Chapter 90

The table fell quiet for a moment. Tan Que’s face stiffened like a painting, chewing on a chicken bone with her eyes darting around. Shang Shan, who had been bent over picking at the vegetables, choked at the words, slowly straightening up with her ears perked. As the person directly involved, Mu Qian Tan remained calm: “I’ve heard a bit about it. Feel free to elaborate.”

The original story never mentioned what that rumor was really about. By the time the female protagonist and male protagonist reached this Pot City main storyline, they hadn’t delved into the details either. Now that someone was delivering the intel right to her doorstep, she naturally wouldn’t pass it up—she could hear the local version of the rumor straight from the source.

As soon as the topic came up, disgust practically overflowed from the old man’s face. He slapped the table and wagged his finger: “Then I must explain it properly to you all. About ten years ago, that Yao’e Immortal wasn’t an immortal yet—just a cultivator with mediocre skills, always trailing behind her senior sister Qin Shuang to hunt demons. Because of her fair skin, delicate looks, reticence, and icy demeanor, she was called Snow Lady.”

“Hey, at first, everyone in town quite liked this Snow Lady—after all, everyone loves beauty. Plus, she came from that legendary great sect whose name alone could make people tremble in fear. Who would dare say anything? But there was no need to say anything anyway, since she had nothing to do with us. That is, until one day, Snow Lady actually showed up here—and on her own, without her senior sister. When asked, she said she had come down from the mountain for training in demon exorcism, passed by this place, sensed unusual demon qi in the city, and came to investigate.”

“At that time, the people of Pot City didn’t think much of it. With Xiao Xian in charge, what was there to fear? So they let her be. And she wasn’t wrong—there really was a demon causing trouble in the city then. Many infants went missing; even nursing babies who were still suckling suddenly vanished, leaving their parents heartbroken and wailing. But that infant-stealing little demon was cunning and hard to catch, so everyone could only live in fear and trepidation for quite a while.”

“Later on, no one knows exactly what happened, but Snow Lady suddenly tumbled down from the mountain, covered in dirt and utterly disheveled. The townsfolk were wondering about it when Xiao Xian came rolling down amid rumbling thunder, holding an injured woman in her arms.”

“Xiao Xian said she had killed the demon that stole the infants. The crowd had just started to cheer up when she added that the children couldn’t be found. Everyone’s hearts were a mix of emotions—sour, pained, heartbroken—but they still had to ask why. Xiao Xian told them the children had been taken to an abandoned wooden hut area. When she tracked the demon to its lair, she saw Snow Lady setting fires; the whole forest was charred black. When asked why, she said she couldn’t find the demon and wanted to burn the entire area so it would die too.”

“Lacking the strength, yet resorting to such madness! Using a method that harmed others a thousand to wound the enemy one hundred, she burned dozens of nursing infants alive—utterly heartless!”

“When she lit the fire, a mortal named Dingxiang happened to be up the mountain gathering herbs. She discovered this person burning the mountain, and with the cries of many infants floating from the flames, realized something terrible was happening. Fearless of the immortal’s status, she tried to stop her, only to get beaten badly and gravely injured. Luckily, Xiao Xian arrived in time and saved her life. Later, because of this, Xiao Xian took a liking to her, promoted her to Demon-Exorcising Little Immortal to help catch demons below, and her remaining years have been smooth and glorious.”

Shang Shan listened to the whole story with a vegetable stem in her mouth, her eight-character brows furrowing deeper and deeper. Her mind raced through it and latched onto the key point: “So only Xiao Xian and that Dingxiang said my mas… Snow Lady burned the mountain? What if they weren’t telling the truth?”

The old man was startled, his face twisting as he slammed the table: “What do you mean! Are you saying Xiao Xian would frame her?!”

From the first time they’d seen him working unhurriedly behind the counter yesterday, he hadn’t seemed the type, but when it came to Xiao Xian, he slipped out from behind it, speaking eloquently and defending her with steady composure. Who knew faith could drive people so mad. Shang Shan pressed on: “After she said all that, did Snow Lady have nothing to say?”

The old man replied: “Of course she did! After Xiao Xian put out the fire, it was too late—the children were all burned to black ash! Snow Lady just wiped her face and said it wasn’t her, that she didn’t know who started the fire. Hah, who would believe that? Criminals always claim innocence!”

Shang Shan licked her lips: “But… but if she really did something like that, why is she still Hall Master now, still cultivating in the sect? Would others just ignore such evil deeds?”

In her impression, Panxiang Yin and those big shots weren’t the types to blur good and evil. They wouldn’t leave someone with such a huge stain by their side unchecked, let alone let her become Hall Master. It didn’t make sense—after all, even selecting a village head in the mortal world required checking daily conduct; a sect’s selections would only be stricter!

The old man fumed: “Hmph, that’s why great sects have such backbone—who dares offend them? Many Pot City folk stormed up the mountain, just like Xiao Xian said. They had lost their children, full of hate and pain, wanting to tear that heartless woman apart! Later, the matter blew up, her senior sister and the sect leader came too. They investigated east and west, but in the end, nothing happened—they just took her away.”

The question hadn’t been answered, and Shang Shan remained puzzled.

As if to bolster his claims and make Xiao Xian’s words more convincing, the old man continued: “That Yao’e Immortal really isn’t any good, to put it mildly. Take something recent: Pot City never had as many people as this year. Do you know why?”

Shang Shan didn’t like his wording and grumbled unhappily: “Why?”

The old man said: “Because she caused a huge ruckus in Prosperous Joy City last year and burned down Prosperous Joy Workshop! With no place for theater troupes and musicians to perform, they all came to Pot City!”

She hadn’t expected him to badmouth right in front of the person involved, and it made the unreliability of rumors starkly clear. Shang Shan widened her eyes in absurdity: “What?! That wasn’t her who burned it! It was her disciple!”

The old man glared: “Hah, how do you know? Did you see it with your own eyes?”

Shang Shan wanted to jump up, but spiritual power pressed down on her shoulders and knees, forcing her to stay seated on the bench. She looked across the table at the woman, who was still eating with her head lowered, chopsticks poking lightly in the bowl—clearly signaling her not to cause trouble or expose them. Shang Shan held back and said only: “I didn’t see it, I heard. But I know you’re lying!”

“You heard, I heard—no evidence, all hearsay. How is mine fake?” The old man shook his head: “Besides, why get so angry? It’s about Yao’e Immortal, not you. Reacting like your tail’s been stepped on—is she your birth mother or your benefactor?”

Shang Shan seemed to suddenly wake up, saying solemnly: “Even if she’s no one to me, I’d still speak for her, because I know what you’re saying isn’t fact—it’s baseless slander and speculation! You shouldn’t judge a person based on unverified rumors, big or small, and casually decide right and wrong. People who do that are the real bad ones!”

He had come to proselytize, only to be rebuffed gray-faced by such a young girl. Losing face with onlookers starting to stare, he stood with a huff—”Not worth arguing with you”—and stormed off with a flick of his sleeve.

Still fuming, Shang Shan gripped her chopsticks tightly, stabbing the bowl bottom repeatedly and huffing several times. Tan Que glanced at her again and again, consoling: “Anyway, as long as you know Yao’e Immortal didn’t do that, it’s fine.”

Mu Qian Tan remained calm throughout, as if the topic’s center wasn’t her—which it really wasn’t. Aside from Prosperous Joy, it was all about the original host, which had little to do with her. Plus, with so many people around, any action would draw too much attention—unnecessary.

An old guy who could lose teeth to two ice cubes in his tea wasn’t worth her time.

After the emotional surge cooled without further fuel, Shang Shan took out a porcelain bottle, looked at it, and said: “Then let’s go check the death records later. If we find out who she is, we can find the friend she made the pact with.”

Tan Que naturally agreed.

After the meal, the three asked a passerby for directions and headed straight to the government archives housing the personnel records—four large halls: Jia, Yi, Bing, Ding—holding all info on Pot City’s past and present residents, living or dead.

As travelers, they couldn’t just waltz in openly to search, and checking room by room would waste too much time. Mu Qian Tan chose a simple, direct interrogation method: she strode into the main hall and slapped the table: “Bring me the death records from Yi Archive Hall.”

The guard clerk was stunned by the slap. Seeing her cold expression and powerful aura, before he could ask who she was, he subconsciously replied: “Deceased records… aren’t they in Death Registry Hall?”

Mu Qian Tan said: “Ding Hall? East of Ding?”

The clerk said: “West side, against the wall…” Only then did he snap out of it: “Who are you people?”

Mu Qian Tan clasped her hands behind her back: “Investigating a case. Someone died in the east city—you haven’t heard?”

With a stern face like she was reprimanding him, she turned and left before he could reply, leaving a hurried, anxious back as he rushed off to handle it. The clerk was baffled, didn’t dare call after her, scratched his head for a while, then finally remembered to send someone to the east city to check what was going on.

Meanwhile, the three had headed to Death Registry Hall. Slipping past mortal guards was too easy, unlocking the window chains effortless, flipping in and landing to find the west-wall shelves—all smooth. But facing two full shelves of records, the problem arose: too much data!

Mu Qian Tan crossed her arms, stepped aside first to sit on a clean spot and rest, making it clear she wouldn’t lift a finger. Shang Shan and Tan Que exchanged a glance, rolled up their sleeves, and began the needle-in-a-haystack search.

Since Qi Xiaoxiao overthrowing the Three Venerables was nearly twenty years ago, and forehead carving was briefly trendy then, they looked for girls aged around ten who died fifteen to twenty years ago, then screened by features—maybe they’d find her!

They got right to it, working together on the thick, heavy ledgers. The records were dense with tiny, cramped print to save paper, and the room’s dim light made eyes ache. They persisted for nearly an hour, finishing the books— no matching girls.

No young girls had died in that period.

Tan Que got headaches from reading text; so much made her head want to split, and she collapsed: “Checked so much, not a single one!”

Shang Shan closed the ledger, undeterred: “No girls dying is good news—they all lived safe and sound.”

Tan Que shoved aside a pile of books, rubbing her eyes: “I’m going blind.”

“You rest, I can do it alone.” Shang Shan neatly restacked and reshelved them, expanding to ten years back—still nothing. She smiled: “Still good news.”

To an outsider, her happiness might seem like success, but it was just joy for strangers living peacefully—truly hard to understand. Mu Qian Tan leaned against a bookshelf, waiting over an hour until her patience wore thin. About to remind them, she said: “Come here.”

Shang Shan put the book back and walked over: “What is it?”

Mu Qian Tan said: “Rest here a bit.”

Shang Shan blinked, her face blooming into a smile: “You care about me?”

Mu Qian Tan said: “Searching forever without finding anything means your direction’s wrong. Stop, think about the next step—don’t blindly persist.”

“Got it.” Shang Shan sat beside her, hands on knees, palms lightly patting in delight: “This is the first time you’ve cared about me.”

In the stuffy, dry room air floated dust motes strikingly clear in the sunlight, like serene flowing time. Mu Qian Tan said: “Is that so.” Without looking aside, she added flatly: “You’re not mad?”

As if just recalling, Shang Shan quickly schooled her smile, but moments later let it return true to her heart: “I’m not mad! I don’t like what you said, but after, you still came here with me to find info. You’re good—actions matter more than words.”

“Besides, hearing that old grandpa today? That’s real anger! I hate when people spread uncertain things everywhere—it hurts people easily! Everyone can be hurt, so we should be more careful in speech and action!”

“But from watching them, I also learned one thing—that we absolutely cannot casually believe what others say about people. We have to approach and understand them ourselves before we know the truth!” She shared her insights and sighed. “Why does everyone firmly believe in lies?”

Mu Qian Tan said, “The saying goes, ‘three people make a tiger.’ Even if it’s a rumor, if it’s spread too widely, it becomes an established fact in the form of memory.”

Shang Shan nodded as if she half-understood, tilted her head, and asked, “So those two rumors are actually…”

“Since we promised to help,” Mu Qian Tan leaned back a bit to make space on the wall beside her and cut her off, “focus on doing it wholeheartedly. Don’t get distracted asking this and that.”

“Oh, oh.” Shang Shan also remembered why they had come. She felt she had rested enough and wanted to get back to fighting, but as her gaze slid slightly, she noticed the painting hanging on the wall.

That painting was of Five-Eyed Xiaoxian herself, rendered with exceptionally delicate and realistic strokes. The girl had her eyes closed, holding a sword in front of her face with blood on the blade and her hair flying wildly—powerful and imposing. Almost everyone in Pot City worshipped this Xiao Xian, so it wasn’t strange to have such a painting here. But what caught Shang Shan’s attention were the two inscriptions on her forehead.

The strokes were extremely familiar!

Shang Shan rushed forward and examined the Godslaying Inscription closely. The more she looked, the more familiar it seemed. She quickly unrolled Hu Xinsu’s painting and held it up against the wall, comparing stroke by stroke. To her shock, she discovered that every single stroke of the inscription on Little Baldy’s forehead—every irregularity, even the slightly awkward slant from her own forceful carving—matched Xiao Xian’s exactly!