Qinghui opened his eyes early in the morning after the strange events of last night. He had passed out while being carried by Lan Zeyan—likely due to the restraint that had drained his Qi.
"That Lan Zeyan..." Qinghui grumbled under his breath.
He sat up in bed and noticed a cup of medicine and a freshly steamed bun placed on the small table nearby. He got up and crossed his arms, staring at them.
Curiously, he didn't feel hungry at all. Was it a stomach problem? Or was it the loss of Qi affecting his appetite? Either way, he took the steamed bun and slipped it into his sleeve. But the medicine—he ignored completely.
Just as he was about to leave, something shimmered near the teapot, catching the corner of his eye. Qinghui paused and reached out, picking up a small object—it was a jade pendant, emerald green, tied with a red knot. It resembled a lucky charm, a keychain of sorts. Upon closer inspection, he noticed engraved characters on its surface.
"Ling Pai...?" he murmured, recalling what Lan Zeyan had said the night before:
Only with a Ling Pai can one freely enter and leave the sect.
"What? I thought Lan Zeyan didn't want me to leave. Then why leave this here?" Qinghui narrowed his eyes.
That restraint last night—was it really just a threat? Was Lan Zeyan only toying with him?
He snorted and clenched the Ling Pai in his fist before slipping it into his sleeve. This could be his chance to escape the sect.
Later, Qinghui stepped outside his room. Disciples moved around in groups, preparing for their duties. Among them, he spotted Lan Zeyan with two others—senior disciples. They were preparing to leave, most likely for their investigation of the Third Root of Sentiment.
Lan Feirong stood nearby with Meng Yao and Ningning. Qinghui recognized their formation. That was the team scheduled to go with Lan Zeyan.
Qinghui considered asking Lan Zeyan to let him join, but after what happened last night, the thought of speaking to him felt far too awkward.
He clicked his tongue and looked away as Lan Zeyan and the others summoned their spirit weapons. In a flash, they soared into the air, vanishing into the sky.
Instead, Qinghui walked toward Lan Feirong and waved. "Hey, Lan Feirong."
His tone was surprisingly friendly—far more relaxed than before.
Lan Feirong quickly bowed. "Qinghui-ge."
"You told me before," Qinghui began, "that you'd help me whenever I asked, right?"
Lan Feirong blinked, a little confused by the sudden request, but nodded. The two disciples behind him, Meng Yao and Ningning, exchanged puzzled glances but stayed silent.
"Then take me with you," Qinghui said plainly.
Lan Feirong hesitated. "But the Second Master gave us strict orders. We're not to let you leave the sect grounds. You're not well."
Qinghui's eyes narrowed. "He did?" he muttered, folding his arms.
Lan Feirong nodded.
Even with the Ling Pai, he still wasn't allowed to leave? That Lan Zeyan really was trying to control everything.
Qinghui took a deep breath and straightened. "Then I'm not asking this under Lan Zeyan's authority. I'm asking you to honor your word—to help me, no matter what I ask."
Lan Feirong stared at him for a moment, then sighed.
"...Very well."
Behind him, Ningning and Meng Yao looked at one another with worry, but said nothing. Whatever this was, it was between Qinghui and Lan Feirong now.
And so, Lan Feirong allowed Qinghui to ride upon his spirit weapon. The two soared high into the sky, clouds parting beneath them. Qinghui held on quietly, eyes wide with awe, unable to suppress the gentle smile forming on his lips.
This feeling—soaring freely through the heavens—felt oddly familiar. Perhaps he had experienced it once before, in a time long forgotten. After all, he was a cultivator, though his past remained veiled in mist.
Lan Feirong, watching Qinghui from the corner of his eye, couldn't help but smile in return. Yet before the moment lingered too long, he turned his gaze forward and spoke in a calm, composed tone.
"Qinghui-ge, we shall first inspect the graveyards in the nearby villages, then the suicide cliffs. Once we've gathered all we can, we'll rendezvous with Second Master for further instruction—if any clues are found."
Qinghui gave a small nod. "Understood. I won't interfere with the mission, so there's no need to concern yourself over me."
With those words, they descended into the mortal realm, where dusk had already begun to kiss the earth.
A wan orange hue bled across the sky as the sun neared the horizon. In a quiet, forgotten graveyard, three disciples stood in solemn silence, offering incense to the departed. Qinghui remained some distance away, seated beneath a gnarled tree. His gaze was fixed upon the forest beyond the village—its silhouette black against the dying light.
Earlier, they had searched the infamous cliff where many mortals were said to end their lives, yet not even a tattered robe remained. They then visited several graveyards near the edge of the forest, but again, nothing conclusive. No traces of the strange seeds Qinghui had mentioned in the Grand Hall. Perhaps he had been mistaken after all.
He looked down at his palm, then turned it to glimpse his wrist. The darkened veins beneath his skin pulsed faintly, almost like they were whispering to him. He narrowed his eyes toward the edge of the Sinful Forest.
Lan Zeyan... perhaps he's already in there.
If nothing could be found here, then the answer must lie where everything began. He clenched his fists.
This is pointless.
Without another word, Qinghui slipped away. He moved like smoke on the wind—silent, unnoticed. Lan Feirong did not sense his absence. Perhaps only Lan Zeyan, who saw through all things, would have noticed.
Night had fallen by the time Qinghui reached the forest's edge. The journey had taken its toll; he was breathing heavily. He leaned against an ancient tree and exhaled, wiping the sweat from his brow.
A dense, unnatural fog lay across the forest floor. The trees here were tall, thick, and twisted—as though writhing in agony. The air was stagnant, filled with the scent of damp soil and something... else. Something that reeked of death
As Qinghui raised his eyes, he saw them.
Bones—piled like discarded kindling at the roots of the trees.
He didn't flinch. This was what they had discussed in the Main Hall. This was the forest where mortals came to die.
The Root of Sentiment—feeding upon the despair of humans—had clearly taken root here. These bones, these roots, they were all connected. Just like the one that had attacked him before. It was the same presence, the same malice.
"There's no mistaking it," Qinghui murmured. "This is the place."
After catching his breath, he stood upright. "Since I'm here already... I might as well begin the investigation."
He took a step forward—
And froze.
Something tugged at the hem of his robe.
His heart leapt. Instantly, his expression hardened, and he turned his head sharply.
There, half-buried in the fog, was a person. Pale, trembling, with blood at the corner of their mouth.
"...Gege, please... help me."
Vocabulary:
"Ge" or "Gege" (哥哥) in Mandarin Chinese primarily means "older brother" and is used as a respectful form of address for an older male, including for siblings, friends, or even a romantic partner in some contexts. While the literal meaning is "older brother," it can also be used as a casual or affectionate term, and in some cases, can even carry romantic connotations, particularly in modern usage or in certain fictional works.