Chapter 72: Waiting in the Cage for the Bird
Night had deepened. The moon hung at its zenith, its clear radiance spilling over the ice and snow atop Han Shan Peak. Across the stretching mountains, peaks and caves alike had fallen into silence. Some had already gone to bed, others were seated in meditation chambers, cultivating in stillness.
The hidden lamps glimmered faintly. The dueling square that teemed with people during the day now lay utterly empty. Birds and beasts of the forest had returned to their nests, and the sounds of wind and water seemed all the more vast and overwhelming. Disciples on night duty patrolled the mountain paths with lanterns in hand, their distant lights bobbing like fireflies drifting through the dark valleys. It was the most ordinary of Han Shan nights.
On this very night, however, Chongbi Peak received a small guest. He was the Baojian Disciple who served the sect master, named Xiao Yuan.
The little young disciple hurried along, heading straight for the peak master’s residence, but was blocked on the way by a group of rowdy Chongbi Peak disciples, who crowded around him, pinching his cheeks and squeezing his shoulders.
He said urgently, “I have an important matter—I must see the Chongbi Peak Master!”
“Well, well, Xiao Yuan is here!”
“What urgent matter could you possibly have? Come, give us a shoulder rub!”
“Not going to rub? Then let us give you one instead!”
Xiao Yuan was not timid or shy like Xiao Huai from Changchun Peak, but even he could not bear being teased like this. He struggled, his face flushing red with anxiety and anger. Suddenly, as though he had seen a savior, he shouted, “Senior Brother Zhang is here!”
The mischievous disciples immediately stopped, stepping aside to clear a path. They greeted respectfully: “Greetings, Senior Brother Zhang.”
Zhang Suyuan said sternly, “Late at night, instead of meditating, you’re out here pestering a child?” The group hurriedly admitted fault and scattered like startled birds.
The Baojian Disciple said quickly, “Senior Brother Zhang, I really have urgent business—I must see the Peak Master!”
Zhang Suyuan smiled. “At this hour, the Peak Master is in his quiet chamber studying calligraphy and painting. By the rules, no one is to disturb him. Whatever the matter, tell me first.”
The child, flustered and panicked, stumbled over his words. Zhang Suyuan listened patiently, and after some difficulty finally pieced it together: “You’re saying that the Sect Master went to Jingsi Valley this afternoon, and he still hasn’t returned?”
Xiao Yuan said nervously, “Yes! In the past, whenever the Daoist Revered summoned the Sect Master, it never lasted more than an hour. I’m worried.”
Zhang Suyuan had lived through the upheaval of the Secret Realm competition—unlike the other disciples, he knew how serious matters could be. He immediately went to report to his own master.
At that moment, the Chongbi Peak Master was seated before his desk admiring a new work of art: a grand painting of Han Shan in snow, bold and majestic, its ink half-dry. Before his master could put it away, Zhang Suyuan stole a glance at the inscription at the bottom—and saw to his astonishment the signature: “Ji Xiao Zhenren.”
The time it takes to drink a cup of tea later, all of Han Shan was roused from sleep. With the exception of the Sect Master and the Ziyan Peak Master, the masters of Chongbi, Liulan, and Yueque Peaks, along with over twenty elders of the Five Peaks faction, all gathered in force before the “Skyline Path” at Jingsi Valley.
Even the usual assemblies at the main peak had never mustered such a scene. More than a thousand disciples stood with hands on their swords, tense and uneasy. The younger ones felt stifled and restless, their minds running with speculation. The older elders, sensing the ethereal, deathly sword intent lingering in the valley, recalled the night a hundred years ago when Han Shan had been destroyed and reborn, and they too grew grim with tension.
Chongbi Peak Master gathered his true essence and called out in a resonant voice, “Forgive us for this late-night intrusion. We beg the Daoist Revered to grant us an audience—”
Moonlight blazed above. The night wind sighed. His voice echoed in the empty valley.
He had scarcely finished speaking when he suddenly drew his sword and shouted, “Be careful—scatter!”
The rocks before them exploded with a thunderous crash. The crowd leapt back in every direction. It was as if countless explosive talismans had gone off at once—the stone pathway blasted apart, and the forests on both sides collapsed as though under a rain of falling meteors.
When the smoke and dust cleared, they saw: the “Skyline Path” no longer existed.
On the day Ji Xiao had attained sainthood, Daoist Revered Tai Heng had used divine power to carve out the Skyline Path. And tonight, Tai Heng himself had blasted the passage open again.
From deep within the valley came an old, hoarse voice: “Come.”
The valley shone with firelight. The crowd arranged themselves in careful ranks and proceeded cautiously inward. Many younger disciples were entering for the first time; the oppressive stillness of the air made them more nervous with every step.
…
In Hanmen City, Hengtong Juyuan.
Qian Yuzhi, draped in a thin outer robe, sat at his desk reading. On the corner of the desk burned Yu Qishu’s soul lamp, its flame steady and calm.
Some people, before sleeping, liked to copy scriptures to settle their minds, or read poetry and plays to help them drift off. Qian Yuzhi, before bed, liked only to look at account books. Each entry of silver flowing into the ledgers soothed him like reading the Daoist canon itself, bringing peace and ease to his heart, so that he could sleep soundly until dawn.
Time slipped by. He closed the ledger and stood, preparing to retire. The night was utterly still, with all sounds hushed. He extinguished the candle, moonlight spilling gently in, pulled on a robe, and was just about to sleep.
He had taken only two steps when something pricked at his senses. He turned back—and saw the flame of the soul lamp flickering wildly, like frail grass battered by a raging wind.
Narrowing his eyes, his face changed drastically. He threw on his clothes in haste. “This is bad!”
Qian Yuzhi raced down the stairs into the courtyard, summoning his flying artifact—only then realizing something was missing.
The head steward came running with a lantern, followed by guards and clerks from the pawnshop. Seeing Qian Yuzhi’s hair loose, his expression grim and urgent, the steward was startled. “Zhenren, what has happened?”
Qian Yuzhi said, “Where is my sword?”
The steward, still half-asleep, mumbled, “…Perhaps you should look again?”
Qian Yuzhi asked once more: “Where is my sword?” This time, he was not asking the steward.
The deep courtyard was silent, with no answer from within. The guards and servants exchanged uneasy glances. A moment later, from more than sixty zhang away, in the direction of the underground warehouse, came a muffled rumbling, like rolling thunder.
The head steward’s face went pale. He cried out, “Zhenren, wait—don’t!”
It was already too late. Amid the thunder, a streak of light burst from the warehouse, piercing straight through walls and gates alike.
The warehouse wall shattered, the courtyard walls collapsed, and smoke and dust shot into the sky, covering the skies above Hengtong Juyuan.
The streak of light cut through the air, storming into the courtyard. Everyone scrambled in panic. Then the light suddenly slowed, revealing the form of a long sword, hovering steadily in front of Qian Yuzhi.
Qian Yuzhi caught the sword in one hand. Before leaving, he instructed coldly, “Something this important should be kept somewhere easier to reach next time.”
The steward muttered silently to himself: The last time you even lit a lamp to wipe that sword was sixty years ago.
Within moments, the thunderous noise had awakened the entire street and half of Hanmen City. Groggy neighbors pushed open their windows, peering out at the collapsed rear courtyard of “Hengtong Juyuan” and the sword light streaking across the sky. Discussions broke out everywhere.
The sword light streaked like a meteor, heading straight toward Han Shan.
The crowd stood dumbfounded in the courtyard, gazing up. A young steward whispered, “So Qian Zhenren was actually a sword cultivator.”
The head steward nodded. Many years ago, Qian Yuzhi had been a dashing youth in white robes, flying with his sword—completely unrelated to counting coins.
Someone else asked, “But this late at night, where could Qian Zhenren be going?”
The head steward mulled it over for a long time before replying uncertainly, “To collect a debt, maybe?”
He recalled that ever since “Hengtong Juyuan” opened, the Chongbi Peak Master had always taken things on credit, never once paying. Could it be that Qian Zhenren finally lost patience, and tonight was going to Han Shan to demand repayment?
…
Changchun Peak.
The spring breeze was no longer warm as usual. Beneath the pond’s surface, dark currents surged as the Endless Sky Sword slowly awakened. The waters trembled, the ocean roared within, and the three jiao spiraled upward to avoid its edge, dragging out their slow, drawling chatter. In the past, when they talked, Yu Qishu would stand at the pond’s edge, seeing only three “koi” blowing bubbles as they swam lazily. Under the moonlight, fish frolicked between lotus leaves—peaceful, serene.
But now he knelt in the mud and sand at the bottom of the sea, his head spinning, ears ringing, as though struck by heavy hammers, while the dragon cries reverberated all around.
The third jiao asked, “What’s he doing? Is he talking to the sword?”
The second jiao gloated, “That sword has a terrible temper. It’s just woken up—ferocious as ever. It’ll definitely cut him down with one strike.”
The third jiao roared with laughter: “Hahaha, good! If he dies, we get to eat meat!”
The eldest jiao snapped, “Idiots! He’s Ji Xiao’s junior brother! If he dies right under our noses, what do you think will happen when Ji Xiao comes back? He’ll slaughter us and bury us with him!” At the thought, its massive body trembled slightly.
The third jiao instantly turned its laughter into sobs, wailing, “I don’t want to die! I still want to transform into a true dragon! Ji Xiao said, as long as we truly repent and cultivate sincerely, he’ll help us ascend as dragons!”
People had their fates, and so did demons. These three jiao had once been overlords of the Western Sea Abyss, stirring storms at will. They did not live on plants—they fed on whales, sharks, and hapless fishermen. They never learned the methods of absorbing heaven and earth’s spiritual energy. Unlike the sluggish mirage beasts, they knew only hunger and slaughter. Though their demonic power was deep, just as many cultivators failed to ascend, there were no true dragons left in the world. Only dragon pearls in the deep sea, old texts, and scattered tales across the Three Realms proved that jiao had once transformed into dragons.
After Ji Xiao subdued them—or rather, beat them into submission—they placed all their hopes of becoming dragons on him, the “invincible in the world,” the one most likely to ascend.
The eldest jiao said grimly, “What else can be done? That sword never reasons with anyone!”
The three jiao had very different temperaments, but on one point they agreed—Ji Xiao was the most reasonable person alive, but his sword was the least reasonable. Since the Endless Sky Sword had awakened, Han Shan must be in danger. Yu Qishu, this unlucky boy with shallow cultivation and fragile flesh, could never withstand the sword’s might. The sword’s mere leaking aura could shred him into bloody pulp.
The second jiao, “We have to save him! Saving him is saving ourselves!”
The third jiao, “Saving him is our path to becoming dragons!”
The eldest jiao raised a claw and pointed at the third: “Well said. Lend him your demon core for protection.”
The second jiao quickly lifted a claw in agreement: “Yes!”
The third jiaon flailed its claw helplessly, unable to point at itself: “Yes—no! Why me?!”
On the seafloor, Yu Qishu sent a message to the sword: “Do you want to come out? Let me help you!”
The three jiao saw him daring to grip the sword’s hilt, and all felt their vision darken.
The Endless Sky Sword lifted inch by inch from the sand, its blade gleaming brilliantly. The water pressure surged, and Yu Qishu felt countless blades within the current slicing at him, tearing him apart alive. Yet he held the hilt without letting go, his vision blurring. He did not realize that blood streamed from all seven orifices. Through the haze, he barely glimpsed a flash of golden light before a warm current surged into his limbs and organs, filling him with strength.
The eldest jiao glared at the third, then muttered to the second, “We’ve done our best. If the kid dies, Ji Xiao can’t blame us.”
The third jiao wailed, “I’m the one who did my best!”
The night had been clear and bright, but at some point, strong winds rose and clouds swallowed the moon. Changchun Peak trembled.
The pond burst upward into a massive waterspout, shattering trees and houses on its banks, flinging the debris high into the sky.
At the center of the vortex, a sword rose slowly like the morning sun breaking through clouds. Not a drop of water clung to its blade, which shone so brightly that Changchun Peak was lit as if by daylight.
And at the sword’s hilt dangled a man, his life or death uncertain.
Yu Qishu hung there like a dead dog, water roaring in his ears, clinging tightly to the Endless Sky Sword. “Brother Sword, Brother Endless, calm down! Where are you going?!”
The long sword soared into the night sky, tracing a brilliant arc. From afar, one might think a master cultivator was riding his sword, soaring through the heavens.
……..
Within the Hanhai Secret Realm, Meng Xueli and the others could already make out the rising outlines of the central city.
Ji Xiao said simply, “I believe.”
Meng Xueli saw the seriousness in his expression, not just empty comfort, and felt grateful. “Tingyun, thank you.”
Que Xianming was still bragging to the Jing Di squad when he suddenly turned his head and saw the two smiling at each other. At once, he ran back to Meng Xueli’s side. “What are you two talking about?”
Meng Xueli said, “We were talking about the possibility that Ji Xiao might not be dead.”
Que Xianming thought he was joking. “I think you’ve gone crazy!”
He secretly sent Meng Xueli a voice transmission: “Come on, tell your brother the truth—do you like Ji Xiao, or do you like this Xiao Tingyun? Do you like the older one, or the younger one?”
Meng Xueli truly wanted to hit him. “I like your head!”
The Central City was not really a city. At the center of the secret realm, surrounded by mountains and rivers, stretched a wide plain. On it stood a cluster of abandoned palaces. They were not made of timber joined by mortise and tenon, but of massive blocks of white stone, cut, piled, and carved into halls and towers. Though many years of wind, sand, and battle had worn them down, one could still faintly discern palaces, gardens, covered walkways, corridors, and open courtyards.
According to legend, besides the structures above ground, there was also a palace beneath the earth. The mirage beast breathed there, but apart from Ji Xiao, no one had ever seen it with their own eyes.
Meng Xueli, back when he was Snow Mountain King, had seen it. Touching the towering stone pillars of Central City now, he could not help but think of the other beast hidden beneath his feet—another of Ji Xiao’s “pets.”
Meng Xueli sent a voice transmission to his disciple: “Tingyun, tell me, is the underground palace where the mirage beast lives more splendid, or is our Changchun Peak more beautiful? If you had to choose, where would you live?”
Ji Xiao had absolutely no idea where this question came from. He looked utterly bewildered, yet afraid to answer wrongly and anger his little Dao companion. “Of course I’d live with you…”
Meng Xueli’s heart settled, the sourness gone. He thought, That’s true. If Ji Xiao really gave the mirage beast a better place to live, his son would surely follow it instead of me.
The Jing Di squad entered Central City for the first time. Even Que Xianming, who had roamed the mortal world for years, was also new to the secret realm. Seeing the stone-carved structures, he was curious enough to forget teasing Meng Xueli and his disciple about their “flirtatious glances.”
Song Qianyi unrolled the map. “This is the Tianjing, the most remote part of Central City. Almost no one comes here. We need to head toward the main cluster of buildings if we want to meet other contestants.” Before they had set out, Meng Xueli had pointed at the map and chosen this place. She actually did not understand why they had come to Tianjing.
Six stone pillars towered high, encircling a broad, flat, circular square. On the surfaces of the pillars and on the stone tiles of the plaza, the fine markings had already faded, leaving only vague traces.
Que Xianming asked, “What was this courtyard used for?”
Everyone exchanged glances, then circled one of the pillars to examine it. Meng Xueli said, “I don’t know either.”
Jing Di: “Who cares? There’s no one around. Let’s just head forward and see!”
Ji Xiao answered, “It was for watching the sky. To record the shifting shadows of the sun, moon, and stars.”
Meng Xueli praised his disciple. “You know so much.”
Jing Di: “…”
Song Qianyi added, “It’s said that this entire secret realm was a small pocket world, a cave-dwelling created by an ancient great cultivator. After he ascended, this fragment of ownerless space drifted in the outer realms… so he must have been a great cultivator who loved stargazing.”
Xu Sanshan, “I feel like only our team would bother studying something like this.”
Meng Xueli told his disciple, “Look—Ji Xiao chose this place for the tournament with deep thought. A great cultivator once ascended here, proving that ascension was not just a dream. Everyone who comes here will remember that. A seed is planted, and where there is a seed, there is a chance for it to sprout. As long as those who come after believe that ascension is possible—be they human or demon—someday, someone will ascend.”
Que Xianming overheard and muttered under his breath, “That sounds so lofty. I bet if Ji Xiao dug a cesspit, you’d still manage to sing praises about it!”
Meng Xueli shot him a glare fierce enough to kill. Que Xianming quickly mimed sealing his lips shut.
Liu Jing fiddled with his formation plate. “Elder Meng, where should we go now? There are presences to both the west and east.”
Meng Xueli asked, “You know how to set up a Sound Amplification Array, don’t you?”
Liu Jing thumped his chest in assurance. “Of course! It’s the simplest of basic formations. I could set it up blindfolded. This place is perfect for it.”
The Sound Amplification Array had no offensive power—it only spread a voice farther. If a cultivator infused their speech with true essence, their voice could already carry far. With an added amplification array, it could travel even farther, even clearer.
Song Qianyi asked skeptically, “Really? Are you sure you can manage it? It’s no shame if you can’t…”
The formation master was furious. “I couldn’t undo Master’s Absolute Spirit Array earlier, so yes, I admit my skills weren’t enough! But this time, light one stick of incense. If I can’t set up the amplification array before it burns out, I’ll smash my head on this pillar and die right here! I’ll become a wandering ghost of the secret realm!”
Jing Di rushed to stop him. “That’s too harsh, no need to go that far, really no need.”
Zheng Mu, “Amitabha, calm your anger.”
But Song Qianyi ignored them and asked, “Elder Meng, why do you want an amplification array?”
Meng Xueli, “I want to talk to everyone. I want the whole secret realm to hear my voice.”
Jing Di was stunned. He wondered if the man had been driven mad by the pressure. “If everyone—including Ning Wei and enemies we don’t even know about—hears you, you’ll become a living target.”
Song Qianyi, “Elder Meng wants to warn the other contestants that this secret realm hides a conspiracy, and tell them to find any working teleportation arrays and leave quickly. Then we can relocate too! We don’t know how many others are inside or where they are. Using an amplification array is faster.”
Meng Xueli, “If I just said that outright—if you were competing for a rank in the secret realm and suddenly heard such words—would you believe me?”
Song Qianyi thought for a moment, then unwillingly admitted, “If I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes, I wouldn’t believe it. I’d think you set a trap to trick me into quitting. I’d refuse to leave out of spite. Anyone who’s lasted to this late stage is either very capable or very arrogant… sigh, but there’ll always be someone willing to believe. Convincing even one person is better than nothing.”
Meng Xueli, “That’s why I need to say it differently.”
He briefly explained his idea. After listening, the others fell silent again.
Song Qianyi, “…That’s far too risky. Let me think of another way.”
Jing Di said, “I don’t agree!”
Xu Sanshan, Zheng Mu, and Liu Jing exchanged glances but said nothing.
Que Xianming, “I don’t care either way.”
Meng Xueli looked eagerly at Xiao Tingyun.
Ji Xiao said, “I agree.”
Ji Xiao’s indulgence of Meng Xueli was not without limit. If Meng Xueli had ever wanted to commit an evil deed, Ji Xiao would certainly have stopped him. But for something small and not truly outrageous like this, he only wanted his little Dao companion to be happy.
Meng Xueli said: “Only you understand me, only you believe me. You’re so good to me.”
Although Jing Di had already thought things through and knew that he basically had no chance with Meng Xueli, watching him treat Xiao Tingyun with such warmth still left him stifled with frustration. “Fine, I agree too!”
Meng Xueli nodded and turned to Liu Jing: “Set up the formation.”
To vent his gloom, Jing Di really did light an incense stick. Before half the stick burned down, Liu Jing had already finished his work. “Elder Meng, your voice will definitely cover half the Secret Realm. As for whether it can reach the entire realm—that depends on how well you condense your true essence.”
Meng Xueli stepped onto the amplification array, standing in the center of the Tianjing, “Hundred Generations of Time” in hand. Night gradually deepened within the Secret Realm, and the six stone pillars stretched out long shadows. Starlight spilled brilliantly across his figure.
From afar, Ji Xiao watched him and thought—even when Meng Xueli made a fuss, he still looked beautiful.
Meng Xueli drew a deep breath and called out: “Hello, everyone!”
Jing Di’s team quickly covered their ears.
Meng Xueli heard his own voice echo back, drawn out: “He…llo… everyone…”
He said, “Don’t panic if you hear my voice. I am Meng Xueli, Ji Xiao’s Dao companion, the current Peak Master of Changchun Peak. I’m standing in the courtyard at the center of the city, speaking to you now—”
Above the Hanhai Secret Realm, beyond the clouds and beneath the bright moon, the Vermilion Cloud Ship of the Master of Tianhu Lake remained where it had always been, a streak of dazzling red drifting like a flame in the sea of stars.
The people on board had already grown used to this life. They no longer asked when Hu Si would be willing to return to Tianhu, and he never spoke of it. They simply treated it as though they had moved house—from the Tianhu to the skies above the Hanhai—to enjoy a new view.
But tonight was different.
When Chunshui and Qiuguang entered the hall, they saw that Hu Si had finally pushed open the flower-carved window. He stood there with his long hair spilling down, his tall frame limned by silver moonlight, looking like an immortal beyond the mortal world as he gazed down upon the myriad lives of the Hanhai.
In his hand, the Realm Master held an empty birdcage.
The cage gleamed with golden light, exquisitely crafted and beautiful.
Qiuguang asked, “Realm Master, has something happened in the Secret Realm?”
Hu Si smiled faintly. “What could possibly be new?”
Chunshui praised, “This cage is truly beautiful.”
Hu Si turned, and with a casual motion hung the birdcage before the window. “I made it myself. Quite sturdy, isn’t it?”
Qiuguang asked curiously, “Realm Master, do you mean to raise a bird?”
Hu Si nodded. “Yes, I intend to raise one.”
Qiuguang brightened. “Then what bird do you want? I’ll catch one for you.”
Hu Si only smiled and shook his head. “You can’t catch them. Birds caught by hand never last long. The best way is to wait until one flies in on its own.”
Chunshui laughed, covering her lips. “What kind of bird would willingly fly into a cage?”
Hu Si answered, “A foolish bird.”
“Ha! A foolish bird!”
“I’ve heard of waiting by the tree for a hare, but now the Realm Master will wait by the cage for a bird!”
The two favored concubines and the four maidservants all burst into laughter, their voices like silver bells filling the chamber.
Amidst the mirth, Hu Si spoke slowly, his voice drifting like mist.
“Soon. Just a little longer.”
The words silenced the laughter—none of them understood what he meant.
Chunshui went to light the incense burner, while Qiuguang gestured for the maidservants to withdraw. Once the chamber quieted, the two favored women approached the bed to help Hu Si change his robes.
But Hu Si waved his hand. They dared not step forward and stood uneasily instead.
Hu Si smiled. “Come, sit. I’ll tell you two a story.”
Qiuguang relaxed, her smile easy. “The Realm Master is in good spirits tonight—he’s going to tell us another story.”
Hu Si said slowly, “When I was young, I had a friend. Today, I’ll tell you his story.”
Chunshui and Qiuguang sat to his left and right, at ease now. They knew that in such moments Hu Si was the most approachable—he would answer nearly any question, grant nearly any request.
The chamber was filled with curling incense smoke, heavy veils, and decadent serenity.
Hu Si began:
“My friend was born in a small mortal kingdom in the north of the continent, to a wealthy family. From an early age he loved to study. He read classics, but also delighted in strange tales and storybooks of spirits and monsters—ghosts, mountain demons, fox fairies.
“One night, while he was still young, he sat by lamplight at his desk, reading late into the night. Suddenly, he heard a rustling in the courtyard, as though some enormous creature had entered.
“He was frightened, but also curious, so he could not resist opening the window just a crack… Guess what he saw?”
Chunshui asked, “What?”
“A great peacock!”
Qiuguang frowned. “Just a peacock? Why not a beautiful fox-spirit? Aren’t mortal storybooks always about scholars meeting fox fairies or alluring ghosts?”
Hu Si said, “But that peacock spoke. It said, ‘Child, don’t be afraid. I am an immortal from the heavens.’”
Chunshui laughed. “Hahaha! So it wasn’t a ghost he met, but a demon!”
Qiuguang asked curiously, “Wait, why did it call him ‘child’? How old was he?”
“Seven and a half,” Hu Si replied.
Chunshui chuckled. “Ah, so he was still just a boy—too young to have the luck of meeting a fox-spirit beauty.”
“Indeed,” Hu Si said. “The child was startled and suspicious when he heard the peacock speak, and in his fright he quickly shut the window. Even when the yard grew quiet again, he stayed huddled under his covers, too scared to sleep.
“When morning came, he went to look outside—but there was no peacock, only a single feather lying in the grass, bright and iridescent, still glimmering with light.”
Chunshui said, “Even for a child, a peacock demon’s feather would be a rare treasure.”
“The next night,” Hu Si went on, “he still dared not sleep. He waited until the middle of the night… and once again, the peacock returned.
“It asked, ‘What is your name?’”
Chunshui asked, “Did he answer?”
Hu Si said, “Of course he didn’t dare answer. But the peacock came every day—one day it gave him colorful feathers, the next day pearls from the sea, or even stars from the heavens. A month later, the boy already treated the peacock as a good friend.”
Qiuguang, “Dragon pearls and stars? How could that be possible?!”
Hu Si laughed loudly. “They were just a few low-grade spirit stones and some mid-grade pearls that could shine and change color. But to a child of a small mortal kingdom, who had seen nothing of the world, they looked miraculous. Too easy to fool. Think about it—how could a demon and a human truly be friends?”
Chunshui asked, “And then?”
“One night, under the glittering stars, the peacock said, ‘I’ll take you up to the sky to pluck a star!’ The boy was overjoyed. He climbed onto the peacock’s back and soared into the wind. The peacock spread its wings—over the courtyard wall, over the city gates, across forests and mountains. It flew higher and higher. No one noticed them. They kept flying, and to the boy it felt like a dream…”
Qiuguang laughed. “Was he really going to pick a star?”
Hu Si smiled as well. “The peacock set him down on a mountaintop outside the city, saying, ‘This is the closest place to the stars. Wait here—I’ll fly up and pluck one, then bring it back for you.’ The boy said, ‘I don’t want a star anymore, just don’t leave me. The wind is too strong here. I’m scared to be alone.’ The peacock replied, ‘What’s there to fear? You’re holding one of my feathers. As long as you call my name to the stars, I will appear. Haven’t I come every night until now?’”
Qiuguang asked, “And what was the peacock’s name?”
Hu Si thought carefully. “I’ve forgotten.”
Chunshui asked, “The peacock demon went off to steal spirit stones? Then it must hurry back. Otherwise, when its magic fades, the child will freeze to death.”
Hu Si, “The child sat on that dark mountaintop, buffeted by cold winds all night. He called the peacock’s name again and again, but no one answered. At last, his throat went hoarse. At dawn, the household servants who had been searching for him found him, body stiff with cold, mind already clouded. After they carried him home, his fever never broke. Even in delirious dreams, he kept calling the peacock’s name…”
His voice grew lower and lower.
Qiuguang couldn’t hold back and pressed, “And then?”
“Then he died. He fell ill and died,” Hu Si said.
Chunshui stared blankly. “He just died like that? Then where did the peacock go?”
Hu Si said, “I don’t know. The peacock flew southeast and never came back.”
Qiuguang pouted, clinging to Hu Si’s arm. “That’s a terrible story. It only makes people sad. Realm Master, change the ending.”
Hu Si, “Very well. The child didn’t die. From then on, he lost all interest in exams or study, and instead set his heart on cultivating the Dao. By chance, when he grew up, he became a cultivator. Then he finally learned the truth—that the peacock wasn’t a celestial immortal, but a demon. The glowing stars it placed in his hands were only a few shabby low-grade spirit stones. Real stars are far beyond the Ninth Heaven. When fragments of fallen stars crash down, they can gouge massive craters in the earth and wipe out entire cities…”
That had nothing to do with stars, Qiuguang thought. This ending was still too perfunctory. She asked, “And the peacock?”
Hu Si shook his head. “The peacock was gone. That was the end of the story.”
The two favored concubines muttered silently to themselves: What kind of story is that—no beginning and no end.
Hu Si, one arm around each, asked, “Not satisfied? What ending do you want to hear?”
Chunshui thought for a moment. “I want the story to end with the boy growing up, and one day, the human and the demon meeting again.”
Hu Si asked, “And if they met again, what would they say?”
Qiuguang answered, “The boy would ask why the peacock lied to him…”
Hu Si said, “It was a demon. If it wanted to lie, it lied. Why would it explain anything to you?”
Chunshui propped her chin in one hand. “I think the boy was a little pitiful.”
Hu Si shook his head. “Not pitiful. I made this story up.”
Qiuguang clung to his arm and whined, “My lord, you’re tricking us again! Bullying us.”
Hu Si said casually, “Because I wanted an excuse to raise a bird.”
….
Above the Hanhai Secret Realm, there was never only a single cloudship. The cloudship of Mingyue Lake’s Gui Qing Zhenren had also not departed. It hovered among the clouds like a vast green leaf, covering the sky. The red ship floated light and ornate, while the green one stood heavy and solemn.
Deep within the halls of the dark-green cloudship, Sect Leader Yun Xuzi sat opposite Gui Qing Zhenren. Yun Xuzi respectfully served tea. Since the failed attempt to hunt the mirage beast, this was the first time Gui Qing Zhenren had ordered him to brew tea. That meant the man finally had the mood to drink.
That hunting party had not been made of young, untested talents, but of the middle generation—seasoned cultivators who had already reached the Hinayana Realm.
Yet the mirage beast had not died. They had. The last message they transmitted before death had contained only three words: peacock demon.
When Yun Xuzi received the news, he cursed, “A bunch of useless trash!”
Gui Qing said nothing. His divine net had covered them, and through it he had felt every detail.
Yun Xuzi, “I will send another team—”
Gui Qing Zhenren shook his head. “No need. That peacock demon went there to save Meng Xueli. Only a demon’s friend would be a demon.”
Yun Xuzi suddenly understood. “Master Uncle, as always, you are wise. You already foresaw it—Meng Xueli was either some monster from beyond the mortal world, or an old ghost reborn through seizing a body! Who would have thought Dao Companion Ji Xiao had actually taken a demon as his partner!”
He paused, then, seeing no reaction from the other, probed carefully: “So now we should…”
Gui Qing wrote a message talisman, though it was unclear to whom he sent it. After that, he did nothing more. Yun Xuzi felt restless and uneasy, wanting to speak several times but swallowing the words.
Noticing this, Gui Qing said coldly, “Your mind is unsettled. Do not brew tea these next few days—you’ll only waste the leaves.”
Cold sweat trickled down Yun Xuzi’s back. “Yes, Master Uncle.”
Gui Qing smiled faintly. “Before great matters, one must remain calm. The more critical the moment, the steadier your hand must be when you draw your sword. I see you still lack that last bit of refinement.”
Yun Xuzi quickly bowed his head. “I have been taught.”
Until this night, when he once more set out the tea set. As the amber tea was poured into cups, Gui Qing drank and frowned slightly, but said nothing.
Yun Xuzi let out a breath of relief. That meant the tea still did not meet the man’s expectations, but his mood was good enough that he chose not to blame him.
After drinking, Gui Qing produced an eight-sided bronze mirror of glazed glass. It was thick and heavy, nothing like a lady’s dressing mirror.
Yun Xuzi immediately sensed a demonic aura leaking from it and asked curiously, “May I ask, Master Uncle, what is this artifact?”
Gui Qing answered slowly, “Whether demon or devil, once they put on human skin, they look almost the same as men. Flesh can be reshaped, but the shape of the soul cannot be faked. This mirror is a divine artifact of the demon realm, called Illuminating Reflection. Beyond its use as a weapon, it can reveal the true image of the soul. Whether demon or devil, a single glance makes the truth clear. And there are beings—human or demon—who desire Meng Xueli’s death even more than we do.”
Yun Xuzi stared at the mirror in astonishment. “The Mirror of Reflection of the ancient Demon King—it actually exists!”
Gui Qing Zhenren smiled. “Keep it safe.”
Joy sparked in Yun Xuzi’s heart. He accepted the mirror with both hands, stored it carefully in his bag, and immediately bowed to the ground. “Thank you for your trust, Master Uncle. Your disciple will never betray your expectations!”
Gui Qing’s gaze shifted, amused yet unreadable. “Now that you’ve kept it safe, deliver it to Tai Heng immediately.”
Yun Xuzi’s face turned pale. He struggled to keep his tone steady. “Such a divine treasure, a rarity in all the realms—why should it be given cheaply to that old wretch Tai Heng?”
Gui Qing replied coolly, “Some things are better done by Han Shan’s people than by us. Only Tai Heng knows best how to prove that the late Ji Xiao had ‘colluded with a demon.’ With nothing more than Meng Xueli being a demon, Tai Heng can fabricate other ‘evidence.’”
Yun Xuzi hesitated. “But will others believe it?”
Gui Qing smiled. “It doesn’t matter if they fully believe.”
Yun Xuzi understood. As long as there was doubt, Ji Xiao would no longer be the most righteous, flawless figure under heaven.
A person’s name was like a tree’s shadow. Reputation might seem intangible, unlike swordsmanship, techniques, or cultivation which had real substance—but for the great sects, the great clans, and renowned cultivators, reputation was of utmost importance.
Still, Yun Xuzi remained uneasy. “That old coward Tai Heng has survived more than five hundred years only by hiding his head and tail. I fear he will fail, and when cornered, he might spit out our names!”
Though outwardly respectful, his mind spun furiously. Where had Gui Qing truly obtained this Mirror of Reflection? If he had possessed it all along, why wait until tonight to reveal it? More likely, someone had given it to him after he sent out that earlier message talisman. And since a demon’s friend was a demon, the one who could gift a divine artifact of the demon realm must also be a great demon. Perhaps that meant a powerful demon intended to use the chaos of the human cultivation world, and when the storms broke, kill Meng Xueli—willing even to give away the Mirror of Reflection to do so.
But Gui Qing looked at him with disappointment. “And if Tai Heng fails, what does that matter to me?”
Yun Xuzi clenched his teeth. “Master Uncle, I fear he might slander you instead—claiming everything he did was under your coercion and command!”
Gui Qing merely smiled. “No need to wait until he is desperate and bites back. I will act when the moment comes. If things cannot be done, I will cut down Tai Heng with one sword stroke, thus preserving the honor of Mingyue Lake and Ji Xiao, and conveniently cleansing Han Shan’s sect on their behalf. Do not be foolish enough to think we are still allies.”
Yun Xuzi lowered his head. “Your teaching is right. Everything is within your control.”
Huge shoutout to @_nyanmaru_ on Discord for commissioning this! The chapter will be posted regularly, show your support for Ciacia at Kofi.
