Somehow, it seemed even colder now than it had been before.
Maybe it was because the two of them had left the comfort and security of Baidong Mountain’s stronghold behind and descended the winding path that led into the maze of valleys and hills that made up the greater portion of Yinshan’s terrain. About two-thirds of the vast region was mountainous like this. Though a rather large number of the common people lived in the foothills and plains closer to the border with Dayuan, there was no shortage of smaller towns, villages, and mining encampments scattered throughout the mountains. During the time of Qin Wenying’s father, a complex network of roads and paths had been built to connect these isolated villages, but the places were still quite remote, and not often all that easy to get to. Even the cultivation clans’ patrols had a tendency to overlook some of them from time to time.
It wouldn’t be unreasonable to assume that since the fugitives seemed so familiar with Yinshan’s terrain and defenses, they would also know a bit about the patrol patterns— perhaps they’d thought to seek out one of these remote villages to lay low for the winter.
The Second General wouldn’t be in good condition following her imprisonment. If the assassin had gone to so much trouble already to free her, he probably wouldn’t want to push her beyond her limits. Ning Jianlin had made it quite clear that he didn’t want word of these events spreading any further than it had to.
This strategy was… interesting. Song Mingzhen could see its merits well enough, but also its disadvantages.
Yinshan and its people were still recovering from the war, and until the situation got to the point where further explanation was unavoidable, it made sense that the interim-ruler would prefer to handle the troubles of the cultivation world himself without burdening the the common people. The assassin hadn’t yet posed much of a danger to ordinary folk, and if the information wasn’t handled carefully enough, it could cause too much panic and instability. At the same time, the level of danger could change at any time— if the culprit decided to turn his attention away from the cultivators and toward ordinary people, they would be thoroughly unprepared.
Really, there wasn’t a good option either way— the only thing they could do was try to handle it all as quickly as possible.
Song Mingzhen and Ning Feiyun were traveling by foot instead of flying. The clouds held none of this case’s secrets, after all. They’d have a better chance at spotting potential clues or tracks if they stayed on the ground. The snow down in the valleys had melted a bit and then refrozen, creating a hard layer on the surface that crunched and crackled beneath the soles of their feet. Baidong Mountain was located squarely in the most remote part of the region, and aside from patrolling cultivators, those who lived here didn’t often travel far during the winter on account of the mountains’ treacherous climate. They continued on for two days without seeing anyone else, heading roughly southeast with a few detours here and there to navigate the rise and fall of the terrain.
For the most part, they traveled in silence, but it was a far more natural silence than the previous awkwardness between them. There was still a little— after all, familiarity and comfort were two different matters, let alone closeness— but for the most part, Song Mingzhen was simply too interested in the surrounding scenery to be overly chatty.
In the evenings, Ning Feiyun would find them a suitable campsite in a place sheltered from the bitterly cold wind. Instead of building a fire, he simply set up a small stove powered by spiritual stones inside their tent to warm them. The stove gave off neither light nor smoke, so if anyone happened to pass by they’d be none the wiser. They also set up a small array around the campsite and across nearby paths— should any person or creature with accumulated spiritual power cross over the invisible boundary, a talisman hung inside the tent would ignite into blue flames, notifying them of the presence. That is— if their spiritual sense alone wasn’t enough to catch it in time. They would then spend the night in meditation and light sleep, then when dawn broke, they’d pack up the camp and continue on their way.
Out here in the wilderness, Ning Feiyun almost seemed like a completely different person. It was readily apparent that he was far more in his element here than standing under the glow of crystal lanterns in the polished stone hall of Baiyu Palace. He was much more relaxed, and though his gaze still darted frequently from one side to the other it was with a calm attentiveness, without the edge of anxiety he displayed back on the mountain. He spent most of his time doing field work, after all— it only made sense that he would be more at ease here.
For Song Mingzhen, though, it was the opposite. All day and especially at night, he couldn’t stop looking over his shoulder, sweeping their surroundings with his spiritual sense and constantly looking around for any sign of danger. It was fortunate that his cultivation was fairly high, so he didn’t need to sleep that often and could simply rest and restore himself through meditation. He doubted he’d be able to sleep much at all— not that he minded, considering how restless and disturbed his sleep had been lately. He felt a pervasive sense of unease in the back of his mind, the feeling that he was missing something important, that something vital hadn’t connected.
But he had no idea what it was.
Perhaps it had something to do with their present location, and the silence that had descended like a curtain over the snow-covered mountains.
Yinshan’s mountainous regions had long held a reputation for being wild and dangerous. The mountains themselves were dense with spiritual ore, and there were a great many areas that were difficult to survey. It was said that monsters and demons liked to make their lairs here, lurking to snatch up unsuspecting travelers or lone cultivators, and that mysterious sects of evil cultivators that had escaped the clans’ judgment dwelt in the secret places between the mountain peaks, hidden under the nose of the Qin clan and their people, always hunted but never fully eradicated. In all of the records that Song Mingzhen had spent his nights reading after his recovery, it seemed that a great many threats had originated from these very mountains. It was no wonder that Yinshan’s cultivators focused so heavily on defense and containment methods.
There was already at least one evil cultivator out here, and one who had escaped with a demonic tool at that. Who knows what else there could be to watch out for?
He’d been prepared to face all these dangers, and yet, after several days of travel through the wilderness, they’d seen nothing more than woodland beasts and mountain birds, and even the tracks on the ground all came from common creatures. There was no sign of any monsters, and aside from the ones they were tracking, no indication that any vicious evildoers were hiding out in the valleys.
Aside from the crunch of snow beneath their feet, the whistle of wind between pine branches, and the occasional, lone cry of a bird, the mountains were wrapped in a shroud of silence, as if they were holding their breath in anticipation.
Song Mingzhen couldn’t help but do the same.
It seemed, however, that none of this anxious feeling extended to his companion— and after a few days’ travel, Ning Feiyun seemed to take notice of his unsettled demeanor.
“Have you never camped out in the wilderness before?” he asked one morning after they’d finished packing up the camp and started out on their journey once more.
“Ah— what do you mean?”
“You didn’t sleep last night, nor the night before,” Ning Feiyun continued, “You spend all night shifting to and fro, and you always seem on edge.”
“…”
Song Mingzhen wasn’t sure how to reply right away, so he just shook his head. “It isn’t that… Well, to be quite honest I don’t remember whether I’ve camped before, but I did lead a war party— so I assume I’ve slept in a tent at least once.”
Ning Feiyun snorted softly, but said nothing else.
“Wait— don’t just presume I’m some coddled young master,” Song Mingzhen continued, hurriedly. “It’s just… I’m surprised we haven’t run into more trouble.”
“Trouble?” Ning Feiyun raised a brow.
“Yes… ah, have all the monsters gone into hibernation?”
Saying it out loud, Song Mingzhen couldn’t help but feel a little bit foolish. It wasn’t that he was afraid of monsters. Even if he hadn’t really been in a proper fight since waking up— the attack on Anfeng City, where he fought opponents much weaker than himself, didn’t count— he was sure that he could hold his own well enough. It was just the silent anticipation that was setting him on edge. Ning Feiyun’s reply, however, surprised him quite a bit.
“There are no monsters.”
Song Mingzhen blinked. No monsters? That couldn’t be right. “What… what do you mean?”
“You speak of the rumors, yes?” Ning Feiyun tilted his head a bit. “It may have been so in ancient times, before the veins of the earth were sealed. Today, Yinshan is no different from any other place. You are just as likely to find monsters and spiritual beasts in Dayuan as you are here.”
He was quiet for a moment after that, and Song Mingzhen also didn’t speak as they continued along the pathway. He’d felt a little foolish before— now he felt even more foolish. Of course, that made quite a lot of sense. The age of gods and monsters was long past, after all, and Yinshan would have been just as affected by the sealing of the veins of the earth.
“The rumors and stories, though, persist for a reason. It’s not strange for you to believe them,” Ning Feiyun continued after awhile. “First, it is true that the terrain can be difficult to navigate, and criminals will try to escape here and hide themselves among the mountains. The rumors of monsters provide a deterrent— even the most hardened criminals would hesitate to put themselves in the path of a powerful, fearsome beast.”
“And the other reason?”
Ning Feiyun snorted softly. “The Qin clan has always been reclusive, even in ancient times. If the rest of the world thinks this region is infested with danger, they’re less likely to make themselves a nuisance in the name of social visits.”
“Ahhh…” Song Mingzhen nodded slowly.
That… was actually a little amusing. It also fit quite well with what he knew of the Qin family’s customs. In the few days he stayed on Baidong Mountain, he’d hardly met anyone who wished to do anything more than exchange cursory greetings. Generally, they seemed quite busy with their own affairs.
He felt a little more at ease, but at the same time slightly exasperated— so a few unfortunate affairs over the ages had been stoked into rumors that pervaded cultivation society, and the Qin family simply sat back and allowed it to happen. Perhaps even encouraged it. But the spiritual energy in Yinshan was all gathered up in Baidong Mountain’s spirit caves, with only a small trickle passing through the veins of the earth to the surrounding region, just like the rest of the world. Except in Cuijiang to the south, there were few places where spiritual beasts roamed the wilds. Everywhere else, they were little more than a thing of legends, and even a cultivator could go their entire life without meeting one. Monsters were the same— unless there was an influx of demonic power that polluted the mortal world, they wouldn’t appear.
This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it
If one considered this… well, then it was easy to see that the rumors of Yinshan’s ten thousand dangers were greatly exaggerated.
Ning Feiyun released a slight huff— and Song Mingzhen couldn’t quite tell whether it was laughter or annoyance, but a twitch at the corner of his companion’s mouth suggested the former. They continued along the path, until Ning Feiyun veered off sharply to one side, approaching a sheer mountainside thick with snowbanks.
“Those who try to hide here despite the warnings, however, often fail to realize that they won’t have an easier time just because the monsters are rumors. While it may seem to them that the mountains will conceal them, humans tend to follow the same patterns, over and over again, seeking the path of least resistance. Once you understand the terrain and have learned the flow of the valleys and hills, it’s not hard to predict where they will go.”
There was a steel-sharp glint in his eyes, and a light sheen of satisfaction and pride appeared on his features. He flicked his fingers and a cylindrical metal device sprang from his waist to his hand.
“When you can predict their movements, a trap can be laid.”
He spun the device, and with a flash of silver-blue spiritual power, it transformed, stretching out into a long spear with a shining silver point. While it was changing shape, Ning Feiyun swung it outward in a wide arc, sweeping the snowdrifts effortlessly away form the mountainside. The snow was tossed up into the air, scattering once more into flakes that drifted down upon their shoulders, the spiritual light of Ning Feiyun’s weapon reflecting off of the ice crystals like a thousand tiny prisms. He brought the spear back once more, and just as its transformation completed, he struck the point forward, precisely into a hairline crack between two stones.
The weapon was finely-crafted, slender yet solid with intricate metalworking embracing the razor-sharp point and spiritual light running along its length through threadlike channels, and Ning Feiyun’s handling of it was precise and highly skilled— Song Mingzhen was impressed, his brows rising up toward his hairline. Especially with the snowflakes drifting down around him… he couldn’t help but think that Ning Feiyun looked quite good. Confident and talented— and a far cry from that withdrawn, stiff person he was within palace walls.
If he didn’t know any better, then he’d think that Ning-xiong must be trying to show off.
“As it turns out, most who flee to Yinshan end up captured quickly and sealed away within the mountain prison,” Ning Feiyun said, as he turned the spear sharply to one side. The “click!” of a mechanism could be heard, and the stone recessed into the wall before sliding away, revealing a passage through the mountain.
Now, Ning Feiyun’s face fell a bit, a complicated expression settling into his brow once more.
“This case, though… it’s different than most others. It’s like they’ve just disappeared, and left no trail behind. That shouldn’t be possible— only myself and my subordinates would know these mountains well enough to evade capture.” He gestured toward the passage, then led the way inside. “This is a shortcut. It will take us nearer to the place where I lost the trail.”
He stiffened up a bit again, the cloud over his features darkening a bit as he entered the tunnel. Song Mingzhen nodded and followed him, a frown appearing on his own face as he too began to puzzle over the question. Once again, that feeling that they were missing some vital clue assailed his thoughts— but he was no closer to finding an answer than before. How had they managed to cover their tracks so thoroughly?
The path through the mountain was narrow, dipping down slightly before winding upward. Song Mingzhen could hear the sound of water dripping from the walls, and it was noticeably less cold than the outside.
“I suppose these tunnels are also your clan’s little secret,” he mused, and though he spoke in a whisper his voice echoed off the stone walls, sounding painfully loud to his ears.
“Where they are and how to access them are known only to those of us who regularly patrol the mountains. And to you, I suppose— at least this one,” Ning Feiyun replied. “The nearest pass is a distance away. Without this shortcut, it would take at least two shichen to reach the other side of the mountain. Usually, this sort of thing gives us an advantage over our enemies.”
But in this situation, the enemy had still managed to evade them, even though the search was quite high-priority.
“And you’re certain that the perpetrator isn’t one of your scouts?”
“They’ve all been accounted for and questioned.”
After a few twists and turns, they reached the end of the tunnel and Ning Feiyun opened the way for them once more. They exited from slightly behind a frozen waterfall, ice breaking off of the stone in crystalline chunks that shattered on the ground beneath their feet as it slid away. Upon leaving the passage, they found themselves in a long, narrow valley.
From the pool beneath the waterfall’s cascade flowed a narrow stream that wove its way down the valley through a winding channel. On either side were thickets of bamboo and pine, branches heavy with snow. In summer, the vale would no doubt be filled with birdsong and the sound of running water— now, though the bird calls were solitary and distant, and the stream was frozen over, leaving a silent, glassy covering of ice and snow over the smooth, weathered stones.
The scene had a certain tranquil beauty to it, but Song Mingzhen found it somewhat difficult to appreciate considering the pressing concern of their mission and the unsettling feeling nagging at the back of his mind.
“This is where the trail went cold,” Ning Feiyun noted, his voice low. That sharp, falcon-like gaze of his darted from place to place, taking in their surroundings as though he were looking for any notable change since he’d last been here.
Song Mingzhen too gave a quick sweep over the area, but didn’t notice anything out of the ordinary. Even if something was different, this was hardly a region he was familiar with— he probably wouldn’t be able to tell the way Ning Feiyun could.
“There are many pathways that cross through this valley. It’s not easy to say which the fugitives may have taken. The snow has covered the roads, melted and frozen anew. Tracks would be hard to find now— and it would be even harder to determine who left them,” Ning Feiyun continued. “I searched the paths that lead to nearby towns and villages last time, but found no traces… perhaps they took another way or found a place to conceal themselves.”
The two spent some time wandering the quiet vale, their search turning up nothing but a burrow of rabbits that scurried away the moment the two cultivators started poking around. All the while, that feeling of unease only continued to grow, and Song Mingzhen found himself looking over his shoulder again and again once more.
They combed the valley and the nearby paths and trails all through the afternoon, until the sun began to sink behind the mountain peaks, casting the vale into shadow. There was no sign that anyone had even passed this way recently, and even the footprints and broken branches that Ning Feiyun had followed here before had been swallowed up by snowfall. Eventually, they decided it would be better to simply stake out the region and hope that something got caught up in their arrays overnight. After all… there wasn’t too much else they could do for now. If they couldn’t find anything by tomorrow, perhaps they would just go on to search some of the nearby towns and see if anyone had noticed anything suspicious.
“Song-ge, you set up the tent. I will take one last look around the area and place a few beacons,” Ning Feiyun instructed.
Song Mingzhen nodded, and set about his task, still wracking his brain about the whole situation. They’d clearly been here, and yet they’d suddenly disappeared into thin air, vanishing in the snowstorm that washed over the mountains on the night of Song Mingzhen’s arrival. It truly seemed like they’d seen a small sliver of opportunity to escape and taken it— but there still should have been some sort of trail left behind.
This same thing had happened in Anfeng City. Song Mingzhen had rendered all of the attackers unconscious, and yet after taking his attention away from them for a single moment, he’d turned around to find that they had all vanished without a trace. And here, Ning Feiyun had been on their heels, only to find the trail abruptly ending here in this valley— and in both cases, there hadn’t been a single footprint left behind, or any lingering spiritual power from activating their spiritual weapons to take flight.
But his encounter with Yang Anxiang at the back of the mountain and the silent, concealed guards at the mountain prison had reminded him of another possibility— the use of concealment devices or techniques. The devices were regulated and handed out by Ning Jianlin, and the patrols were rigorously scheduled. Everyone had been accounted for— but just a few years ago, Baidong Mountain had been attacked. Many of Yinshan’s cultivators had been lost in the chaos of the war… a war in which a number of righteous cultivators had also turned to the side of evil.
What if there had never been a trail to follow in the beginning?
What if they’d been hiding in plain sight all along?
What if… one or two of those casualties, discontent with their clan’s lesser status, had simply disappeared from the world and gone in hiding, waiting all these years for the resurgence of the Nameless and their followers? They would know the mountains and patrol routes already, and could have brought with them the concealment devices they carried at the time of their disappearance— devices which would have been written off as missing during the war, and hardly given an afterthought today!
Song Mingzhen’s eyes went wide and he abruptly leapt to his feet. With that kind of advantage, it would be far better not to run, but to simply stay in place until they’d given up searching.
He swept the area with his spiritual sense once more— there they were, small pockets of disruption, a subtle alteration in the flow of spiritual energy through the valley. He prepared to go seek them out and confront their enemy, but then, the snow on the surrounding mountain slopes was suddenly lit up with a bright flash of silvery-blue light, and the sounds of fighting filled the air.
It was Ning Feiyun!
Song Mingzhen took off in the direction of that light, the hair on the back of his neck standing up. Before, Ning Feiyun had been here with his patrol— now, he’d gone off on his own, and it seemed the assailants had decided not to hide themselves anymore— instead, the far end of the quiet valley was now awash with dark-tinged spiritual power and killing intent. They meant to do away with the one hunting them here and now!
When Song Mingzhen reached the place, he saw Ning Feiyun standing amidst a group of black-clad, masked figures. His shining spear was held in his hand, and he was half-doubled over, droplets of blood dripping down to stain the snow from a wound on his side. His eyes were wide with shock, and his face was pale— they’d caught him off guard.
The attackers were all too familiar— it was the same group that had attacked Anfeng City during the festival!
Ning Feiyun seemed a little dazed right now, staring at one of the figures. He was bleeding quite a bit, and his knuckles were white, hand shaking a little as he held his weapon. He fended off a few attacks from either side, but it was clear that the sudden attack and injury had destabilized him— and maybe he too had come to the same conclusion that Song Mingzhen had, realizing that his own people had betrayed him. Who knows how long he would last on his own.
“Ning-xiong!” Song Mingzhen cried out, hoping to interrupt the attackers and give him a moment to breathe.
All at once, everyone turned their heads in his direction. Suddenly, he realized that there was something different about these rogue cultivators. Though based on their build and combat style they were almost certainly the same ones he’d encountered before, their skills were far higher than they were then— their spiritual auras were at least twice as strong as before, with the weakest among them still at least late-stage Ningqi. To think that there really had been so many powerful rogue cultivators in the world, who managed to escape the relentless pursuit after the war!
Song Mingzhen and Ning Feiyun certainly weren’t weak, both considered to be among their generation’s prodigies— but they were outnumbered, six rogue cultivators with decent skills against the two of them. Ning Feiyun was wounded, and Song Mingzhen had just woken from his injury a few months ago and his skills had deteriorated.
Still, he was at least a few minor boundaries above the strongest of them in his cultivation, and Ning Feiyun was also still standing. Their chances were good— it was clear that the evil cultivators had hoped to strike a fatal blow to Ning Feiyun while he was isolated, but he had reacted too quickly. Now that Song Mingzhen had arrived, their enemies seemed a bit less confident. This wasn’t the outcome they’d hoped for.
They wouldn’t lose— but neither could they allow these evil cultivators to escape. At least one of them had to be captured and taken back for interrogation. Preferably more.
Before they could continue to attack or turn and retreat, Song Mingzhen decided to take action himself. He formed a sword seal with his fingers, raising his hand to summon Chengxiao from its sheathe, directing the gold-lit blade to charge toward their enemies as he prepared to shield himself with his other hand— but though the longsword at his waist had stirred with excitement at the oncoming battle, when Song Mingzhen formed his sword seal, there wasn’t a single vibration of response.
The Chengxiao sword was refusing to respond to his commands!