said, “I suppose so.” Another pause, and then, “Thank you.”

Song Mingzhen let him sit in silence for awhile longer. It didn’t seem like any of the people he’d mentioned elicited any sort of unusual response. Rather, Qin Rui just seemed a little doubtful and depressed overall. He didn’t seem to be hiding any secrets— unless he was surprisingly good at doing so for his age.

Instead, he just seemed like a lost and lonely boy.

Maybe later on, Song Mingzhen would ask him more directly about the events leading up to the day of the assassination. For now, though, he didn’t want to push the grieving boy too hard. He already had enough on his mind.

Song Mingzhen sighed, looking up toward the sky again and watching the snow fall. “Well— the reason I’m here is to make sure that everything that can be resolved is resolved quickly,” he said, trying to take a reassuring tone. “Your father’s killer will be brought to justice. For now… the wind is picking up. You ought to listen to your mother and go back inside so you don’t fall ill.”

After a bit more gentle prodding, Qin Rui climbed down from the roof and went back inside Baiyu Palace. Song Mingzhen then returned to his own room.

There hadn’t been much to glean from wandering around the mountain, and after talking to Qin Rui he felt more depressed than anything else. He would just have to wait until Ning Feiyun returned to find out anything more. He hoped to determine the third young master’s innocence or lack thereof as quickly as possible— the less time wasted, the better.

A small crystal lantern illuminated the path to Song Mingzhen’s room. Night had fully descended, and the snow was now coming down fast enough that a soft, shimmering sound could be heard as it fell. Song Mingzhen felt a little uneasy, knowing that somewhere out there was a powerful escaped heretic who had gotten away with murdering a clan leader. Just like the attack on Anfeng City, it had happened all at once, and the culprits had vanished without a trace, followed by a period of complete silence. The crimes themselves were completely different, but the way they were carried out was eerily similar.

The more Song Mingzhen thought about it, the more he was convinced that they had to be connected some way. He just didn’t have enough information to figure out how yet.

He pushed open the door to his room, then stopped short before crossing the threshold. Something was amiss. He swept his consciousness through the space and didn’t notice any sign of an intruder. Then, he glanced down.

On the floor was a small, folded piece of paper that seemed to have been slipped beneath the door. Song Mingzhen bent down, gingerly picking it up and unfolding it.

At first, it seemed to simply be blank, but after he had been holding it for a moment, a message written in disappearing ink slowly began to appear.

Come to the back of the mountain at zi-shi tonight. There are important matters to discuss.