Though cultivators are accustomed to fasting, the intangible spiritual energy of heaven and earth could never compare to the warmth of a steaming bowl of soup. After downing a hearty serving, Xie Jingci narrowed her eyes in satisfaction.
Ever since witnessing Pei Du’s swordsmanship in the Ten Thousand Ghosts Cave, Mo Xiaoyang had been staring at him with puppy-dog eyes. Upon learning that Pei Du was younger than him, his expression cycled through shock, delight, and pity, his mouth gaping wide enough to fit half of Pei Mingchuan’s head.
"Given Master Zhou’s usual routine, would he be free at this time?"
Now well-fed and refreshed, Xie Jingci shook off her drowsiness. "I’d like to ask him about Fu Chaosheng."
Fu Chaosheng had vanished without a trace—neither alive nor dead. As someone who owed him her life, Xie Jingci would stake Pei Du’s reputation on it: there was something fishy about the whole affair.
With the Ghost Gate still closed and nothing to do in the ghost realm, she might as well take the opportunity to investigate. Who knew? She might even uncover some clues.
"My master?"
Mo Xiaoyang shook his head hastily. "No chance. I was once really curious about Fu Chaosheng too and tried to pry information out of him—but everything I just told you is all he ever revealed."
"So," Pei Du said gently, "Master Zhou also believes Senior Fu fled to the outside world alone?"
"Beats me."
Mo Xiaoyang blew a stray lock of black hair from his face and leaned back in his chair, arms crossed. "But with them separated like this, does it even matter what my master thinks? Besides, after all these years, even if he once held resentment, how much of it could possibly remain?"
A full fifteen years had passed.
Mo Xiaoyang was certain his master had long forgotten Fu Chaosheng’s face and voice. Why would he waste energy worrying about a friend who, fifteen years ago, had already chosen never to see him again?
So Master Zhou was a dead end.
Xie Jingci mentally drew a line through his name in her mental roster. "In that case, we’ll have to gather information from others in Wucheng… But asking around aimlessly seems like a waste of time."
Moreover, ordinary townsfolk had limited sources of information. Most of what they’d heard was likely just gossip, exaggerated beyond recognition and utterly unreliable.
Just as she was mulling over the problem, Mo Xiaoyang suddenly chuckled. "No need to search everywhere. You two are new here, so you might not know—but in Wucheng, there’s a so-called ‘omniscient’ information broker. We could try seeking her out."
Mo Xiaoyang was the very definition of a man of action—a hot-blooded youth who could scald a vampire’s mouth with his enthusiasm. Without hesitation, he led Xie Jingci toward the outskirts of Wucheng.
As for Pei Du, who couldn’t handle the cold, she had sent him home early.
"That broker’s name is Wen Miaorou. She knows my master, but she’s got a temper."
Mo Xiaoyang warned, "Be careful not to provoke her later—I heard one customer who tried to pick a fight ended up being fed to demonic beasts on her orders."
Xie Jingci caught the key detail immediately. "Orders?"
"To be an information broker, you’ve got to have connections and resources."
He grinned. "Wen Miaorou’s cultivation has reached the Nascent Soul First Layer, making her one of the strongest in a small place like Wucheng. See this street ahead? Officially, it’s under Jiang Tu’s jurisdiction, but in reality? It’s all hers."
She was practically a queen.
Xie Jingci was impressed.
But her admiration lasted only a fleeting moment. As soon as she got a proper look at the street ahead, all traces of envy evaporated.
The further they ventured toward the city’s edge, the more dilapidated the buildings became.
The Heavenly Dao Martial Arts School and the inn were located in the city center. In Xie Jingci’s memory, Wucheng wasn’t exactly prosperous, but it could at least be called "peaceful and pleasant." This desolate, narrow street, however, stood out like a sore thumb.
Crumbling huts and tiled houses were packed tightly along both sides of the road, resembling a cluster of hunched, silent figures from afar.
A winter wind carried flurries of snow, but in this place, pure white was a rarity.
The ground was a mess of mud, discarded waste, footprints, and leftover food, staining the melted snow into murky puddles. The few untouched snowdrifts stood out like ugly white scars—isolated islands of purity.
Wen Miaorou… willingly lived here?
"Don’t be too surprised. In Wucheng, places like this are the norm."
Mo Xiaoyang’s expression remained unchanged. "It used to be even filthier and more chaotic until Wen Miaorou decided to settle here. Things improved somewhat after that—though I still don’t get why she chose this street."
Xie Jingci murmured a quiet "Hmm."
The roads here were narrow, branching off into countless winding alleys like a spider’s web. The air was thick with the scent of decay, turning the area into a veritable maze. After following Mo Xiaoyang for some time, they finally arrived at a meticulously maintained little pavilion.
Since Wen Miaorou was acquainted with Zhou Shen—and Mo Xiaoyang was Zhou Shen’s beloved disciple—they didn’t have much trouble gaining entry.
Led by a young attendant, they ascended a long staircase until Xie Jingci spotted a tightly shut wooden door.
The attendant knocked.
A low voice answered from within, and with a creak, the door swung open on its own.
The room appeared to be a study.
Wispy tendrils of incense smoke curled through the air like a slow-moving river. At its thickest point sat a woman with her head bowed over a book.
Wen Miaorou was anything but her name—"gentle" and "soft" were the last words one would use to describe her. Though her face was serene and lovely, her aura was sharp and severe, tinged with unmistakable impatience. Her flamboyant crimson dress only amplified her unbridled presence.
Without waiting for the attendant to speak, she snapped the book shut and tossed it onto the table beside her, then swept her gaze over them. "Mo Xiaoyang?"
Mo Xiaoyang, unfamiliar with her, was slightly intimidated. "Y-yes, Sister Wen."
Wen Miaorou ignored him, shifting her attention to Xie Jingci. "And this must be Miss Xie?"
Xie Jingci was taken aback.
The woman’s eyes gleamed as she continued, "Master Zhou mentioned you to me last night. He praised you to the skies, claiming your blade techniques were peerless among your generation—what a coincidence. I, too, am a blade practitioner."
Something was off.
By the end of her sentence, her tone had taken on a distinctly grudging edge.
"Oh no, I remember now!"
Mo Xiaoyang’s alarm bells went off. He quickly sent a voice transmission: "I heard Wen Miaorou loves challenging people she dislikes to duels—are we really this unlucky?!"
Wen Miaorou smiled. "Since Miss Xie’s mastery of the blade is so profound, how about a little match?"
Mo Xiaoyang: "…"
"My cultivation has reached the Nascent Soul stage, so I won’t bully someone younger."
She stepped forward leisurely, casting a glance at the discarded book before quirking a brow. "I was just reading poetry and found it quite intriguing. Rumor has it Miss Xie is well-read, so why don’t we compose poems… with our blades?"
"Trap! This is a trap! She’s definitely trying to kill you!"
Mo Xiaoyang flapped around like a startled chicken: "Anyone who’s ever competed against her has only left this building alive if they lost! So many cultivators have come and gone in Wucheng, and not a single living soul has ever beaten her—Xie Jingci, you absolutely must lose! Otherwise, we’re both doomed!"
Xie Jingci nearly spat out a mouthful of blood.
This wasn’t how the game was supposed to be played! Master Zhou had tricked her!
Over on the other side, Wen Miaorou was leisurely continuing: "The loser lends their blade to the winner for a day. How does that sound?"
Xie Jingci: "..."
Xie Jingci forced a smile. "Fine."
It was just lending out her Ghost Crying Blade for a day. Aside from a tiny, insignificant pang of heartache, it was no big deal. She’d just whip up some half-hearted doggerel on the spot and crown Wen Miaorou the undisputed queen of poetry.
"Miss Xie, you’d better not half-ass this," Wen Miaorou said sternly, her voice icy. "I despise people who don’t take things seriously. The consequences of careless poetry… you know what they are, don’t you?"
Sorry, but she really didn’t want to know!
Xie Jingci hesitated.
In transmigration novels, the trope of the female protagonist dazzling everyone with ancient poetry was so overused it had practically worn a hole through the streets. But here, it had turned into a tragic farce—she couldn’t be too lazy, nor could she steal the spotlight and win.
Wait.
Amid the tangled mess of her thoughts, a gleaming golden thread suddenly surfaced.
She wasn’t done yet. Maybe… she could still pull this off.
Inspiration struck Xie Jingci like divine intervention. She grabbed the paper and brush prepared nearby.
She wrote swiftly, and by the time she handed the scroll to the attendant, Wen Miaorou had also just finished.
To ensure fairness, neither work was signed, and Mo Xiaoyang—who couldn’t recognize their handwriting—would recite them aloud before an audience. The judges were half a dozen attendants sitting properly in the study.
"Alright, I’ll start reading now," Mo Xiaoyang said nervously, exchanging a glance with Xie Jingci before lowering his head to unroll the first scroll. "This one’s titled… ‘Ode to the Blade.’"
This was Wen Miaorou’s poem.
Xie Jingci understood immediately and let out a villainous chuckle of triumph.
Given what she’d written on her own paper, as long as Wen Miaorou had even a shred of literary talent, she’d effortlessly crush Xie Jingci and claim victory.
Wen Miaorou had schemed a thousand times, but she could never have predicted the layers of deception Xie Jingci had learned across countless worlds.
Xie Jingci had been utterly confident—until she heard the first line Mo Xiaoyang recited:
"Gaze upon the Blade Sect, none can best me yet."
Xie Jingci felt as if she’d been struck by lightning.
"Gaze upon the Blade Sect, none can best me yet.
Meet a foe halfway, call me ‘Mom’ today.
Beat the brat black and blue, then go eat barbecue.
Thirty-six braised ducks, ninety-eight roasted stacks."
Xie Jingci: "..."
So you just wrote lazy, nonsensical doggerel too?! And you didn’t even stick to the theme of blades—why not just rename it "Roast Duck Shopping"?!
The attendants’ faces were blank, though some looked like they were holding back laughter. Xie Jingci began to panic.
Seeing Wen Miaorou holding a book, she’d assumed the woman was a refined scholar. But this—this—
No way.
She couldn’t possibly win, right?
Mo Xiaoyang finished the first poem and shot her a look of bewildered terror.
Xie Jingci had no idea how to respond.
"Now for the second one," he cleared his throat, scratching his head before continuing in a dramatic announcer’s voice. "This is called… ‘The Blade’s Seduction.’"
"The pain of every blade I’ve craved,
The wounds of every blade I’ve saved.
I can’t tell love from hate anymore—is this my fate?
Blood and tears together fall,
My blade crumbles, worn by all.
Yet my trembling hands can’t stop, can’t forgive, can’t ignore.
"To love a blade is to be forsaken,
Let time bury all, till nothing’s taken."
Silence filled the room. The attendants exchanged glances.
This might actually work!
The corners of Xie Jingci’s lips curled upward.
Bet you didn’t see this coming! What she’d written on that paper was a modified version of the lyrics to "Unforgivable"!
So un-lazy, so full of genuine emotion. And now, with Mo Xiaoyang reciting it in that exaggerated broadcaster’s tone, it was the epitome of absurdity—like absurdity itself had opened the door to its own mother and walked right in.
If this could win, she’d swallow the Ghost Crying Blade on the spot—
A single clap suddenly echoed through the vast study.
Then more joined in, growing louder and louder.
Xie Jingci would never forget the scene that followed.
The attendants cheered wildly, praising the brilliance of "the pain of every blade I’ve craved."
Wen Miaorou gnashed her teeth, her face contorted like an enraged bull.
Mo Xiaoyang locked eyes with Xie Jingci from across the room, his expression twisting in slow motion into a crumpled sheet of horror. Tears glistened in both their eyes—tears for the bright future that now awaited them.
Wen Miaorou’s features spasmed as she heaved ragged breaths, then thrust a curved blade toward Xie Jingci.
Xie Jingci tried to decline. "No, no, it’s fine—I just got lucky this round. Winning was pure coincidence, no need to take it seriously."
Silence fell again.
Wen Miaorou’s brow furrowed. "Are you saying I’m unlucky?"
Xie Jingci was starting to understand why Mo Xiaoyang had emphasized Wen Miaorou’s "bad temper" before they arrived.
But… since Wen Miaorou had brought it up, maybe she could use this to her advantage.
"That’s not what I meant," Xie Jingci said after a moment of thought, offering a polite smile. "Actually, my luck is usually terrible. If you don’t believe me, why don’t we test it? How about a game of chance?"
Having lost the first round, Wen Miaorou was undoubtedly fuming, ready to toss her and Mo Xiaoyang into a burial pit at any second. If Xie Jingci lost this time, it might placate her.
And then there was this cursed blade she’d somehow ended up holding.
She couldn’t wait to be rid of it!
"I often gamble with others. Miss Xie, you’d better be careful," Wen Miaorou said with a smirk, instructing an attendant to fetch a bamboo cylinder. She gripped it firmly. "These are cursed lots—thirty in total. One is marked ‘Great Misfortune.’ Drawing it means a strike of demonic energy. Care to try your luck?"
"I’m game," Xie Jingci nodded. "But on one condition. Since the last loser faced consequences, this round should be no different—I propose the loser surrenders the newest item in their possession to the winner."
Genius! Absolute genius!
This way, if Xie Jingci deliberately lost to Wen Miaorou, she could return the blade without suspicion. Wen Miaorou would get her weapon back and a victory to boot—she’d be too pleased to stay angry. The only downside was Xie Jingci taking a hit from the demonic energy.
Mo Xiaoyang was moved to tears—until Xie Jingci added, "But since you prepared the lots, I worry they might be rigged. Could Mo Xiaoyang inspect them first?"
Without changing her expression, she sent a covert message: "Mark one—preferably with a nail scratch. Make it subtle."
Mo Xiaoyang finished his inspection quickly, returning the lots to the wooden cylinder on the desk.
Xie Jingci glanced over and immediately spotted the scratched one.
Heaven was on her side.
If she could still win this, she’d swallow the Ghost Crying Blade right here and now.
Wen Miaorou flexed her wrist a few times before finally lifting her gaze. "I’ll go first. You don’t mind, do you?"
She paused, then added, "Miss Xie, you mustn’t just go through the motions. I despise people who half-heart things. The consequences of not taking the drawing seriously… you know what they are, right?"
…You’re doing this again?!
Xie Jingci: "No problem, no problem."
Of course she didn’t mind.
The bamboo slips were still there, and the odds of drawing the "Great Misfortune" were as low as one in thirty. Unless she had the worst luck in the world, there was no way she’d pick it right away. Her path was long, and she could take things step by step—
Xie Jingci’s smile froze abruptly.
Wen Miaorou leaned forward, her slender index finger hovering in the air before finally landing on one particular slip.
On that bamboo slip was a faint, almost imperceptible scratch—left by a fingernail.
Help! She really did have the worst luck in the world!!!
The moment Wen Miaorou was sent flying by the demonic energy, the entire world fell silent.
Xie Jingci’s eyes widened as she reached out in a futile attempt to stop it.
The children gasped in shock, their hands flying to their faces in perfect imitation of the famous painting The Scream, their horrified inhales echoing one after another.
Mo Xiaoyang looked as pale as death, as if life had wrung the last drops of blood from his body. His lips trembled soundlessly, mouthing words Xie Jingci had to strain to decipher—until she realized he was screaming, "No, no, NO—!"
As for Wen Miaorou herself, who had been sent flying, she wore an utterly bewildered expression, her right hand still outstretched as she soared through the air before landing with a thud in the corner of the study.
Mo Xiaoyang and the children stood frozen like wooden statues, while Xie Jingci was the first to rush to Wen Miaorou’s side. Before she could even speak, Wen Miaorou shoved something warm into her hand.
Ah, right. According to the rules, the winner was supposed to receive the most recently acquired item on the loser’s person.
Personal belongings usually meant clothes or jewelry—nothing too embarrassing, no matter what.
At least there was that small mercy. Xie Jingci sighed inwardly in relief, only for her breath to catch the moment she looked down and saw a glaring flash of red.
Warm. Soft. Crimson.
Xie Jingci tilted her head back at a forty-five-degree angle, a single tear sliding down her cheek.
If she had ever done anything wrong in her life, the law should have punished her—not subjected her to this.
The most recent item Wen Miaorou had acquired… why in the world was this woman’s underwear?!
Hopeless. Just end it all. Xie Jingci’s heart turned to ash.
At this rate, forget being thrown into the Burial Grounds to feed demonic beasts—she wouldn’t be surprised if Wen Miaorou, in a fit of rage, turned her into a piece of underwear on the spot.
"Big Sister Miaorou, are you okay?!"
The children came running over in a flurry of tiny footsteps. Xie Jingci schooled her expression and discreetly tucked the fabric away, watching as they carefully helped Wen Miaorou up.
"I’m fine."
Wen Miaorou was tall, standing out conspicuously among the children. She seemed a bit dazed from the fall, but after a moment of silence, she shot Xie Jingci an irritated glare. "Enough games. This is annoying—who do you want information about? Don’t waste my time."
Huh?
Shouldn’t she be exploding with rage, her spiritual energy surging, ensuring these two intruders—like all those who had ever beaten her before—would never speak another word again?
Xie Jingci ventured cautiously, "Fu Chaosheng, who disappeared fifteen years ago."
The red-robed cultivator’s expression visibly stiffened.
She had always carried herself with a careless, almost reckless air, like an untamed flame. Even after consecutive losses, the light in her eyes had never dimmed.
Yet the moment she heard that name, the brightness in Wen Miaorou’s gaze flickered out. Her voice dropped low, laced with a sharp, guarded hostility. "Fu Chaosheng? Why are you asking about him?"
"She—she—she wouldn’t actually silence us, would she?"
Mo Xiaoyang, trembling with nerves, whispered to one of the children beside him, "Do you guys use hidden weapons or poison? Do we stand a chance? And also—how the hell has Wen Miaorou managed to remain undefeated with skills like this?"
The child shot him an impatient glance, clearly annoyed by the barrage of questions, and answered in a rush, "Come with me later to collect your money. Once you leave, just say you lost to Big Sister Miaorou in the wager."
Mo Xiaoyang: "Huh?"
"Half the expenses in this building go toward gathering intelligence. The other half? Sealing people’s mouths."
The child sighed deeply, looking at him as if he were an idiot. "Did you really think no one in Wucheng could beat her?"
Where did the illusion of her invincibility come from? Money—lots and lots of money.
Turns out, Wen Miaorou had never actually won a single match.
