Song Mingzhen had been pacing back and forth across the floor of his guest house ever since he returned. His mind was whirling with ten thousand questions. The rogue cultivators had been caught, but all that came of that was more confusion, more uncertainty. That prickling sense of unease at the back of his neck that had plagued him since his arrival was stronger than ever.
Though the case would no doubt be considered closed now, the matter over and done with, the perpetrators caught and punished, he had a feeling that all of this was far from over.
At least where he was concerned.
He knew that he ought to go see Yan’er, to find out if what Ning Zhifeng was saying was true.
The thought of doing so, though, made him feel nearly paralyzed with fear— the willpower to overcome which would be equal to willingly plunging one’s own hand into a blazing furnace.
He recalled the moment those glistening crimson blades burst from his body. Up until now, every step has been a struggle— whether cultivation, swordsmanship, or interpersonal interaction, none of it had come easily. He had assumed it was simply a side effect of his injuries, long recovery, and memory loss. In that moment, though, releasing the crimson blades had taken no effort whatsoever, and they reacted to him as if on a single thought.
Not only that… but he felt as though he had used this power countless times before.
It was all rather frightening.
He hardly dared to think of the implications. If he were to find the traces of that weapon upon Yan’er’s wounds, then there were only two possibilities— one, that he had used the power of one of the great demonic tools to cut down his foe, or the other…
Song Mingzhen’s head snapped to the side, and he almost felt as though he’d been struck.
No.
There was no other option.
More than anything right now, he wished to just leave all of this behind and return to Ruijian Pavilion. He wished to get back to the life he’d begun to make for himself, the routine he’d set up and the hobbies he’d begun to dabble in. Questions of strange powers and blurry, uncertain identity be damned— he just wanted to put it all out of his mind.
No matter how much he might want that, though, he knew that the these questions would continue to haunt him until he found the answer.
It was just that… he wasn’t quite ready to confront it. Each time he made his way toward the door, his steps recoiled involuntarily, his legs refusing to carry him back toward the mountain prison. Pacing across the floor of his room was doing little good either. Eventually, he told himself that he would simply be going outside to have a walk, a bit of fresh air. With that intention in mind, he was able to cross the threshold.
The trampled-down snow crunched beneath his feet. Late afternoon sun set it aglow in a rosy golden hue, reflecting off snow and structures alike. In the sky above and around, clouds rolled by in the brisk breeze, which ruffled Song Mingzhen’s hair and clothes as he gazed across the landscape and took in a long, slow, steadying breath.
He hadn’t been in Yinshan that long, and yet… it felt as though everything had changed.
If it turned out that Ning Zhifeng’s theory was true after all, how would he be able to go home and face his father? Or did Song Weicheng already know all of this?
Song Mingzhen doubted it. Surely, his father wouldn’t have kept something so important from him, especially before sending him out on a mission like this.
He closed his eyes briefly as his breath condensed into plumes of steam in the cold air.
Either way, he needed to find out the truth about all of this first. As much as his mind screamed at him to turn away, to not look for answers, he knew he wouldn’t be able to move on with his life until he had them.
Strengthening his resolve, he headed to the back of the mountain— but before he could reach the entrance to the spirit caves, a small figure clad in white caught his eye. It was the Qin clan’s young master, Qin Rui. He was seated in lotus position atop the stone where Song Mingzhen and Ning Feiyun had sat a few days ago, before departing on their search through the mountains. The boy’s brow was furrowed, his expression a bit troubled. It appeared as though he were trying to meditate, but having some difficulty.
Song Mingzhen vaguely recalled meeting the boy on the day he first arrived here. He’d already seemed serious beyond his years, and in this case too he was diligently practicing his cultivation. He didn’t have much of a spiritual aura, though— Song Mingzhen wondered whether he’d even managed to open his spiritual eye. Fortunately, as the heir to one of the great clans, he would no doubt receive every bit of support and resources he needed for success in both life and cultivation.
Once more, Song Mingzhen thought of Yan’er, the girl who had seen her family slaughtered before her eyes, whose only dream was vengeance in their name. She was just a little older than Qin Rui, but her skills were already quite good… vengeance really could be a powerful, though volatile, motivator. Would Qin Rui now also be driven by such things, after his father’s death?
And what of those youths he’d left behind in Anfeng City, whose potential posed a danger to them, while it would be praised in someone like Qin Rui?
Song Mingzhen hadn’t thought about them much since he left for Yinshan. It was no use worrying, after all, especially when he had so many questions and uncertainties facing himself here. He only hoped that the talismans he’d given them were doing their job, keeping their blossoming talent hidden from the eyes of those who might wish to see it wither away.
How the circumstances of one’s birth could define every aspect of their life… whether the cultivation world or mortal society, it was all just the same. He shook his head, reaching up to rub at his temples. Must things truly be this way?
It seemed he had lingered here too long. Qin Rui had noticed his presence, opening his eyes and climbing down from the rock to greet him.
The boy was out here alone, without even any servants or companions with him… just as he’d been up on the roof that night. He must be the sort to seek out solitude, Song Mingzhen thought. He returned the greeting and glanced back toward the city.
“Qin-gongzi is alone,” he noted. “I suppose you came out here without notifying anyone?”
With all that had happened recently, even though Ning Zhifeng was already imprisoned, Song Mingzhen doubted that the young master would have been permitted to visit the back of the mountain without even a single guard to keep watch.
Qin Rui glanced down toward his feet. “It’s difficult to focus when others are around,” he said. “I can’t make much progress that way.”
“You’re still young, there’s plenty of time. It will still be a few years before you are old enough to become clan leader,” Song Mingzhen replied. “Even though the evildoers have been caught, it still isn’t good to be out here unaccompanied.”
The boy seemed a little conflicted, glancing up toward Song Mingzhen, then back down. It was as if he wanted to say something, yet still felt too unsure. Song Mingzhen placed a hand upon his shoulder and guided him back toward the stone, then sat down next to him.
“You seem troubled. Cultivation ought to be approached from a place of calm and stability. First, clear your mind and settle yourself,” he advised, “then, it may become easier to allow heaven and earth to flow through you.”
Qin Rui nodded his head, though he didn’t seem any less troubled than before. Song Mingzhen just sat there next to him, waiting quietly until the boy was ready to speak.
“My father didn’t usually have time to teach me.”
There it was.
“Is that so?” Song Mingzhen asked, inclining his head to one side.
“He was busy a lot… or doing something else. He said the same thing, that I would have plenty of time, and that I should just go out and enjoy my youth,” Qin Rui continued, sighing as he bent over, resting his chin in his hands. “Now… he isn’t here at all.”
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Song Mingzhen didn’t know exactly how to answer this— after all, he’d never been in this sort of situation himself. Though he couldn’t remember it now, his father had personally taught him and guided him to success at a young age. Still… at least now he had a bit of insight into the kind of person Qin Wenying was…
Not that it truly mattered anymore. The questions he had now were far more personal than the ones he had arrived with.
“Qin-gongzi hardly needs to worry,” he replied, trying to sound both cheerful and understanding but ultimately coming across a little flat. “There are many people who will help you should you need it— your uncle, for example, and your mother as well.”
“A-Rui!”
As though speaking of her had summoned her, Song Mingzhen glanced up to see the tall figure of Ning Xuemin approaching through the trees. She was a bit more relaxed than before, but still carried herself with a cool elegance that perfectly matched the snow-covered landscape.
“There you are— ah, Song-gongzi is here as well.” She inclined her head slightly upon seeing him. “Forgive me if A-Rui caused any trouble. He has a tendency to wander.”
“I’ve noticed,” Song Mingzhen replied. “It’s no trouble, though. I simply happened to cross paths with Qin-gongzi during my own wanderings.”
Ning Xuemin sent the boy back to Baiyu Palace, accompanied by the servant she had brought with her, then glanced at Song Mingzhen. “I assume he was attempting to cultivate?”
Song Mingzhen nodded his head. “Indeed. Qin-furen ought to be pleased with his diligence.”
“It’s certainly better than his father’s mindset,” Ning Xuemin replied with a sigh.
“Ah… I don’t mean to pry,” Song Mingzhen began— it was a lie, of course, he very much did intend to pry— “but Qin-gongzi mentioned that his father did not teach him very often.”
Ning Xuemin glanced at him, seeming to weigh her words in her mind for a moment. “It’s no secret in Baidong Mountain that my late husband and I did not get along well. Our marriage was arranged when there was some unrest between our families, in order to strengthen the bonds between the two clans. Of course… my husband put it off as long as he reasonably could, and even after we were married he had little interest in starting a family. After Baidong Mountain was attacked during the war and he became clan leader, I thought that he might change for A-Rui’s sake.”
She shook her head, glancing out across the cloud-capped mountains beyond the cliff’s edge.
“He was at Baiyu Palace more often than before, but… he still placed too great of an importance upon those mortal pleasures he was so fond of.”
Song Mingzhen held back a bit of a snort. She was restraining herself, but… there was a note of bitterness in her voice that gave away more than her words did. “Do you mean… that Yang-xiaoniang?”
Ning Xuemin didn’t respond, but her expression shifted a bit.
While it wasn’t unheard of by any means, it wasn’t particularly common for the leaders of the great cultivation clans to take concubines, unless it were a matter of securing a line of inheritance. After all, clan leaders were the ones best positioned to ascend to the immortal realm— as such, it was better to have few ties to the mortal world. Especially in Yang Anxiang’s case, everything pointed to Qin Wenying’s taking her into his house for no purpose other than passion. Between what Ning Xuemin, Ning Feiyun, and Qin Rui had said… not to mention the lack of a backlash from his death, it seemed that Qin Wenying was someone who chased his own pleasures, rather than following convention and practicing cultivation.
It was no wonder, really, that Ning Xuemin had fallen under suspicion after his and Yang Anxiang’s deaths. Song Mingzhen himself wondered if she might have had a hand in it… especially since he wasn’t quite confident that the matter was resolved with Ning Zhifeng’s capture.
“Even now, I don’t understand Yang-xiaoniang’s intentions,” Ning Xuemin finally spoke up, shaking her head. “My husband… he was often the one chasing others, yet this time, she was chasing him. Even though her reputation wasn’t that good, and I and others advised him against it, he ignored that advice.”
“Her reputation?” Song Mingzhen frowned. He’d noticed that people didn’t speak much about Yang Anxiang, even after her death— but he hadn’t thought to ask why.
“It was said that she had once been involved with the Nameless,” Ning Xuemin replied, lowering her voice to a whisper. “My husband hardly seemed to care. She captured his interest in a single night, and became his concubine not long after. He paid quite a lot of attention to her for these past few years…”
Song Mingzhen’s breath caught in his throat, his eyes going wide. He swallowed hard. “Yang Anxiang… was involved with the Nameless?” he asked, desperately trying to restrain his shock. “In what way?”
Ning Xuemin glanced this way and that. “I can’t say anything with certainty— but there were rumors. She disappeared for awhile, shortly before the war, only to return to her family’s home after it ended. The Yang clan denied it publicly, of course, but many thought that she was among those young cultivators from prominent families that went off to join the uprising during the early days of the war. Of course… it matters little now.”
On the contrary, it actually mattered quite a lot. Song Mingzhen had thought it strange that she’d had him visit her, warning him of secrets and threats, and then ended up dead within a matter of days. He’d wondered how these things were connected— but if Yang Anxiang had a history with the Nameless, then… she might have been even more deeply embroiled in it than he thought. He remembered the way that Ning Zhifeng had been silenced. Was he threatened in the same way that she had been?
He wasn’t about to bring this up to Ning Xuemin, though. He’d not spoken to anyone of his meeting Yang Anxiang, nor did he particularly want to mention what had happened with Ning Zhifeng. All of this was far too confusing… he’d rather know more about it before bringing it up.
“I see,” he replied, nodding his head. “It was only a rumor, then.”
“I worried that she had approached my husband with ill intent,” Ning Xuemin admitted, “but in the end… she followed him into the underworld. Perhaps that silly girl truly had fallen in love…” She shook her head, then glanced up. “Ah… I’ve already taken up too much of your time. I won’t trouble you any further, Song-gongzi.”
The way she spoke, it sounded as though she found it difficult to believe that anyone would actually fall in love with Qin Wenying. Her opinion of her husband must truly be quite bad, for even her veiled comments to be so uncomplimentary of him. Though she likely wasn’t the only one with that opinion. Few that Song Mingzhen had met showed anything more than perfunctory grief toward Qin Wenying’s death, and fewer had anything good to say about him.
He was beginning to think that Yinshan might even be better off now, with Ning Jianlin managing its affairs.
Idly, he wondered just how many others thought the same.
Ning Xuemin returned to Baiyu Palace, leaving Song Mingzhen standing amid the grove of trees, mulling over what he’d just learned. Yet another puzzle, yet another thread he couldn’t quite place. He wondered whether there was more to learn from Ning Zhifeng… whether he knew something about Yang Anxiang, whether he was truly the one behind this, or whether they had both been tangled up in some wider plan. If that was the case… if there was even a slight possibility of that…
Then he ought to at least tell Ning Feiyun about it.
As if on cue, Ning Feiyun himself came walking up the path from the spirit caves. He was walking rather briskly, his head down, a stormy expression on his brow. Song Mingzhen recalled the way he had hurried away from the prison earlier. Ning Feiyun was just now returning. What had he been up to?
Song Mingzhen felt a little bit anxious, but brushed that feeling aside and hurried down the path to meet up with Ning Feiyun. Yes… he really should have mentioned all of this sooner, but it’s better now than never.
“Ning-xiong,” he called out, falling into step beside Ning Feiyun. “There is something I need to tell you.”
Ning Feiyun, though, put up a hand to silence him. “Not now.”
His voice was cold as ice, stiff and unyielding as stone. Song Mingzhen’s eyes widened and he took a step back, momentarily stunned. What… was this? He’d thought that he and Ning Feiyun were actually getting along lately, now he seems more upset than ever. “Is there… something wrong?” he asked, then bit his lip. “Have I offended you in some way?”
He didn’t get an answer immediately. Ning Feiyun’s jaw was tightly clenched, and he refused to look Song Mingzhen in the eye. He was clearly upset by something, but Song Mingzhen had no idea what it could be… had he gone in to interrogate Ning Zhifeng? Had the defector told him all of the things he’d told Song Mingzhen?
No… that didn’t make any sense. Ning Zhifeng had asked to speak to him alone, after all. So… what had happened?
Ning Feiyun, though, wasn’t going to give him an answer. He simply sighed and shook his head. “No,” he answered, “You’ve done nothing wrong. I’m only… a bit tired, and my injuries have yet to heal. I’m going to rest— you ought to do the same. You seemed rather distressed earlier.”
With that, he simply continued onward without another word, head down, brow furrowed.
Song Mingzhen stayed where he was, watching him go with confusion written all over his face.
Was that… really all this was?
He was worried now.
Without Ning Feiyun, though, he wouldn’t be able to gain entry to the mountain prison, so there really wasn’t much more for him to do. After standing there for a little while longer, he began to feel the chill of the winter air, and returned once more to his guest house.
As he crossed the threshold, he felt a creeping sensation, as though he were being watched— but a sweep of the house with his senses revealed nothing out of the ordinary. He paced the floor again for awhile, then picked up a mirror and gazed into it. His face seemed a bit thin and pale, and there were dark patches beneath his eyes. He turned his head one way, then the other. No matter how he looked at it, he could only just recognize himself. Though he knew that the face looking back at him was his own, he still had to reach up to touch his own cheek to be sure.
It was all so uncanny.
Every day brought more questions than answers, and though he’d picked up countless threads, they still remained a tangled, confusing mess.
He flopped down onto the bed, shutting his eyes and sighing heavily. That headache was coming back again, throbbing behind his eyes. He couldn’t go a single day without it flaring up again. Even if he did go to see Yan’er, would he find any answers? Or just more questions?
Question after question after question…
He groaned, kneading at his brow with the heels of his hands. It wasn’t as though he could just forget all these questions and move on. He was at the center of all these tangled threads, unable to escape until the mysteries were unraveled.
It was exhausting.
Right now, he just wanted to sleep. He wondered if he would’ve been better off just staying unconscious… all these things started happening just as soon as he woke up, after all.
Surely, things hadn’t been this confusing before, had they?
As he lay there turning these things over and over in his mind, he heard a faint rustling noise near the door. Immediately, he sat bolt upright and got to his feet— just in time to see a folded piece of paper slip under his door.