Chapter 43

By the time Jiang Yiguang brought Lin Baicao home, Fu Juan was already there, seated on the sofa and reading. At the sound of their arrival, she lifted her head slightly in acknowledgment. As for Tushan Yi, whom Jiang Yiguang had expected to see sprawled on the sofa watching TV, she was nowhere to be found—off somewhere enjoying herself. Jiang Yiguang thought for a moment, then dismissed her worry. The Dao Court had people keeping constant watch from the shadows. Tushan Yi staying at her house didn’t mean Jiang Yiguang was responsible for her every move.

“Sit,” Jiang Yiguang said, glancing at the anxious Lin Baicao before pouring her a cup of tea.

Lin Baicao kept her head down, hands pressed firmly on her lap. She murmured a tense “Thank you” and slowly began to gather her thoughts. Though Jiang Yiguang had brought her here, she’d given no clear answer. Lin Baicao didn’t know if she would truly help.

Jiang Yiguang asked, “Can you tell me what happened?”

At her words, Fu Juan also looked up, casting a glance at Lin Baicao. With her abilities, she naturally sensed the unusual aura clinging to the woman.

“My mother passed away from illness half a year ago.” Lin Baicao shivered under that cold, clear gaze. She took a sip of tea to steady her nerves before continuing her story. “After she passed, I dreamt of her almost every night. But for some reason, about a week ago, the dreams suddenly stopped. At first, I thought it was a protective talisman I’d bought, or a sandalwood bracelet. I threw them away, but I still haven’t dreamt of my mother again.”

Though the saying goes, “what you think of by day, you dream of at night,” dreaming of a deceased loved one every single night was clearly abnormal. Jiang Yiguang clasped her hands, looking at the dejected Lin Baicao. “I need to know, after those dreams, how was your physical condition?”

Lin Baicao hesitated, her eyes darting away. “Quite good,” she said softly.

Jiang Yiguang frowned. Lin Baicao’s expression clearly showed she was lying. Her mental state was obviously depleted.

Fu Juan spoke calmly: “I hope you can tell the truth.”

Jiang Yiguang’s tone had been casual and relaxed, but Fu Juan’s was different. Her voice was cool and serene, like winter’s first snow, yet Lin Baicao felt an inexplicable chill of fear. After a moment of hesitation, she decided to be honest. “Not very good.” She had wasted away rapidly, distracted and listless. Her friends and family thought she’d been possessed, urging her to seek talismans from the Dao Court or a temple. But she didn’t feel it was “cursed.” She clearly saw her mother in her dreams—her mother, emaciated on the sickbed, lacking her daughter’s company and care.

“I kept dreaming of the scene just before my mother died. She had no strength left to lift a hand or speak. Her eyes were wide open, her throat making terrible rasping sounds, like a bellows. I don’t know if Mother blames me, but I feel it’s all my fault. If I had done better, maybe she wouldn’t have suffered so much.” Toward the end, Lin Baicao’s voice choked with tears. She covered her face with her hands, unwilling to let anyone see her expression. “I was busy with work. Only later, looking back, did I realize—was I truly that busy? Didn’t I even have a moment to care for my mother? I don’t deserve to be her daughter.”

Seeing Lin Baicao sinking into self-recrimination, Jiang Yiguang cleared her throat. “Have some tea first.”

A few minutes later, Lin Baicao lowered her tear-stained hands. The tea helped ease her emotions somewhat. Jiang Yiguang and Fu Juan were both quiet, good listeners. Lin Baicao suddenly felt a greater urge to confide. She stopped talking about her dreams and began speaking of her past.

“I come from a single-parent family. My parents divorced because of personality clashes when I was very young. Back then, I didn’t understand. When other kids called me an orphan or a fatherless bastard, I’d go home and rage at my mother, blaming her for everything. I hated her. Later, when I started school, I finally understood a little, but then I developed new resentments over her strictness. She interfered in everything—what I wore, what I ate, even who my friends were. To provoke her, I did everything she didn’t want me to. Not just hanging out with the ‘bad crowd’ in her eyes, but also constantly changing partners.

“After the college entrance exams, I again defied my mother’s wishes, choosing a university thousands of miles from home. I never went home for winter or summer breaks. Unless my mother reached out first, I never called. I don’t know if I truly resented her, or if I simply continued the resentment out of habit. It wasn’t until many years into my career that I realized my mother had grown old. There were so many white hairs on her head. In that moment, perhaps I truly felt sorry for her. But amidst the endless trivialities of life, I gradually forgot the care I should have shown.

“Maybe I’m just an inherently evil person.” Lin Baicao gave a self-mocking laugh. She’d always blamed everything on her family background, but compared to those who’d endured far worse, what right did she have to say her life was bad? Did everyone who grew up in a single-parent family turn out like her? No. What she’d become was the result of her own choices.

After Lin Baicao finished her story, Fu Juan gave a simple conclusion: “You regret it.”

“Yes, I regret it.” Lin Baicao smiled bitterly. “But there’s no medicine for regret in this world. Time can’t be rewound. My mother won’t come back and give me a chance to repay her kindness. All I want is to see her in my dreams.”

Jiang Yiguang felt a slight stir within. In Lin Baicao’s story, she faintly glimpsed shadows of herself. Watching the red-eyed woman, she sighed. “But in your dreams, you keep blaming yourself, suffering. That emotion is already affecting your body. It’s a nightmare.”

“No,” Lin Baicao looked at Jiang Yiguang earnestly. “As long as my mother is there, it’s not a nightmare. Teacher Jiang, can you help me find my dreams again?”

Jiang Yiguang considered it, then answered, “I’ll try my best.” This was a main quest. Fu Juan might appear passive now, but she would inevitably be drawn in.

Lin Baicao thanked her profusely. Watching her, Jiang Yiguang felt a nameless unease. After Lin Baicao left, she glanced thoughtfully at Fu Juan and asked, “In the Dao Court’s records, is there a registered Bo Qi?”

“There was one. But it disappeared eight years ago.” Fu Juan said flatly. When Demonic Beasts took human form and entered society, their movements weren’t that free. Even traveling to another province required a “visa” from the Dao Court. This Bo Qi leaving Shen City without authorization had long been on the Court’s wanted list. But Lin Baicao’s nightmare being devoured… meant Bo Qi had likely returned. “You want to find Bo Qi? Make it return the nightmare to Lin Baicao?” Fu Juan asked.

Jiang Yiguang propped her chin on her hand and smiled. “It’s my first commissioned case, after all. Shouldn’t I handle it nicely?” She spoke lightly, but her heart was heavy. The two previous “main quests” had been “hell-level” scenarios. Would this one be simpler? Had Bo Qi merely devoured Lin Baicao’s dreams? Or was this also connected to the Dragon Vein?

Fu Juan said, “I can help you find Bo Qi.”

“No need.” Jiang Yiguang jolted, refusing without hesitation. But knowing Fu Juan would be one hundred percent involved anyway, she reorganized her words, softening her tone to a gentle spring breeze. “Even if you do get involved, it shouldn’t be about ‘helping me.’ It should come from your own volition.”

Fu Juan glanced at her twice but pressed her lips together, saying nothing.

She could feel Jiang Yiguang deliberately pushing her away, putting distance between them. A stark contrast to the past.

Uncomfortable under Fu Juan’s thoughtful gaze, Jiang Yiguang shot to her feet. Without a glance at Fu Juan’s expression, she threw out an “I’m going to practice swordsmanship” and fled toward the training room. To hell with the “Labor Day break”—she didn’t need it. She’d be a workaholic.

With Jiang Yiguang gone, the living room fell utterly silent. Fu Juan’s mood for reading was gone. She began recalling everything related to Bo Qi. That Bo Qi had a mischievous nature. Even after registering with the Court, it hadn’t behaved, frequently popping out to scare children, then feeding on the nightmares born of their terror at night. She herself had once been one of Bo Qi’s “targets.” It had broken into her house several times, only to leave empty-handed and dejected each time. Bo Qi had once claimed it was the only one of its kind in the world. Life is but a dream—at its level of cultivation, could nightmares be the only thing it could devour?

–

Wang Family.

Family Head Wang Yicheng had secured the Noble Clans a chance to set up an array outside the Dragon Vein. During what should have been a leisurely Labor Day holiday, he and some old friends had taken their Magical Artifacts to deal with the mess. Those left at the Wang family home were mostly younger members with average aptitude and cultivation. It wasn’t that he hadn’t considered the possibility of someone breaking in. He simply trusted the arrays and Talismans to keep major enemies out. And in this modern society, few people would choose straightforward violence anymore.

But Tushan Yi didn’t abide by those conventions.

After leaving the Jiang residence, she’d put on a show of leisurely shopping, quickly shaken off the Dao Court’s tail, hailed a cab, and sped straight to the Wang family. She’d gotten her Inner Core and Magical Artifacts back, sure. But that didn’t mean she’d swallowed her past grievances! The other party had acted out of greed and done those things. Shouldn’t they bear the consequences? Imprisonment and sealing were what she deserved. But cutting out her Inner Core and severing her Nine Tails—on what grounds?

Spiritual energy was reviving now, but it was still far from ancient times’ levels. Tushan Yi was a Great Demon who had emerged from the Mountains and Seas. With her spirit restored, she was no longer the little fox of the past. She disregarded the mere talismanic arrays. She strode through the Wang family’s main gate as if no one else existed, advancing directly toward the Wang ancestral shrine, ignoring the attacks that felt like mere tickles.

The memorial tablets of the Perfected Ones worshipped by the Wang family for generations trembled violently, rattling with a strange noise, as if about to topple forward. Wisps of residual True Spirit energy coalesced into a sharp Ritual Sword aimed directly at the insolent intruder. Tushan Yi furrowed her brows. She sensed pressure. After all, among the Wang ancestors were those who had achieved the Dao—it was perfectly normal for ancestral spirits to protect the shrine.

But since she’d come, she had no intention of retreating. She sneered and took a step forward. The moment she moved, True Spirits were roused, manifesting phantom figures of Daoists—some holding swords and glaring, others sitting cross-legged on prayer mats with fly-whisks. Had the true Perfected Ones been present, even Tushan Yi would have chosen to retreat. But these were merely “spirits” manifested through incense offerings. Tushan Yi reached out with her right hand, and a Nine-Section Whip instantly materialized. An aura of biting frost radiated from her.

The whip had been forged from her nine severed tails by Daoist Wang, enshrined in the Wang family for a thousand years. Though she’d long since erased the Wang family’s imprint on it, a final, definitive end was still needed. The whip was snow-white, but with each crack, its tip brought forth a plume of crimson flame, leaving whip marks on the phantom figures. Tushan Yi was, after all, a cultivator from the Mountains and Seas—from an era belonging to the gods. She easily shattered the sword that had initially pressured her. Yet she didn’t advance further. Frowning at the tablets before her, a flicker of confusion crossed her eyes. Why were the True Spirits nurtured for millennia so weak? Impressive on the outside, rotten within. After a long moment, she clapped her hands, face breaking into a smile. “So that’s it! So that’s it!”

The first and second generation ancestors of the Wang family had been true masters—mortals who forged a path of the Dao, wielding swords to protect the Human Realm. They were naturally not weak. But they couldn’t withstand the unworthiness of later generations! The possibility of a family enduring prosperity forever was too slim. Amidst rises and falls, simply keeping the clan from extinction was already a great feat. Yet the current Wang family had been in decline for a long time. “Decline” wasn’t frightening in itself; what was terrifying was that they had discarded their own backbone.

Once the backbone is broken, the Dao Heart naturally shatters.

The pent-up frustration in her heart dissipated. Tushan Yi bent over, laughing. As she turned to leave the shrine, her whip lashed out, smashing most of the Wang ancestral tablets dating from Zhenren Changming onward. The remaining tablets flickered with a faint spiritual light, but no more True Spirits emerged.

–

When Wang Yicheng received the phone call, it was already too late to return. The news turned his face livid with rage. His movements in setting up the array slowed, and he immediately sought out Tao Junran, demanding justice. He’d thought the matter between the Wangs and Tushan Yi was settled—the items returned, intelligence on the Mountains and Seas exchanged.

Upon hearing this, Tao Junran’s hand twitched, snapping several beard hairs. But he quickly composed himself. “The official matter is concluded. What remains is a personal vendetta.”

Wang Yicheng stared at him, his expression dark. “So we are permitted to seek revenge, then?”

Tao Junran was silent for a long moment before replying, “Azure Hill has entered the world. The gateway between the Human Realm and the Mountains and Seas has opened a sliver. Compared to the entire nation of Azure Hill storming the Wang family, this solitary act to settle the past is the best possible outcome.” He didn’t believe the Wangs would truly go to war with the Tushan Clan now that Azure Hill had emerged. Knowing Wang Yicheng, he would swallow this grievance.

Wang Yicheng did calm down. But it wasn’t because his fury had subsided. It was because he remembered his current duty. Inside the Dragon Vein lay something far more important than his ransacked home. His brow furrowed deeply. He was about to leave when a panicked shout rang out.

“Alchemist! Something’s wrong with the array!”

Wang Yicheng’s eyelid twitched. He rushed back to the area where his Wang disciples were stationed, only to discover that a junior, unaware of the full plan, had attempted to continue setting up the array in his absence! But the junior had made a mess of things. The clashing of different Qi Flows had caused the entire grand array to collapse! Wang Yicheng was so furious his vision blurred. He felt like slapping the young disciple to death. “Who told you to touch the array?!” he roared.

The junior disciple stepped back, his face a mask of terror and panic. He’d clearly followed the Dao Court’s instructions for the array—how could it go wrong? “I-I—” He turned red, but before he could finish, Wang Yicheng cut him off.

Wang Yicheng’s eyes slanted, his gaze venomous. “Get lost!” he barked.

After the Qi Flow backlash shattered the array, he had no time to salvage it before the Dao Court’s people arrived to inspect the damage. From a distance, Wang Yicheng exchanged a glance with the head of the Zhao family. A strange light flickered in his eyes. He decided to let the array’s destruction become even more thorough—so the Dao Court wouldn’t notice the subtle discrepancies.