In the early hours of the morning, just before the break of dawn, a passing patrol had noticed that a patch of snow was disturbed— scattered and crushed down and dyed crimson with blood. At first, they’d thought that it was simply the place where some predator had caught its prey, but due to recent events, the patrol leader insisted that they take a closer look.

The scuffed and bloodied patch of snow led over the edge of the cliff and down a slope— and at the end of the trail, broken and battered from the fall, was the body of a young woman. The patrol retrieved the body, and hurried to Baiyu Palace’s courtyard, but it seemed that they hadn’t been able to avoid being seen. Before long, news had spread through Baidong Mountain, shock and alarm igniting like wildfire. The body was identified as Yang Anxiang’s, and the location where it was found was just below Baiyu Palace’s back courtyard. Because she had been known to be extremely enamored with the late clan leader, and had been devastated by his death, it was quickly deemed that she had committed suicide in a fit of madness and grief.

Then, Qin Wenying’s wife, Ning Xuemin, realized that one of her maids had also vanished in the night, failing to show up to her duties that morning. Baiyu Palace was searched, but there was no sign of the girl— she had vanished into thin air, just like the assassin had.

It was widely known that, in the months leading up to his death, Qin Wenying had favored Yang Anxiang quite heavily. Thus, as soon as there was any slightly reasonable cause, suspicion was immediately cast upon Ning Xuemin— clearly, she must have gotten jealous of the younger, prettier girl who had captured her husband’s attention. But then, why wait to get rid of her until after Qin Wenying was already dead?

Well… why did jealous women do anything they did? It wasn’t as if there had to be a logical explanation.

At least, that’s what the rumors said.

As Ning Feiyun relayed all this information to Song Mingzhen in a low whisper, Song Mingzhen could hardly believe it. The rumors themselves sounded preposterous enough, even without knowing what he knew— nonetheless, Ning Xuemin was being watched closely by several guards, and her brother looked to be at a loss for words. No doubt Ning Jianlin wanted desperately to believe his sister’s innocence, but he also had a duty to investigate any and all suspicious persons. Whatever the rumors said, with all that had been happening lately, this incident couldn’t simply be passed off as mere infighting.

Song Mingzhen’s head was spinning. Based on what he knew about Yang Anxiang and the contents of her final note of warning, there really was something more sinister to it. But was Ning Xuemin really the one to blame?

What would she have to gain from something like this? Even if she did have something to gain, then why would she stay here where she was inevitably going to be scrutinized?

Ning Xuemin… Song Mingzhen knew very little about her, but even now when all the suspicion was on her head, she kept it raised high, proud and unruffled— unlike her adoptive nephew, who carried the weight of suspicion like great stones on his back, bent over and beaten down. Though, Song Mingzhen had to admit that there was something about Ning Xuemin’s posture that reminded him a little of the way Ning Feiyun had carried himself during his visit to Jieyun Hall. A bit of cold arrogance, the edge of defiance, knowing the opinions of others but standing tall despite it…

Well, Ning Xuemin was much better at it than her nephew was, at least. She didn’t seem like she’d be cowed so easily.

Regardless of her resolve, though, this didn’t look good for the Ning family. There was already the trouble with Ning Feiyun’s reputation, and now his father’s sister was wrapped up in it too— it seemed as though the misfortune that plagued the region’s cultivation clans was only continuing to spread. Still, with Qin Rui being so young and Ning Jianlin in such an established position… Song Mingzhen doubted that anything truly devastating would come of it.

Come to think of it, Song Mingzhen wondered if Ning Feiyun’s unfortunate reputation had something to do with why the speculation and theorizing against Ning Xuemin had taken off so quickly. They might not be related by blood, but as family members they’d surely be associated with one another, at least to some degree.

Song Mingzhen glanced around the room— as expected, most people were especially avoiding this corner, and one or two even cast a suspicious glance in Ning Feiyun’s direction.

Before, he’d thought that Ning Feiyun’s reputation in Yinshan wasn’t too bad. Now, though, when so many unfortunate things kept happening, there would no doubt be need of a convenient scapegoat to set their minds at ease— a known enemy was always better than an unknown threat.

Pressing his lips tightly together for a moment, Song Mingzhen turned to his companion.

“Are you needed here?” he asked.

Ning Feiyun shook his head.

Half on impulse, half premeditated, he reached out and took hold of Ning Feiyun’s sleeve, giving it a small tug. “Then let’s go outside. We won’t get anything done in here, and since your father is dealing with this mess it’ll probably be a while until he summons us for other matters.”

Initially, Ning Feiyun seemed surprised, but he went along with Song Mingzhen anyway, and the two of them exited Baiyu Palace.

Once outside, Song Mingzhen filled his lungs with a deep breath of the cold winter air, letting it suffuse his entire body in a refreshing chill. The atmosphere in there was stifling. He’d felt that at any moment someone might decide to turn around and start pointing fingers at him, Ning Feiyun, or perhaps even both of them together.

“Are there always so many terrible things happening here in Yinshan?” he asked, after they’d gotten a good distance down into the village on the mountain’s west slope.

“Not always,” Ning Feiyun shook his head, “Things have been peaceful enough until now. That is, since the war at least.”

How things were before the war went without saying— Qin Wenying’s father had been clan leader at the time, and under his leadership, which had lasted for a great many years, Yinshan’s cultivators had prospered— and by extension, so had the entire region. Song Mingzhen still had to wonder how a young rogue cultivator had managed to not only challenge a great person like that, but to actually kill him, leaving his son to take his place…

“What sort of person was Qin-zongzhu?” he asked, thoughtfully interlacing his fingers together behind his back.

Ning Feiyun did not answer immediately, and there was a flicker of something in his eyes that piqued Song Mingzhen’s interest. Oh? What was that?

“He was…” Ning Feiyun began, with a shaky sigh, “I must admit, he was not the best of leaders. Many thought that he was rather spoiled. He likely never thought he would have to become clan leader so soon, and that he could simply spend his days as he pleased, and thus didn’t prepare too much for the role. Even as clan leader, it seemed that he was still more interested in living in luxury and chasing after whatever pretty woman caught his eye. Since he ascended to the position, my father has been busier than ever.”

Ah… so that was why the Ning clan had become so proactive since the war— of course, it was also likely due to the thinned numbers. That also explained why most people seemed to simply be focused on the clan leader’s death, rather than the loss itself. If others thought like Ning Feiyun, then Qin Wenying probably hadn’t had much of his people’s approval— and if he really wasn’t the most competent leader, then his loss wouldn’t have been such a terrible blow.

“I see,” Song Mingzhen replied. Then, “Do you think that your aunt could have a role in any of this after all?”

Ning Feiyun hesitated again.

He shook his head. “Truthfully, I cannot say. We… were never particularly close. She’d already married by the time I was adopted, and I often wonder whether she even truly views me as her nephew— though I admit she is rather distant from my brothers and sister as well. But even if we aren’t close, I don’t think that she is the sort of person to stoop to this sort of thing out of jealousy.”

It could be more than jealousy… Song Mingzhen bit his lip, recalling how Yang Anxiang had been threatened by someone because of what she knew about Qin Wenying’s death.

“Has she ever had any connection to the Nameless?” he asked.

“No,” Ning Feiyun answered with certainty this time, “In fact, she particularly detests rogue cultivators. I am quite certain she wouldn’t have freed Qiu Wei, even if she did resent Qin-zongzhu deeply enough to murder him.”

This was all confusing. It had seemed so certain that freeing the Second General was the main goal, but now with the missing Zhiming Mirror and the death of Yang Anxiang, things were all muddled up again.

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“I think… she must have simply killed herself,” Ning Feiyun continued, “With everything that has happened, people are quick to think that every strange event is part of some larger scheme, but that girl was truly enamored with Qin-zongzhu.”

Song Mingzhen wasn’t sure whether to respond truthfully, or to agree with him. Yang Anxiang had asked that what she told him be kept a secret… and if it was known that he’d met her recently then he might get further roped into this mess that he’d really rather stay out of. At the same time, Yang Anxiang was dead now, and it was more than likely because of whatever information she had about the case— so there was no need to keep her secret to ensure her safety. Besides, the fact that she’d been threatened was fairly relevant to the present situation.

But in the end, she was already dead, and whatever information she had was gone with her.

After much deliberation, he decided not to bring it up just yet. Though he didn’t think Ning Feiyun was guilty in all this, he still didn’t fully trust him on the level of a close confidante.

It was more important to not get himself too tangled up in it. Yinshan’s politics… seemed far too messy for him to want to be involved any more than he had to be.

“Perhaps,” he said, “Though I don’t blame everyone for the suspicion. Circumstances are quite uneasy here, after all.”

Ning Feiyun hummed slightly in response, but didn’t say anything. Come to think of it, he was probably far more tired of all this than Song Mingzhen was, and far more personally invested. It wasn’t as though he could just go back home and avoid it if he wanted to— not that Song Mingzhen himself had any intention on deserting this mission. The stakes just weren’t quite as high for him.

Maybe it would be better to turn to a different topic of conversation— but as he thought about it, he realized he didn’t know what to talk about with Ning Feiyun that wouldn’t lead back to the present troubles. They hadn’t spent much time together, after all, and had never done so outside of a tense situation like this— at least, not that Song Mingzhen could remember.

And even those old memories might not be the best topic to bring up. Ning Feiyun had insisted that he didn’t hold a grudge… but Song Mingzhen couldn’t help but feel like the relationship between them hadn’t been too good.

So, with nothing for Song Mingzhen to talk about and with Ning Feiyun being the quiet sort himself, the two wandered in silence through the village and out onto the mountain trails, eventually finding their way to the back of the mountain. Here, Song Mingzhen couldn’t help but recall his midnight meeting with Yang Anxiang… how she’d acted so urgently, and yet in the end had hardly told him anything. Had she intended to before, but then gotten too afraid at the last moment? She went out of her way to contact him, to meet with him, and yet in the end nothing had come of it at all.

Something… just wasn’t adding up here.

But what?

Song Mingzhen felt a headache coming on, and reached up to press it out, exhaling deeply and watching his breath condense on the cold air. The snow was now well-trampled-over, any trace of footprints from that night long gone.

The only thing he’d learned from Yang Anxiang was that there was something more sinister going on than meets the eye— but that was something he’d known already. And now, the circumstances were worse than they thought, and they knew even less than before. Besides that there was the matter of his headaches, dizzy spells, strange nightmares and hallucinations—

It really was a mess, wasn’t it?

Right now, Song Mingzhen wished he could just shut his eyes, put it all out of his mind, and go back home to relax in his courtyard and practice the qin.

“…Song-gongzi?”

Ning Feiyun’s voice filtered in through the noise of his thoughts and brought him back to the present. Song Mingzhen realized he’d been massaging his brow for quite a while now, and his expression was twisted up a bit.

“Ah… it’s nothing.” He waved off Ning Feiyun’s concerns. “Also— we’re friends now, call me xiong.”

“… very well. If I might ask, are you feeling unwell?”

Song Mingzhen sighed. He shook his head. “Just a little worried. This is all quite stressful, you know, and now there’s still another problem added on top of everything else.”

“I understand,” Ning Feiyun agreed. “But… last night you left in a hurry. Your face was pale, and you were sweating. Are you quite certain you’re alright?”

Last night… oh, right. He’d run off after Ning Feiyun talked about the two Generals of the Nameless that he had known. How ridiculous, now that he thought of it— he’d had the chance to learn valuable information if he’d kept questioning Ning Feiyun about it. Instead, he’d panicked and collapsed after simply hearing the names of the two leaders of the group.

What was going on with him?

“Oh… it’s just the same old problem as before,” he replied, his voice wavering ever so slightly despite himself. “Truthfully, I’m not entirely sure why I reacted that way myself— but it’s better now.”

Ning Feiyun didn’t have anything to say to that, and the two lapsed into silence once more.

The sun rose high into the sky, golden rays reflecting off of the snowdrifts and turning the mountainside all to one great sheet of whiteness. This only made Song Mingzhen’s lingering headache worse than before.

Ning Feiyun turned away, heading into a copse of white pines before finding a large stone to sit on. The winter air was still cold despite the sun’s radiance, and he was bundled into a fur-ruffed cloak. When he sat down, the ruff of the cloak was raised up slightly to surround his chin and cheeks, making him look a bit like a little bird tucked inside a nest.

Song Mingzhen snorted quietly. This man, who had seemed so stiff, formal, and awkward, now seemed more like a lonely child, looking out over a world in which he did not fully know his place.

It was… something that Song Mingzhen could relate to himself. Though their circumstances were vastly different, he too knew the feeling of existing in a home and among a family that he felt disconnected from, regardless of their care and support. Carrying the weight of his past without any of the knowledge and familiarity that ought to come with it was rather difficult at times. Song Mingzhen did not know if he could really even be considered the same young prodigy, the hero of the War with the Nameless, if he couldn’t even remember being that person.

The reputation Ning Feiyun carried was more bitter than his own… but still, the disconnect itself was no doubt similar.

Song Mingzhen went over to join Ning Feiyun in sitting on the rock, nestling into his own cloak.

The quiet was both relaxing and unnerving. Since he arrived in Yinshan a few days ago, things had been happening one after the other— to simply sit down and wait here for awhile wasn’t too bad. At the same time, the fact that so many questions were left unanswered meant that they simply spun around in Song Mingzhen’s head, twisting themselves into theories each more wild and outlandish than the last, before those theories inevitably collapsed and left him exactly where he’d started.

He wondered if Ning Feiyun felt similarly.

Ning Feiyun was so quiet, keeping all of his thoughts so close to his chest and never sharing them. If you wanted to know his opinion, you’d have to practically pry it out of his mouth— and yet there it all was, bubbling and simmering beneath the surface of an expression that he couldn’t quite keep controlled.

Song Mingzhen wished he could know a little more about him— but he didn’t want to pry too much. That might give off the wrong impression.

So he just sat there, and Ning Feiyun sat there as well, hiding from the blinding reflection of the noonday sun in the small copse of trees, taking a brief respite before whatever the next great catastrophe would be.

For some reason, all of this felt oddly familiar, like a distant memory flickering to life, a candle flame in the back of his consciousness. The quiet companionship, the cold winter air and quiet mountain breeze, even Ning Feiyun’s own presence… if he shut his eyes, he could imagine a scene not too different from this one, but with the white pines replaced by gently-swaying stalks of bamboo, the bright sun covered by fluffy, white clouds that dipped down to kiss the mountaintops before rolling into the valleys, turning the mountain peak into an island of tranquility that was separated from the rest of the world.

Peace was something that wasn’t easy to come by, and there was something about moments of quiet like this that made it feel like he was suspended in a dream, and that the slightest movement, even breathing too loudly, would cause him to wake up.

When he opened his eyes again, he realized that he’d ended up lying down on his back, his face tilted up toward the sky. Through the lattice of branches above his head, he could see that a few clouds had drifted into place, mercifully toning down the sun’s reflective glare.

Next to him, Ning Feiyun sat, his dark eyes fixed immovably upon Song Mingzhen’s features— but when he noticed that Song Mingzhen had seen him, he quickly looked away.

Song Mingzhen pushed himself up, shaking out his hair and releasing a sound that was half sigh, half laugh. “What was that for, Ning-xiong?” he asked, “Were you watching me sleep?”

It was said in a light-hearted, teasing tone, but Ning Feiyun seemed thoroughly embarrassed that he’d been caught looking, and hunched down to disappear further into the ruff of his cloak, muttering something in response that Song Mingzhen couldn’t quite here.

“That’s alright, I don’t mind,” he added, “I wasn’t sleeping anyway— just thinking about something.”

A pleasant memory… was it something from his youth?

Try as he might, he couldn’t place it— but that was to be expected by now. A few times, he’d had similar experiences, when something had come to mind that felt like a memory. He’d grasped at it, trying to follow the thread to recover his missing past, but had always come up short. This time was no different than all the others— but the memory itself had been far more vivid. Even now, if he thought of it, he could envision himself on that island-like mountaintop, in some distant time before the troubles of his life began. He wondered if he would ever find that place again, whether in dreams or even in the real world. Perhaps if he did, he would know more about himself.

But that was a question for another time— now, a messenger from Baiyu Palace approached the pair where they rested in the copse of trees, telling them that Ning Jianlin wished to see them.

The crowd in the great hall had dissipated, leaving a quiet, empty place in its stead.

Song Mingzhen wasn’t even surprised when Ning Jianlin sighed heavily and stated that he had not been able to locate the Zhiming Mirror even through the means that had been set up to do just that. Nothing else had gone smoothly these past few days, so why should this?

“Then… what should we do?” he asked.

“The only thing that we can,” Ning Jianlin replied. “We must continue to keep quiet about this matter until we know more. I will send out the messages to the other clan leaders, so that they can also keep watch. Until word comes from Song-zongzhu, I would request that you continue to accompany Feiyun, and search the surrounding areas. The Second General should still be very weak now, and the mountains can be treacherous in the winter. Feiyun knows them well… we may still have some slight advantage for the moment.”

Ning Feiyun nodded. “Yes, Fuqin.”

So that was how it was, then— they were headed out into the mountains, with no clear direction and even fewer clues, racing against time and fate toward a foe they knew almost nothing about.

As they departed from Baiyu Palace yet again, Song Mingzhen tipped his head up toward the sky, releasing a long, exhausted sigh.

He was quickly beginning to grow tired of all of these tedious problems and unsolved mysteries. If only that dreamlike world in his distant memory could become reality, and reality could become the dream instead.