Chapter Twenty-Nine: Poisoning (Part One)

After the time it takes to burn a stick of incense

“Are you certain this plan will work?” The Third Elder eyed the bundle of dragon musk herb before him, his tone doubtful.

“Effective or not, you’ll know when the medicine is administered,” Su Bai replied with a faint chuckle, fixing his gaze on the elder and speaking unhurriedly. “For now, simply follow the steps I’ve described; after that, all you need do is wait for good news.”

Though the Third Elder regarded Su Bai with suspicion, circumstances left him no choice but to trust him for once. Even if others had better methods, he lacked the means to employ them.

After all, the more people who know, the greater the danger. Despite his exalted status, he could not afford such recklessness.

“I’ll trust you this once, but don’t forget what I said earlier—”

Before he could finish, Su Bai interjected, “There’s no need for further words, Elder. If the plan fails, I’ll answer for it myself.”

“Hmph.” The Third Elder snorted coldly and swept his sleeve as he turned to leave.

“Phew!” Su Bai finally felt the crushing pressure lift, and he gulped air desperately. This was their third meeting, yet the tension had not diminished in the slightest.

He gently lifted his injured arm and wiped the sweat from his brow with his sleeve, his mind racing through the next steps.

“Whether this method succeeds remains to be seen. If anything goes wrong, I cannot simply wait for doom. I must prepare an escape route first.”

“Senior brother, take it slowly,” Wu Cheng said, helping Lie Cheng down from the kang. Lie Cheng had barely taken a few steps before a sharp pain twisted his stomach.

He struggled for some time before recovering, drenched in sweat, his clothing soaked through.

“Senior brother, are you still suffering from the backlash of your cultivation?” an outer disciple, who was assisting Wu Cheng in caring for Lie Cheng, asked.

“Sigh, I’m not sure what’s happening. Perhaps I was too eager to succeed,” Lie Cheng replied, uncertain about this sudden onset.

The symptoms were much like the usual mishaps in cultivation, though this time they lingered longer.

“I’ll go prepare your medicine, senior brother. Junior brother, you stay and look after him,” Wu Cheng said, his gaze flickering.

Soon he returned with a bowl brimming with herbal decoction.

The outer disciple hurried to prop Lie Cheng up while Wu Cheng fed him the medicine.

No sooner had Lie Cheng finished drinking than his expression grew troubled, as if he had something to say.

The outer disciple asked, puzzled, “Is there trouble, senior brother? If I can help, just say the word.”

“This is something only Wu Cheng can do. Entry to the dungeon requires at least an inner disciple’s clearance; you don’t have the authority yet,” Lie Cheng said, embarrassed. “I’ve already troubled you so much these days, and now I must ask you to go to such a place in my stead. I truly am sorry.”

Lie Cheng had expected Wu Cheng to refuse. Wu Cheng, after all, was renowned for his diligence in cultivation. Despite his poor aptitude, he had somehow advanced to the inner sect, so Lie Cheng held little hope.

To his surprise, Wu Cheng immediately agreed.

“Just focus on recovering, senior brother. I’ll go for you today,” Wu Cheng said.

Since Wu Cheng had volunteered, Lie Cheng stopped worrying, and thanked him gratefully, “Thank you, junior brother. One day, I’ll take you to the Crimson Pavilion for a proper drink.”

“Don’t mention it, senior brother. I’ll take your token and fetch your meal from the kitchen,” Wu Cheng replied, taking Lie Cheng’s waist token.

As Wu Cheng stepped out, he heard someone calling from behind. It was the outer disciple.

“Is there something you wish to ask, junior brother?”

The outer disciple said, “Lie Cheng asked me to remind you: don’t mix up the meals for cell nine—only the best portion will do.”

“Understood,” Wu Cheng nodded, clasped his fists and departed.

Dayan Dungeon

Hundreds were imprisoned here, though only a few were elders’ most-wanted criminals from the demonic sects. Most were mere associates, common henchmen.

But for a prestigious sect, a well-constructed dungeon must house some “assets.” These demonic prisoners were not mere showpieces for outsiders, but a key reason Dayan Sect stood out among hundreds of righteous factions.

It was a corner forsaken and despised by the world.

Just a wall’s thickness apart: outside, bright and lively; inside, damp and decayed—a sharp contrast.

Night had fallen. Bitter winds slipped through cracks in the walls, moaning mournfully, swirling dust through the air, saturating the dungeon. The stench of rot and sour decay seeped into every captive’s soul.

Dim and oppressive, the place was hellish; cries of agony echoed incessantly.

Even the gentle moonlight here turned pale and cold, ghostly. Every visitor instinctively tightened their collar against the chilling gloom.

Only two guarded the dungeon gate—yet surprisingly, neither displayed the slightest hint of inner force. To the uninitiated, it seemed the sect had left two old men to idle away their days.

But the truth was far different. Though they appeared elderly, their robes were spotless, and they sat upright upon stone platforms, radiating an unspoken authority.

Since they assumed charge of the dungeon over a century ago, not a single jailbreak had succeeded.

To rescue someone from a sect so easily would be as humiliating as a slap to the face.

This was why the Third Elder neither sent others nor acted himself to infiltrate and kill the pair. He felt immense pressure before these two masters.

They surpassed even the sect leader; only at times of existential crisis or major martial upheaval would they intervene.

From afar came faint footsteps; neither master opened their eyes. When the newcomer reached the gate, one finally asked, “Why the change in delivery?”

“Ah… Senior Brother Lie Cheng encountered trouble in cultivation; he’s unwell. So… I’m taking his place with the meal delivery,” Wu Cheng stammered nervously.

The elder opened his eyes, scanning Wu Cheng from head to toe. Wu Cheng, unable to withstand the pressure, collapsed to his knees.

Faced with such strength, though his will forbade submission, his body could not bear it.

Just as he was about to break, the pressure eased.

The black-robed elder had closed his eyes once more, his robes billowing without wind, as if nothing had happened.

His left hand lifted slightly, and the iron gate—heavy as a thousand catties—slowly rose.

“Go in.” The words came not from his lips, but from deep within his chest.

“Yes.” Wu Cheng slipped through the gate instantly.

The gate slammed down with a deafening crash, shaking the ground.

“Senior brother, your Purple Radiance Supreme Technique grows ever more profound. I wonder what realm you’ve reached?” the silent white-robed elder asked quietly.

“You jest. At our level, advancing even a step is nearly impossible—you know that well,” the black-robed elder replied, pausing before continuing. “I’ve merely consolidated my old skills lately. As for advancement—hardly.”

“Yes! A hundred years have passed in the blink of an eye. Even now, I recall our days at the Starshifting Palace—”

Before he could finish, the black-robed elder cut him off, “Enough. No need for nostalgia. The Starshifting Palace is ancient history; reminiscing serves no purpose. The fact that we still have a place here is rare enough. You’d do well to cultivate in peace.”

“Speaking of which, why does that lad carry calming incense?” the white-robed elder raised a brow.

“His eyes are sunken, breath unsteady; before he even reached us, his illness was plain. He’s likely facing cultivation obstacles; carrying incense is understandable.”

“But I also smelled dragon musk herb.”

The black-robed elder glanced at him. “Have you heard of these two things being fatal?”

“Ah, well…”

“Exactly. Besides, your sense of smell is unparalleled. If you detected only a trace, the dose is surely small—no danger,” the black-robed elder waved off the concern.

Inside the dungeon

“Brother, hold on. Master will surely find a way to rescue us both,” a young man barely twenty leaned against the icy wall, surrounded by darkness, murmuring to himself.

Whip marks, branding irons, bleeding fingers—his body bore no unscarred flesh.

He remembered only Master’s instructions before departure: he and his brother must deliver the treasure to Master.

But fate is mercurial. Who could have foreseen Xiao Huixin and the Third Elder’s hidden cards? They had believed victory was theirs, but neglected caution, allowing Xiao Huixin to escape.

Though the two fled with all their might, as mere marrow-refining cultivators, how could they evade the combined pursuit of two major sects?

In four days, they were dragged back to Dayan. The treasure was not found on them, and Xiao Huixin’s whereabouts unknown, so the sect dared not execute them outright. Instead, they were thrown in the dungeon and tortured.

Together from childhood, their hearts were as one; even when interrogated separately, they revealed nothing.

But the price was steep.

Days of torment had driven them to the brink. Regardless of their mental endurance, even bodies of iron could not withstand it.

It was not just the torture, but festering wounds and the bites of insects and rats.

Now, their hopes rested on the Third Elder.

After all, he had watched over them, and they willingly risked themselves for him out of gratitude.

In another cold, damp cell, a trembling voice echoed, “It’s my fault, brother. Hold on—the elder will save us.”

Each cell was solitary, with tiny holes that prevented sound from reaching others. The captors would never foolishly place accomplices side by side, so the two could only endure their pain in isolation.

Meanwhile, the meal delivery boy, who had entered the dungeon from the start, was carrying out his “task” in haste.

He had indeed broken out in cold sweat, and his recent health issues were real.

But all had been arranged by Su Bai. From the moment he conspired with the Third Elder, preparations began.

He had the Third Elder select the disciple with the poorest aptitude from his trusted circle and promise rich rewards.

The person was told only one detail—that his role involved meals.

For days, the Third Elder gathered herbs and crafted a pill. Taken, it weakened the body for three days, mimicking a cultivation mishap.

All this, for the hardest part—ensuring the calming incense would arouse no suspicion.

If this helper succeeded in murder, it would cause an uproar. He would face torture, and the more suspicious the circumstances, the harsher the interrogation.

If he broke and confessed his role in the Third Elder’s scheme, Su Bai’s plot would be ruined, and his own life would be forfeit.

Su Bai had considered silencing him, but the thought vanished as soon as it arose.

The reason was simple: this was the Third Elder’s own man. Even if the connection were hidden, the trail would be traced, exposing the truth and making Su Bai the prime suspect.

Thus, the only way was for the helper to take the pills three days before, and to feign cultivation mishaps before fellow disciples.

This would provide witnesses, so even if caught, he would not be severely punished.

But human affairs are unpredictable; everything hinged on Wu Cheng’s ability to endure. A single misstep meant life or death—there was no room for error.

Fortunately, events were unfolding as Su Bai had foreseen.

In the dark dungeon

Wu Cheng hefted the heavy meal, striving to remain calm as he searched for his target.

For thirty years, no matter how hard he tried, no matter how humble, he remained an outer disciple. Had it not been for his participation in a Third Elder-led purge, and a recommendation from a core disciple, he would never have entered the inner sect.

Yet even that had not lifted him from despair. After joining the inner sect, the pressure from peers only increased.

He even considered giving up, descending the mountain to live an ordinary life. But whenever the thought arose, his ailing father’s face appeared in his mind.

His inner sect position meant five taels of silver sent home each month. If he left, with his mediocre skills, he’d be no more than a house servant or laborer.

Moreover, his status as an inner disciple was a shield—no one bullied his parents, and when he advanced, people sent fish and meat.

If he faltered, what would become of his parents?

Yes, survival itself was a struggle, and even a simple life was a luxury.

Just as Wu Cheng was about to give up, fortune smiled upon him.

The Third Elder summoned him. Though it was a secret meeting, the attention from a distant, powerful figure ignited his heart.

The extinguished flame within him was rekindled.

When he heard the terms offered by the Third Elder, he accepted without hesitation.

He knew his long-desired chance had finally arrived!

The Third Elder gave him three doses of medicine, instructing him to mix them into Lie Cheng’s meals, then replace him in delivering food to the dungeon. Wu Cheng agreed immediately.

Though his heart was uneasy, his resolve pushed him through the dungeon’s corridors.

He had never been in such a place; he couldn’t even carry a map. After all, a meal deliverer shouldn’t need to know the dungeon’s layout—if he carried a map, he’d never have passed the gate.

Since Su Kun and Huang Yang were of low rank, placing them near other prisoners would risk their destruction by madmen.

To find them, Wu Cheng had to traverse the entire dungeon, enduring the screams and pleas from both sides.

At last, after winding through countless corridors, he reached the entrance to the second underground level, as the Third Elder had described.

The entrance resembled a modern manhole, just wide enough for one person.

Fortunately, Wu Cheng was of moderate build, and the meal required for the second level was not large, so he managed to descend.

The moment he reached the second floor, a wave of icy air swept over him.

Unlike the dilapidated upper level, whose filth repelled even rats, the second level was the opposite—spotless, odorless, devoid of color.

From floor to iron walls, the cells were a uniform black-gray, exuding an aura so chilling Wu Cheng could barely move.

His whole body trembled, and at some point, the meal box slipped from his hands.

A mysterious voice drifted from nowhere, celestial and ethereal, carried by the cold wind to Wu Cheng’s ears.

Hearing it, his pupils dilated, lost in memory and dazed.

Just as he was about to lose himself, his eyes regained a fleeting clarity.

Seizing that instant, he bit his tongue sharply, then swallowed the clarity pill given by the Third Elder, hastily refining its effects.

After half an incense’s time, Wu Cheng slowly opened his eyes, now clear.

Rising, he estimated the time, muttering to himself, “Damn! I’ve wasted too much time. The pressure from the gatekeepers made me forget the clarity pill. There’s little time left.”

He hurried to his feet, searching for the cell holding Su Kun and the other.