Chapter 8: The Sun Chasing Ritual

Hu Cheng’s corpse had begun to take on a gruesome appearance. In the depths of the night, with the body so close, it was impossible not to feel a creeping sense of dread.

Feng Yun’ai, however, stared directly at it. To her, this death felt increasingly peculiar.

The woman forced to stand by her side suddenly spoke. “When walking the martial world alone, one must be cautious. Especially Hu Cheng; he was the Desert’s Greatest Blade. Those who wished to steal that title from him are too many to count.”

Feng Yun’ai turned her head, only to find the veiled woman had suddenly leaned in close. She reflexively leaned back, her breath hitching for a moment as she was caught by the other woman’s sudden, piercing gaze.

Fortunately, this woman did not seem to practice any demonic arts that could ensnare a soul with a single look.

This enchantress-like figure possessed eyes reminiscent of a venomous serpent, and the two small beauty marks beneath them only served to make her look more malicious yet dangerously alluring.

“Hu Cheng’s vigilance couldn’t have been low,” Sang Chencao whispered. “He lived in the desert for years and knew this land like the back of his hand. Who could possibly have blindsided him?”

After a moment of contemplation, Feng Yun’ai replied coolly, “Naturally, someone who knows the Listening Moon Sand River even better than he did.”

“To assassinate a grandmaster, one must be fully prepared. You need poison, needles, courage, and a clever scheme. Most importantly, you must not arouse Hu Cheng’s suspicion,” Sang Chencao said with a smirk. “Especially since it’s so difficult to find one’s bearings in the Sand River. If an outsider tried to commit a crime here, they’d likely be swallowed by the sands before they even reached their target.”

At first, Feng Yun’ai had felt that every word out of this woman’s mouth was a lie or a twisted logic. But listening to her now, there was a certain undeniable sense to it.

“However, the tools used to kill him are likely buried beneath the shifting sands, beyond our reach.” Sang Chencao paused, her expression unreadable. “The only way left is to ask him.”

With a flick of her index finger, she pointed at Hu Cheng’s corpse.

Feng Yun’ai began to examine the body with even greater care. She hooked two fingers slightly beneath the corpse and flipped it over with effortless grace. It was a clear testament to how formidable her internal power truly was.

A killer acts either out of hatred or desire. As long as there is a motive, there will be tracks.

As expected, while there were no other external wounds on Hu Cheng’s front, there were nails driven into his back.

These nails had clearly been placed to avoid his clothing. When the body was first brought into the inn, these marks…

They shouldn’t have been there.

“Oh my,” Sang Chencao murmured, feigning surprise.

Feng Yun’ai’s eyes turned cold. “Someone tampered with the body.”

“That much is obvious,” Sang Chencao said leisurely.

The nails had been driven in after death, so the wounds showed no signs of swelling or redness. It looked no different than puncturing a slaughtered pig.

As she counted, she found seven marks in total, all driven along the spine.

Feng Yun’ai continued her search, feeling that there had to be more. Sure enough, she found them.

There was a nail in the back of Hu Cheng’s head. After removing his clothes and leggings, she found iron nails driven into his elbows and the hollows of his knees as well.

“This method looks familiar,” Sang Chencao said softly.

Behind her bamboo hat, Feng Yun’ai’s expression shifted slightly.

“This dark art was brought in from beyond the borders. It was originally a technique of the Sun Chasing Cult. They used this method of pinning the living or the dead to ensure their victims would never be reincarnated—cursed to suffer for eternity.” Sang Chencao’s tone still held a slight upward lilt, as if she felt nothing but curiosity and passing interest.

After a pause, Sang Chencao marveled, “I didn’t expect that even after the Sun Chasing Cult vanished years ago, they would still have followers within our borders.”

Feng Yun’ai sifted through Hu Cheng’s hair, which was matted with fine sand, making it difficult to see clearly.

Finally, near one of the nails, she found another needle wound. This one was different from the three marks on his neck; it was tinged with a faint blue hue.

It was an incredibly tiny puncture, hidden against the scalp. Had it not been for the nail, Feng Yun’ai would never have looked closely enough to find it.

“What did you see?” Sang Chencao noticed the other woman go still and leaned in.

Feng Yun’ai lifted a corner of her white veil to stare at the spot. “Do you recognize this? What poison is it?”

“Spirit-Awakening Powder,” Sang Chencao answered smoothly, her knowledge seemingly boundless.

“You really do know everything,” Feng Yun’ai huffed.

“I merely know of it. I didn’t administer it,” Sang Chencao countered.

This exotic poison was rare within the Central Plains. Its refinement process was extremely complex, requiring a poisonous herb that only grew beyond the borders.

Sang Chencao brushed her fingers near the puncture mark and said lightly, “Yes, Spirit-Awakening Powder. It can be ingested or applied topically, and the effects are equally potent either way. The difference is that for topical use, it cannot be diluted too much, which is why it leaves a blue trace on the skin.”

Feng Yun’ai had heard of it before. Foreigners had coveted the Central Plains’ martial arts world for years and had once tried to use Spirit-Awakening Powder to wipe out all the great heroes at once.

“This poison is quite something. They say it makes one feel ethereal, as if every fantasy and dream is coming true.” Sang Chencao continued to stroke the skin near the wound, appearing almost entranced by the idea of it.

It didn’t seem as though she wanted to experience the poison herself, but rather that she desired to possess it.

Feng Yun’ai suddenly yanked the hair ribbon, pulling Sang Chencao’s hand away from the corpse’s scalp.

Sang Chencao wasn’t angry. She simply gave a short laugh and continued, “Not only that, it makes the victim incredibly thirsty, as if they are being baked dry from the inside. It can even cause the blood to stagnate, leading to organ failure. However, the process of wasting away is agonizingly slow, taking upwards of two hours.”

“Even a mere hallucination could cost Hu Cheng his life.” Feng Yun’ai examined his neck once more. “The three marks on his neck look more like they were added out of paranoia once the poison on the initial needle ran out. Two of them were added even later—after he was already dead.”

“See? Your ‘guesses’ aren’t so groundless after all,” Sang Chencao teased.

“I have evidence,” Feng Yun’ai argued, though her rebuttal felt a bit weak.

Sang Chencao laughed. “Did they start tampering with the body because they were certain no one would check it? I just wonder what grudge Innkeeper Lin held against Hu Cheng to deny him peace even in death.”

“It may not be her. We haven’t found enough proof,” Feng Yun’ai whispered. “If we accuse her now, she faces two charges: the murder of Hu Cheng and collusion with a foreign demonic cult. She would certainly be executed.”

“Did you consider all these factors when you were busy suspecting me?” Sang Chencao narrowed her eyes.

“Even if I suspect you, I wouldn’t spread rumors without cause.” Feng Yun’ai pressed down on the brim of her hat.

Sang Chencao gave a soft huff. “You only need to ask the workers if the Innkeeper has been out lately. Hu Cheng always traveled alone; very few people knew his route. To kill him, one would have to spend a long time lying in wait in the desert. Of course, one could bribe others in Listening Moon Town, but that would be too easy to trace.”

The woman wasn’t wrong.

Feng Yun’ai thought for a moment and said quietly, “For now, we’ll see if the Innkeeper really intends to bury him tomorrow.”

The two of them returned to the room—the same room they were sharing.

Once inside, Feng Yun’ai untied the hair ribbon from Sang Chencao’s wrist and slowly bound it back into her own hair.

Sang Chencao lay down on the bed as if she owned it. “It seems you still suspect me. Do I have the power of bilocation? Could I have driven those nails into Hu Cheng right under your nose?”

“You may only have one pair of eyes and two arms,” Feng Yun’ai said, sitting back down at the table. “But if you so desired, others could serve as your limbs. Besides, those with profound martial arts have many ways to kill from a distance—even the wind, clouds, and rain can be used as their weapons.”

“You speak so highly of me,” Sang Chencao said, reclining on the bed. “Just so you can find a way to keep doubting me.”