Ling Feng made up his mind to go back home.
There was hesitation, of course. He’d been confined and sealed within walls that offered no solace for so long. Being outside, with no limits, was where he wanted to stay. And yet, his wandering steps ultimately led him back towards Songhe’s residence.
By the time the house came into view, the sky had brightened, painting the surroundings in soft hues. Ling Feng stopped a short distance away, his fox eyes fixed on the structure.
The weight of his reality returned. Here was his sanctuary, yet also his prison.
Was it the lingering taste of Songhe’s blood that made the house call to him? Because stepping back inside would mean surrendering to a form of captivity, no matter how benevolent.
He knew the routine well enough by now.
He found himself wondering if Songhe would be in the common room at this hour, sitting as he always did, serene and enigmatic, reading a text and pouring tea.
The pull came again, subtle yet persistent, drawing him toward the house. Before he could give it more thought, his body moved ahead of his mind, his paws carrying him forward.
Not through the window this time.
He crossed the courtyard, padding toward the front door. As he slipped over the threshold, he wasn’t entirely sure what had guided him. Perhaps it was resolve, perhaps something closer to surrender.
He came to a stop before the immortal.
Songhe watched Ling Feng with a deliberate eye, taking in every detail of his fox: gold eyes, the red fur, his size, the three tails.
And more than that, he noticed the renewed vitality within him, the rhythm of his two heartbeats. Songhe could distinguish them clearly; the ancient one beat stronger now, sharper than before.
Ling Feng moved.
He lowered himself as though to sit, and with the motion, his body blurred, wrapped in a soft haze of light as he shifted into his human form.
When the light faded, he emerged composed, radiant even. He was slightly taller than before and dressed in the finest garments, his hair falling loose and unbound down his back.
Nothing about him appeared careless. Every detail held its place: the small red mark upon his forehead, the fan resting in his hand, the earrings, the faint traces of red ink along his palms.
Every aspect was particular, as though anything less was unacceptable.
Songhe observed the transformation in silence.
Then Ling Feng slid into the seat beside him without a word, the motion so natural it felt like a habit from a past life.
Two tea settings were arranged on the table, one clearly meant for him. At some point, Songhe had prepared it, an act so simple yet so deliberate that it unsettled Ling Feng.
When Songhe spoke, his words broke through with surprising clarity, utterly unlike what Ling Feng had anticipated.
“Ling Feng, why did you come to He Yu Zong?”
Sharp brown eyes flicked toward Songhe’s face, searching for a clue, an ulterior motive. When he replied, his tone was clipped. “To find Qiang Zhenwu. My father. Have you forgotten?”
Songhe nodded, acknowledging the truth of the statement. “I know this. But you didn’t come just for that. You came to stay here as well. Didn’t you?”
Ling Feng blinked.
There was something oddly pointed in Songhe’s words, something—intrusive. It stirred emotions he wasn’t ready to confront. The guarded hostility in his voice deepened.
“Well, if Zhenwu is my father, why can’t I live here? What reason could there possibly be to deny me?”
Songhe didn’t respond immediately. His thoughtful silence carried weight, and Ling Feng watched him, noting how the man’s sharp eyes seemed to drift far away, lost in contemplation.
Ling Feng smiled.
“I know what you’re thinking,” he said at last, impatience edging into his tone. “I’m a darkling, aren’t I? You think I have no right. I’m nothing but a threat, and a disruption.”
Songhe remained silent.
“Well, let me tell you a simple truth, old man. If my father owns this place, then I will live here.”
A faint, nearly imperceptible smile tugged at the corner of Songhe’s mouth. There was a certain boldness in Ling Feng’s declarations, though to Songhe, they were nothing but naive assumptions.
He allowed the fox’s fiery words to linger for a moment before turning inward.
If Zhenwu were to return from seclusion here and now, he wouldn’t care for you or protect you, because he is not your father, Ling Feng. I am.
Of course, Songhe never said this aloud; he simply folded the thought away, tucking it deep within himself.
“You can stay here, if that was your plan.”
“However, you don’t have to be a prisoner anymore. You can be my guest.” His voice remained steady. “However, we must first ensure your safety, and then that of others.”
Ling Feng’s expression faltered. He leaned back slightly, surprise masking his sharp features. He hadn’t expected the old man to relent so quickly.
“Why?”
The question slipped out before he could stop it, betraying a confusion he could not conceal.
Why are you compromising yourself for a stranger like me? Why feed me your blood? Why protect a darkling you have no reason to trust?
Songhe’s answer came swiftly.
“Would you rather I didn’t?”
Ling Feng grimaced. “Yes. It would make more sense to me if you didn’t.” He narrowed his eyes. “The lengths you’re willing to go to for my sake... I find it all too strange, old man. Suspicious.”
Songhe inclined his head, acknowledging the remarks without rising to their hostility.
“Then let me ease your mind. You claim to be Grandmaster Zhenwu’s son. Yet, as you’ve undoubtedly noticed, he is not here to confirm this. That said, Zhenwu is my oath brother, and if you truly are his son, it is only natural that I watch over you until his return.”
Ling Feng tilted his head, scrutinizing every word. After a beat of silence, he asked, “So... you’re saying you do believe me? You accept that I’m his son, without proof?”
“The hairpin. It is proof enough. Since it was in your possession, I do believe you.”
The simplicity of the explanation caught Ling Feng off guard. His sharp mind raced, trying to uncover some hidden meaning behind it.
Songhe’s composure didn’t waver, and it also didn’t strike Ling Feng as gullibility. If the old man claimed the hairpin was enough, there had to be more beneath the surface.
Or was it truly enough?
Ling Feng’s gaze remained fixed on Songhe’s. When he spoke again, his voice was low, as though he were treading dangerous ground.
“The hairpin. Give it back to me. It’s for my protection.”
Songhe did not respond immediately. His sharp eyes assessed the fox before him.
“Ling Feng, you also have me to protect you.”
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His tone was almost comforting.
Silence followed.
Ling Feng studied Songhe’s expression, trying to gauge whether the declaration was genuine or simply another layer of the old man’s cryptic nature.
Before he could respond, Songhe continued.
“The hairpin is one of three. It is a family heirloom of the Qiang clan, passed down through generations. The one I took from you was lost a hundred and twenty years ago in the demon realm.
Seeing it again after all these years, I recognized it at once. Others would too.” Songhe leaned forward slightly, his calm features edged with gravity. “It’s best if no one discovers your connection to the Grandmaster, not until he returns.”
The mention of concealment unsettled Ling Feng. His brows knitted in confusion as he began to speak, but Songhe cut him off.
“In his absence, they will not believe you. Your claim, no matter how true, will sound like an insult to this sect and its traditions. Lady Qiang Lian will have you executed.”
The name hung in the air, as though the mere utterance could summon danger. Ling Feng blinked, his expression growing more guarded.
Songhe continued, “The Grandmaster’s wife is a woman from one of the most prominent noble families, raised among cultivators of unparalleled power—she will not tolerate your presence here as a darkling, let alone one who claims to be her husband’s illegitimate child.” His voice dipped lower, carrying the ring of unvarnished truth. “She won’t hesitate. Not for a moment. And no heirloom will stop her.”
Ling Feng opened his mouth to speak, but no words came. He grimaced, a familiar defiance burning in his chest.
“The safest course, for now, is anonymity. You must wait. Wait for the Grandmaster to return, and only then can you stake your claim.”
After a long pause, Ling Feng crossed his arms and glared at Songhe. When he finally spoke, his words were sharp and cutting.
“So, that’s it? That has been your plan all along? The moment you recognized it, you took the hairpin and locked me up? It was to conceal the truth of my existence? To protect Zhenwu’s reputation? That’s the threat I pose. I am a dirty secret?”
Songhe didn’t flinch beneath the fox’s accusations. He simply met his gaze, unyielding.
No, Ling Feng. The... secret is mine.
“Yes,” he answered plainly. “And also because, if I had acted any differently, you’d be destroyed by now.”
Ling Feng turned his face away, lips pressed into a tight line. For once, no sarcastic remark came. Somewhere deep within, he recognized that Songhe’s seriousness wasn’t hollow.
“Ling Feng, do not let this weigh on you unnecessarily. Since I am already your uncle, at least in title, it is only natural that I will not let harm come to you.”
Ling Feng snapped.
“No matter how you say it, it’s too good to be true. Aren’t you the same person who locked me up? Beat me up? Starved me to the brink of madness?”
Songhe’s lips curved, though it wasn’t quite a smile, more a wry acknowledgment. “Skepticism will serve you well, but you will learn in time that my word is not so easily broken.”
Ling Feng’s sharp gaze didn’t soften. The assurance felt foreign, too foreign. Very few people in his life had made a habit of protecting him, and fewer still had ever said it so plainly.
His lips curled into a mocking smile as he leaned forward, his voice dropping to a near whisper. “And what will stop Lady Qiang if she catches me? What will you do then?”
“She will not find out.” Songhe’s reply was swift and resolute.
Silence settled over the room. Ling Feng sat with the weight of Songhe’s promise, steady in its conviction yet difficult to believe. He drew a slow breath and kept his doubts close, like a shield.
He refused to trust him.
* * * * *
Ling Feng was not a fallen spirit.
He bore no mark of servitude, no tether to any master. Yet the signs were unmistakable. His true nature had been altered.
After careful observation, Songhe had finally arrived at a conclusion. Ling Feng was not a demon, not yet. He was still in the grey area. In fact, Songhe surmised that this darkling nature was the result of the omen he bore within.
For instance, fox spirits, though cunning and mischievous, did not require blood for their sustenance. That alone was enough to dismiss any notion of natural deviation. What Ling Feng suffered from was not instinct, but imposition.
It was the second heart—the seed within him—that was bleeding malice into his bones.
Xue Feng Yong Ye.
Songhe could not yet determine whether Ling Feng was merely a vessel... or something more deliberate. Or was he a premature reincarnation? The distinction mattered.
Still, the origin of it all was not entirely beyond his grasp. Songhe had already pieced together much of the puzzle.
A hundred years ago, he had ventured into the demon realm to attend a six-day peace summit, one meant to end the Demon King Tianyao’s reign. Qiang Zhenwu had been appointed as the human realm’s representative. His presence was not optional.
But he was in no condition to make the journey.
So Songhe went in his stead, wearing his face. The hairpin, a family heirloom, had been given to him to wear, a final measure to seal the deception and ensure that he would be recognized as Zhenwu.
No one saw through it.
It was there that Songhe encountered her. The nine-tailed fox spirit, Xi Lihua.
He remembered her clearly, the way she approached him without hesitation, her interest neither concealed nor restrained. He had dismissed her, or more accurately, underestimated her.
A grave miscalculation.
On the final night of the assembly, he awoke in his assigned quarters, alone and undisturbed. But the hairpin was gone.
At the time, he had noted the loss, but nothing more. There had been no visible threat, no immediate consequence. Now, that absence had taken form.
Ling Feng.
The conclusion was no longer avoidable. The child was hers. Xi Lihua’s.
And because he had worn Qiang Zhenwu’s face, the lineage had followed the deception.
An immortal’s blood. A fox spirit’s nature. Yet that alone did not explain what Ling Feng had become. The parasite within him did not align with either bloodline. It was something foreign to both.
Songhe had no intention of relying on Ling Feng to fill in the gaps. The fox did not trust him enough to share information, and more importantly, he showed no interest in questioning his own condition. He drank blood without hesitation, without inquiry.
Whether that indifference was ignorance... or willful disregard, Songhe could not yet tell.
No matter. The crucial thing was to save him.
And that would have to begin with a test.
“Ling Feng,” Songhe spoke, his tone measured as ever. “I want you to meet Taotao and his wife, Nana. They are here to attend to you in my absence.”
Ling Feng frowned slightly from where he sat. “Absence?”
“Yes,” Songhe replied. “I will be gone for ten days.”
After a brief pause, Ling Feng asked, “How are they to assist me?”
“As my guest, there is no longer a need to confine you behind boundary spells. However, you should understand the dangers of leaving the safety of this estate. As a spirit, there are many things within your reach, but not everything. These two will serve as your hands beyond these walls. You may send them wherever you wish, for whatever you require.”
He gestured slightly toward the two figures standing before them.
“Should you want tea, Nana can prepare it. She will also keep the residence in order, and Taotao will tend to whatever errands you have in mind.”
Taotao and Nana stood with their heads lowered, their posture rigid with unease. Songhe had briefed them thoroughly beforehand, and no detail had been left unclear.
He had not softened the truth. He made it clear that their new master was very dangerous. Though he bore the appearance of a youth, he was no child, but a fox spirit. One that was unpredictable and potentially violent.
Songhe warned them that they were likely to suffer, and that their task was not merely to serve, but to endure.
The arrangement would last only ten days.
In return, he had offered them compensation beyond reason, wealth enough to change their lives dramatically. He had also given assurances, stating that whatever harm the fox might inflict, it was within his power to mend. Above all, he guaranteed that their lives would not be lost under his watch.
However, if the task became too much, he offered them an escape. Songhe had given each of them several talismans. Burn one, and the contract would end immediately, while half the payment would still be theirs.
Taotao had hesitated when he heard the full truth. Nana had not. To her, this was not risk, but opportunity. Ten days, she had told him, and they would never know poverty again.
Now, standing within Songhe’s residence, that conviction seemed far less certain.
“Ling Feng,” Songhe continued, “before I leave, there is a condition.”
Ling Feng said nothing, but his gaze remained fixed on Songhe.
“You must not drink the blood of these two people under any circumstances.”
Songhe waited a moment before adding calmly, “Give me your word.”
Silence settled over the room.
This was the major test. Not of obedience, but of nature. If Ling Feng was truly bound by the nature of a fox spirit, then an oath, no matter how lightly spoken, would hold.
Ling Feng’s eyes drifted slowly to Nana first. Her composure faltered beneath the weight of his attention, her unease plain. Then his gaze shifted to Taotao, who looked as though he was already questioning every decision that had led him here.
Finally, Ling Feng looked back at Songhe.
A faint smile touched his lips, though there was little warmth in it. For a long moment, he said nothing, as though considering whether the request itself was worth the effort.
Then, with visible reluctance, he spoke.
“I won’t drink their blood. Is that all?”
“Yes,” Songhe replied. “That will put my mind at ease while I am away.”
A brief pause followed before he added, almost as an afterthought, “And Ling Feng, they are just ordinary people. Try not to scare them.”
To that, Ling Feng did not respond.