Chapter 45: The Shadow of the Autumn Water Part 1

The fire crackled, and in a heartbeat, it was as if a wildfire had roared into the room. The towering Archive was bathed in a brilliant, piercing light.

This was the sight Feng Yun’ai was familiar with. She had lived here for years and had never once seen the hanging lanterns extinguished.

The light bled through the thousands of paper windowpanes around them, looking like fallen stars gathered at the mountain’s peak to illuminate the mortal realm.

But who could have put the lights out?

Feng Yun’ai remembered clearly that the lanterns were still lit the day she descended the mountain. Feng Rong had been collapsed and helpless; no one else should have known the secret of the hanging lanterns.

Sang Chencao remained perched leisurely on the iron chains. Half of her face was illuminated by the firelight, and though her features were currently unremarkable, the glow lent her an air of bewitching grace.

She leaned back, propping her chin up with one hand as she lay against the links. “Xiuxiu, do you know why Feng Rong set these lamps this way?”

Feng Yun’ai didn’t know, though she assumed it was related to some hidden mechanism.

“Do you know what kind of array this is?” Sang Chencao asked again.

Feng Yun’ai looked up but remained silent. She had spent years on Listening Goose Peak, yet Feng Rong had never breathed a word of this to her.

“I once saw a record of this ‘Autumn Water Veiled Eyes Formation’ in Wen Lanxin’s notes,” Sang Chencao said slowly. “Though, the version Feng Rong set up is slightly different from the original.”

Autumn Water Veiled Eyes…

Feng Yun’ai pondered the name. She felt as though she had heard of it before—the records were likely right here in this Archive!

A spark of realization struck her. She spun around, leaping toward a bookshelf three feet higher than her head. She pulled down a thick tome detailing the mechanical traps and labyrinthine arrays of various sects.

She had flipped through this book at least five times. She easily found the page for the Autumn Water Veiled Eyes Formation, where several characters were written in a bold, clear hand:

Created by Sui Jianxue of the Qiushui Pavilion.

Of course. The name of the formation shared its essence with the Qiushui Pavilion.

Sang Chencao watched from above, lying lazily on the chain. She didn’t rush the other woman; the knockout incense she’d used was potent enough to ensure the guards outside wouldn’t wake for a long while.

Feng Yun’ai skimmed the text rapidly. While she hadn’t memorized every word, the principles of the layout and its subsequent neutralization were already etched into her mind.

The true Autumn Water Veiled Eyes was different; it utilized more lanterns in a denser pattern, intended to turn a secret chamber into a sea of fire. Furthermore, it didn’t hang the lights from the ceiling—the ceiling was reserved for silver bells used to navigate by sound.

Not everyone in the Qiushui Pavilion was completely blind. Many disciples suffered from eye ailments but could still perceive light and shadow.

This mechanism relied on the shadows cast by the lamps. One had to observe the shadows, then move through the space with specific footwork to trigger the hidden door.

Feng Yun’ai abruptly returned the book to its place. She closed her eyes to discern the play of light and shadow, but because she rarely relied on her other senses this way, her movements appeared slightly clumsy the moment her vision was cut off.

The woman above let out a soft snort of amusement. She offered no guidance, maintaining an air of arrogant, reckless detachment.

With her eyes closed, Feng Yun’ai felt as though she were in a dream. Because the bookshelves were so tall, the contrast between light and dark shifted as she turned her head, making her feel as if she were sinking into a trance.

It was no wonder so many shelves in the Archive remained empty yet were never moved. They weren’t redundant; they were part of the design.

A sudden surge of urgency and confusion overwhelmed Feng Yun’ai. Once again, Sang Chencao’s words were proven true.

Indeed, Feng Rong had not told her everything.

But Feng Yun’ai still wanted to know how many riddles Feng Rong had buried, and what the ultimate answer was.

She shifted her weight and moved. Her movement technique was incredibly fast, her afterimages flickering like a ghost. In her plain white robes, she looked like a soul-reaping spectre come to claim a life.

Sang Chencao appeared indifferent, yet every time Feng Yun’ai’s foot landed, the finger propping up Sang Chencao’s chin would twitch slightly. It was as if they shared a singular heartbeat.

But it wasn’t a spiritual connection; it was simply because Sang Chencao had already seen through the array. She was using her movements to verify if the woman below had made a mistake.

Feng Yun’ai didn’t miss a single step. The white veil tied behind her head fluttered as she leaped and pivoted, her movements possessing a grace that mimicked a master dancer.

However, her posture lacked the suppleness of a professional performer; she was too stiff, too cold.

Sang Chencao watched with great interest. When the figure in white landed one step behind her previous position to the left, Sang Chencao tapped her cheek and spoke in a drawl. “It’s done. Xiuxiu, you really are impressive!”

Instantly, the bookshelves that seemed bolted to the stone floor began to grind outward. A heavy, low rumble echoed through the room, sounding like the opening of a massive mountain gate.

The entire Archive shuddered, and dust drifted down from the rafters.

Feng Yun’ai stood dazed for a long moment, momentarily losing her sense of place. She forgot to hold her breath and inhaled a lungful of dust, resulting in a fit of violent coughing.

The ground continued to sway as the rumble persisted. Her head throbbed and her ears rang; she felt as if the very floor beneath her was drifting.

The building gave one final jolt, causing the iron chains above to rattle. The woman reclining on the chain steadied herself and stared intently at the center of the floor.

It wasn’t the bookshelves that had moved, but the floor tiles themselves.

A massive gap had opened in the center, revealing a pitch-black void—a secret chamber guarded strictly by the mechanism.

The stone slabs locked into place, the humming stopped, and Feng Yun’ai, who had drifted with the floor, steadied her mind and stared blankly into the hole.

Sang Chencao laughed and flew down from the chains. “A fine Autumn Water Veiled Eyes. Who else but Sui Jianxue could have perfected such an array?”

This was Sui Jianxue’s original creation. Only she knew its deepest secrets; other disciples could, at most, mimic the outward form.

To intentionally move the hanging lamps and shift the shadows so the array appeared non-existent… was it truly Sui Jianxue’s doing?

Feng Yun’ai knew little of Sui Jianxue and had no idea if the woman had been a friend or foe to Feng Rong.

“There might be something else hidden down there, otherwise there would be no need to disguise the array.” Sang Chencao stared into the darkness for a moment, then leaped down without a word.

Feng Yun’ai’s pupils constricted. She shot a glance toward the door.