Chapter 50: The Coffin Shop and Old Secrets Part 2

In a winding, narrow alley, a mountain of coffins could be seen in the distance. Most were covered in dust and weathered by time, clearly having sat there for ages.

White lanterns hung high, swaying slightly in the wind, creating a ghastly and eerie atmosphere.

Feng Yun’ai’s heart skipped a beat. It felt as if they were taking Feng Rong to her funeral. Deep down, she still didn’t believe Feng Rong was dead, and her steps faltered as they entered the area.

The door to the coffin shop was tightly locked, plastered with layers of red and white paper that looked years old.

Feng Yun’ai was on edge. Being inside Cloud City, she didn’t dare trust anyone. She hadn’t expected this Demoness—who usually ignored all conventions—to stop before the door and act as if she intended to knock politely.

The moment Sang Chencao’s hand struck the door, the hair on Feng Yun’ai’s neck stood up. She held her breath, anxiously watching their surroundings.

Five knocks, spaced out irregularly.

Sang Chencao suddenly leaned close to the door and whispered, “A skull enters the midnight dream, hands pressed in prayer to beg for a bed. When the skin is peeled away, it is man, not ghost—might the master grant some convenience?”

Feng Yun’ai found it all baffling and bizarre, like some kind of secret code.

From inside, a child’s voice chirped, “Why is there another shadow?”

Sang Chencao looked at Feng Yun’ai and said languidly, “Two shadows from a lone soul—they are both me.”

The door creaked open. The courtyard was empty; there was no child to be seen.

Inside, the space was also filled with coffins of all sizes, a dark and chilling expanse.

The moment Feng Yun’ai stepped over the threshold, the door slammed shut. It looked as if a ghost had closed it, but in reality, a surge of inner qi had brushed past her.

Sang Chencao walked straight into the main house and knelt on a prayer mat. Her posture looked like she was about to worship a deity, but instead, she leaned forward and pulled back a yellow cloth curtain. “It’s been a while,” she said cheerfully.

Hiding behind the curtain was an old woman cross-legged, knitting a garment. The woman’s features were incredibly plain, and she cast a cold, heartless glance outward.

Sang Chencao said, “Aunt Mu, I’ve come to borrow a coffin for shelter again.”

Meng Youmu didn’t respond. Her gaze drifted past Sang Chencao’s ear and landed silently on Feng Yun’ai. Her hands didn’t stop knitting; her movements were skillful and practiced, the patterns perfectly straight.

“This is someone I met out in the world…” Sang Chencao paused, adding meaningfully, “A friend.”

“A friend,” Meng Youmu repeated flatly. She murmured, “To think you would actually have a friend.”

Hearing the word “friend,” Feng Yun’ai’s heart trembled slightly. She found it hard to believe, assuming Sang Chencao was just making things up.

A friend?

Just a friend?

She truly didn’t understand which part of the statement had caused her heart to flutter.

“What, it’s not like I eat people,” Sang Chencao scoffed.

“What is her name?” Meng Youmu asked.

Feng Yun’ai looked at Sang Chencao, fearing the woman would say something shocking.

“Xiuxiu,” Sang Chencao said slowly, her voice dripping with mock affection.

Meng Youmu gave a cold snort. “Refusing to reveal her name? Are you afraid I’ll see through her destiny? You’re certainly clever. It seems this woman is no ordinary person. Did you come to Cloud City because of her?”

“No.” Sang Chencao straightened up slightly, her hand still holding the yellow curtain. “I came because of Wen Lanxin.”

“Then Wen Lanxin must be here because of Feng Rong,” Meng Youmu stated decisively.

“But I can’t find Wen Lanxin,” Sang Chencao admitted.

“I haven’t seen her in a long time either. I suspect she’s dead,” Meng Youmu said, her heart as cold as her words.

Feng Yun’ai felt that it made sense these two could get along; they both spoke and acted with equal strangeness.

“Oh?” Sang Chencao wasn’t angry. Instead, she asked with interest, “Then who do you think killed her?”

“Suicide,” Meng Youmu replied calmly. “She died for love.”

Feng Yun’ai’s eyes widened. Died… died for love?

She knew nothing of Feng Rong’s past, yet this old woman running a coffin shop in Cloud City seemed to know everything.

Sang Chencao let out a sharp laugh. “Then I look down on Wen Lanxin even more.”

Feng Yun’ai lowered her gaze, her expression lost behind her white veil. She couldn’t tell if they were joking or not. “But I never heard that there was… love between them,” she said tentatively. “How do you know?”

“It was unrequited,” Meng Youmu said indifferently.

This matched what Sang Chencao had said before—Wen Lanxin seemed to have feelings, but Feng Rong did not.

“I don’t believe Wen Lanxin is that pathetic. With the cause of Feng Rong’s death still a mystery, how could she just die?” Sang Chencao mocked.

Feng Yun’ai slowly lowered the body from her back and sat on another prayer mat, observing the old woman sitting under the table.

Meng Youmu’s cold eyes suddenly narrowed. She looked at Feng Yun’ai and asked, “Who is that behind you?”

Under the moonlight, Feng Rong lay on the floor, her pale face tilted slightly toward the desk.

The unflappable old woman finally showed a look of alarm. Her eyes snapped to Feng Yun’ai, then back to Sang Chencao. In a raspy voice, she asked, “Answer me again. Who is this woman?”

Sang Chencao played the riddle-maker. “Rumor has it that Feng Rong had a personal disciple—a little maid—up on Listening Goose Peak.”

“I have heard of one thing.” Meng Youmu’s pupils constricted, her emotions unable to settle. “Before Zhou Gui founded the New Alliance, she sent people to the Listening Moon Sand River to search for Wen Lanxin. During those few days, a murder occurred at the Yao Yao Inn.”

“Indeed. Your information is quite accurate.” Sang Chencao raised her brows.

Meng Youmu continued, “The one who died was Ghost-Faced Saber Hu Cheng. Initially, it was suspected to be Wen Lanxin’s work, but the plan was disrupted by two women. Hu Cheng didn’t die at Wen Lanxin’s hands. However, it’s a pity; the people Zhou Gui sent found evidence beneath Yellow Sand Cliff. Wen Lanxin still couldn’t clear her name, and her malicious intent became clear to all.”

“And you believed it?” Sang Chencao sneered.

Meng Youmu shook her head and said slowly, “I was going to say… those two women used the aliases Cilantro and Fish Mint. Could it be the two of you?”

“That’s right. Fish Mint is the new name I’m using while traveling the martial world,” Sang Chencao admitted without hesitation.

Feng Yun’ai remained silent for a moment. Though extremely reluctant, she eventually spoke. “I am Cilantro.”