Chapter 22: Solitary Gall

The grass was a vibrant, lush green, yet a simple tilt of the head revealed the yellowed mud walls rising high above.

This place was like a paradise separated from the world, yet it was as treacherous and unpredictable as the woman herself.

Feng Yun’ai knew that such a strange place was bound to be riddled with hidden dangers. She had never expected to leave unscathed—especially considering this was where Wen Lanxin resided. To meet Wen Lanxin, one had to be prepared for the possibility of never returning.

Feng Yun’ai’s expression chilled for a fleeting second, but she did not allow Sang Chencao to provoke her. She flipped onto her horse and took up the reins. “Then there is no need to save me.”

“You aren’t afraid of death?” Sang Chencao asked meaningfully. When she tilted her head back, the two moles beneath her eye became even more distinct.

The one who isn’t afraid of death is someone else, Feng Yun’ai thought. As for herself… she probably was afraid, but she simply couldn’t afford to care about that right now.

Sang Chencao seated herself naturally on the horse’s back, showing no sense of being a stranger. She even gave the horse’s belly a kick, regardless of the fact that she wasn’t the one holding the reins.

The horse immediately bolted, charging back the way they had come. Clods of grass flew into the air behind them, yet not a single venomous snake was trampled; the serpents had all slithered far away.

Feng Yun’ai held the reins, having only a vague idea of the direction toward Haosi City. In truth, she had never been there.

Suddenly, a wave of warmth pressed against her back. Without even looking, she knew the woman behind her had leaned forward.

The woman even exhaled against her ear. That scorching breath felt like a pool of warm water, and Feng Yun’ai felt like a frog submerged within it.

“I know you aren’t familiar with the road. Give me the reins,” Sang Chencao said.

After a moment’s hesitation, Feng Yun’ai finally let go.

The moment the reins fell into the other woman’s hands, a soft sneer drifted into her ear.

Sang Chencao laughed. “People say you are suspicious and cautious, and indeed you are. Yet, in just a moment, you’ve placed your trust in another so easily. Why? Did someone tell you to pay more attention to others?”

Feng Yun’ai remained silent. Since there was no one else around, she pulled out her white silk ribbon and tied it over her eyes.

Sang Chencao laughed again. Holding the reins short, she had no choice but to press against Feng Yun’ai’s back like a flickering flame. This proximity inevitably brought her into contact with the sword.

The blade was frigid. The person leaning in let out a soft sigh, like a traveler in a sea of sand finally finding a source of water.

Feng Yun’ai’s ears were filled with intermittent chuckles and sighs. Annoyed beyond measure, she said coldly, “Since you are the one riding, why don’t you sit in front?”

“I won’t.” Sang Chencao refused directly, her tone rising slightly with enjoyment. “I’m quite comfortable right now. I didn’t realize this sword was so cool. You carry a block of ice on your back every day—aren’t you afraid of catching a chill?”

Feng Yun’ai sat motionless, her peripheral vision shifting slightly toward the woman behind her. “Your body is burning hot. Could it be that you are the one with a fever?”

Sang Chencao didn’t treat the horse beneath them like a living creature at all. She snapped the reins again, dissatisfied with the speed. “I am a martial artist, after all,” she laughed. “Now that I’m this close, tell me—aside from this body heat, what else about me seems like a fever?”

Feng Yun’ai had no answer. She had only mentioned a chill to hear the woman deny it. She said tonelessly, “So it is due to your cultivation technique? I have never read of such a technique in any books.”

“There are plenty of techniques that haven’t been detailed in books,” Sang Chencao replied noncommittally. “As long as one is unwilling to expose themselves to the world, what is so difficult about hiding something for ten or a hundred years?”

There was some truth to those words. Feng Yun’ai took it as a roundabout admission.

Sang Chencao suddenly added, “Techniques are like swords. As long as they aren’t shown to others, they can be hidden for as long as one likes.”

“What do you mean?” Feng Yun’ai felt there was a hidden meaning in her words.

At first glance, it seemed as though Sang Chencao was clinging tightly to the woman in white, but in reality, she was merely pressing herself against the sword.

Sang Chencao let out a long breath. “Wen Lanxin has drawn her sword in front of others before, so people know the blade is poisoned. However, Wen Lanxin has never mentioned the sword’s name. Naturally, there is no record of it in the Registry of Weapons.”

Feng Yun’ai circulated her internal power to shake off the yellow sand blowing into her face.

“Do you know what that sword is called?” Sang Chencao asked.

“If you have something to say, say it,” Feng Yun’ai snapped.

“Solitary Gall,” Sang Chencao raised her voice. “With a silent gall and a lonely heart, who remains to share the path?”

Feng Yun’ai froze. She knew—as did almost everyone in the world—that Feng Rong’s sword was named Lonely Heart.

Because of this, the technique Feng Rong created was called the Lonely Heart Sword Technique, and its mental mantra was the Lonely Heart Formula.

Solitary Gall, Lonely Heart. They sounded as if they came from the same origin.

But how could Feng Rong, a woman who dared to lead the world, share an origin with someone as morally ambiguous as Wen Lanxin?

“You truly share a deep connection with Wen Lanxin,” Feng Yun’ai stated firmly.

“Or perhaps I just made it up?” Sang Chencao chirped happily. “It’s not like you haven’t heard my fabrications before.”

Feng Yun’ai no longer wanted to listen to her. Out of every ten sentences this woman spoke, eight were impossible to distinguish as truth or lies.

Exiting the Yellow Sand Cliff this time, they did not need to pass through Black Wind Pond.

The path to Haosi City leaned south. After a night of travel, an oasis appeared in the distance once they left the Sand River. Further on, the sound of flowing water reached their ears.

The number of travelers on the road gradually increased. Most were merchants coming from the sea of sand, each caravan appearing weary and covered in the dust of travel.

The gates of Haosi City stood wide open. The guards were drinking, paying no mind to who entered.

The interior, however, was not chaotic. Cries of street vendors rose and fell in a lively, bustling atmosphere.

Once inside the city, the two had to dismount and lead the horse on foot. Sang Chencao remained perfectly at ease, walking through the crowds as if she were a local.

With the silk veil over her eyes, Feng Yun’ai’s vision was somewhat blurred, but this actually made it easier for her to observe her surroundings.

This place was different from Cloud City. While Cloud City was also lively, it was much quieter.

Perhaps it was because Cloud City was filled with people from the martial world. Everyone feared causing trouble, so they spoke little. At a glance, everyone seemed cold and distant.

In Haosi City, however, most were ordinary civilians. Looking around, the “flavor of the mortal world” was much stronger here.

“Dazzled?” Sang Chencao mocked.

Feng Yun’ai withdrew her gaze and walked straight ahead, her mind occupied with how to lure Wen Lanxin out.

Sang Chencao yawned and said nonchalantly, “Let’s find a place to rest first. We haven’t stopped once since leaving Yao Yao Inn. Aren’t you tired?”

Feng Yun’ai was indeed fatigued, but her desire to find Wen Lanxin won out. She frowned. “I need to find Wen Lanxin.”

“Look at this sea of people. How do you plan to find her?” Sang Chencao scoffed. “Wen Lanxin is different from you. When she’s tired, she takes a full rest. Don’t worry—she might still be in the city.”

Feng Yun’ai reached behind her, her hand brushing the cold hilt of her sword. She looked around. “How am I supposed to find her?”

With her fluttering white dress, the sword on her back, and the white silk covering her eyes, she didn’t look like a member of the martial world; she looked like a celestial maiden descended from the heavens.

Passersby couldn’t help but steal glances at her. Some were surprised, while others showed blatant admiration.

“Do you see that?” Sang Chencao pointed toward a group of street performers in the distance.

In the middle of the shoulder-to-shoulder crowd, someone was performing a sword-swallowing act. The tip of the blade entered the mouth, passed the throat, and finally, only the hilt remained outside the lips.

A wave of cheers erupted instantly. The performer then pulled the sword from his throat and flicked his wrist, executing a sword flower that wasn’t particularly graceful.

Feng Yun’ai was somewhat amazed. She could tell the sword swallower had no martial arts training. She wondered how he did it—perhaps the sword was rigged?

Observing her expression, Sang Chencao’s eyes curved. “Never seen that before? Interesting, isn’t it?”

Feng Yun’ai said nothing.

Sang Chencao then suggested, “Why don’t you go perform sword swallowing too? Your sword is better than his, and since it’s Solitary Gall, it will definitely draw Wen Lanxin out.”

Only then did Feng Yun’ai realize she was being toyed with. Her face instantly went cold.