Chapter Thirty-Three: The Poison Takes Effect

In the dim underground chamber, flickering candlelight cast long shadows. A boy of ten lay restless upon a stone bed, turning over and over.

“I wonder how things are now. I’m not sure if that rascal Wu Cheng can hold out. Hopefully, all my preparations will count for something.”

More than an hour had passed, yet the third elder had yet to return. Su Bai could not tell if trouble had befallen the elder. Though he had prepared thoroughly, this world was not quite the same as the one he knew. If anything went wrong, there would be no escape for him.

“No, I’ll have to go out again…” He recalled the third elder’s recent threats and frowned.

But after some thought, he resolved to go out and take a look.

“I’ll hide the bundle the third elder gave me somewhere secret first. Then, I’ll head to the Hall of Enforcement and see if I can glean any information. If the scales of interrogation tip the wrong way, I’ll leave Dayan Sect with the bundle at once.”

Nodding to himself, Su Bai was just about to step out when the door suddenly swung open. In the next moment, the old face of Dong Muming appeared before him.

Su Bai swallowed nervously. Dong Muming didn’t look like he had failed—otherwise, Su Bai would surely be dead already. Still, he’d been about to ignore the elder’s warnings and force his way out. Who knew how he’d be punished for that?

Dong Muming looked down at Su Bai with half-closed eyes and asked in an even tone, “And what were you planning to do?”

“Heh, well…” Su Bai scratched his head, slowly lowered the bundle from his shoulder, and forced a smile. “I was just worried about what’s inside getting damaged, so I thought I’d check it. Besides, I’ve been cooped up so long, I figured I’d use the weight to practice squats, heh.”

Dong Muming let out a cold laugh, the sound as grating as a novice violinist scraping at strings—a sound that set Su Bai’s skin crawling.

Dong Muming fished a letter from his robe and tossed it onto the table before Su Bai, his voice light. “You little fox, you’ve done well this time—helped me out of a tight spot. Tonight, take this letter to the Blood River Pavilion in Shengzhou and find Elder Yu Xiyan. Someone there will arrange a place for you.”

Su Bai stared at the letter, biting his lip inwardly. “This old fox never gave me the most important thing. If I just leave, I’ll end up homeless. Next time I deal with people like him, I’ll have to plan even more carefully.”

“In another half hour, you can leave Dayan through this door,” Dong Muming said, turning away.

Suddenly, he glanced back, a half-smile on his face. “If that old ghost Xi Menghe didn’t think about you every day, I’d have taken you as my disciple.”

Su Bai immediately bowed low. “I am unworthy of your favor, Elder. Alas, I am not fated for such an honor. Surely, you’ll find a better successor.”

Dong Muming gave him a knowing look and asked, “What do you think of Wu Cheng withstanding the Soul-Stealing Melody’s interrogation?”

Su Bai feigned surprise. “Soul-Stealing Melody? I’ve never heard of it.” Then he clutched his chest, feigning lingering fear. “Good thing his will was strong—otherwise, the whole affair might have come to light.”

Dong Muming, sharp as ever, saw through the act instantly. But as he had little interest in matters of the soul, he decided not to press Su Bai for details.

He glanced at Su Bai, said nothing more, and turned to leave.

But at that moment, a cry of agony echoed through the chamber.

“Ah!” Su Bai clutched his chest and screamed, the pain striking without warning.

Dong Muming, barely down the hall, rushed back to find Su Bai collapsed on the floor, unconscious. Beads of sweat on the boy’s brow told Dong Muming just how excruciating the pain had been.

He frowned in confusion. “He’s been here all this time and never showed signs of poisoning. Could it be the poison was in him before he came to see me?”

There was no time to ponder. He hurried to Su Bai’s side, his hands moving swiftly, pressing acupoints in the air to stabilize the toxins in Su Bai’s body. Then he placed his right hand on Su Bai’s wrist, reading the pulse—and the deeper he probed, the darker his expression grew.

“Severed Soul Pill—who poisoned him?”

Dong Muming understood all too well the terrible power of such a poison. He released Su Bai’s acupoints, but that only unleashed a new wave of agony.

“Pfft!” Su Bai vomited a mouthful of blood, sending it several meters across the floor.

His body convulsed as if struck by lightning, his mind unable to control even the smallest movement.

The pain was overwhelming, drowning out all thought, and did not subside until the time it takes incense to burn had passed.

Su Bai stared blankly at the ceiling, his eyes hollow as a corpse’s, but his ragged breathing proved he still clung to life.

His muscles ached so badly he didn’t want to move a single finger.

Dong Muming’s voice came quietly from the side. “You’ve been poisoned by the Severed Soul Pill. The poison will act within three days of ingestion. When it does, even if you wish for death, you won’t have the strength to lift a blade. And you cannot forcibly suppress it—if you try, the pain will be even worse.”

Su Bai gave no response, as if he had not heard a word.

Only after the time for a cup of tea had passed did he finally speak, his voice hoarse as sandpaper. “Is there any way you can save me?”

“There are three ways,” Dong Muming replied. “First, find the poisoner and get the antidote. The Severed Soul Pill’s prescription is divided into primary and secondary components. The poisoner can adjust the antidote as they wish. Without their antidote, the chance of survival is less than one in ten thousand.”

Everyone knows this, so Su Bai said nothing, waiting to hear the other two options.

“The second way is for someone to pay a heavy price, sacrificing their own cultivation to transfer the poison to one of your limbs, which is then amputated. You’d lose an arm or a leg, but you’d survive.”

Dong Muming paused before continuing, “I myself am half a step into the Thousand Paths realm. If I were to cure you this way—”

“I understand,” Su Bai interrupted. “I would never let my troubles ruin your path, Elder. Tell me the third option.”

He knew all too well the true faces of these people. Besides, he’d never bargained for such a costly favor; Dong Muming owed him nothing.

Inwardly, he made a mental note to settle accounts with that old fox Xi Menghe.

Dong Muming felt a pang of guilt. Su Bai had resolved a crisis for him, but as an elder, he had not repaid the favor.

“The third way… you’ll need to steel yourself.” He explained, “I can help you disperse your cultivation, channel all your energy into your blood. The poison will be drawn into your bloodstream, and I’ll drain your blood repeatedly. Over time, the toxins will thin out.”

Having laid out the method, he also listed the drawbacks. “Dispersing your cultivation will leave you weak as a newborn, defenseless for a time—anyone, even a three-year-old, could kill you. The pain will be multiplied, and you must remain fully conscious throughout. You cannot faint, not even for a moment.”

He gave Su Bai a look that needed no explanation, and fell silent.

“Is there any medicine to dull the pain?” Su Bai asked, not stating his choice outright, but making it clear nonetheless.

“I have some anesthetic powder, but you must remain conscious, so I can’t use too much.”

“Then I’ll trouble you for that,” Su Bai replied quietly, gazing once more at the empty ceiling.

Dong Muming said nothing more, simply rising and departing.

The quiet chamber was lit only by a few lonely lamps. The scar-faced youth glared at the ceiling, his eyes bloodshot, silver teeth clenched tight.

“Xi Menghe, even if I have to scour the underworld and the heavens, I’ll tear you to pieces!”

Perhaps half an hour before, Su Bai had entertained hopes of evading Xi Menghe, but now the man’s name was inscribed in his blackest ledger.

He had never dreamed that the old fox had already taken his life in hand.

“No wonder you watched me so loosely—you had nothing to fear, you old wretch.”

Alas, words could not cure the agony that racked his body.

That pain, gnawing at the heart and bones, left Su Bai shuddering in retrospect. It was as if a thousand needles stabbed into him at once, dancing through his flesh.

Measured by the scale of pain, it could almost rival the torments of childbirth.

He forced down his anger and began plotting his journey to Blood River Pavilion.

“Of the three options the third elder gave me, only the last is viable. But who knows how long I’ll need to recover? If anything else goes wrong, I’ll be powerless to resist. The journey from Dayan to Blood River Pavilion is more than a thousand miles—and I’ll be alone the whole way.”

After much thought, he summed it up in four words: I am too weak.

“If only I had more time. With my talent, I could reach the Realm of Focused Spirit in twenty years—then Xi Menghe would never threaten me again.”

He couldn’t help but give a bitter, self-mocking smile. “Twenty years? I’ll be lucky to live another twenty years—what a fantasy.”

With a sigh, he closed his eyes, mind churning with plans for the path ahead.

Meanwhile, tens of thousands of miles from Dayan Sect, in the Imperial Capital—at the Xuan Night Command—

A young man in flying-fish robes strode grimly toward the Hall of Shadows.

“Badge,” demanded the squad of brocade-clad guards at the entrance, the leader a centurion.

The capital’s Brocade Guards were no ordinary patrol—every one of them was of high status.

The young man frowned, intending to report urgent matters, but rules were rules. He stepped before the centurion, drawing a jade-green token from his belt.

“Ah, the Lord Qing,” the centurion exclaimed at a glance, recognizing the token at once.

This was the favorite of the commander himself—the only one in all the Brocade Guards, save the commander, to possess such a token. With it, one could command the guards of any province at will.

This man, the youngest of the Thirteen Lords, was ranked among the top five in strength. Not yet forty, he had already reached the late stage of Transcendence—talent to rival Duke Su in his prime.

“Done? Then move aside,” Qing Jing said coldly, a murderous glint in his eyes.

The centurion shuddered at his gaze, bowing and scraping. “Of course, my lord, please proceed. Forgive the delay.”

Qing Jing didn’t spare him a glance, striding straight into the hall.

The walls inside were painted black, devoid of any ornament. Only two stone xiezhi beasts sat sternly on either side, their gaze so lifelike it seemed they might leap down at any moment.

There were few people in the great hall, mostly minor staff, none of them core members of the Brocade Guards.

Qing Jing passed through to the western annex, its entrance leading to one of the underground passages of the Northern Suppression Division. Guards were thicker here.

“Password,” barked the guard.

“Half-moon at midnight. Shengzhou branch, May files. I have urgent business. Let me pass, check the records later,” Qing Jing snapped.

Today’s gatekeeper was a commander—a post that rotated every fortnight. He recognized Qing Jing from previous encounters and waved his men aside.

“Go on, I’ll check the records myself. If anything comes up, I’ll find you.”

“Thank you,” Qing Jing nodded and stepped swiftly through the hidden door.

Passing through winding corridors and low arches, he finally stood before a pair of heavy, iron-inlaid black doors.

He hesitated a moment, biting his lip, but finally pushed the doors open.

Inside sat a young man in black, long blue hair flowing over his shoulders. With his left hand, he leafed through a dossier; with his right, he wrote in flowing, masterful calligraphy, sometimes swift, sometimes slow.

Qing Jing knelt in silence before Hua Wenkai, unsure how to begin.

“How did it go?” The man on the dais spoke before he could answer.

Qing Jing pressed his lips together, a bitter look on his face. “I failed. Cheng Yuyan slipped away.”

Hua Wenkai’s brush paused, ink blooming on the paper. He showed no impatience, only a cold reply. “Then why are you still here?”

“I… I accept any punishment,” Qing Jing stammered, swallowing hard.

Hua Wenkai set his brush aside and closed the dossier, fixing his gaze on Qing Jing.

Qing Jing pressed his forehead to the floor—he knew Hua Wenkai’s temper all too well. This time, the commander would show no mercy.

But instead, Hua Wenkai gestured, his internal energy lifting Qing Jing upright.

“If everyone could solve problems by accepting punishment, what need would the Emperor have for us? You have three more months. Bring Cheng Yuyan back, and silence everyone who’s had contact with him.”

Qing Jing drew deep, shuddering breaths, steadying a heart that had just brushed the gates of hell.

“I understand. I’ll see Cheng Yuyan—and his secrets—buried with him.”

Hua Wenkai turned aside. “How many years have you been with me, Qing Jing?”

“Thirteen years, Commander,” Qing Jing replied with a deep bow.

A hint of nostalgia colored Hua Wenkai’s tone. “Thirteen years. Do you miss home?”

“I dare not, sir.”

Hua Wenkai chuckled. “The next commander of the Brocade Guards may well be one of you Thirteen Lords. Qing Jing, you are the one I value most.”

Far from pleased, Qing Jing trembled, bowing lower still, voice urgent. “I have no such ambition, Commander—please believe me!”

Hua Wenkai rose and approached, helping him up with a gentler tone. “I know your heart well. Just do the tasks I set for you. Some things are not for you to touch—at least, not yet.”

“Yes, sir. I will remember,” Qing Jing replied, more alarmed than ever—clearly, Hua Wenkai had spies close at hand.

“Good. You are my most capable officer. Do not disappoint me.”

Hua Wenkai patted his shoulder kindly. “Go.”

“At once, sir,” Qing Jing said, turning to leave.

But as he pushed the heavy door open a crack, a voice called after him, “If you fail—bring me your head.”

“I understand.”

As the door closed behind him, Qing Jing’s right eye twitched violently.

Walking away, he pulled aside his robe to reveal a deep black handprint on his right shoulder.

…