“You might want to see Wen Lanxin, but she may not want to see you,” Sang Chencao said, her voice slow and casual. “Wen Lanxin isn’t someone just anyone can meet.”
“And how would you know?” Feng Yun’ai asked, her suspicions flaring once more.
Sang Chencao’s tone took on a hint of schadenfreude. “Didn’t I tell you? I looked for her once and couldn’t find her. If I couldn’t find her, you certainly won’t either.”
Feng Yun’ai didn’t believe a word of it.
Sang Chencao kicked the horse, urging it into a frantic gallop. They tore through a grove of withered trees and followed a narrow path beneath the cliffs, plunging into a gloom where the way forward was shrouded in shadow.
“Do you know what others call this place?” the rider asked.
“What?” Feng Yun’ai’s vision was already obscured by the silk veil. As they rode into the murky darkness, she felt as though she had wandered into a labyrinthine miasma, her sense of direction failing her completely.
“Ghost Gate Pass!” Sang Chencao’s voice was airy, making the three words sound chillingly eerie.
In the eyes of the world, Yellow Sand Cliff was indeed no different from the Hall of the King of Hell; to enter was to find oneself on a road to certain death.
Looking toward the distant cliff walls, the cracks and stones were teeming with a carpet of snakes and scorpions. At the sound of the horse’s hooves, the vermin raised their heads, peering down like sentries guarding the way.
Watching from a distance, Feng Yun’ai felt the terrifying reality of Wen Lanxin’s reputation.
Years ago, Wen Lanxin had dominated the martial world, her name ranking high in the Jianghu Records. She had made countless enemies across the land, only to vanish overnight into the seclusion of Yellow Sand Cliff.
In the martial world, there were always newcomers entering the fray and old masters retiring. However, even those who intended to leave the world of strife behind often found it impossible to sever their ties completely. Even if one had the heart to retire, others would inevitably come to provoke them.
Only someone like Wen Lanxin, relying on this treacherous and malevolent terrain, could truly enforce a policy of “I will not provoke others if they do not provoke me.” Only those who had grown tired of living would dare seek her out.
If the snakes and scorpions covering the walls were to swarm forward at once, an intruder would likely be rendered defenseless. There were so many that they could—quite literally—get into every crack and crevice.
Feng Yun’ai grew increasingly suspicious of the woman in indigo. Though they were trespassing, Sang Chencao showed neither alarm nor fear. In fact, the vermin seemed to be parting for her.
Sang Chencao suddenly spoke. “It looks like Wen Lanxin wants to see you after all.”
“Why do you say that?” Feng Yun’ai no longer trusted this woman’s erratic words.
Holding the reins with one hand, Sang Chencao raised her arm to point at the distant cliffside, laughing with genuine delight. “The snakes and scorpions are lining up to welcome us!”
Feng Yun’ai felt a faint chill creep down her spine. If these creatures were Wen Lanxin’s eyes and ears, then the master of the cliff surely knew exactly where she was. If Wen Lanxin had not struck yet, it was likely because she had motives beyond simply taking her life.
Or perhaps Wen Lanxin really wasn’t there.
“How many times have you been here?” Feng Yun’ai asked warily.
“If I said this was only my second time, would you believe me?” Sang Chencao laughed so hard her shoulders shook. She suddenly jerked the reins, causing the person behind her to lurch forward.
Too hot.
The moment they touched, the chill Feng Yun’ai had felt moments ago vanished completely. She couldn’t understand how this woman’s body could be so scorching.
Naturally, Feng Yun’ai didn’t believe her. She didn’t think the vermin were moving aside to welcome them. Snakes and scorpions were heartless creatures; they didn’t welcome, they feared.
They seemed… somewhat afraid of this woman in indigo.
Sang Chencao changed course, heading downward to weave through the labyrinthine valley floor until they entered a particularly strange oasis.
The vegetation here grew with jarring suddenness, separated from the yellow sands by a distinct boundary. The plants were lush and green, emitting a slow, refreshing fragrance that was certainly no illusion.
Feng Yun’ai was stunned. She had never seen any records regarding the interior of Yellow Sand Cliff; books only detailed how one might reach its borders. She never expected that beneath the cliffs lay no sand, but a verdant, fragrant paradise.
She wondered how such lush greenery could survive in this parched, scorching wasteland.
Feng Yun’ai drew her sword to test the surroundings, piercing a green leaf with the tip and bringing it to her face.
“It’s real,” Sang Chencao said with a smirk.
Feng Yun’ai pinched the leaf and smelled it. It carried the scent of fresh earth; it truly grew from the ground. Observing the color and veins of the leaf, it seemed healthier than many trees found along the official roads of the Central Plains, as if someone tended to it meticulously every single day.
