Simu Village—once a quiet place of rice fragrance—now lay silent as a grave.
When Xuanhu and his men arrived at dusk, the mountain wind sighed through the forest but could not stir the leaning "Blessings of the God" stone stele at the entrance. Only crows perched on rooftops, staring without fear.
"…Seven hundred and thirty-nine households. Two thousand, four hundred and sixty villagers. All missing."
At the gate, one of his subordinates spoke in a low voice:
"Food left behind has already rotted. Livestock that could run have fled, the rest starved to death."
Xuanhu frowned. The moment he crossed into Simu Village he sensed it—earth-veins disturbed, the shrine's aura a jumble. And there, distinct—the qi of the Earth Yao branch.
"This smell…" he muttered. "It's familiar. Like the Wood Yao's soul-capturing arts… yet with that rotten stench. Reminds me of those vermin who love petty tricks. Disgusting memories…"
He stepped into the village.
The streets were tidy, doors half-open. Behind them lingered the scents of daily life, but frozen, funereal—bowls of congealed porridge, rotting fruit, spoiled meat and greens.
Soldiers from Lìzhou and Muyun combed every lane, even the fields, hills, and rivers. Three days—no trace.
"To the shrine."
"Yes, sir."
At the ruins of the shrine, the wind scattered gray ash.
Several Qingzhou soldiers were picking through rubble. Seeing Xuanhu, they scrambled to attention.
"Report, Lord: only shattered idols. It looks like something exploded inside—the shrine was blown to bits…" One scratched his head and pointed to a distant fragment. "That head flew farthest, but there are pieces even farther."
But Xuanhu stood still, like a monk in meditation. He felt it—the residue of spells: Water Yao, Earth Yao, the echo of blade qi, the torrent of broken earth-veins, and…
"Gather everyone. I know where the villagers are."
His cloak snapped, beard and hair trembling with fury.
"These bastards… what is human life to them?"
Before his men could form up, he had already whistled. A warhorse thundered up from the gate.
"Dig! Dig up everything beneath this shrine!"
Snatching two axes from his saddle, he charged into the ruins, hacking left and right. He dared not unleash his qi—only strengthening his body and blades, swinging like a man of impossible strength to clear the wreckage.
"Damn it—three zhang down… no, five… it's hollow!"
—
Night. The small courtyard remained hushed.
Qingshui sat by the window, a thin letter spread across her lap. Her fingertip traced the edge again and again.
The gray pigeon had long flown, but in the wind she fancied she still felt the sweep of its tail feathers.
The letter held only a few lines, steady strokes cold as dead water:
"Focus on recovery.
The Seven Yao Conclave draws near—all branches will meet.
Earth Yao's hand is revealed; I will speak in time.
Simu Village—set aside.
Continue contact with Bi Hua and her son."
She read it once. Then again.
The fog in her eyes deepened.
Folding the paper into her sleeve, she thought: she could no longer read her master's intent. Especially with Earth Yao's traitors showing up—why was she ordered not to care?
Things that once required no thought now tangled in her mind.
"Pieces don't need to think."
She smiled bitterly. That was what her superior told her when she won her codename "Li," outlasting forty-nine rivals.
But now it felt wrong.
Bi Hua entered, offering warm water.
"Another mission?"
Qingshui drank, throat working—then protested:
"No sugar again? After all these days, you forget I'm an invalid? I want sweet!"
Bi Hua snatched the cup back and tugged her ear.
"Drink it or not! Do you know how much you've cost me these days? All of it's coming out of your wages!"
Qingshui flailed playfully, but the word "wages" made her cry out in outrage.
"What? No way! I barely ate anything! Look at Layne—everything he's learned is from me!"
The two squabbled—over wages, food eaten, food yet to eat—until the noise subsided into silence.
Qingshui looked at her, then laughed. "You knew all along my little secrets wouldn't stay hidden, didn't you?"
"I just don't want to see you dragged deeper into things you shouldn't be in."
Bi Hua's gaze softened.
"Could you really leave your masters behind? Layne likes you. …So do I."
Qingshui lowered her head, drained the cup, and set it down. Her eyes swept the heavy night beyond the window. Her thoughts tangled, unwilling.
"…The water's too murky," she said at last. "I have to see it with my own eyes."
—
Outskirts of Yuntai City, under Xiasha jurisdiction.
A figure emerged from the wind.
Faded blue robes, a beast-bone medicine pouch at his waist. Hair and beard all white, but his back straight, his steps nailed into the earth. His face bore the wear of age, but the grandeur of old still lingered.
Qiyuan.
He stood motionless a long time, until dawn split the night. Then he sighed:
"Too late."
"Fighting and fleeing—those old foxes made me chase in circles."
He raised his head toward the distant direction of Lìzhou City, where Simu lay.
His gaze sharpened, breath rimed with frost.
"So another pack arrives? You, who would shake the kingdom's roots…"
"…testing whether these old bones can still move."
A pigeon's whistle cut the wind. A messenger bird spiraled down into his hand.
He untied the strip, scanned it, and his brow furrowed.
"All villagers vanished. Shrine collapsed. Earth-vein qi spilled."
Slowly, he lifted his head to the black clouds gathering over Simu. Wind and thunder muttered at his side. Lightning flickered in his eyes.
"So you want war."
"Then test me—see if I can still cut down this generation of traitors."