Chapter 6: Watching Through the Night

Two anxious workers sat in the back courtyard. Upon seeing someone approach, they scrambled to their feet, wary of the newcomers’ martial prowess.

One of them bolstered his courage to address the woman in indigo. “Might I ask what brings you to the back courtyard, Miss? The proprietress has declared that no one is permitted to leave the inn.”

Sang Chencao kept her hands tucked behind her back, her posture relaxed and leisurely. “The backyard is peaceful,” she replied calmly. “The front room is far too noisy.”

The two men exchanged a look, not daring to let their guard down. Deaths were common in the Sand River, but this particular victim was a martial arts expert who had been murdered.

What kind of unknown figure could kill the World’s Greatest Blade?

Though the workers of Yao Yao Inn had never set foot in the martial world themselves, their years of service meant they had seen many travelers. They had overheard enough tales of grudges and vendettas to understand exactly how treacherous the world could be.

“No need to panic.” Sang Chencao sat down unhurriedly on the opposite side and pulled a cloth pouch from her robe.

Feng Yun’ai arrived a moment later, her gaze instantly locking onto Sang Chencao’s hand.

The pouch was rolled tight, resembling the toolkits typically used by physicians. If it was indeed a medical kit, it likely contained needles of gold or silver.

Feng Yun’ai’s eyes narrowed. She suddenly lunged forward to seize it, her white veil fluttering in the wind to reveal a clean, elegant jawline.

Compared to the locals of this region, she was too pale—so white she looked almost bloodless.

Sang Chencao’s eyes thinned as she let out a soft, mocking huff.

The woman in white moved with startling speed and precision, but Sang Chencao’s reactions were just as swift. She immediately shifted to block the assault.

Their palms collided with a sharp gust, stopping just an inch apart.

One hand was as white as mutton-fat jade; the other was bronzed by the sun, dark like mountain stone.

Two currents of inner qi—one white, one purple—clashed and tangled before exploding outward in every direction.

The force of the impact sent the two workers tumbling backward, landing flat on their backs with their limbs flailing.

Feng Yun’ai said nothing, focusing entirely on seizing the pouch. Her cultivation technique radiated a biting chill, every move sharp and decisive, devoid of any wasted motion.

Her inner qi moved with her body, swirling like mist or silken ribbons. For a moment, it was impossible to tell if she were a mortal woman or the Nine Heavens Goddess stepped out of a folk legend.

Despite the many blades and swords she carried on her back, her footwork remained unburdened. The clattering of her weapons rang out like the swaying of a hundred silver bells.

Sang Chencao chuckled low in her throat, handling the exchange with relative ease. However, her brow soon furrowed as she realized the intensity of the attack was rising; the previous moves had clearly been a mere probe of her depths.

Fortunately, Feng Yun’ai only used her palms and did not draw a sword. Her footwork was light and ethereal—not like a spring breeze, but like a roaming dragon.

Had the woman in white not been so obvious in her intent to seize the item, Sang Chencao might have found the fluttering white robes quite enchanting.

Feng Yun’ai was a hair’s breadth from reaching the pouch. Her fingertips actually brushed the fabric, but in the next heartbeat, her pupils shrank.

The pouch was tossed high into the sky, thrown five feet up by Sang Chencao.

Immediately after, Sang Chencao twisted her body and threw a palm strike, likely channeling the full extent of her internal power.

The cloth pouch disintegrated into dust, and the objects within were reduced to nothing but gold and silver shards.

It was late, nearing the hour of the Rat. Under the glowing lanterns hanging from the eaves, the glittering metallic debris was faintly visible as it rained down.

The items had been pulverized; their original form was now unrecognizable.

Buffeted by the shockwave, Feng Yun’ai’s veiled hat lifted slightly. She recovered her senses and quickly pulled the veil back into place.

“Oh dear,” the woman in indigo laughed. “You can’t have it now.”

Feng Yun’ai remained expressionless. The pouch had been destroyed too quickly for her to determine if it had actually contained gold or silver needles.

Furthermore, she couldn’t use the act of destruction as sole proof of guilt. To insist the woman was the killer based only on that would be an unreasonable leap in logic.

Besides, someone as eccentric as this woman was bound to act outside the norm.

A few glittering specks of dust were swept away by the wind, rolling across the ground.

Feng Yun’ai turned her gaze toward Sang Chencao and asked coldly, “What did you just destroy?”

“I forgot,” Sang Chencao said, dusting off her palms.

“Was it needles?” Feng Yun’ai pressed.

“Think whatever you like. Regardless, I didn’t kill that man.” Sang Chencao remained unruffled, her voice cheerful. “I simply don’t like people trying to snatch things from me. I’d rather destroy something by my own hand than let another person take it.”

Feng Yun’ai frowned.

Seeing that her opponent had ceased her attack, Sang Chencao took a step forward and leaned in, her lips nearly brushing Feng Yun’ai’s ear. “Don’t be so quick to suspect me. If someone is trying to use me as a scapegoat, this inn might just end up with another pitiful corpse.”

Feng Yun’ai took a step back, her ear feeling a faint, itching sensation.

Not far away, the two workers who had been knocked over scrambled to their feet. They exchanged a bewildered look, not daring to speak.

Sang Chencao said with composure, “Report whatever you saw and heard to your proprietress. I’m not the killer, so naturally, I won’t kill you to keep you quiet.”

The words sounded somewhat like a threat, but having witnessed the scene, how could they not report it? With so many masters currently staying at the inn, even if she were the killer, surely she could be apprehended.

The two workers turned and bolted.

Sang Chencao turned back to Feng Yun’ai, asking with genuine interest, “If you had drawn a sword just now, which one would you have chosen?”

Feng Yun’ai thought for a moment. Instead of pointing to a specific weapon, she said, “I have no preferred weapon. Any blade or sword will do.”

“Even street performers aren’t as versatile as you,” Sang Chencao teased. She let out a yawn and began walking slowly away from the backyard.

Feng Yun’ai had a vague feeling that the remark wasn’t a compliment.

***

In the late hours of the night, Lin Yaoyao sat nodding off. Her head had been lolling for over two hours before the search of the guest rooms was finally completed.

A worker approached. “Proprietress, we found no silver needles. All the jars and bottles we found are here, but we can’t tell if any of them contain poison.”

The guests had already been patted down; if there was poison, it would have to be in these containers.

The crisp sound of clinking porcelain woke Lin Yaoyao. Seeing that the gathered martial artists were also drowsy, she said quickly, “It’s late. Is there anyone knowledgeable who can identify what’s in these bottles?”

Everyone opened their eyes and looked at each other, but no one volunteered.

“I know a bit of medicine and poison,” Sang Chencao said, stepping forward and taking a seat on a long bench.

Ever since hearing the report from the two workers in the backyard, Lin Yaoyao had become even more suspicious of this woman and did not trust her.

Lin Yaoyao looked around at the crowd. “Is there anyone else?”

No one answered.

Feng Yun’ai hadn’t intended to step forward, but seeing Sang Chencao already uncorking a bottle to sniff it, she said, “I will try as well.”

Both women wore veiled hats. They each lifted their veils slightly to smell the contents, neither revealing their face.

the onlookers craned their necks. Some recognized their own belongings and, fearing false accusations, spoke up to identify the contents.

Some were spices, some were insect-repellent powders, while others were blood-coagulating powders or qi-smoothing pills—the typical supplies of those who traveled the martial world.

After a thorough inspection, not a single one was found to be poison.

The crowd hadn’t expected much, however. Anyone capable of killing Ghost-Faced Saber Hu Cheng had to be either exceptionally skilled or exceptionally cunning.

The killer’s schemes were likely as heavy as Mount Tai; any traces would have vanished like smoke long ago.

Feng Yun’ai cast a subtle glance at the woman in indigo, then stood up. “Since nothing can be found, we might as well return to our rooms and rest.”

Lin Yaoyao’s eyelids were half-closed. “Everyone, go back. I’ve inconvenienced you all tonight. Tomorrow, the wine and meat are on me.”

The crowd dispersed, heavy with their own thoughts, some even leaving their bottles behind on the tables.

Sang Chencao was among the last to go upstairs. Just as she reached her door, she paused, tilting her head to re-examine the wooden plaque on the door.

It was indeed her room, but a woman in white was standing before it.

The white-clad woman pushed the door open for her and said tonelessly, “I will be watching you tonight.”

Sang Chencao entered the room unhurriedly, smiling with indifference. “You care that much about Hu Cheng’s death? It seems you really were pinning your hopes on him.”

“Hardly,” Feng Yun’ai replied. She watched as the other woman slid the door bolt shut, then sat herself down at the table.

“Being this serious… could it be…” Sang Chencao teased, “that you’re afraid the person in the shadows will kill off every expert you’ve set your sights on, one by one?”