Chapter 28: Fish Mint and Cilantro Part 1

“Wen Lanxin must pay with her life!” someone lamented.

“If the rumors are true and Alliance Leader Feng Rong left no successor for the Lonely Heart Manual, then it truly is… a tragedy,” another added.

Sighs rose and fell like the tide throughout the inn.

Indeed, Feng Rong’s Lonely Heart Sword Technique was the pinnacle that every soul in the Jianghu aspired to reach. Her death signaled that the technique was destined to be lost to time.

It was a staggering loss.

“But if Wen Lanxin really did it, why would she stoop to such a low tactic? I still can’t wrap my head around it,” someone muttered.

Sang Chencao asked airily, “I am curious, however—now that Alliance Leader Feng has passed, who governs the Hantian Alliance?”

The members of the Hantian Alliance turned toward her. Their leader cupped his hands in a respectful salute. “Naturally, it is Elder Zhou Gui.”

Sang Chencao looked thoughtful. “So, was she also the one who ascended Listening Goose Peak and was the first to discover the Alliance Leader’s body?”

“Correct.”

Sang Chencao cast a meaningful glance at Feng Yun’ai. “With the Hero Recruitment Meet approaching, the Alliance must be drowning in affairs. Elder Zhou carries a heavy burden; she must be exhausted.”

“The Elder originally intended to lead this party herself, but unfortunately, she could not step away from her duties.”

Feng Yun’ai’s expression remained grim. She used her peripheral vision to scrutinize the waist tokens hanging from the men’s belts.

At first glance, the tokens bore the same totem, but there were subtle differences. For instance, the crane feathers—those with more feathers held higher rank, while those with fewer were subordinates.

The direction the crane faced also varied. The four cardinal directions represented the four halls of the Alliance. Zhou Gui was the head of one such hall.

Such nuances were rarely known to outsiders; only those within the Hantian Alliance could spot the discrepancy at a glance.

Every single person sent on this mission was, without exception, one of Zhou Gui’s direct subordinates.

This was strange. When Feng Rong was alive, punitive missions against villains were usually handled by the Jie Hall, never the Fu Hall that Zhou Gui commanded.

Sang Chencao leaned close to Feng Yun’ai. Without changing her expression, she subtly circulated her inner qi, using a secret voice transmission to speak directly into Feng Yun’ai’s ear.

“I’ve heard rumors that the Chuanyun Sect, Guanfeng Gate, and Hengshan Sect share very intimate ties with Zhou Gui,” she whispered through the air.

Feng Yun’ai’s pupils shrank slightly.

The Jianghu warriors in the hall were no slouches. The moment they detected the flow of inner qi nearby, their gazes shifted toward the two women. Fortunately, none of them had heard the actual words.

Sang Chencao said no more. Relying on the sheer depth of her internal power, she was practically reckless.

Feng Yun’ai’s expression was like a piece of ruined fabric—heavy and sodden with dark emotions. Fortunately, her white silk veil hid her face, preventing any suspicion.

To the martial arts world of the Central Plains, Feng Rong’s death was as catastrophic as the sky collapsing or the oceans running dry. When a call for justice was issued, how could only three sects respond?

And yet, only these three had come. Perhaps Zhou Gui had specifically hand-picked them.

A pang of bitterness rose in Feng Yun’ai’s chest. The grief she had suppressed for so long finally began to leak out. She had read about such things in books and knew that what she felt must be “sorrow.”

Unfortunately, she had met very few people, and her books were not exhaustive. Occasionally, when a strange thought surfaced in her mind, it took a long time for her to realize exactly what she was feeling.

Sang Chencao set down her chopsticks and prepared to head upstairs.

Someone in the crowd asked, “May I ask how to address you, Heroine?”

Sang Chencao smiled. On the plate before her, only the cold appetizers remained. She poked at them again, and though she saw no fish mint, she made up a name on the spot just as she had before. “Call me Jieb’er.”

A normal person wouldn’t immediately associate that name with “Fish Mint,” but Feng Yun’ai knew exactly what she meant.

Feng Yun’ai’s expression was unreadable.

The questioner turned to Feng Yun’ai and cupped his hands again. “And this one is…?”

“Call her Cilantro,” Sang Chencao answered generously, completely ignoring the bewildered looks on everyone’s faces.

No matter how one heard it, neither sounded like a real name.

Feng Yun’ai simply remained silent. She had no desire to reveal her true name to these people anyway.

Sang Chencao stood up. She was already halfway up the stairs when she paused. “When do you all plan to depart for Yellow Sand Cliff?”

The crowd was suspicious, but in the Jianghu, people changed their names as often as their clothes. Some went to their graves leaving behind nothing but an ambiguous moniker. As strange as “Fish Mint” and “Cilantro” were, it wasn’t unheard of.

The warriors exchanged looks before a member of the Hantian Alliance answered, “Tomorrow, at the Hour of the Rabbit.”

Feng Yun’ai followed silently upstairs, her hand gripping Solitary Gall at her side, refusing to let anyone catch a glimpse of it.

Once they were inside the room, she placed the sword on the table and wrapped it in layers of coarse cloth. “I thought we were going to Cloud City,” she said coldly. “Why the change of heart? You and I have already been to Yellow Sand Cliff. Why go back? Wen Lanxin isn’t there, and neither is anyone else.”

“I want to know what they are looking for at Yellow Sand Cliff,” Sang Chencao said, sitting at the table and resting her chin in her hand as she watched the other woman wrap the sword. “Don’t tell me you aren’t curious?”

“Didn’t they already say why?” Feng Yun’ai felt a spark of anger. If not for this woman, she would likely have found Wen Lanxin by now.

The Gu insects in their bodies linked their hearts.

“Who knows if they’re telling the truth?” Sang Chencao seemed to sense her irritation. She pointed a finger lightly at her own heart and smiled. “Don’t get angry. What will we do if you make yourself ill?”

Feng Yun’ai desperately wanted to strike this woman down. When she tied the knot on the coarse cloth, the fabric groaned under the tension, as if she were trying to snap the scabbard in half.

“I won’t lie to you. There is something at Yellow Sand Cliff I haven’t found yet. I wonder if I can use these people to dig it out.” Sang Chencao narrowed her eyes, a cold glint flashing through them.

Feng Yun’ai grew alert. “Spirit-Awakening Powder?” she asked frostily.

Sang Chencao laughed until she was leaning back, shaking her head. “Of course not. If the Spirit-Awakening Powder were truly there, it would be better if it stayed lost. Why would I use others to find it?”