The chime of “forced execution” rang out just as Shen Xiyin was carrying firewood back to the stream. At the sudden sound, her whole body jolted as if struck; the bundle of sticks slipped from her arms, scattering across the ground, startling birds from the branches in a flurry of wings. Her spine went rigid. The memory of the last forced execution flashed back, and beneath her skirts her knees drew together instinctively.
On the far side of the forest, Pei Su’s temples throbbed. Nothing that happened inside the Enchantment Maze could be explained by reason. A dark fury welled up in him, so sharp it twisted into a bitter laugh. He was curious—what trick would the array use this time to force his compliance?
Pei Su closed his eyes, steadying his mind. If the array thought that limiting his spiritual power was enough to control him, it was gravely underestimating him.
He could remain calm; Shen Xiyin could not. The moment she recalled that dream—his fingers, his palm, what they had done—her mouth went numb, her chest tight with shame. And that had only been a dream. Reality might prove even more unbearable.
She stood frozen, breath trembling. But after several breaths, nothing stirred. She waited a quarter of an hour—still nothing. Another half hour passed; she had already roasted two fat fish by the stream, and still no change.
Shen Xiyin was bewildered. Why hadn’t the forced execution begun? Her first thought was that Pei Su had done something to stop it.
But Pei Su had done nothing. He too was puzzled.
Within the Enchantment Maze, all was tranquil. The trial that should have been enforced seemed caught, suspended, as if jammed by some unseen hand.
The afternoon forest lay bathed in a serene amber glow, the breeze teasing the leaves in gentle, lilting waves.
Shen Xiyin sat upon a moss‑green stone by the stream. She lifted the long hem of her skirt, tugged off her silk stockings, and dipped her bare feet into the water, idly stirring the current with her toes. Droplets splashed upward, landing on her lashes, leaving her eyes glistening like rippling pools.
The moment was almost too tranquil—so tranquil it felt out of place. She let out a long sigh. Whatever the case, the absence of incident was always a blessing. Immersed in the gentle beauty of the forest at noon, she did not notice that something within her had already begun to change.
At the same time, outside the Enchantment Maze—
Pei Jun, Pei Ling, and Xie Yusheng had traveled for days and at last reached the city of Luoyang. The afternoon sun blazed, gilding the ancient towers with dazzling light. The old capital bustled with prosperity: merchants crowded the streets, bolts of silk filled the stalls, spices piled high like small mountains, dazzling the eyes of passersby.
Xie Yusheng wandered from stall to stall, buying sachets, trinkets, calligraphy, and antiques—items Pei Jun deemed utterly useless. He wasted half a day this way, and by dusk insisted on visiting the city’s most famous teahouse to sample its brews.
At last Pei Jun lost patience. “Senior Xie, we came for a memorial service, not a pleasure tour!”
Xie Yusheng flicked open his fan. “I know. But the service isn’t until tomorrow. To arrive now would be too early. Sitting before a coffin and a hall of mourners—what a dreary business.”
Raised in a strict household, Pei Jun could not agree. “The deceased was your benefactor, your teacher who gave you everything. To treat it so lightly is unseemly.”
Xie Yusheng was born to the illustrious Changping Xie clan, the cherished only son of his generation’s patriarch. Yet even fine timber has its flaws, and jade its hidden cracks. Though born into privilege, he carried a congenital weakness, frail and sickly from birth. A famed fortune‑teller once declared he would not live past three. But fortune shifted. At three years old, he encountered the wandering master Yun Xu, who took him to Mount Bujun, cared for him, and guided him through the peril. Thanks to that, the frail child survived—and grew into the carefree, flamboyant figure now admired throughout the cultivation world.
This matter was known throughout the cultivation world. While every household praised Yun Xu’s virtue, they also lamented that Xie Yusheng’s life should not have been cut short.
In response to Pei Jun’s reproach, Xie Yusheng smiled and admitted, “It’s true—my teacher gave me a new lease on life. But I believe the departed would not wish the living to drown endlessly in grief. Besides, didn’t he give me the courtesy name *Suizhi* precisely so I might live cheerfully, with peace of mind and open-hearted ease?”
Pei Jun chuckled a few times, unwilling to argue further.
Pei Ling, who had been silent until now, spoke up: “It has already been over a month since Master Yun Xu passed. Ordinarily, when a man of such renown dies, the memorial service is held within days after the seventh day, while the body is still intact. To delay so long seems unusual.”
Xie Yusheng cast him a glance. “Naturally, there is more to it.”
Pei Jun asked curiously, “What happened?”
Xie Yusheng replied, “A month ago, when my teacher succumbed to illness, his disciples were busy with the funeral rites. Yet at that very time, a misfortune occurred.”
Pei Ling pressed, “A misfortune?”
Xie Yusheng said, “The disciple who had been attending to my teacher’s daily needs suddenly died.”
Pei Jun frowned. “How could he die so suddenly?”
Xie Yusheng explained, “His corpse was ashen, eyes wide open, with blood seeping from the seven orifices. Clearly, he had been tainted by some baleful spirit. When such evil manifests in the mountains, it is hardly fitting to receive guests. The disciples of the sect labored long to purge it, and thus the memorial was delayed.”
He glanced at the two young men of the Pei family. “Your clan’s master knows the details better than I. But he likely never imagined you two would attend the memorial in his stead, so he did not explain it to you beforehand.”
At the mention of his uncle, Pei Jun’s face clouded. In recent days, he and Pei Ling had sent paper cranes to communicate with Pei Daoqian, who was stationed at Imperial City Mountain, asking whether their uncle had returned. The only reply they received was: *not yet back*.
At dawn the next day, the three of them ascended Mount Bujun.
The mountain floated above layers of sea-like clouds, shrouded in mist year-round. Riding their swords through the billowing haze, they glimpsed golden pavilions perched on sheer cliffs—the immortal estate known as *Wangyue Villa*.
Once they passed through the mountain gate, sword-flight was no longer permitted. Guided by disciples of Mount Bujun, they proceeded on foot. Many fellow cultivators had also arrived. No sooner had they entered than Pei Jun noticed eyes turning toward him from every direction.
Xie Yusheng, amused, said to him, “Do you know why they’re all glaring at you?”
Pei Jun snorted. “How should I know? I’m not the worms in their bellies.”
Pei Ling thought to himself, *Isn’t it just because you stir up trouble everywhere and annoy people too much?*
As they walked, Xie Yusheng swept his gaze around and teased, “What a coincidence—those three glaring at you from behind all happen to have ties to your uncle.”
Pei Jun glanced back and sneered.
The one on the left he remembered well: the eldest son of the Qu family of Luling. Crooked mouth, slanted eyes, puffed up with self-importance. He had once slandered Pei Jun’s uncle, calling him a hypocrite. In truth, the uncle probably didn’t even know his name. Pei Jun himself couldn’t recall it either, so he dubbed him *Crooked Qu*.
The man in the middle looked vaguely familiar. Pei Jun couldn’t place him until Pei Ling whispered a reminder.
“That’s from the Yue clan of Qingcheng.”
Pei Jun scratched his head. “Oh… oh? Which one again?”
Pei Ling covered his face. “The one who, at last year’s family banquet, urged the clan master to marry—and was completely ignored.”
With that, Pei Jun remembered. This Yue was a distant relative of the Pei clan, reputed to have some strength in the western regions. Not as powerful as the Peis, but still well-established. He was said to excel in blade techniques, blunt in speech, fiercely protective of his pride. At that banquet, his crude words had been brushed aside, and he had taken it as a grave insult, bearing a grudge against the clan master ever since.
Pei Jun couldn’t recall his actual name. Since the man wielded a broadsword and bore a scar across his face, he decided to call him *Big-Blade Yue*.
As for the left and middle, he had some impression. But the one on the right—he truly had no memory of. He glanced at Pei Ling, who shook his head, equally clueless.
So Pei Jun asked Xie Yusheng directly: “And the one on the right—who is he?”
Xie Yusheng twirled his fan and replied, “That is Xu, the sect master of the Changliu Xu clan.”
Pei Jun asked, “Does this man have anything to do with my uncle?” He glanced at Pei Ling. “Have you heard of him?”
Pei Ling shook his head. “Never.”
Xie Yusheng chuckled. “Strictly speaking, it’s his wife who has some connection with your clan master.”
His words were deliberately vague. Pei Jun snapped, “What nonsense! My uncle has never been close to women.”
All the more impossible, since the woman was another man’s wife.
Pei Ling added, “I vaguely recall that Madam Xu came from an unremarkable background. She hardly seems the sort to have any dealings with the clan master.”
Xie Yusheng defended himself: “Then you’re mistaken. At the last symposium, Madam Xu accidentally knocked over a wine cup, and the wine spilled right onto your clan master.”
Pei Jun scoffed. “And that counts as a connection?”
Xie Yusheng flicked his fan. “Even the smallest tie is still a tie, isn’t it?”
At that, Pei Ling remembered. The “connection” was so trivial it could hardly be called one at all—the clan master hadn’t even spared Madam Xu a glance at the time.
Pei Jun laughed coldly. “How do you know so much about my uncle? He himself probably doesn’t even remember this.”
Xie Yusheng narrowed his eyes with a smile. “Naturally. Why else would people call me the ‘Hundred-Knowings of the cultivation world’? I even know how miserably you lost that sword match the other day.”
Pei Jun laughed again, dismissive. In the end, it was all just idleness. A drifter of the cultivation world with wealth and connections was the most idle of all.
Talking as they went, the three entered Wangyue Villa.
There, Luo Xuan—the senior disciple in charge of affairs on Mount Bujun—came out to greet them personally. He looked weary, his robes heavy with the scent of incense used to ward off evil. Upon seeing the three, he peered anxiously past them and asked in surprise, “Why hasn’t Lord Yucheng come with you?”
Pei Jun replied, “You were expecting my uncle?”
What Luo Xuan said next struck like a stone into still water, sending ripples everywhere.
“Not long ago, I sent him a letter, begging him to come to Mount Bujun no matter what. He even replied that he would set out at once.”