Ji Mian’s lethal technique was executed with effortless control, clearly placing her in the upper hand. However, a segment of her memory was missing; before her eyes flashed, the scene shifted, and this time she seemed to be inside a prison cell.
Ji Mian’s body was bound layer by layer with heavy chains, and she was entirely submerged in a cold pool. Within the water, countless insect-like entities crawled up from the lapels of her garments, gnawing at her skin.
Her eyes were bloodshot, her expression disdainful, and the veins at her temples bulged, yet she did not utter a single sound. Weakly, she opened her mouth and spoke to Lin Qingye.
Ji Mian watched the original host’s lips move within the vision, but she could not hear a single sound. She stepped forward, instinctively lunging toward them, only to be blocked by an invisible barrier.
Her body, like a soul, passed right through the physical objects in the scene. Feeling somewhat dazed, she concentrated fully on trying to retain the memory unfolding before her.
She hadn’t heard the original host’s voice clearly, but every single word and phrase of Lin Qingye’s voice was engraved deep within her heart.
“Even if you deliberately provoke me, I will not change my mind. Ji Mian, between the fish and the bear’s paw, I choose the one I love the most.”
Lin Qingye’s treasured sword was named Frost Descent. The chilling qi emitted when internal energy was infused could instantly freeze objects to the core. That bone-chilling coldness lingered at the original host’s neck. Watching from afar, Ji Mian felt as though she were experiencing it herself; cold sweat broke out all over her body, and after struggling for quite a while, she snapped awake from this nightmare.
Opening her eyes, she felt dazed for a moment. Gazing at the daylight filtering through the window, she finally managed to dispel that suffocating and helpless sensation.
Counting the time, she had already been back for several days.
Her brush calligraphy was not rusty at all; in fact, it retained a certain flair. Though it could not be called the work of a grand calligraphy master, she certainly wrote a very fine hand.
When she wrote to her heart’s content, she would even take a small box to collect and store the pieces.
She jotted down some of the important plot nodes and world-building settings from the original book to keep herself from forgetting.
This place lacked anything particularly convenient for taking notes, so she made a calendar instead. Looking at the checkmarks and doodles on it, there were about three days left until the appointed time between her and Lin Qingye.
She played the role of the sect leader in a remarkably leisurely manner, with virtually nothing requiring her personal review and decision-making. It seemed she had truly been completely marginalized.
Perhaps none of these people even knew she was back.
The next day, looking at her lifeless bedchamber, Ji Mian found herself in a dilemma. After hesitating for a long time, she finally ordered Yunghuai to find someone to renovate the place.
Yunghuai didn’t say much, though she added a few items to the list of requirements submitted. She went about her work with absolute efficiency, and before long, the repairs were mostly complete.
Looking at the bedchamber, which, although simple, was at least no longer broken down, Ji Mian found it quite pleasing to the eye. Her sleep quality over the past few days had improved significantly as a result.
Having nursed her body back to a near-complete recovery, she began to dwell on the unfinished business from a few days prior.
“You are looking for the national history of Canglu?”
As had been mentioned previously, the territory of Canglu was situated in the southwest. It was originally the most vast nation among the four states, boasting strong military forces, a thriving economy, an enlightened emperor, and a prosperous populace. Yet after Canglu’s rapid destruction, it vanished completely without a trace. At the time, the surviving members of the imperial family were not limited to Ji Shuangchi’s branch alone, yet there had been no news whatsoever for so many years, which was clearly abnormal.
The surname Ji was the imperial surname of Canglu, and Ji Mian also shared the surname Ji. She wondered if there was any connection between them. Fuling’s words had given her much to ponder, but she simply couldn’t remember clearly, so she thought of browsing through the national history of Canglu to try and find some clues.
Since the Demonic Cult was established in a corner of the southwest, perhaps it still preserved some historical records.
Yunghuai was standing nearby, bent over to tend to the charcoal for Ji Mian when this instruction was given.
The Demonic Palace was exceptionally cold in the winter. Snow would fall here even before the twelfth lunar month, accompanied from time to time by freezing rain, making the indoor temperature almost unbearable. Not burning charcoal at a time like this was practically a form of torture.
“There is indeed a Scripture Pavilion within the Demonic Palace. The types of books inside are extremely varied, and perhaps it holds what the Master is looking to find. It’s just that the Scripture Pavilion hasn’t been used for a very long time, and nobody knows where the keys ended up. This subordinate will have to go look for them first.”
When Yunghuai received her orders and withdrew, Ji Mian happened to gaze at the bowl of medicinal soup that had been delivered. Smelling it, it was identical to the bowl she had drunk when she first arrived. This time, however, there was no vibrant hibiscus flower floating in it, though a closer sniff still revealed that faint, sweet fragrance.
The Thirteen Palaces of the Demonic Cult consisted of three inner palaces and ten outer palaces. The inner palaces were nominated by the royal lineage and were largely hereditary, while the ten outer palaces were subordinate to the inner three, mostly choosing their camps and submitting to authority.
Rumor had it that the master of the Hibiscus Hidden Pavilion had a particular fondness for hibiscus flowers. Even though the local climate was unsuitable for planting them and the weather did not align, she would still find ways to make these hibiscus flowers bloom all year round.
Ji Mian had no particular impression of the master of this Hibiscus Hidden Pavilion, but those hibiscus flowers were most likely her doing. She would have to find some free time to make a trip there; she needed to meet this person first and see what on earth she was trying to accomplish.
Uncertain whether this medicine was actually healing or toxic, she trusted only thirty percent of it and therefore drank only half, finding a way to pour out the rest.
Yunghuai went off to retrieve the keys to the Scripture Pavilion, brought several attendants upstairs, and unlocked the door. She explained that due to long disuse, some of the wooden boards inside had rotted and there was heavy dust, requiring some time for cleanup and organization, so Ji Mian temporarily shelved the idea.
After pondering for a moment, Ji Mian mounted her sword and flew up the mountain. The territory of the Demonic Cult was surrounded by mountains on all sides, with several peaks at the highest points. Without bothering to learn their specific functions, Ji Mian headed straight for a dilapidated pavilion.
This was the highest mountain peak. Upon ascending it, the landscape below was separated by a layer of clouds and mist, resembling an immortal valley deep within the clouds, completely isolated from the mortal world. It was also much colder here; the winter gale swept past in fierce gusts, feeling as though it might blow a person right off their feet.
By the time Ji Mian stood firm, the clouds and mist before her gradually thinned, revealing a scene of utter ruin to her eyes. The eaves here were even more dilapidated than her original bedchamber, the roof tiles were scattered sparsely, and the gold-inlaid plaque had lost its color, appearing quite dim.
The main gate was not tightly shut, creaking loudly in the grip of the strong wind.
Ji Mian’s heart felt entirely out of sorts. She did not know what the relationship was between the original host and her birth mother, but judging by the current state of affairs, it certainly wouldn’t be very good.
Steeling her mind, Ji Mian prepared to step forward and push the door open when a figure suddenly squeezed out from the gap in the doors.
Judging by her attire, the person coming out was an elderly maid. However, unlike the uniforms worn by the attendants down in the Demonic Palace, this person wore a very simple outfit of coarse cloth, making it impossible to tell at a glance that she was a maid serving the mother of the Demonic Cult leader.
The old woman was carrying a bamboo basket, looking as though she was about to go out. Upon seeing the newcomer, her eyes narrowed into slits, and her tone carried a hint of coldness.
“Cult Leader, do you have business with my Lady?”
Hearing this form of address, Ji Mian felt a hollow ache in her chest and a wave of sentimentality, though she managed not to show it outwardly.
“Yes.”
“My Lady is in a bad mood today, so please take care when interacting with her.”
Without another word, the old woman turned to leave, unwilling to linger. It looked as though staying in Ji Mian’s presence for even a fraction of a second felt unbearable to her.
Pushing the door open and stepping inside, Ji Mian was met with a shower of debris falling from the aging wooden doors, which choked her into a couple of coughs. Then, narrowing her eyes, she caught sight of the woman sitting within.
The woman was seated in a spring chair, her eyes closed as if she were asleep, her head tilted slightly upward in a picture of tranquil serenity.
The courtyard was not as dilapidated as it looked from the outside; several lovely plum trees had been planted here, and with the winter snow falling, they bore tiny specks of crystal on their crimson petals.
A low table had been placed beside the spring chair, upon which sat a cup of tea.
After watching for a moment, Ji Mian approached the woman, pulled up a stool to sit beside her, and picked up the teacup to pour herself a cup. Tea fragrance billowed in the air, but the scent was very faint, far from fine tea. Aside from bitterness and a vague, lingering hint of sweetness, Ji Mian could discern no other taste.
“Who are you?”
“Why are you in my home?”
Ji Mian surveyed this dilapidated, secluded courtyard with its faded eaves and uneven tile seams.
This was the place her mother called home.
Ji Mian took her mother’s surname; in the Demonic Cult, where women were revered, children taking their father’s surname was a rare occurrence.
Rumor had it that Ji Mian’s mother lost her sanity in the second year after Ji Mian succeeded her as Cult Leader. Because of her formidable martial prowess in her youth, remaining within the Demonic Palace would invariably result in harm to others.
Moreover, since Ji Mian did not originate from the royal lineage of the Demonic Cult, she was inevitably looked down upon. The nobles and officials who had been injured by her mother made numerous critical remarks about this, leaving Ji Mian with no choice but to settle her birth mother in this barren, remote mountain.
Ji Zhaoqing had already opened her eyes, looking at Ji Mian’s face with a dazed expression.
“I am Ji Mian.”
“Ji Mian…”
Ji Zhaoqing murmured the name softly under her breath.
Seeing that her expression was calm, Ji Mian drew closer, lowering her entire torso into a half-kneeling posture, and traced her own name out in the palm of Ji Zhaoqing’s hand.
Ji Zhaoqing’s face already bore the traces of aging, particularly her hair, which had turned grey-white. There weren’t many wrinkles on her face, but speaking still caused the lines of age to pull taut. Ji Mian looked somewhat like her, yet not entirely; Ji Zhaoqing’s features were quite plain, lacking Ji Mian’s striking and vivid beauty.
“I don’t know you… What are you doing here?”
Seeing that there was no one else around, Ji Mian decided to cut straight to the point.
“Do you know Ji Shuangchi?”
“Ji Shuangchi?”
Ji Zhaoqing repeated the name once more, this time with a subtly different pause in her tone. Without needing Ji Mian to trace the characters in her hand, she stammered out a reply.
“Her Royal Highness the Eldest Princess…”
“What is your relationship with her?”
“Me and her? I don’t know her.”
This knowing likely referred to having personal interactions. Ji Mian probed a few more times with roundabout questions, yet still failed to extract anything useful from Ji Zhaoqing’s mouth. Seeing that the sky was growing dark, she stood up and prepared to leave.
Perhaps sharing the surname Ji did not necessarily mean being part of the imperial family, after all.
Ji Mian chatted with her a little longer. The other woman’s emotions remained consistently flat with no fluctuations, simply answering whatever was asked, sometimes staring blankly without responding at all.
She didn’t even spare Ji Mian a single glance, nor did she say a single extra word. Just as Ji Mian was about to leave, she was stopped when Ji Zhaoqing, who had been lying in the spring chair all along, reached out and tugged at the hem of her robe.
“Who on earth are you? What relation are you to me?”
Ji Mian was forced to halt her steps and look back at the woman. Ji Zhaoqing’s madness had always been somewhat unstable, yet her person was kept very clean; her clothing, though not luxurious, was neat and tidy.
A faint thread of melancholy lingered between her brows, and a gloomy shadow settled deep within her eyes, difficult to disperse.
She gazed at Ji Mian, the emotions in her pupils somewhat hard to decipher.
Ji Zhaoqing was also a native of Canglu. As for her identity, Ji Mian had been unable to uncover it. The historical records of Canglu were detailed in their accounts, yet grew extremely vague in the five years leading up to the nation’s destruction, with some sections even left completely blank, as if hiding some vital secret.
Nor did Ji Mian believe that Ji Zhaoqing had gone mad for no reason; either she had been poisoned by someone, or she had been driven mad.
Whichever the case, it suggested that Ji Zhaoqing might possess something those people wanted. If she wanted to survive, she first had to uncover this secret, whether to guard it or release it to the world was a matter for later.
The old woman truly knew nothing about Ji Mian; if it were Lin Qingye, she could probably hollow out the other person’s entire family background.
Before everything was clarified, she chose to place familial ties above all else, believing that even a tiger would not devour its own cubs.
“I am your daughter.”