Ning Zhifeng had been confined to one of the cells on the mountain prison’s upper level. His injuries hadn’t been too severe, and because his cultivation was good he had recovered quite a lot overnight with just some basic treatment from the prison’s physician.
As Song Mingzhen and Ning Feiyun entered the mountain prison once more, this time walking straight in with an escort instead of hiding themselves behind concealment devices and slipping covertly from place to place, the prison guard explained that the other rogue cultivator they’d captured, the wielder of the red silk, had also survived the night. Though her condition was stable enough, she had yet to regain consciousness. Song Mingzhen thought it didn’t matter too much. Since Ning Zhifeng was the leader of the group, he ought to have all the answers they needed anyway.
The inside of the cell was about as dull and drab as might be expected, with nothing but a pile of straw in one corner for sleeping and a clay vessel in another corner for waste. Before the pair entered, the guard placed a small silver bell in Ning Feiyun’s hand that could be used to signal to the guards outside should a problem arise. When the door closed behind them, Song Mingzhen had to fight to quell a sudden rush of panic as his spiritual sense was cut off from beyond the walls. His hands clenched tightly within his sleeves and he bit down on the side of his mouth hard enough to taste blood, but fortunately he managed to keep the tremors that wracked his insides from making it to the surface.
Ning Zhifeng was seated on the pile of straw, leaning half-upright against the wall. A heavy chain, forged of iron with faint inscriptions running up and down the metal, was fastened around his ankle. Song Mingzhen could tell that it was was yet another measure to inhibit the prisoner’s spiritual power, as well as to secure him in place. The former patrol commander only glanced up once when they came in, then quickly looked away again and refused to meet their gaze. Everything from the defeated slump in his posture to his pale face and the distant, glazed-over look in his eyes revealed a man who had thoroughly lost hope and resigned himself to his fate.
For a moment, Song Mingzhen actually felt a little bad for him. Then, he remembered that this same man and his companions had attacked Anfeng City, assassinated a clan leader, and freed a dangerous criminal.
… and nonetheless, he found that he still felt bad for him.
After the door closed, silence struck the small, enclosed space like a thunderclap. Ning Zhifeng did not stand up to greet them, nor did he acknowledge their presence any more after that first glance. Song Mingzhen turned to look at Ning Feiyun, who also seemed quite pale, as though he couldn’t quite bear to look at the man he had once admired so much in this kind of circumstance. Song Mingzhen wondered what his companion was thinking… did he also pity Ning Zhifeng? Was he angry with him for his betrayal? Or perhaps it was a bit of both.
When Ning Feiyun finally spoke up, though, there was neither anger nor pity in his voice— instead, more than anything else, he simply sounded confused and distraught.
“Xiaowei… why did you do this?” he asked, “Why did you betray us and join forces with our enemies?”
Ning Zhifeng stiffened a bit and slowly looked up at Ning Feiyun. Then, that dull gaze of his drifted once more toward the ground. A few moments passed before he answered, the only sound in the room their own breathing— tremulous in Ning Feiyun’s case, while Ning Zhifeng’s seemed surprisingly calm and even.
“Are they truly… our enemies, Xiao-Yun?”
The voice that came out from Ning Zhifeng’s mouth was quiet and distant, and Song Mingzhen saw Ning Feiyun’s shoulders stiffen when he was addressed in such a familiar manner despite the gravity of the present situation.
Once more, Ning Zhifeng looked up, still focusing only on his former subordinate as if Song Mingzhen wasn’t even there. He released a long, shaky sigh, and shut his eyes, tipping his head back to lean it against the unyielding stone of the cell wall. “You now lead the mountain patrols, Xiao-Yun. You can see just how much the Qin clan relies upon our family to protect Yinshan and its people. The Qin clan’s cultivators seal themselves into their stone halls and workshops and furnace-chambers, while the burden of ruling and defending this land falls upon our shoulders— were it not for the mountain patrol, the city watchmen, the prison guard, Baidong Mountain surely would not have stood for as long as it has.
“And yet… despite it all our clan leader, your father, is not given the same level of respect as that Qin Wenying, though he is older, wiser, and far more competent. Just because it was the Qin clan’s ancestor and not the Ning clan’s who was given the heavens’ blessing, our status in the cultivation world is entirely dependent upon our subservience. Though many of our clan have achieved greatness and some have ascended to the heavens, even the greatest among us is still seen as lower than the weakest of the great clans’ cultivators.”
As he spoke, he did not once raise his voice— nonetheless, within his words years upon years of resentment could be heard, bitterness that had been passed down through the generations. Despite the close relationship between the two families, how could there be no grudge between them at all? Their ancestors had once stood on equal footing, but now because of chance and circumstance, one had been raised above the other, their positions immutable as an inscription carved in stone. Even if those positions had been determined by the heavens, some discontent was inevitable.
“The great Dao has three thousand paths, so why should it be restricted to only five families and those they deem worthy?” Ning Zhifeng asked, and now, finally, there was a flash of anger within his eyes. “Those who dare to find their way onto the path of cultivation without the clans’ blessing, whether by intention or by chance, are punished as evildoers— even if no true evil has been done. An end to this injustice, that is the goal of the Nameless.”
Hearing all this, Ning Feiyun’s hands curled into fists. “The world enjoys peace today because of the centuries of protection offered by the great clans,” he countered, his voice stiff. “The power gained through cultivation is not something to be taken lightly— from the Great Demonic War, to the rebellion five hundred years ago, to the war with the Nameless, almost every conflict from ancient times until the present was set off by those who sought to overturn the decree of the heavens.”
Before Ning Zhifeng could respond, another voice broke in to challenge Ning Feiyun’s words.
“But if the heavens did not intend for those outside of the great clans to enter the Dao, then would the gate not be barred to them completely? Why allow for exceptions at all, if every exception is a transgression? If a nameless cultivator were to reach the peak of Jiedan and surpass a heavenly tribulation, would the Heavenly Immortal Realm reject them and send them crashing back to the earth?”
Silence fell once again, more deafening than ever before— and Song Mingzhen’s throat went dry. He had opened his mouth to speak without even thinking of the words he was about to say, and they’d tumbled from his lips without restraint.
He hadn’t even known that these thoughts existed in his mind to begin with!
Ning Feiyun was staring at him in shock, and as for Ning Zhifeng… there was a strange expression on his face now, a flicker of curiosity in his gaze as he turned to Song Mingzhen. It was as if he were actually seeing the young man for the first time.
“…Gongzi, it seems we are not acquainted,” he murmured.
Song Mingzhen blinked, his mind still reeling. “Ah…” he began, still a bit taken aback by his own previous statement, “I am Song Dian, Song Mingzhen, the eldest son of Dayuan’s Song clan.”
“Song-zongzhu’s son…” Ning Zhifeng’s voice trailed off thoughtfully, his gaze still not leaving Song Mingzhen’s features, studying him like he was trying to read some secret inscription off of his face. Then, after a while, recognition seemed to dawn within his eyes. “I see.”
Ning Feiyun was looking paler than before, and it seemed that Song Mingzhen’s surprising argument had caught him off guard. He struggled to collect himself and continue— this was supposed to be an interrogation, after all. He hadn’t expected the conversation to take such an odd turn, especially since Song Mingzhen had never before expressed such thoughts openly. He shook his head a bit, and straightened his posture, his demeanor shifting to become more cold and stiff than before.
“Are you the one who killed Qin-zongzhu?” he asked.
Ning Zhifeng, so talkative before, suddenly became silent as a stone.
“Answer… otherwise, I will have no choice but to resort to harsher methods,” Ning Feiyun continued, and though he was trying to maintain an unyielding air, his voice became softer toward the end, almost like a plea.
Once more, Ning Zhifeng raised his head. “The assassination was not carried out by my hand,” he said, then paused a moment and added, “But the one who did the deed… is already dead.”
Ah… so it had been a collaborative effort after all. Such was to be expected of a former commander. Then the one who had dealt the final blow must have been one of his allies that fell during yesterday’s skirmish.
Ning Feiyun continued to press on with his questioning.
“Did you free the Second General of the Nameless from the mountain prison?”
“… She too was freed by my allies.”
“Where is she now? Why was she not among you when you attacked us? Do you have more allies hiding elsewhere in the mountains?”
Ning Zhifeng sighed. “Don't you already know? The great clans wiped out almost the entirety of our faction at the end of the war. Those who remain are scattered, and few have enough courage to take up arms again. Most of the ones who managed to escape simply wish to live out the rest of their lives in peace, without causing trouble.”
“And what about the Second General?” Ning Feiyun demanded. Though his voice was still even, Song Mingzhen could see a slight tremor in his hands.
“I do not know where she is now,” Ning Zhifeng shook his head. “When she was freed, her mental state wasn’t very good… and at some point, she wandered off and we were unable to find her. It is just as likely that she ran into some trouble, perhaps a wild beast or some natural obstacle. Her cultivation base had already been shattered and her spiritual root destroyed— she is now powerless as a mortal, perhaps even weaker. I don’t think she could have survived long in the treacherous conditions.”
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It was a little odd, how forthright Ning Zhifeng was being with all of this information. He answered the questions readily, and Song Mingzhen could not detect any kind of falsehood. All of his explanations were thorough and seemed reasonable— perhaps he was telling the truth, and now that he’d been sealed inside the mountain prison, he had simply given up on his rebellion.
Song Mingzhen supposed it made sense… even if Ning Zhifeng hadn’t given up on his ideals, it was easy to see that the current plan had fallen through. One escape from the mountain prison was difficult enough to pull off— there was no chance worth thinking about that it would happen again any time soon. Ning Zhifeng would never again in this lifetime see the outside of these walls.
In the end, withholding information would only cause him additional discomfort, while doing little to nothing for his cause.
Ning Feiyun wasn’t entirely satisfied with this explanation— the missing Second General was still a loose end, after all— but it was true what he said. Her cultivation had already been destroyed. Even if she had survived and escaped into the world, she wouldn’t be much of a danger anymore.
Still… if Ning Zhifeng wasn’t telling the truth, especially about the size of his faction, it could lead to even more trouble later on.
Before he could continue on with the interrogation, though, Ning Zhifeng looked up and fixed his former protégé with a gaze that was at once both mournful and critical. “Xiao-Yun… you of all people ought to understand the struggles of the Nameless, whether or not you agree with their methods. Because you were adopted by our clan leader, you were able to cultivate your potential, and now you’ve risen to take on my old position. But had you not been chosen that day, to pursue the same goals would have you branded a criminal, hunted across the land without rest until the day you die. Do you truly think that to be fair and just?”
“… I cannot answer that,” Ning Feiyun shook his head quickly, but he had stiffened up, alarm flashing across his face. “I cannot answer that,” he repeated, “I am the one doing the questioning… you and your allies have killed and wounded countless others, even those of your own family. How could you have the right to decide what is fair and just?”
His voice rose in pitch and volume, and Song Mingzhen startled a bit as well, seeing that his shoulders had begun to shake. Apparently, the effect of Ning Zhifeng’s words was not insignificant. Though Ning Feiyun was trying his best to remain the calm and cool-headed interrogator, he wasn’t able to easily control his emotions right now. Song Mingzhen couldn’t tell whether he wanted to attack Ning Zhifeng or run away, but needless to say it was alarming to see Ning Feiyun so worked up by this.
Instinctively, Song Mingzhen reached out to place a hand on Ning Feiyun’s shoulder, firm and steadying. The other man flinched at first, then turned to meet Song Mingzhen’s gaze. His eyes, wide and anxious, slowly began to relax and narrow down, and he released a long, drawn out sigh.
“What might have been… is irrelevant,” he muttered, his voice only just above a whisper as he shook his head. He had calmed down a bit now, but he still refused to look directly at his former commander. “Whatever, whoever I was before, I am now a son of the Ning clan, and I will uphold my duty to my clan and thwart any danger to all that lies under the cultivation world’s protection. I am sorry, Jun— no… I am sorry. You have aligned yourself with our enemies, and thus you must also be counted among them.”
He then turned to Song Mingzhen, a firm expression on his face. “It seems we have our answers, for now. If there’s nothing more, let us return to inform my father of what we’ve learned from the prisoner.”
Then, Ning Feiyun began to make his way toward the door, raising the silver bell and giving it a single chime.
As the door to the cell opened, however, and Ning Feiyun and Song Mingzhen prepared to depart, Ning Zhifeng suddenly called out, “Wait.”
The two of them paused, turning back to look at the prisoner.
“I have something more to say,” Ning Zhifeng said, “but I will only say it to Song-gongzi. Who he tells… that is his own choice.”
Song Mingzhen and Ning Feiyun traded glances. This was an odd development. If anything, it ought to be the other way around— it was Ning Feiyun that he had a history with, not the visitor from another clan. Still, any offer of information was better than none, so the silver bell was wordlessly handed off to Song Mingzhen as he nodded his head.
“Very well,” he said, “I’ll stay behind a little longer.”
Ning Feiyun left the cell, and the door shut behind him, leaving Song Mingzhen alone with the prisoner. Once more, he had to still his rising anxiety as he was sealed inside the muffled cell, cut off from the outside world. He clutched the silver bell tightly, his one connection to what lay beyond that door, until it left impressions in his palm.
“What did you wish to speak to me about?” he asked, still confused by the request.
For a moment, Ning Zhifeng stared off into the distance, as if reminiscing about something. Then, he tilted his head. “Would you like to know how I came to join the Nameless?”
Song Mingzhen didn’t answer— but Ning Zhifeng continued on anyway.
“Ever since I was a youth, I always felt stung by the disparity between my own clan and the ruling clan of Yinshan. It was back in the time of the old clan leader— Qin Wenying’s father, you know? The records tell of the great achievements during his rule, but not of who it was who actually accomplished them. The roads between the mountain villages, the region’s endless security, the prosperous trade with your own Dayuan… while the old clan leader approved it, it was my clan’s people who carried matters out with our own hands. Much of the planning, too, fell to Ning Feiyun’s father and grandfather. As part of the mountain patrol, I surveyed and built many of the roads myself… but today, you do not remember such things, only that the old clan leader single-handedly brought Yinshan to an era of prosperity.”
He scoffed a bit, and shook his head. “It was back then, during the time I was surveying for the mountain roads, that I met a young woman… in fact, I met her in that very same valley where we fought before. She also was a cultivator— she and her family— but they did not belong to any of the great clans, and had instead been dwelling deep in the mountains for several generations. They took advantage of the runoff from the rivers that flow through the spirit caves, and lived peacefully, not interfering with the orthodox cultivation world or showing their power to those outside of their own family. She was beautiful, and charming, and different than the women who were raised in cultivation society, and I was young and hot-blooded… well, in the end she became the mother of my child, a beautiful daughter.”
Song Mingzhen’s eyes widened as he listened. So it was like this, then… the whole matter was much more scandalous than he’d expected.
An look of unspeakable pain crossed Ning Zhifeng’s face, and he took in another tremulous breath. “Of course, I could not simply bring her home and wed her… and to do so would mean that she could never see her family again. But I thought back then that though they were rogue cultivators, they had no intention of causing trouble with the clans, so instead I simply diverted the roads and paths being built so that her family’s village remained unnoticed, and did whatever I could to provide them with the means to raise our daughter well. Meanwhile, I hoped that perhaps I would be able to find some way to use my position as Mountain Patrol Commander to allow an exception to be made for her family, because if nothing else, it was well known that the main branch had a tradition of adopting children from Mengshan Temple— such as Ning Feiyun. I thought perhaps… well…”
He trailed off, and his expression suddenly became grave. He shut his eyes tightly, as if shielding himself from the memories, then exhaled, long and slow, and continued, “Then came the war. I did all I could to keep them from being discovered— but because of my position, I was frequently called away. Not long after the battle of Baidong Mountain, I heard news that a well-established clan of rogue cultivators had been discovered in the mountains. By the time I got there…”
Now he stopped speaking abruptly, and Song Mingzhen thought he saw tears gathering in the corners of his eyes. It was obvious where this tale was headed. He braced himself.
“The woman I loved… was gone. Her entire family too,” Ning Zhifeng said quietly, his voice shaking with anger and grief. “The village had been burned to the ground, and there was nothing left… nothing but my daughter, who had been wrapped in a length of red silk and tucked away in a small crevice. She was hardly seven years old, and had already seen her entire family die with her own eyes while she was hidden away. I took her away from that place, but because I did not wish to see her raised among her family’s murderers, I brought her to Mengshan Temple.”
He looked up, meeting Song Mingzhen’s gaze with a haunted look. Slowly, he shook his head. “By that point… it had already fallen. I decided there that I no longer wished to have any part in this, and so I returned to the remnants of the village and broke my spear. It’s often said that rogue cultivators rarely even reach peak Ningqi stage, but that’s not always the case. Because of her family’s proximity to the spiritual mountain, she and I were evenly matched at this point in time. Her death had left a spiritual impression that would have been equal to my own— and with my broken spiritual weapon left behind, I knew it would be assumed that I had perished there.
“I took my daughter up to a remote village in the south of the region, and we lived there peacefully for a time, making a living by gathering herbs in the mountains. I had my cultivation, and my daughter had been taught by her mother, so we were able to go places ordinary mortals would have trouble reaching— not that we told anyone our secret, of course. She had inherited her mother’s spiritual weapon and wished to continue cultivating her family’s path, and I allowed her to do so, guiding her where I could and shielding her from the eyes and senses of the mountain patrol until she had advanced enough to do so on her own.”
He went on to tell Song Mingzhen about how during the war, he would occasionally help members of the Nameless hide in the area, or provide them with medicinal herbs and information about the mountain patrol’s routes and lookout places, but that he never directly participated in the war or its aftermath. In the five years that followed, his daughter’s cultivation advanced by leaps and bounds until she had nearly reached the Zhuji stage boundary. They’d kept their heads low, living a quiet life, until just a few years ago, when Ning Zhifeng’s daughter had gone out to search for a place to go into seclusion and ascend to the next stage in her cultivation. The two of them always carried a pair of warning talismans with them, so that when they were separated they could tell one another if they’d run into trouble. While Ning Zhifeng was doing some work around the house, his warning talisman was set off, and he quickly followed it to find his daughter engaged in combat with a small patrol from Baidong Mountain. One man was already dead, while the other was still struggling in combat with the young girl, who was barely holding her own.
Ning Zhifeng hadn’t even hesitated before turning on his own former subordinates for the sake of his daughter, killing her opponent and concealing the corpses.
“Even though she had suppressed her spiritual aura, and was simply going about her business, she was still detained for suspicious activity,” Ning Zhifeng explained, “Had she not fought back, the spiritual weapon she carried would still be discovered anyway— but there was also a part of her, of course, that sought revenge for her mother’s death. It was at that point that I understood— this world has no place for my daughter. If I wished for that to change, I had no choice but to take matters into my own hands. And she… she also wished to fight. To change the world.”
Now, he buried his face in his hands, looking very small as his shoulders began to shake. “My one treasure… my Yan'er is gone now… I no longer care about changing the world.”
At the beginning of the story, Song Mingzhen wondered why it was that Ning Zhifeng was telling him all of this, why he had requested to speak to him alone. Though, considering Ning Feiyun’s emotional distress about all of this, it wasn’t surprising. However, the further the story went, the more Song Mingzhen’s heart sank as the pieces fell into place.
A child tucked away, wrapped in a protective layer of red silk, a girl who inherited her mother’s spiritual weapon, who lashed out at the cultivation world, who would be just about fourteen years old now… A high-pitched, youthful voice declaring that her comrade was dead, a length of shimmering red silk torn apart by a spiritual blast, a pair of shining crimson blades, glistening like blood, plunging one after the other into its wielder’s body…
That person could be none other than the Yan'er that Ning Zhifeng was speaking of.
Song Mingzhen looked down at this father grieving his daughter, and couldn’t help but think of his own father, and those five years he spent anxiously at his son’s bedside while he lingered on the border between life and death. He’d already pitied Ning Zhifeng before… and now he felt even more sorry for him. Ning Zhifeng may be a criminal, responsible for the death of a clan leader among others, but there was still something about his story that tugged at Song Mingzhen’s emotions.
Perhaps… it was also because he felt responsible— after all, he was the one who had injured Yan'er until she was near death, and especially now that he knew she was practically a child— that he wished to offer some small gesture, something that might ease the worst of Ning Zhifeng’s agony.
He cleared his throat and spoke up in a voice that sounded distant to his own ears.
“Your daughter… is not gone. She is still alive.”