Feng Yun’ai had never spilled blood, nor did she have the heart for murder. But as things stood, she could not touch Sang Chencao, and the Gu parasite was a curse she could neither suppress nor remove.
The residual warmth on her wrist lingered. She rubbed the spot with her thumb, but instead of dissipating, the sensation seemed to seep beneath her skin, leaving her entire body feeling restless and ill at ease.
Her white veil hung loosely from her face, threatening to fall at any moment, revealing a pair of grey eyes that stared coldly at the other woman.
Sang Chencao watched the woman in white retreat. In those eyes, which usually appeared so detached and indifferent, she caught a rare and precious glimpse of helplessness.
If this woman truly was some “Immortal in White,” then Sang Chencao would take tireless pleasure in dragging her down from her pedestal. She had always enjoyed such wicked pursuits.
“Not going to kill me?” Sang Chencao let out a scoff, her voice dripping with mockery. “Or are you finally tired of sitting up every night and decided you want a spot on this bed? You should have said so earlier; I’m happy to share half with you.”
Feng Yun’ai naturally had no desire to share a pillow with this woman. To lie beside someone so treacherous and unpredictable was to invite an unknown death in the middle of the night.
She had not yet found Wen Lanxin, nor had she uncovered the truth behind Feng Rong’s death. She could not afford to die yet.
“That is not it,” Feng Yun’ai said, her voice icy.
“Then you rest your way, and I’ll rest mine. Don’t give me any more reason to misunderstand,” Sang Chencao said, resting her chin on her hand.
Feng Yun’ai retreated to the table, her hand tightening around the Solitary Gall, which remained wrapped securely in coarse cloth. From the corner of her eye, she saw the woman on the bed dangle a leg over the edge, her pale, bare toes touching the floor.
“I intended for us to mind our own business,” Feng Yun’ai said with a frown. “It was you who muddied the waters with that Gu.”
Sang Chencao threw her head back and laughed. It was a joyous sound, but it cut off abruptly. She fixed her gaze directly on Feng Yun’ai, her voice slowing. “The waters were muddied the moment we met at that inn. From the second you began to suspect me, there was never a chance of us minding our own business.”
Who had suspected whom first? Who had entangled whom? Who had been the first to speak?
Feng Yun’ai opened her mouth to argue, but after a moment’s thought, she realized that no matter what she said, this woman would likely twist her words. She chose to remain silent.
“Sleep,” Sang Chencao said. “Tomorrow we go to Yellow Sand Cliff. We’ll see exactly what that Elder Zhou of your Hantian Alliance is plotting.”
Feng Yun’ai pulled down her trembling white veil and gripped it in her hand. “They are not ‘mine,'” she denied.
“True enough. Feng Rong raised you on Listening Goose Peak and never allowed you to descend. She hardly would have permitted you to join the Hantian Alliance. Am I right?” Sang Chencao’s tone was biting and cynical.
By now, neither of them could hide their identities. Feng Yun’ai had guessed who Sang Chencao was, and Sang Chencao had naturally deduced Feng Yun’ai’s origins.
Feng Yun’ai pursed her lips, remaining silent for a long moment. “She had her reasons.”
Sang Chencao let out a soft, mocking laugh.
***
The following morning, during the Hour of the Rabbit, the world was still draped in the velvet of night. Yet, inside the inn, the rustle of movement had already begun as the martial artists prepared to depart.
The manager had not slept all night. Terrified of a repeat of the previous days’ chaos, he had woken up well before dawn, his eyes ringed with dark circles as he saw his guests off.
From Haosi City to Yellow Sand Cliff, the leaders did not take the path through Black Wind Pond. Instead, they traveled the main road, avoiding the dense clusters of insect nests and snake dens.
Previously, they had always traversed Black Wind Pond. With the route changed, Feng Yun’ai found herself somewhat unfamiliar with the way.
Fortunately, she didn’t need to know the path. If she appeared too familiar with the terrain, it might invite unwanted suspicion.
Yellow sand swirled through the air along the journey. The martial artists from the Central Plains were ill-suited for the desert; they stopped frequently, and some had to sit cross-legged to regulate their internal power due to the physical strain.
During one such rest, the whispers began again.
“Do you all remember the Battle of the Cauldron Sea?”
Though few had witnessed that battle with their own eyes, there were hardly any in the martial world who had not heard of it.
It was after that battle that Feng Rong’s exquisite swordplay and steadfast character became legendary across the four seas. Meanwhile, Wen Lanxin, already considered a practitioner of unorthodox paths, saw her reputation crumble into infamy.
“Though I never saw Feng Rong’s ‘Still the Storm’ technique myself, I have long admired it in my heart,” someone replied. “To think such a formidable figure would be… murdered by a traitor.”
“Before the Battle of the Cauldron Sea, I never imagined those two would ever clash. Feng Rong was always a loner, belonging to no sect. She was indifferent by nature; she didn’t seem like the type to hold a grudge.”
“No, they were enemies long before the Cauldron Sea.”
“How do you know?”
Feng Yun’ai tilted her head to listen. These were stories she had never heard.
Another man spoke up. “Wen Lanxin also had no sect, but her temperament was volatile, and she made many enemies. Several times, when various sects invited guests for sword trials, she would show up uninvited. Do you know how I discovered the two of them were at odds?”
“How?”
“Whenever they met, Feng Rong’s expression would turn sour, and she would immediately leave the scene. It was clear she wanted nothing to do with Wen Lanxin.”
“Is that true? You aren’t just making this up, are you?”
“I saw it with my own eyes! Back then, my Chuanyun Sect intended to recruit Feng Rong, so we watched her closely. Unfortunately, she had no interest. It wasn’t until the Hantian Alliance was formed that we realized our sect had been overstepping.”
Being a loner certainly fit Feng Rong’s personality. However, why she had founded the Hantian Alliance remained an unsolved mystery.
Feng Yun’ai looked at Sang Chencao. Her expression was heavy, her eyes screaming a question: To outsiders, they were bitter enemies. Why do you insist that Wen Lanxin would never kill her?
Sang Chencao let out a faint huff. There was no smile on her face, only a flash of mockery.
