Song Mingzhen gasped for breath, clutching his chest as he sat bolt upright. He was drenched in a cold sweat from head to toe, his eyes wide and his shoulders shaking.
The dawn had yet to break, and darkness suffused his surroundings. Though he’d surfaced from the nightmare, its tendrils had yet to fully relinquish their hold on his mind, and he felt like he was still falling, or sinking, or helplessly flailing toward a distant light. He didn’t recognize where he was at first— only noticing a distinct lack of the familiar furnishings and belongings he had grown used to, and a chill in the air that was unlike the feeling of the breezes that caressed the peaks of the Yantai Mountains.
Initially, he began to panic, but then he remembered that he was away from home on a mission.
At that realization, he was able to start calming himself down.
The nightmare left an eerie feeling prickling across his skin, and as soon as he had regained control over his own body, he reached out to turn on the crystal lamp. As its light filled the room, Song Mingzhen’s breathing evened out, and his heartbeat slowed down. Still, he continued to feel on edge.
What was that?
He’d had his fair share of nightmares over the past five years, but none had been as strange or as vivid as this one— and yet, he was still just as confused as he was unnerved.
Once he had caught his breath, he reached up with still-trembling fingers and began to card them through his hair, tugging out knots and tangles as he went. Until now, he hadn’t had a single one of his memories from before the calamity return to him, whether in his dreams or his waking moments. This… felt like the closest he’d ever come. Any yet how could he say it was a memory, and not just a dream like any other?
He knew nothing about the pair that had been speaking, not their names or appearances or even whether they existed. As for the mirror at the end of the tunnel, which had plunged him into deep waters… he couldn’t say what that might mean.
It was uncannily similar to the vision he’d had before passing out in his room back home, but that wasn’t enough to say that the two were connected.
Even if they were connected— how?
Song Mingzhen shook his head, trying to rub away the headache that so desperately craved his companionship. He got out of his bed and put on his clothes, then stepped out onto the porch.
The snow was still coming down, but it wasn’t so hard or fast now, and the sky had begun to turn from deep black to the pale grey of dawn. The streets and paths were still mostly empty, but there were a few servants going about their business here and there. Song Mingzhen exhaled, watching his breath form puffs of smoke in the cold air.
What if it were only a dream, brought on by his anxious mind and the unfamiliar environment?
That would be the simplest answer— but Song Mingzhen knew better than to brush it all aside like it was nothing to worry about at all. Something strange was definitely going on here. He just couldn’t say yet which threads bound it together, and which were irrelevant distractions. As he stared out over the snow-covered landscape, a few sentences leapt to his mind.
The lotus blossoms in a pool of blood, unaware that it is nourished by suffering. The senses perceive that which the mind believes, but the mountain’s heart recalls the truth.
Those were the words from his nightmare, the ones he had heard filtering up from the deep pool within the mirror. What could they possibly mean? The second part could have some slight connection with the breakthrough he’d achieved at the back of the mountain before he confronted Yang Anxiang, but what about the first?
Maybe it really was just irrelevant. Still…
Within and beneath Baidong Mountain, even branching out into the surrounding areas of Yinshan, were countless caverns teeming with spiritual qi. It was said that Baidong Mountain’s prison lay somewhere within the cave system, though its exact location was known only to those who were responsible for guarding it. The Second General had escaped from that prison… could those spiritual caverns be “the mountain’s heart?”
Song Mingzhen’s gaze drifted over to the mountain path that led to one of the caverns’ entrance.
It might be just a dream… but it was still worth looking into.
He left the guest house and followed the mountain path upward as it wove between boulders and snow-covered white pines. The dawn’s light filtered through the clouds, reflecting off the snow and brightening the landscape. It wasn’t so cold anymore, so Song Mingzhen kept the hood of his cloak down, and the snowflakes landed in his hair like tiny white stars in the night sky, settling there for the briefest of moments before they melted away and vanished completely.
A few flakes fell onto his nose, tickling it a little. Song Mingzhen blew them off, scrunching up his face at the tiny pinpricks of cold. It wouldn’t be difficult at all to make it so that the snow simply drifted past him as it fell, but to be honest, he didn’t mind. A part of him quite liked the light, delicate feeling of the drifting snowflakes swirling about, coming to rest on his head and shoulders. It made him feel a little nostalgic— for what exactly, he couldn’t say.
When he reached the entrance to the spirit caves, he found a pair of guards watching over it. A spiritual mechanism had been set up to seal the entrance as well, the ward giving off a faint light as the inscriptions’ characters faded in and out of view upon its surface.
Song Mingzhen paused a short distance away, lips pressed into a frown. Then, he approached the guards.
“May I enter the mountain?” he asked.
The guards exchanged glances.
“Have you received an entry pass?” one asked.
Song Mingzhen shook his head.
“Our apologies, but in that case, we cannot allow you to enter,” the guard said, bowing his head slightly. “For the time being, no one is permitted to enter the spirit caves unless they carry an entry pass bearing Ning-zongzhu’s seal.”
Ah… how unfortunate, but it made sense.
“I understand,” Song Mingzhen replied, covering up his disappointment with a good-natured smile before turning to go.
Heir of one of the great clans or not, he was still an outsider in Baidong Mountain— and especially with the current climate, they’d certainly be cautious about letting him in. Honestly, even the Qin clan’s own cultivators probably had a difficult time of it right now. Still… Song Mingzhen didn’t like feeling idle, and he didn’t like being barred from things. Perhaps it was a bit childish of him, but being turned away only made him want to find a way in even more!
With quite a bit of effort, he banished those thoughts from his mind. He had to behave well as a guest in Baidong Mountain. Ning Jianlin had already given him plenty of leave to snoop around— trying to push himself beyond those generous boundaries would be ridiculous.
After all, he was here to capture a fugitive, not to chase after whispers from his nightmares.
A short time later, he found himself sitting back in his guest house, leafing through a few books he’d brought along and occasionally getting up to pace aimlessly back and forth. No amount of wracking his brain could lead him to any stronger conclusions, and it was endlessly frustrating.
Song Mingzhen, once again, was feeling restless. It seemed to be a frequent problem that he faced these days.
Sitting around and waiting inside wasn’t doing him any good, so he decided he’d go back to wandering around. Even if he didn’t learn anything useful, it would still be better than lying in his bed, staring at the ceiling, and driving himself mad while he tried to piece together the limited clues he had so far.
If it were up to him, he would go out hunting for the fugitive right away. Why did he have to wait for Ning Feiyun to return anyway?
Sure, his father might be suspicious of the man’s involvement in these matters, but wasn’t catching the escaped evil cultivator more important than that? Even if Ning Feiyun had helped her, maybe it would be better to just catch her first and then drag the rest of the information out of her through interrogation.
With Song Mingzhen’s newly-refined spiritual sense, he might even have a good chance at finding her on his own.
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He ran these possibilities over and over again through his mind, knowing all the while that he couldn’t act on those impulses. No matter how much he’d like to take matters into his own hands, he was still here to assist, not to solve the problem himself. He couldn’t risk the relationship between Yinshan and Dayuan’s cultivation clans by acting out too boldly while he was here.
Besides, his father had told him to work with Ning Feiyun and learn more about him— so that was what he had to do.
The Qin clan’s people weren’t particularly sociable or talkative. It seemed like most of them were holed up in their workshops, and the ones he saw out and about were busy sketching something out or reading, or huddling together in discussion. Only a few spared Baidong Mountain’s guest a second glance or even bothered greeting to him, with the rest leaving him to his wanderings. For Song Mingzhen, who was used to being endlessly crowded around every time he walked down the street, it felt quite odd.
He couldn’t be sure whether it was odd in a good way or a bad way.
After he’d been wandering around for awhile, familiarizing himself with the village’s layout, Song Mingzhen heard a set of footsteps approaching him in a hurry. He stopped in his tracks, his hair prickling up and a sense of urgent anxiety curdling within his stomach. The memory of last night’s dream sprang to his mind—
He quelled these feelings inside of him. He was in the middle of the village, and he couldn’t feel any killing intent. There was no reason to worry. Shaking off his anxieties, he turned around.
It was one of Baiyu Palace’s guards, who saluted him in greeting. “Song-gongzi, Ning-zongzhu has requested your presence.”
Song Mingzhen released the breath he hadn’t realized he was holding and nodded his head. “I understand. I’ll go to Baiyu Palace momentarily.”
This was good— at least there was some sort of development.
When Song Mingzhen arrived at Baiyu Palace, he was immediately ushered into a side meeting room. Ning Jianlin was already there waiting for him, and he wasn’t alone— at his side stood Ning Feiyun. He had returned earlier than expected, and looked quite tired and unhappy. It seemed that his investigation hadn’t gone too well.
Upon seeing his father greet the newcomer, Ning Feiyun’s expression shifted and became even more unhappy than before.
Song Mingzhen couldn’t help but wonder if there really had been some kind of disagreement between the two of them in the past. Maybe they’d met during the war, and something had happened that soured the relationship between them— what that could be, he had no idea.
I am so sorry, Ning-san-gongzi, but I really don’t remember any of that now, so please forgive me if I’ve offended you!
Ning Jianlin laid out the situation. “It seems that my son’s recent investigation has unfortunately come to a dead end,” he said.
“I was following a trail,” Ning Feiyun explained, “but the snowstorm caused some complications.”
“Regrettable,” Ning Jianlin sighed, “But not unexpected. The person we are searching for is no doubt familiar with Yinshan’s landscape and climate, and is thus able to use that to their advantage. They likely chose this time of year to act specifically for that reason.”
Even though his father’s tone was reassuring, Ning Feiyun still looked quite miserable about things. He seemed to be taking this setback quite hard. But there was something still more odd about Ning Jianlin’s statement.
“This person…” Song Mingzhen frowned. “The Second General was confined deep within the mountain prison, where there is no sense of time or seasons— how could she have planned it out so well?”
Ning Jianlin and Ning Feiyun both fell silent, and the atmosphere suddenly became quite awkward. The father and son traded glances, and Song Mingzhen wondered what was the issue with what he had said… he had never been to Baidong Mountain’s prison before, but its general characteristics were widely known throughout the cultivation world. Had he gotten something wrong?
“Qin-zongzhu’s assassination could not have been the doing of Second General of the Nameless,” Ning Jianlin eventually said. “After she was captured, her meridians were broken and her jindan destroyed. Even if she managed to somehow escape on her own, there is no way she could have overpowered the leader of a cultivation clan.”
“Oh…” Song Mingzhen’s eyes widened. He felt a shudder run down his spine.
It might seem like death would be the worst punishment one could face, but that was far from true. Evil cultivators had invented countless forms of torment throughout the centuries, to which they would subject those toward whom they held specifically vitriolic grudges. Song Mingzhen had come across records of these within his historical studies, and some of these torture methods were simply far too gruesome and horrific to describe.
Fortunately, the righteous clans didn’t stoop to such behavior— but wrongdoers still had to be punished. Most evil cultivators were simply put to death, but there were occasionally some, for one reason or another, who were kept alive. Their cultivation would be destroyed and their meridians broken so that they could not recover— both to keep them from causing further havoc in the world, and as a punishment for their deeds.
Song Mingzhen hadn’t witnessed or experienced it for himself, but he couldn’t help but feel that something like that must be excruciatingly painful.
“But… she’s escaped, after all, and Qin-zongzhu was assassinated— surely these two events must be connected?” he asked.
“Without a doubt. She had help,” Ning Feiyun replied.
Ah… Song Mingzhen was almost startled by how quickly he admitted this. His impression had been that Yinshan’s officials assumed the deed was done by the Second General herself, and thus hadn’t considered an additional suspect at play— or perhaps they had been actively covering it up. If that had been the case, though, surely they wouldn’t have told him outright like this…
Perhaps Ning Feiyun really did have no guilt in this matter.
That would be good. Song Mingzhen would much rather be working alongside an actual ally rather than a secret traitor.
“Baidong Mountain is very secure,” Song Mingzhen said, then he chuckled slightly. “I would know that— after all, I was apprehended myself just as soon as I’d gotten through the barrier array. Shouldn’t it be easier to find the culprit? He would have had to break in and out of the prison, as well as Baiyu Palace— how could someone do something like that without setting off a single alarm?”
“Maybe he was able to deactivate the arrays and slip through,” Ning Jianlin suggested. “Actually, that is the only believable possibility.”
“So… the perpetrator was one of your own, then?”
“Without a doubt.”
This was a most interesting development. Song Mingzhen glanced toward Ning Feiyun, who had gone silent. His face had filled with bitterness, and his fists were clenched at his side.
What was that all about?
If he’d been the one to do it, then why would he look so angry? No, it was far more likely that Ning Feiyun was simply angered by the betrayal. Still, Song Mingzhen would have to interrogate him more thoroughly later, when they were in private.
“Not many people know of these details,” Ning Jianlin continued, “Even regarding the Second General’s status. It was only made public that she was taken into custody at the end of the war. Until recently, only the highest-ranking members of our clans knew whether she was held captive or dead. Still… it’s better for the others to think that she was the sole person responsible for the assassination. If the true perpetrator knew we were searching for an accomplice, they would take even more care to cover their tracks.”
“I see,” Song Mingzhen nodded. “Who would have the motive to do these things?”
Ning Jianlin shook his head. “No one that we know of. In the first few days after it happened, we’ve already had everyone interrogated— the guards at the prison, the heads of the Qin clan’s branch families… we even questioned Qin-zongzhu’s wife and concubine. There was no one among them that would have any reason to want the clan leader dead.”
Song Mingzhen frowned, crossing his arms and thoughtfully stroking his chin.
He remembered Yang Anxiang— she clearly had known something. Still, Ning Jianlin had questioned her, and she hadn’t revealed any of it to him.
Why not?
Ning Jianlin’s intentions didn’t seem bad, so why wouldn’t she trust him? A clan leader should be more than capable of protecting her from whatever backlash she might receive for revealing what she knew…
Then again, a clan leader had already been murdered once. It could theoretically happen again.
Yang Anxiang had implied that the person threatening her was somewhere in Baiyu Palace. That meant that the true culprit must be someone in a powerful position, and to kill a clan leader at all meant he had to be a powerful cultivator— there couldn’t be too many people who fit that description. Ning Jianlin would have certainly included all of them in his interrogation.
Someone must have been lying, and they must have lied well enough to get through the questioning without raising any alarms.
“There can’t be too many people who would be able to accomplish this,” Song Mingzhen said, “Ning-zongzhu… even if there was no clear motive, those people can’t be fully cleared of suspicion.”
“Of course, I know that already,” Ning Jianlin nodded, “I’ve formally cleared them, but they are still being watched. Still… as of yet, none of them have done anything to arouse further suspicions. Our search for the assassin’s identity, so far, has remained fruitless.”
It seemed like a situation had been set up where the perpetrator was more and more likely to become careless— so why were there still so few clues? Some time had already passed since the assassination and the escape. Whoever was responsible…
He really must be someone incredibly clever. And dangerous.
“Forgive me,” Ning Feiyun interjected suddenly, lowering himself in a bow, “The trail I found was promising, but I let myself lose sight of it. This could be over already were it not for my carelessness.”
“You need not apologize, Feiyun,” Ning Jianlin reached out, keeping him from bowing too low. “You cannot control the weather, after all.”
Ning Feiyun had spent the last few moments stewing in his bitterness, growing more and more miserable. Song Mingzhen felt bad for him— it was clear that he was very anxious, and had been losing sleep over all of this. It must have been difficult for him to lose the trail he had been following after all of that.
He really seemed like a completely different person here than he had been when he visited Ruijian Pavilion that day. Of course, that awkward oversensitivity remained… he was so stiff, and took far too many things far too personally. Or… could he perhaps be feeling guilty?
The more Song Mingzhen thought about it, the more it seemed that way. His doubts about Ning Feiyun's integrity, which had momentarily been put to rest, began to rise up once more.
Still, best not to make a judgment too quickly.
Ning Feiyun had quite the burden on his shoulders. It would be more strange if he weren’t at all affected by the situation, no matter how far beyond his control it may be.
“If there was a second person involved,” Song Mingzhen spoke up, trying to ease the tense atmosphere and move the conversation along, “then do we know the order of events? Was the Second General broken out first, or did the culprit strike down Qin-zongzhu before going to free her?”
“That… we don’t know for sure,” Ning Jianlin shook his head. “We only knew that the Second General had escaped later the following day. The guards were knocked unconscious sometime during the night, and only realized what had happened after they came to. It was already afternoon by then.”
How strange… it would have made sense for the prison break to be meant to distract from the assassination. But if that were the case, then wouldn’t there have been more of a commotion there? As it was, there hadn’t been any attention drawn to the prison. Everyone had been focused on the assassination, so that meant…
Song Mingzhen lifted his chin, his eyes widening as he came to a sudden realization.
“I don’t think… that the main objective was to assassinate Qin-zongzhu,” he said. “I think that what the culprit really wanted was the Second General’s freedom.”