One could call her cautious, but one could also call her incredibly bold.
“You…” Feng Yun’ai was stunned, hurriedly looking around.
The Hantian Prefecture before her seemed vast and limitless. It was different from how it looked from the mountain; from above, the Prefecture and Cloud City looked like tiny patches that could be covered by a single leaf.
Sang Chencao wasn’t asking for permission. The moment she finished speaking, she crushed the knockout incense into a fine powder.
“How dare you? If there’s a gap in the smoke and someone isn’t affected, we’ll be like turtles caught in a jar!” Feng Yun’ai hissed.
Sang Chencao searched around and found a colored smoke bomb in another copper chest. She stuffed the incense powder inside. “They’re really making my life easy, even providing one of these.”
For some reason, Feng Yun’ai felt that this woman must have looked exactly like this when she was refining medicine at the bottom of Yellow Sand Cliff—whimsical, indifferent to the outcome, treating the whole process like a game.
“Aren’t you going to stop me, Xiuxiu?” Sang Chencao looked over, her face beaming.
Feng Yun’ai closed her eyes and remained silent. Out of sight, out of mind. she reasoned that this woman wouldn’t do anything she wasn’t certain of. Beneath that reckless, unrestrained exterior lay a mind more calculating than anyone else’s.
With a sharp exhale, Sang Chencao shoved the device into the cannon’s muzzle. She didn’t light a fuse; instead, she struck the base with a powerful palm thrust, using her inner qi to launch the smoke bomb.
Then, she gathered her qi and struck the air again. The force caused the bomb to detonate in mid-air, shattering it into a cloud of fine powder that blanketed the area like a mist of colored rain—dense and inescapable.
The cannon had served as nothing more than a prop, a part of Sang Chencao’s search for amusement.
Feng Yun’ai held her breath, fearing someone would suddenly charge at them.
But no one came. The surroundings fell into a deathly silence. Even the faint, distant sounds of conversation vanished without a trace.
Feng Yun’ai’s heart finally settled. With these constant ups and downs, she feared this woman would eventually scare her into an early grave.
Sang Chencao brushed her palms off and leaped into the estate. She looked back and called, “Come, Xiuxiu.”
Since things had already come to this, Feng Yun’ai could only follow. However, as she had never been inside, she felt a bit disoriented.
“Where did Zhou Gui live before? And where did Feng Rong stay?” Sang Chencao asked.
After orienting herself for a long moment, Feng Yun’ai pointed. “Zhou Gui’s residence is behind the rockery in the West Garden. Master lived in the high tower of the East Garden.”
Without a hint of doubt, Sang Chencao stepped over the bodies slumped across the courtyard and headed in the direction indicated.
The rockery of the West Garden was visible, but the buildings behind it had been emptied. Zhou Gui had likely been too impatient and moved elsewhere.
If Zhou Gui truly intended to replace Feng Rong, she wouldn’t let the high tower in the East Garden gather dust.
The East Garden tower stood against the mountain like a pagoda. Its spire pierced the sky, reaching for the clouds with a lonely majesty that seemed to keep watch over all of Cloud City.
The upper floors were the Alliance Leader’s private quarters, while the lower floors were used for meetings—where the heavyweights of the martial world gathered to discuss the fate of the Jianghu.
People lay slumped all around the base, making it look like the aftermath of a battlefield.
In the past, Feng Yun’ai had only watched from the mountain, seeing nothing more than the tower’s pointed roof. Standing beneath it now, she realized the structure was far less delicate than she had imagined.
Sang Chencao had no interest in admiring the architecture. Ignoring the main entrance, she used her lightness skill to leap directly to the top floor, seating herself casually on an open wooden window sill.
Feng Yun’ai saw Sang Chencao beckon her, but she didn’t follow immediately. Instead, she entered through the ground floor to inspect the meeting hall.
Two rows of low wooden desks faced each other. In the center, before a landscape screen, sat the seat of the Alliance Leader.
In Feng Yun’ai’s memory, Feng Rong had been meticulous about her lifestyle. Her cups and bowls were all made of silver, custom-made to her specifications so that any poison would be immediately visible.
Furthermore, Feng Rong never let others handle her food or drink. Whether it was brewing tea, decocting medicine, or preparing a meal, she did it all herself. No one should have had the chance to poison her.
Feng Yun’ai gathered her courage and sat in the central seat. She slowly ran her palm across the desk, wondering how many times Feng Rong had leaned over this very surface.
Just as she was about to rest her head on the desk, a sudden wring sound echoed behind her, like the vibration of a sword.
Feng Yun’ai froze. The sound came again, followed by the raspy noise of coarse fabric tearing.
She had nothing behind her except the umbrella sword wrapped in cloth.
She hurriedly pulled the sword from her back. The coarse cloth wrapping had split, and the sword itself was vibrating slightly, as if resonating with something nearby.
A voice suddenly drifted down from the stairs.
“Could it be that the desk in front of you was made by the Thousand Machinations Sect?” Sang Chencao walked slowly down the steps.
Feng Yun’ai gripped the umbrella sword tightly. With a burst of strength, she forced the vibration to stop.
Sang Chencao walked to her side and tapped her finger on the low desk a few times. “The Thousand Machinations Sect has a habit of placing something called ‘Earthstone’ inside their creations,” she said with interest. “That stone is rare; only their sect knows where to mine it.”
Feng Yun’ai didn’t let go of the sword. She immediately understood. “You mean Earthstones attract one another? Like a call and response?”
“Exactly!” Sang Chencao laughed. “You’re so smart, Xiuxiu. How are you this clever?”
Feng Yun’ai looked puzzled, her voice cold. “But Master told me she carved these desks herself. She used to carve various objects to train her focus and discipline. Why would they be products of the Thousand Machinations Sect?”
“Then that means…” Sang Chencao’s voice trailed off ominously. “They were switched.”
As she spoke, she reached under the desk, feeling the sides. After a moment of searching, she grabbed one of the legs and violently flipped the entire desk over.
“A mechanism?” Feng Yun’ai watched intently.
Sang Chencao said darkly, “The Thousand Machinations Sect is best at hiding mechanisms within ordinary objects. Their craftsmanship is so exquisite that they could likely produce a perfect replica of anything Feng Rong owned.”
Feng Yun’ai stood up immediately, intending to use the umbrella sword to test every piece of furniture.
“I’ve found it,” Sang Chencao said with a grin.
