Feng Yun’ai finally yielded. There were few ways to have it both ways in this world; since she wanted the world to know the truth behind Feng Rong’s death and clear her name, she could no longer keep every detail hidden in the shadows.
However, no further clues could be found on the Sword Trial Stage. It was as if the formation Zhou Gui had laid to besiege the area was merely for decoration.
Yet, it was impossible for Zhou Gui to do something so useless at such a critical juncture. It could only be said that the schemes of Zhou Gui and those behind her were hidden even deeper than expected.
The next day, the two were scheduled to return to the tavern for more meat paste. Using this as a cover, they secretly returned to the coffin shop. After five rhythmic knocks, the door opened of its own accord.
The courtyard, piled high with coffins, was deserted. Meng Youmu remained hidden beneath the table draped in yellow silk. The garment in her hands was mostly finished, appearing to need only a final touch.
Meng Youmu pulled back the silk cloth with a cold expression, casting a glance outward. Her tone was neither surprised nor pleased. “Where have you two been these past few days? You’ve certainly been living it up while I’ve been left here guarding a corpse, terrified out of my wits.”
Feng Yun’ai had expected Meng Youmu to drive her and Sang Chencao away, but the woman seemed able to recognize their true faces beneath their disguises at a single glance.
Despite the ritual of knocks and calls, shouldn’t she have shown at least a hint of wariness when faced with two strangers? Yet, Meng Youmu showed none.
Was it because these two were so familiar that no matter how Sang Chencao disguised herself, Meng Youmu could recognize her instantly?
For some reason, Feng Yun’ai felt a hollow ache in her chest. She had never experienced such an emotion before, but she felt that to achieve such recognition, one had to be intimately close.
It was more than envy. She didn’t exactly long for it; she simply felt an inexplicable sense of weariness.
Sang Chencao pushed through the door and shook out a piece of white cloth from the carriage, covering the vehicle completely.
In this way, no one would know the carriage had come from the Dieshan Alliance; they would only assume it was a hearse for transporting the dead.
Sang Chencao stepped into the courtyard, hooking her hand behind her back and exerting a trace of inner qi to shut the gate. “You have quite the sharp nose,” she remarked casually.
Meng Youmu gave her a flat look before lowering her head to continue weaving the garment. “Do you really think I only identify people by their knock? Back then, the only reason I didn’t lose so pathetically to Wen Lanxin was because I relied on this nose of mine.”
“How so?” Sang Chencao asked, sounding curious, as if she had never heard this story.
Inexplicably, Feng Yun’ai felt a slight relief in her heart. So, Sang Chencao was surprised as well.
Meng Youmu spoke slowly. “Wen Lanxin’s Phasing Shadows movement technique isn’t something an ordinary person can keep up with. She only taught you half of it. What she actually knows is far more sinister than the set you use so well. Back then, I nearly lost her trail entirely, but fortunately, I caught her unique scent.”
Feng Yun’ai had witnessed Sang Chencao’s movement techniques; they were indeed as swift as a ghost, capable of vanishing in an instant. She couldn’t imagine how terrifying Wen Lanxin’s must be.
No wonder they hadn’t been able to find Wen Lanxin despite tracking her for so long. It seemed that unless Wen Lanxin chose to reveal herself, no one would ever see so much as her shadow.
“I expected her to keep some secrets, but I hadn’t heard this particular story before,” Sang Chencao murmured with a light scoff.
Meng Youmu shook her head in silence. Only after a long pause did she speak. “I smelled it the day before yesterday.”
“Smelled what?” Sang Chencao’s expression shifted slightly.
Meng Youmu looked toward the high walls of the courtyard, her gaze drifting past the black tiles. She spoke with uncertainty. “Wen Lanxin might truly be in Cloud City. She likely knows Feng Rong’s body is underground, which is why she came by.”
Feng Yun’ai froze. “Then why didn’t she show herself?”
“Who knows,” Sang Chencao said, her eyes darkening.
Feng Yun’ai looked at Sang Chencao abruptly, her eyes widening slightly as she asked coldly, “Could it be that Wen Lanxin has been watching us from the shadows this entire time?”
Sang Chencao looked thoughtful, remaining silent for a long moment.
“Does she… not want to see my Master? Why won’t she show her face?” Feng Yun’ai was bewildered.
Sang Chencao raised an eyebrow and let out a derisive snort. “Perhaps she intentionally lured us to Cloud City. She’s using our hands to do her work for her.”
Meng Youmu paused for a moment, perhaps forgetting where she was in her weaving. She lowered her head to unravel a row of stitches and said slowly, “The fragrance of the flowers below is getting stronger. How is the Dieshan Alliance faring? What are your plans?”
The thought of Feng Rong made Feng Yun’ai’s breath hitch.
“There is someone of unknown identity beside Zhou Gui. I suspect she plans to make her move during the Hero Recruitment Meet, but I’m not sure exactly what she intends to do.” Sang Chencao sat down on a coffin. “We’ve come this time to take Feng Rong away.”
Meng Youmu didn’t even ask why. She set her work aside, crawled out from under the table, and gathered white, murky inner qi in her palms.
The qi swirled toward the nearby coffins, easily lifting the mountain of stacked wood.
Meng Youmu likely didn’t want Feng Rong to stay here either, nor did she want to be overly involved. She said coldly, “Then take her. But this floral scent is overwhelming. Have you found out exactly what kind of flower this is?”
“The Golden-Wanderer Eternal Flower,” Sang Chencao replied. “Zhou Gui intends to use it to replace the Crimson-Necked String of Pearls.”
Half of the coffins hovered in the air while the bottom-most one remained flush with the ground, revealing a rough, unrefined hole within.
As it was daytime, light spilled into the cavity, offering a glimpse of the chaotic, flourishing foliage inside.
Meng Youmu, for all her vast experience, was stunned for a moment. The coffins she held aloft with her qi wobbled precariously, threatening to fall.
“You know of it?” Sang Chencao narrowed her eyes.
Meng Youmu shook her head. “I’ve only heard rumors. Decades ago, this flower was considered worth a king’s ransom. I imagine it’s even rarer now. But how can a flower grow from a corpse?”
Sang Chencao looked at Feng Yun’ai, raising an eyebrow without speaking.
Feng Yun’ai stepped forward, staring down into the hole. After a long silence, she said, “Heaven and Earth gave it soil and rain, yet it chose to feed on flesh and blood.”
