When Song Mingzhen regained consciousness, he could not fully recall how he had ended up this way. Once more, he found himself floating amid a pit of black mire, flailing and grasping for the side until he could at last drag himself back to shore.

He opened his eyes.

His surroundings were dim, and it appeared to be sometime in the late afternoon. Just within his field of vision, he saw the shape of a hand resting on the ground before him. When he tried moving his own fingers, the fingers of that hand responded as well— though he could barely feel the connection, it seemed that the hand was, in fact, his own.

Song Mingzhen slowly pulled himself upright, his limbs feeling leaden and his lungs aching as if they had been filled with water and slowly emptied. There was a metallic, coppery scent in his nostrils, and the same taste on his tongue. A thin trickle of blood had dripped from his nose, staining his skin and the floor beneath him with dark spots of vermilion.

One, two, three… he shut his eyes, inhaling and exhaling. Then, he opened them again. He looked around, and saw that he was lying on the floor of his own room. There was nothing out of place, and no signs of a struggle. He still felt a little dizzy, and somewhat disconnected from his body, but other than that, his condition wasn’t too bad. It didn’t seem like he had been injured or attacked.

Had he fallen into qi deviation?

That was the most likely explanation for this, and it wouldn’t at all be surprising. Though his cultivation had mostly stabilized over the past few months, there was still a persistent feeling of unsettledness within him, no matter how hard he tried to smooth it over. It felt like he wasn’t at home in his own body, like the Dao within his heart failed to properly resonate with the Dao that he practiced.

Still, he had no idea how he ended up in this situation, here and now. The events leading up to the moment he woke up to himself lying on his floor were blurred together and hazy. He thought back to his last clear memory, following the trail up to the present.

He hadn’t spent any more time meditating than usual today, and certainly hadn’t entered into any kind of intense cultivation. He’d spent the day quite leisurely, as all of his days were spent since his recovery. This morning, he had gone to teach his sword lessons…

Ah, that was where things had changed— those two young students of his, the one with the exceptional spiritual root and the one with the innate spiritual sense. Song Mingzhen had been trying to address their situation.

One after another, the events fell into place. Spending time with them, handing them the concealment talismans, then departing for Ruijian Pavilion to enact his plan to have them brought into the Song clan… he had been on his way to discuss the matter with Song Weicheng when he began to feel ill. After that point, it all blurred together in a haze of pain, and then somehow, he had ended up back here, hours later, waking up on his floor.

Song Mingzhen felt more than a little unnerved by all of this. By now, he should have been stable enough not to fall into such lapses randomly, but he couldn’t pin down the exact cause of this either.

He got to his feet and made his way over to a small table against the wall, picking up a medicine bottle. He put a tightly-wrapped pill in his mouth, shuddering at the bitter taste as he swallowed it, then set the medicine bottle back down.

Suddenly, a chill ran down his spine. He recalled something from the moment before he lost consciousness.

Back then, he thought he had seen a mirror on this table— but now, there was only this medicine bottle and a stack of books. Neither was there any imprint in the thin layer of dust where another object may have been recently.

Had he just been seeing things?

That was certainly a possibility. After all, he had been in an unstable state during a lapse in his cultivation. It wasn’t uncommon for the mind to conjure up phantoms under such circumstances. Before he had fully woken up from his years of unconsciousness, he had suffered from endless hallucinations and senseless visions, all of them terribly ominous and feeling perfectly real in the moment. Now, he could hardly remember a single one. The incident with the mirror… it was most likely something similar.

Song Mingzhen took a shaky breath, leaning against the tables as he worked to quiet his nerves. Still feeling uneasy, he rummaged around his room a bit until he actually did find a mirror. After a moment of brief hesitation, he glanced into the polished surface.

There was nothing strange about his reflection whatsoever.

Dark honey-colored peach blossom eyes looked back at him, and there was a faint hint of rosiness dusted across his high cheekbones. His lips were pressed downward ever-so-slightly, and there was a slight furrow to his brow and a faint sheen of sweat on his skin which betrayed his current anxious state. He shut his eyes, then opened them once again. There was no change. This reflection had no will of its own, like the one he saw before passing out.

Song Mingzhen breathed a sigh of relief.

He reached up to adjust his guan, which had slipped off to the side a bit when he fell. He arranged a few loose strands of hair, then set down the mirror and rolled the stiffness out of his neck and shoulders. He couldn’t feel any further discomfort in his body, and his spiritual flow didn’t seem to have any disruptions either— at least, nothing new. The problems that were there didn’t seem to have gotten any worse, either.

There didn’t seem to be any reason for him to go see a physician, or to trouble his father with something like this— for now, he would just wait to see if anything more happened. It was probably just a small, one-time relapse, nothing more.

He’d just spent five years in a catatonic state, after all— there were bound to be some complications here and there.

It was just a little bit unfortunate that it had to happen now. He’d hoped to sort out the situation with Xiao-Lang and A-Ying as quickly as possible, so that the two of them could get settled into Ruijian Pavilion. Even if it may be unconventional to take orphan children off the streets and bring them into a cultivation clan, Song Mingzhen would be taking responsibility for them himself, so there shouldn’t be much of a problem. He had once led the entirety of Ruijian Pavilion’s cultivators, back during the war— clearly, there was plenty of trust placed in him, and someone who had commanded forces in battle would surely be able to handle a couple of small children.

Now, though, the sun had already begun to set, and Song Mingzhen hadn’t even discussed the matter with his father. Even if he got permission, he would probably need to wait until tomorrow to make the rest of the arrangements and bring the children up from the city.

Ah, well… there wasn’t much to be done about it.

He left his house and made his way back over to the main hall. This time, he only felt a little anxious. His throat was a bit tighter than usual, and his hands felt a bit clammy, fingertips chilled— but most of that was because of the fainting spell he had just suffered, and fear that it may happen again. Still, he made it to the main hall without issue and entered, breathing in the sweet fragrance of incense.

Song Weicheng was cloistered away in his study, and had asked not to be disturbed, so Song Mingzhen could only wait outside until he came out. As he waited, he shifted his weight from one foot to the other. He’d found himself quite impatient, ever since he woke up a few months ago— according to his personal servants, it was a new trait he had developed in his convalescence. To pass the time, he thought about how to best phrase his request, and decided that he would first breach the topic in a hypothetical sense. After all, there was still a chance it may be denied— and considering the laws against cultivation for the common people, it would probably be best not to paint a potential target on the back of those two young children.

Even Ning Feiyun had been adopted before the war— Song Mingzhen wouldn’t be surprised if things were more strict now. He would be remiss not to take that into account.

After what felt like an eternity, the door to the study opened, and Song Weicheng emerged. “Mingzhen,” he greeted his son, then a frown creased his expression. “You seem pale— what is troubling you?”

He approached, then reached out to feel Song Mingzhen’s pulse.

Song Mingzhen’s breath caught in his lungs for a moment, and he had to stop himself from flinching away from the sudden touch. “I— there is no real problem, Fuqin,” he insisted, “I only overextended myself a little. I’m quite well enough now.”

Of course, he should have expected that Song Weicheng would notice something was wrong. His father had been at his side all those years while he went between tossing and turning and lying deathly still— naturally, he would be in tune with every small tell regarding Song Mingzhen’s condition.

“Have you been taking your medicine?” he asked, meeting Song Mingzhen’s gaze with his own concerned one. “You’ve been doing well for quite some time now… what caused this sudden change?”

Song Mingzhen nodded. “I have been taking it. As for the cause… well, I don’t think it was anything specific. It seems I just hit a small snag in my recovery— but I don’t feel any discomfort now, so I think that the problem has resolved itself. There’s nothing to worry about.”

To be quite honest, Song Mingzhen had hoped the whole thing would go unnoticed— if Song Weicheng began worrying about his health, he might find it hard to bring up the more pressing matters on his mind. Song Weicheng had been adamant that he not stretch himself too thin. Now, it might be more difficult to convince him to allow Song Mingzhen to take disciples.

Fortunately, Song Weicheng didn’t press him further on the matter aside from a light admonishment to be more careful and to take better care of himself. “Do not forget, you are still recovering,” he said, his expression still heavily lined with concern. “But… it doesn’t seem as though that is what you came here to discuss. What is really troubling you, Mingzhen?”

Despite spending ample time preparing, Song Mingzhen found himself completely tongue-tied in this moment, a sudden surge of anxiety bubbling up from his gut. He bit the inside of his mouth, a little bit baffled as to how easily he could lose command over language in a situation like this when he didn’t seem to have any trouble with it in other circumstances. He’d never been this nervous around his father before. It wasn’t even that he was going to ask something ridiculous or unheard of— so why was he so worried about this?

He took a deep breath, then pushed past the mental blockade.

“I was contemplating something today,” he began. “After dismissing my students from the old courtyard, I began to consider the nature of cultivation— though I am only teaching them martial arts, the foundational techniques are the same as those used by cultivators. After all, the objective of attuning one’s body and mine is the same in both circumstances. If there were to be someone who possessed innate spiritual talents, could martial training alone be enough to unlock it?”

Hopefully, this came across as nothing more than a curiosity, a simple question.

Something like a shadow crossed over Song Weicheng’s features, ever so briefly— but before Song Mingzhen could blink, it was gone, replaced by an expression of thoughtfulness.

“It is possible,” Song Weicheng replied, “but it would be quite rare. Without proper instruction, one with sufficient aptitude may be able to eventually perceive the Dao… but they likely would not progress very far. Still, such a person could be rather troublesome— especially if they happened to fall into the wrong hands.”

Song Mingzhen inclined his head slightly, then nodded along. Good, the conversation seemed to be going well. “Indeed,” he said, “After all, there is the matter of those heretics who perpetrated the attack. If they have any intention on expanding their operations, then they will certainly be looking to recruit.”

“Of course, there are only a few people with such innate talents born into each generation,” Song Weicheng countered. “Even you, my son, with all of your talent, were not such a prodigy, and you certainly would have not reached such achievement were it not for your education. Even if one does possess an innate spiritual sense or root, they will not progress far without proper instruction and resources. Though one who possesses both of these qualities would certainly be a concern, it is rare enough already for them to appear on their own— let alone together in a single person.”

This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.

“I see,” Song Mingzhen replied. His father’s words made sense— to advance in the realms of cultivation, one must cultivate both spiritual sense and spiritual power together. Without having both, you wouldn’t get very far— like a seed planted in the ground but never watered, doomed to remain inert forever.

In the case of his young students, though, each of them was in possession of one of these rare talents— and by chance and coincidence, the two had ended up forming a close bond with one another. Song Mingzhen wondered if this situation may prove an exception to his father’s logic. Perhaps they would unwittingly help one another up, advancing high enough to run afoul of Ruijian Pavilion’s enforcement of the laws against rogue cultivators. Otherwise, they may find themselves drawn down dark channels into murky waters, only to be snapped up by those with no good intentions.

Those two were far too naive, and Song Mingzhen could see a flicker of ambition within them— if it was possible, then there was certainly a chance of it happening. In the end, he didn’t find himself reassured at all by his father’s words.

“I truly doubt you have much to worry about,” Song Weicheng continued. “There has only been one person in recent history who possessed such a high level of natural talent, someone with both an innate spiritual sense and an exceptional spiritual root…”

His gaze darkened once more, bitterness seeping into his features from narrowed eyes. Song Mingzhen was about to ask further, but before he could do so, Song Weicheng took a sharp breath, shaking his head.

“That person… he has already departed from this world.”

Song Mingzhen was at a loss for words, uncertain what to say next. Silence hung thick in the air like incense smoke as Song Weicheng stood for a moment, his gaze distant as though he were in deep reminiscence.

“But I suppose in times such as these, no potential threat— no matter how unlikely— ought to be be ignored,” he concluded, after awhile.

“I feel the same,” Song Mingzhen concurred, though he felt that treating this possibility as a threat outright may be a little too far. “I’ve been watching carefully, just to make certain nothing slips my notice. Still— in certain circumstances, I am of the mind that this wouldn’t be so much of a threat, but instead an asset. Wouldn’t it be good, if such individuals were found, to take them into Ruijian Pavilion?”

Song Weicheng turned abruptly to look at him. Song Mingzhen felt almost like he was being read like the pages of a book— why did that question make Song Weicheng seem so on edge? Surely he hadn’t said anything too suspicious or outlandish!

“Is that truly what Mingzhen thinks?” Song Weicheng asked. “And what if that person has already been recruited by our enemies? What if that person does not truly have innate talent at all, but has instead been trained by those heretics with the express purpose of infiltrating Ruijian Pavilion as a spy?”

“…”

Suddenly, Song Mingzhen understood what all of this was about. It wasn’t that Song Weicheng was suspicious of him, but rather, he was far more anxious about the recent events than he let on. Song Mingzhen almost felt like breathing a sigh of relief, but stopped himself. During the conversation, the atmosphere in the hall had slowly and steadily shifted, becoming a little colder, a little less welcoming. Though at the time Song Mingzhen had barely noticed, he had also become more and more tense. Now, the prickle of hairs on the back of his neck became irritatingly obvious.

Perhaps they were all more on edge than they thought they were. A long period of silence in the aftermath of a crisis could do that.

“I… had not considered that,” he said, lowering his head.

It seemed that now wasn’t the best time to press further on the subject. Song Weicheng was still far too worried about these things. Perhaps for now, Song Mingzhen should just continue to keep an eye on the children— he could bring it up once more after the current situation was resolved and the culprits apprehended. As long as Xiao-Lang and A-Ying wore the talismans he gave them, they should be just as safe as ever.

He would have to handle everything a bit more thoroughly later on.

“Is that all you wished to ask?” Song Weicheng pressed, still frowning.

“That was all,” Song Mingzhen confirmed, “It was just a thought I had earlier— I was only curious about it.”

“Mn. If you have any reservations about continuing this project of yours, Mingzhen, you may freely end it at any time.”

“Understood… Then, I will take my leave now,” Song Mingzhen replied.

Song Weicheng nodded, excusing him.

Before Song Mingzhen could make it out of the main hall, though, the door suddenly burst open. A messenger wearing the slate grey robes of Yinshan’s Ning clan rushed in, escorted by a pair of Ruijian Pavilion’s guards.

“Song-zongzhu! Song-gongzi! I have urgent news from Baidong Mountain!” the messenger cried out breathlessly, his face flushed with exertion.

Both father and son startled, and Song Weicheng rushed forward to meet the new arrival. “Speak!”

The messenger gasped for breath, his legs trembling slightly beneath him. Beneath the flush on his cheeks, his face was paper-white, and his expression was grave. “Qin-zongzhu… Qin-zongzhu has been murdered!”

The news struck like a bolt of lightning from the heavens. Song Weicheng’s face drained of color in an instant, and he reflexively gripped the hilt of his sword, knuckles turning white. “What?” he muttered, staring at the messenger in disbelief. “How… how can this be?”

There had been a long friendship between the Qin and Song clans. The current head of the Qin family, Qin Wenying, had only recently ascended to his seat following his father’s tragic death during the war. Now, hardly more than five years had passed, and Yinshan’s leadership had once again been overturned— truly, fortune had abandoned the Qin clan. Song Weicheng was older than Qin Wenying by over fifty years, and because of the close friendship between him and Qin Wenying’s father, he had seen the new clan leader as something like his nephew. The news of his sudden death left Song Weicheng shaken.

Song Mingzhen turned his attention to the messenger. Now, it was important to get more information. “Please, continue— how did this happen?”

The grey-clad young man lowered his head. “No one knows exactly how it happened, Song-gongzi. The clan leader’s body was found several days ago, already cold in his bed. His throat had been cut,” he said. “Nonetheless, we do know the culprit’s identity. Somehow, our highest-security prison was breached.”

His gaze darkened, clouds of hatred and fear mingling together within his eyes. Song Mingzhen recognized that sort of expression. It was the same one that he had seen his father wearing when discussing those great evil cultivators who had caused so much suffering during the war.

Song Weicheng looked up suddenly— and that same look was apparent in his own eyes now. “She escaped?!” he cried out. His face turned first red, then blue, then white with rage, and Song Mingzhen thought for a moment that he might actually reach out to shake the messenger by his collars.

“Fuqin— pardon me,” Song Mingzhen cut in, hoping to divert attention from the messenger, “What do you mean? Who has escaped?”

Song Weicheng grit his teeth, clenching and unclenching his fists inside his sleeves as he struggled to maintain composure. With some effort, he restrained his emotions and smoothed the sharpest edges from his expression. He exhaled, the end of his breath trembling like a reed in the wind.

“That demoness— the second of the Great Generals of the Nameless. She was being held in custody by the Qin clan,” he explained. Then, he turned back to the messenger. “How could this happen? Baidong Mountain’s prison is the most secure in the continent— even demons and monsters cannot escape, so how could one rogue cultivator slip away?”

“I… do not know, Song-zongzhu,” the messenger shook his head helplessly, “Somehow, she managed to break out.”

“Has she been caught?”

“Unfortunately… she was already long gone by the time the plot was discovered. Ning-zongzhu has already sent some of his clan’s scouts to search for her, and is planning a more extensive operation. As of three days ago, though… there has been no sign of her.”

Song Weicheng looked to be in a daze, his lips pressed together in a firm, thin line. Song Mingzhen looked back and forth between his father and the messenger, anxiously trying to piece together the information he’d gleaned from their conversation. He vaguely recalled hearing that some of the surviving members of the Nameless had been imprisoned, rather than executed, but he could not remember too many details clearly, as much of that wasn’t noted down in the records. If this person had managed to overpower a clan leader so easily… then she must be incredibly dangerous.

“Mingzhen,” Song Weicheng took a deep, shaky breath as he turned to his son. “Prepare to leave. Your younger brother is still occupied with Dayuan’s own affairs— so it must be you who is to go to Yinshan.”

He then summoned one of his attendants, instructing that the messenger from Yinshan be given a place to stay the night, to rest and recover from his travels. Once they had departed, only father and son remained in the hall. Song Weicheng once again addressed Song Mingzhen.

“Qin Wenying’s only son is not yet old enough to rule on his own,” he said, “So the one currently in power is Ning Jianlin. I do not doubt his motives or his loyalty— but the same cannot be said of his third son. Ning Jianlin refuses to listen to reason, and places quite a lot of trust in him, though. Because of his talent and ability, Ning Feiyun will almost certainly be tasked with leading the search for the fugitive. I am sure you understand, why this cannot be ideal.”

Song Mingzhen recalled their previous discussion about Yinshan’s politics, then his eyes widened. “Fuqin, you don’t believe that Ning Feiyun…” His voice trailed off before he could finish.

“… I cannot say for certain,” Song Weicheng shook his head, sighing heavily. “Nonetheless… the situation is very suspicious. It is unheard of for a prisoner to escape from Baidong Mountain, and that creature managed to do so without anyone knowing until after the fact— even taking down the clan leader on her way out. I believe that she cannot have accomplished this without help from inside. Ning Feiyun… he may be the one to blame, or he may not be, but he should not be so easily cleared from suspicion just because he has his father’s trust. I wish for you to go and assist him— and, if necessary, assist in bringing him to justice.”

“Very well,” Song Mingzhen agreed.

It wasn’t as though he could reasonably argue against it. The only responsibilities he had here were the sword lessons he was teaching— and Song Weicheng had already made it clear that those could be suspended at any time. He worried for Xiao-Lang and A-Ying, but he couldn’t use them as a reason to stay. Besides, there wasn’t much he could do for them right now anyway. Still, he felt a little uneasy leaving them behind, where he couldn’t check in to make sure they were staying out of trouble.

He’d just have to trust that the talismans would do their job. Besides, they’d already been on their own for awhile— barring any cultivation-related dangers, they should be able to manage just fine.

Not to mention the fact that, whether Song Weicheng’s suspicions had any truth to them or not, this incident nonetheless posed a great danger to the cultivation world— and to the mortal world as well. It wasn’t just any former member of the Nameless who had escaped, but the second-most powerful, the one who had been the closest companion of the Great General himself. After the war, she had been confined to the most secure prison in the continent because of how great a threat she posed— it was said that the only reason she wasn’t executed outright was because she possessed key information regarding the movements and operations of the rest of the Nameless and the associates.

Song Mingzhen couldn’t help but wonder why she was still alive now, long after the war had ended.

“The messenger from Yinshan will rest here overnight and return tomorrow. You must return with him,” Song Weicheng instructed. “I worry because of your condition, but there is little that can be done— if this is, in fact, the result of some wider plot, we must put a stop to it as quickly as possible. A suspect cannot be allowed to go here and there as he pleases, manipulating evidence and letting fugitives escape.”

“Understood,” Song Mingzhen replied, bowing his head.

“Go, then— make whatever preparations you require,” Song Weicheng dismissed him, and then Song Mingzhen departed from Jieyun Hall.

He sat in his courtyard for awhile, absently staring down at his reflection in the clear waters of the pool. A small corner of his mind continued to watch for any strange flickers as he mulled over the present crisis.

A clan leader murdered, a dangerous prisoner escaped, and the attack on Anfeng City… was it all connected somehow? Or perhaps it was just an ill-fated coincidence. Still, his father was right. It wasn’t something they could afford to turn a blind eye to— not when this incident could reignite the flames of war.

Song Mingzhen sighed, running his hands through his hair and twisting at the end of one of the long strands. It seemed like everything was set to go wrong today. Had he wished too hard for something that would break the uneasy stalemate?

Even if he had wanted something more to do, this wasn’t what he had in mind!

He still couldn’t stop thinking about Xiao-Lang and A-Ying, facing an uncertain fate that they had no idea lay before them. Now, he would have to leave them completely on their own while he traveled to another region.

Summoning Chengxiao from its sheath with a flick of his wrist, he leapt onto the blade and glided down toward the city. He landed lightly atop a roof, then swept his consciousness outward through the streets and alleyways until he pinpointed the faint trace of spiritual energy from his concealment talismans. Leaping from one roof to the next, he made his way toward it, finally landing in an alley a street or two away and then walking the rest of the way.

When the pair came into view, Xiao-Lang was counting up the coins in a small bowl, with A-Ying standing over his shoulder and watching. Song Mingzhen’s footsteps were soundless, and he had suppressed the greater part of his spiritual aura. A-Ying, of course, didn’t notice his approach, but as soon as he drew near, Xiao-Lang looked up, freezing in place like a rabbit that had just sensed a predator.

Song Mingzhen wondered how many times the boy’s spiritual sense had saved the two of them before.

As soon as Xiao-Lang saw who it was, though, the anxiety melted away from his small face and his shoulders slumped in relief. He scrambled up to his feet. “Xianshi-gege, you’re here.”

Only now did A-Ying also notice him, and she trotted over, grasping hold of his sleeve with a beaming smile on her face. She’d certainly gotten over her shyness by now. “Is Gege going to take us up into the mountains to learn immortal magic tricks?” she asked.

Song Mingzhen frowned. “Who told you that?”

She hid her face in his sleeve. “Nobody… some other kids said if you’re good at swords, you can go learn immortal magic on the mountain…and we’re good at swords, so I thought…”

“A-Ying,” Xiao-Lang cut in, “Enough, don’t bother Xianshi-gege about this. Come here.”

The girl looked up, then pouted a little as she went to rejoin her brother.

Song Mingzhen sighed and shook his head. He really didn’t want to disappoint the girl. Besides, if he had his way, then that was exactly what he would do. Still… now wasn’t the time. It was unfortunate that she’d already gotten the idea in her head.

“I did not come to take you into the mountains,” he admitted. “Truthfully, I came to say that I will be away for awhile, so there will be no sword lessons. You’re still wearing the talismans I gave you?”

The mood immediately sank down into the mire. A-Ying looked crestfallen, while Xiao-Lang was similarly disappointed. They both nodded their heads.

“Good,” Song Mingzhen replied, “Don’t take them off, and stay out of trouble. I’ll come and find you when I get back.”

A-Ying sighed, her head drooping. “Okay…”

“We’ll be alright, Xianshi-gege,” Xiao-Lang nodded, grasping A-Ying’s sleeve and tugging her over to his side again.

Song Mingzhen offered a little smile to the pair, then placed a few coins into each of their hands so that they could get something good to eat. Then, he took off into the sky, returning home to prepare for his upcoming journey.

He had done all he could. Now, he needed to focus on the mission ahead.