The woman in indigo rested her chin carelessly on her palm, leaning half-against the headboard as she let out a low chuckle.
She spoke slowly, and when she chewed over the name “Xiuxiu,” there was a faint, inexplicable trace of affection in her voice.
Feng Yun’ai cast a cold glance her way, her grip tightening on Solitary Gall. “And you? Who are you?”
“You were the one who spoke of your own accord,” Sang Chencao said leisurely. “We never agreed to a one-for-one exchange of secrets.”
“You!” Feng Yun’ai could barely suppress the surge of fury in her chest.
During her years on Listening Goose Peak, she had stayed by Feng Rong’s side and learned to mimic her mentor’s temperament almost perfectly—always maintaining an air of indifference. Only now, in the presence of this woman, did she realize she was still capable of such volatile emotion.
“Calm yourself. With the gu inside you, you cannot harm me.” Sang Chencao raised a finger to her lips. “Control yourself, Xiuxiu.”
Feng Yun’ai met her gaze with icy eyes and held out a hand. “You took the insect whistle. Return it.”
“It isn’t yours. It belongs to Wen Lanxin,” Sang Chencao replied.
Feng Yun’ai’s voice was like frost. “Solitary Gall has not been returned to its master yet either. As long as the sword is in my hand, it is mine.”
“How overbearing, Xiuxiu,” Sang Chencao teased with a laugh. “I wonder who you learned that from?”
Feng Yun’ai choked on her words, finding herself momentarily speechless.
Sang Chencao reached into her belt, fished out the whistle, and tossed it toward the other woman. “This thing is formidable. Even if the insects weren’t raised by Wen Lanxin herself, they will still answer the call. However, whether they actually obey is another matter entirely.”
Feng Yun’ai frowned. No wonder when she had blown the whistle before, some of the swarming insects had failed to avoid the person holding the instrument.
“Don’t go blowing it at random, or even I won’t be able to save you.” Sang Chencao arched an eyebrow.
Feng Yun’ai had no interest in playing music for no reason. She pressed the whistle against her scabbard, snapping it back into the notch where it belonged.
She suspected the various sects wouldn’t let them go so easily; after all, the indigo-clothed woman’s act of burning those records was enough to make anyone uneasy.
Feng Yun’ai glanced toward Sang Chencao. She was unsettled as well, still not knowing exactly what the woman had burned.
The woman in indigo lay back down on the wooden bed. Despite her seemingly light frame, the aged wooden frame creaked loudly under her weight.
The sound snapped Feng Yun’ai out of her thoughts.
“Rest early,” Sang Chencao said, her voice laced with drowsiness. “The Guanfeng Gate is not to be underestimated. Their disciples are scattered across the four seas, and they know the movements of everyone under heaven. Our peaceful days are likely numbered.”
The Guanfeng Gate was documented in the Jianghu Records. They were a sect known for their vast information network, appearing to have their finger on the pulse of every occurrence in the world.
While others won battles through superior martial skill, the Guanfeng Gate was different—they relied on knowing their enemies better than the enemies knew themselves.
The fire in Feng Yun’ai’s heart slowly ebbed. She lowered her eyes, staring at Solitary Gall for a long moment before closing them to rest.
After a while, she asked with a frown, “Can you really give me the needles?”
Sang Chencao scoffed. “Do you want to sew my mouth shut again?”
Feng Yun’ai’s brow remained furrowed. “Back at the Yao Yao Inn, wasn’t your needle pouch ground into dust? Where did your current needles come from?”
“You’re silly,” Sang Chencao laughed. “I merely let you see them turn to dust. I never said I would destroy all of them.”
Feng Yun’ai fell silent. It was exactly as Feng Rong had said: the world below the mountain was full of peril and villains. Was the woman before her not the perfect example?
But she couldn’t blame it all on others. She had been too trusting.
***
Toward dawn, the distant barking of dogs began, just as it had when they first arrived the night before. It seemed strangers were moving through the town again.
Hearing the barks, Feng Yun’ai opened her eyes instantly; she had clearly not been in a deep sleep.
“Let’s go.” Sang Chencao didn’t delay. She stood up and propped open the flimsy window, leaning out to scan the surroundings.
This town wasn’t small, and this inn was different from the previous one—low and flat, offering a poor vantage point.
Feng Yun’ai listened to the movements around them. She suddenly caught the sound of an unusual wind, and her heart leaped into her throat. She stepped to the window. “They’re here.”
Sang Chencao immediately vaulted out the window. In the dim, twilight air, her figure was like a ghost.
The sky was still a deep, dusky blue. The barking grew more frantic, and a townsman, woken by the noise, shouted a curse into the air.
The two women pressed themselves against the outer wall of the inn, using their Lightness Skills to move as if on level ground, easily rounding to the other side of the building.
But the pursuers caught sight of them. With a sharp whistle, a bamboo splinter hissed through the air, piercing the wall right next to Feng Yun’ai’s ear.
Feng Yun’ai narrowly avoided it. Her expression remained unchanged as she turned her head toward the source of the attack.
Killing intent swirled nearby. The newcomers were spread out, clearly intending to trap them.
Feng Yun’ai rubbed the hilt of Solitary Gall. Her palm had grown numb to the cold, no longer flinching as she had at first.
Suddenly, a hundred bamboo splinters flew forward like a rain of daggers, carrying a fierce, burgeoning killing intent.
Feng Yun’ai almost drew her blade, but with a flick of her wrist, she kept the sword sheathed. Instead, she used the scabbard to intercept the incoming projectiles one by one.
As her wrist turned, a swirl of white Qi formed a vortex, catching the bamboo splinters and throwing them off course. They flipped mid-air and plunged into the ground in a neat row.
The indigo-clothed woman remained unhurried, even lightly clapping her hands from the side. She smiled. “Good work. Those are the bamboo tools of the Guanfeng Gate. They aren’t ordinary splinters; the barbs carved into them are lethal. Once they sink into someone’s flesh, you have to gouge out the meat just to get the bamboo out.”
