The moment they laid eyes on the empty vault, both Song Mingzhen and Ning Feiyun knew the situation was far more dire than they had thought.

A mere rogue cultivator, even a powerful one who could murder a clan leader in his sleep, was a fairly normal threat for one of the great clans to face. These recent events were concerning, of course, but hardly something of world-ending proportions.

Now, it was different.

The Five Great Demonic Tools had the power to contend with the heavens. While they were far stronger combined, even one of them, in the hands of someone who knew how to wield it, could reshape reality as it currently stood. The abilities of these tools and how to use them were unknown even to the greater part of the cultivation world. Those secrets were passed down from clan leader to clan leader and never spoken of to anyone outside the direct lineage. For all but those privileged few, there were only legends— but legends always held a small kernel of truth.

The Zhiming Mirror, it was said, could turn lies to reality, reshaping destinies and manipulating the threads of fate. How it could do so, and what was needed to accomplish it was unknown, but the mere thought of what could be done with these capabilities was enough to send one’s mind spinning. In the hands of someone who wished ill upon the world and those within it… the thought alone chilled Song Mingzhen to the bone.

However little he might remember it, he’d already encountered one such scenario, and as a result he had spent the last five years unconscious, nearly losing himself completely.

If it was truly as they feared, then countless people could be in danger. Baiyu Palace needed to be notified as soon as possible— and the rest of the cultivation world’s leaders as well.

After re-sealing the vault, the pair raced back up the spiral staircase. Song Mingzhen followed close behind Ning Feiyun as he led them back through the myriad labyrinthine caverns. There was no time now to take in the view. They may have run out of time already. Many days had passed since the escape, and the thief may have already figured out how to use the Zhiming Mirror. If he had, then would they even know the difference? If reality itself were rewritten… then would any traces of what was before still remain?

Now wasn’t the time to contemplate such questions, though. Now was the time to find the stolen Demonic Tool.

Ning Feiyun and Song Mingzhen returned to Baiyu Palace and rushed to Ning Jianlin’s study as quickly as possible. Ning Feiyun threw open the doors without waiting to be announced, or caring whether or not his father was busy.

“Fuqin!” he cried out breathlessly, “Something… something terrible has happened.”

Ning Jianlin, fortunately, was not entertaining any visitors at the moment and had merely been sifting through a few documents on his desk. He looked up, concern etching itself on his face as he saw his son’s distress. “What is it?”

“The Zhiming Mirror… the Zhiming Mirror is missing.”

Ning Jianlin was on his feet in an instant. “What?!” he cried. “How did this happen? Its location is kept a strict secret— how did the two of you even discover this?”

As he asked that question, his gaze flicked from Ning Feiyun to Song Mingzhen behind him, then back again. Ning Feiyun also turned to look at Song Mingzhen, as if he were expecting the other to answer in his stead. Ah… well, it was only fair. After all, it had been Song Mingzhen who found the passage in the first place, and Song Mingzhen who insisted on checking the vault.

“It was a coincidence,” he explained, still a little out of breath but not too badly. His tongue felt odd and unwieldy, though, and there was a slight tremor to his fingertips. He couldn’t tell what exactly he was afraid of— that the Demonic Tool had been stolen, or that somehow his actions in the spirit caves would get him in trouble with the interim-leader of Yinshan’s cultivators.

“Go on,” Ning Jianlin urged. His voice was calmer now, but his expression remained taut.

“As we were returning from the mountain prison, I happened to notice an odd path. I felt particularly drawn toward it, and so we went to have a look,” Song Mingzhen continued, trying to keep his voice steady. “Ning-san-gongzi thought that it might be the place where the Zhiming Mirror was kept, and tried to turn away, but I convinced him that we should make sure it’s secure, considering all that’s happened.”

“I see… and then?” Ning Jianlin fortunately didn’t seem to be angry, only sparing a brief glance toward Ning Feiyun when his name was mentioned.

“Then… when we unsealed the vault using the entry device Fuqin allotted to us,” Ning Feiyun answered this time, “we found that the vault was empty.”

Ning Jianlin said nothing for awhile, storm clouds gathering amid his dark brows, to the point where it seemed as though a peal of thunder might burst free from them at any moment. He sat back down, resting his hands on the table before him as he stared down at the documents before him without reading a single character, his mind lost in thought.

A thousand dreadful possibilities must be running through his mind right now.

The study was as silent as a stone. Song Mingzhen’s gaze unconsciously drifted toward the floor, and he drew it back up time and time again, subtly fidgeting with the fabric of his sleeves. As the silent moment stretched on, he became more and more anxious, the sound of his own breath and heartbeat threatening to rise to a dull roar in his ears.

He was about to speak up just to break the silence, but at that moment, Ning Jianlin straightened up and exhaled heavily as he came to a decision.

“Fortunately, there are precautions in place for such an event,” he said, attempting to maintain a steady, reassuring tone. “It may take some time, but I should be able to find the Zhiming Mirror’s location. Until then… stay on your guard. Both of you must remain within the mountain’s boundary. Take care not to let anyone else know of this matter— it would be best to avoid any widespread panic. I will draft a message to the leaders of the clans and send it out with utmost secrecy.”

Song Mingzhen and Ning Feiyun both agreed.

Ning Jianlin reached up to press his fingers against his brow. “I will summon you once I’ve located the mirror. Song-gongzi, will you join me and my son when we go to retrieve it?”

Even if the thought of facing off against one of the Great Demonic Tools again filled Song Mingzhen with trepidation, it was far more anxiety-inducing to think of leaving the matter unresolved. He dipped his head. “I will join you.”

“Very good,” Ning Jianlin nodded his head.

The two were then dismissed.

After leaving the study, they lingered in the main hall for awhile, somewhat at a loss now that the initial rush had died down.

Song Mingzhen felt like it wouldn’t be quite right to just go back to the guest house and sleep. Wandering around the mountainside didn’t seem to be a very good idea either— but there really wasn’t anything else for him to do besides stand here aimlessly in Baiyu Palace’s great hall while he waited for Ning Jianlin to locate the Zhiming Mirror.

Ning Feiyun seemed to be similarly on edge, shifting his weight back and forth from one foot to the other, his fingers tightly intertwined behind his back.

“Song-gongzi…” he spoke up just as Song Mingzhen was about to take his leave, “Is it true that your injury was caused by one of the Great Demonic Tools?”

Song Mingzhen hadn’t expected to be asked about something like that. He took a deep breath in and out, then nodded. “Yes, it was. I don’t remember what happened that day, but I went to stop the Great General of the Nameless from releasing its power, and was injured in the backlash.”

Ning Feiyun bit his lower lip, gaze darting over to the side. “I see.”

Neither spoke for a moment, then Song Mingzhen decided to finally address the issue that had remained unspoken between them since this all began.

“I’ve heard of your history,” he said. “Were you acquainted with that person?”

“I… was,” Ning Feiyun quietly admitted. Then, he looked up to meet Song Mingzhen’s gaze, alarm flashing in his eyes. “But— it is only because we lived together when I was young. Nothing more. He was… well, he was always arrogant, even as a child. It is no surprise that he tried to harness a power he could not command.”

Song Mingzhen didn’t know if he was being completely honest about the depth of their relationship, but the answer was reasonable enough. Besides that, even though Ning Feiyun might act cold and aloof, his emotions were readily apparent.

It was still a little surprising that Ning Feiyun would admit to this past connection directly, even if it would have been ridiculous to deny it. Perhaps it was because the hall was empty aside from the two of them— in that case, Song Mingzhen went ahead to press the issue further. After all, who knows when he would have the chance to continue this conversation otherwise?

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“Some suspect that you may be responsible for the recent events in some way,” he noted, lowering his voice to barely above a whisper. “After spending some time with you, I personally don’t believe that… If anything, perhaps your past connection with the Generals of the Nameless might hold some clue about the present dilemma.”

Ning Feiyun seemed surprised.

“You truly… don’t think that I did it?”

Something in his posture changed, the cloud of misery, anxiety, and wariness that clung to him lifting ever so slightly.

To tell the truth, Song Mingzhen wasn’t entirely sure what he believed yet. Right now, though, it would be far more beneficial to present himself as a friend— as someone who believed in Ning Feiyun’s innocence.

“I don’t,” he said, “In fact, I think you’re nothing more than a distraction at best, a convenient scapegoat at worst.”

Ning Feiyun was speechless. His gaze dropped to the floor. When he looked back up, he seemed more relaxed than Song Mingzhen had ever seen him before, the lines in his brow finally smoothed over and the corners of his mouth, usually pulled tight, relaxed into something that was almost like a faint smile of relief.

“I was certain that this suspicion was the only reason you were here. I thought that you were waiting for me to make any mistake, so that you could catch me in it,” he admitted, then sighed, shaking his head. “Since these things began happening… I admit, the spread of rumors has been difficult to manage. My father always supported me, but I know that many others don’t look upon me so favorably.”

This was almost more than he’d spoken the entire time they were in the caverns, and it was certainly more relaxed. Song Mingzhen couldn’t help but feel a bit of satisfaction— perhaps he was finally coaxing Ning Feiyun out of his shell.

“No matter the reason I was sent here, I have no intention of accusing a person of crimes he did not commit,” he reassured him. “No good has ever come of jumping to an accusation too quickly. Now… do you know anything that could be useful to our search?”

Ning Feiyun became serious again once more. After a moment spent deep in thought, he shook his head.

“No… unfortunately, I was still young when I was brought into the Ning clan, only around nine years old. Mo Yuan was a little older than I was—”

“Wait.” Hearing that name was like a thunderclap to Song Mingzhen’s ears. “Mo Yuan?”

“That is what the Great General was called in his youth. Even before I left, he was already close with Qiu Wei— that is, the Second General. But… he is dead now, and other than these few things I don’t know the relationship between the rest of the Generals, much less the group’s ordinary recruits.”

“I… I understand,” Song Mingzhen was finding it difficult to process Ning Feiyun’s words. “Then… that’s alright if you don’t know anything.”

“Are you certain, Song-gongzi? You seem a bit…” Ning Feiyun’s voice trailed off, unsure of how to end the sentence.

Song Mingzhen waved his hand. “Of course— I’m quite alright. I think I’ll go take a rest while we wait for word from your father.”

He quickly left Baiyu Palace, trying to stay as nonchalant as possible on the way back to his guest house. He felt positively ill. The world around him was swaying. Mo Yuan… Mo Yuan… that name had been spoken into his mind by a voice that sounded like Ning Feiyun’s as he teetered over the edge of the chasm.

What did it all mean?

Luckily, it was already night, so Song Mingzhen was free to stumble back to his house uninterrupted. His head was pounding, his vision blurry, and his heart felt like it was about to leap from his throat.

The moment he got back to his guest house, he hardly even had time to remove his shoes before he collapsed into bed, all of the energy drained from his body. He shut his eyes, waiting for the flashing colors behind his eyelids to come to a stop, clutching at the blanket with white knuckles.

Why had he had such a strange hallucination? It couldn’t have been a memory from the attack on Baidong Mountain during the war, right? As far as Song Mingzhen knew, he and his company had only arrived on the tail end of the battle, and they hadn’t gone into the caves.

What’s more, what did any of this have to do with the current situation?

Maybe nothing at all. Maybe, the memories of past events had simply lingered in the spirit caves, and Song Mingzhen had ended up encountering those memories as he passed through.

He could think about his own problems later— the more important thing right now was the missing Zhiming Mirror. The Demonic Tool’s disappearance changed everything for the current investigation.

Is that how they had managed to escape so easily?

Is that why there was no clear trail left behind?

Had they used the mirror to bend reality so it was like they had never passed through wherever it was that Ning Feiyun had lost the trail? If they had, though… then why wouldn’t they have made it seem like the escape never happened in the first place? Or make it so that the Second General was deemed innocent?

Without knowing how the Zhiming Mirror worked, there was no real way to know these answers.

Eventually, his head stopped spinning, and he released his vise-grip on the blanket. He rolled over onto his back, placing his hands over his midsection as he looked up toward the ceiling, rafters indistinct in the darkness of the room. He focused on the warm sensation of the spiritual qi within him, steadying its flow through his meridians.

Why had he ended up in another one of those dizzy spells? This was really becoming a problem.

There must be some cause for them… maybe he really ought to see a physician once he returned to Dayuan.

That is, once all crises were averted and everything was returned to its proper place.

He shut his eyes as he felt the headache returning.

Then, before he knew it, morning had come.

Song Mingzhen hadn’t even realized he’d been falling asleep until he was already blinking the drowsiness from his eyes and stretching out his arms and legs. He still felt a bit out of it, his hands and feet unwieldy and disconnected, but other than that the headache had fully dissipated, and he was able to sit up in bed without feeling the room spin around him.

Though yesterday’s discoveries still hung heavy on his mind, the urgency and anxiety seemed more distant than it had the night before.

Even if the perpetrators of the recent crimes had also stolen the Zhiming Mirror, from what the legends said it was a fairly complicated spiritual tool to use. They probably wouldn’t be able to master it easily— so there was probably still at least a little time to retrieve it before any catastrophe occurred.

As for the visions in the caves… well, he’d come to the conclusion that they must have simply been memories. Though Song Mingzhen still wondered what Ning Feiyun had been doing there, he supposed it wasn’t too surprising that he would have called the Great General of the Nameless by name if the two were already acquainted.

Besides, the relief Ning Feiyun showed when he’d realized that Song Mingzhen didn’t suspect him was absolutely genuine. Whatever he may have done in the past, Song Mingzhen was more sure than ever that Ning Feiyun wasn’t behind this particular incident.

As for who was… they could only learn that once they managed to catch the culprit.

After he’d stretched out his stiff muscles, Song Mingzhen got up out of bed, made himself a pot of tea, and reclined leisurely on the couch in the guest house’s main room. Ning Jianlin hadn’t sent for him yet, so it seemed that he wasn’t needed— so he might as well take advantage of the slow morning. Who knows how many more such peaceful moments he would get to experience?

Things may be quiet for now, but it wasn’t difficult to see this blowing up into a major crisis.

Or perhaps it would all blow over like a passing cloud.

Without the ability to see the future, one could only guess how things would turn out. Still, it was always better to prepare for the worst outcome— that way, one would be pleasantly surprised if things turned out well.

The morning’s light gradually filtered in through the windows as Song Mingzhen sipped his tea, working to maintain a calm outlook. There was nothing to be done until the Zhiming Mirror’s location was determined. He had already gone up against a Demonic Tool once before and survived… and this time, he would not do so alone.

Ning Jianlin was more than capable as a cultivator and fighter. The same could likely be said of Ning Feiyun. Though Song Mingzhen hadn’t had the chance to see either of them fight, the Ning clan already had a good reputation as martial artists, and the head of that clan and his adopted son would almost certainly be a cut above the rest.

The situation was different than last time.

He shut his eyes, inhaling and exhaling slowly, then let his lashes flutter open once again.

It was at this moment that he saw something that had escaped his notice when he stumbled back to the guest house the night before— a square of folded white paper on the ground just inside the door.

Yang Anxiang had left him another message.

Immediately, the sense of calm within him evaporated, and he rushed over to pick it up, unfold it, and activate the disappearing ink. He wondered if there would be any real answers this time— with the new developments, they needed those answers more than ever before. As his eyes skimmed the page, though, his heart sank like a stone.

There were no answers— only a few ominous lines.

I’ve run out of time. Tread carefully. Beware what others say is true, question what your eyes and ears tell you. You are the key to revealing the truth— do not stop searching for it.

Song Mingzhen held the note in his hand, reading it over and over again. A feeling of dread bubbled up within him.

What did she mean, “out of time”?

He swallowed hard and folded up the letter, tucking it away into his qiankun bag.

For a little while, he paced back and forth inside the guest house. Yang Anxiang had to have left this note here at some point while he was gone, and hadn’t given him any place or time to meet. It wasn’t as though he could just go to her courtyard at Baiyu Palace either— if anyone saw, they’d certainly start talking, and the last thing she needed was to be scrutinized even further.

The way the letter was written, though, was enough to make him worry. The brush strokes were a bit uneven, as if it were written in a hurry, and there were a few smudges in the ink. The paper, as well, had some creases, like it had been clutched a little too tightly by anxious hands.

If something happened to Yang Anxiang… then whatever information she had about this case would be out of reach.

Eventually, Song Mingzhen decided that he would go up to the palace after all. Even if he didn’t go to Yang Anxiang’s courtyard, as long as he lingered in some inconspicuous corner he was bound to overhear gossip from the servants or guards. If anything important had happened, there would be a way to hear about it.

As it turned out, though, he wouldn’t have to wait around and listen at all.

When he arrived at Baiyu Palace, there was already a large crowd gathered in the main hall. Servants, guards, and family members of the Qin and Ning clans were huddled in small groups, speaking to one another in low voices. A tall young man that must have been one of Ning Feiyun’s adoptive brothers, with a pair of guards in tow, was questioning each of a group of servants one by one.

In the back of the hall, Ning Jianlin stood in deep discussion with a tall woman dressed in white mourning clothes. She was pretty, but a bit fierce looking, and had a strong brow and features that resembled Ning Jianlin quite a bit. This must be Ning Jianlin’s sister— the one who had married Qin Wenying, and the mother of little Qin Rui.

Song Mingzhen glanced from one end of the hall to the other until his gaze settled upon a familiar face. Ning Feiyun was lingering near one of the side doors, standing apart from the rest. Song Mingzhen hurried over to greet him.

“What is all this?” he asked. It was a lot less difficult to talk to Ning Feiyun now, after they’d had their little heart-to-heart yesterday.

Ning Feiyun, however, didn’t seem too happy to see him. Instead, his expression remained grave, a slight pallor to his features. His lips were pressed firmly together and his brow was deeply furrowed.

When he spoke, Song Mingzhen understood why.

“Last night, or perhaps early this morning, Qin-zongzhu’s concubine Yang Anxiang threw herself from the cliff-side near the back of the palace,” he said. “One of Qin-furen’s maids has gone missing as well.”