Chapter 25

The sermon came to an end, and night was fast approaching.

Ruan Xuezong returned to his room. The Clear Wind Fishing Ground was a vast enterprise, and it had prepared accommodations for every guest from Heart Washing Manor who had come to lend a hand. He had just changed into a fresh set of clothes when Shen Jiangling arrived to pay him a visit.

Seeing the Sudden Enlightenment buff hovering over Shen Jiangling’s head along with his grave, expression, Ruan Xuezong’s lips curved slightly beneath his mask. He enjoyed dealing with smart people.

“Young Friend Ruan, have you also noticed something off about Master Rulan?” Shen Jiangling smiled as well and got straight to the point. His directness only made Ruan Xuezong appreciate him more.

The Sudden Enlightenment buff above Shen Jiangling’s head indicated that, in the past half hour, he had been deeply influenced by the Buddhist rites and decorum in the hall. He had even been captivated by Du Rulan’s personal charm, involuntarily developing a favorable impression of the young monk.

That was how people worked: if the first impression was strong and positive, it was hard afterward to entertain harsh criticism or suspicion. But Shen Jiangling lived up to his role as the protagonist of the original Jianghu novel. Though he was gentle and sentimental by nature, his rationality usually prevailed over his emotions, allowing him to spot anything amiss.

“After you left, Young Friend, I had a detailed discussion with Master Rulan. His Buddhist teachings are profound, his qin skills exquisite, his demeanor exceptional, and he even brews a tea that leaves a lingering fragrance on the palate… Shen truly cannot bring himself to suspect him.” Shen Jiangling shook his head.

His wounds had healed halfway by now, and the treasured sword that had caused him such worry had been returned to Elder Gong. With it off his mind, Shen Jiangling had the leisure to pull out the fan he always carried on his journeys through the rivers and lakes. As he lightly fanned himself with it, the elegant young gentleman known far and wide reappeared.

“I only have some suspicions myself,” Ruan Xuezong said with a soft sigh. “What troubles me more is Miss Gong’s infatuation.”

In Ruan Xuezong’s view, Gong Mingzhu was likely to be the key to breaking through on the night of the full moon three days from now.

Shen Jiangling partially folded his fan. “You needn’t worry about that, Young Friend Ruan. Miss Mingzhu is Elder Gong’s only daughter. Born into privilege, she is never spoiled. She is bold and valiant, no less than any man, and wiser than countless men in the world. If she were the first to spot something unusual about Master Rulan, no matter how reluctant she felt, she would draw the Mandarin Duck Swords from her sleeves and sever her emotions with a swing of her blades.”

Admiration colored Shen Jiangling’s words as he spoke, and his analysis rang true, based as it was on his understanding of Gong Mingzhu.

But what Ruan Xuezong truly feared was not that Gong Mingzhu would lose her head to love—it was the overwhelming might of the Demonic Sects.

The two men chatted briefly but came up with no solutions. In the end, they could only resolve to meet force with force and flood with earth. Just then, the sound of a qin drifted to their ears.

Someone was playing the qin under the cover of night.

The melody was melodious and expansive, its rhythm leisurely. The emotions woven into it stirred the soul, like a spectral figure gliding through bamboo under the moonlight, a cool evening breeze brushing against the cheeks, drawing the listener into a trance.

Ruan Xuezong needed no introduction to such refinement. As the scion of a martial arts clan, raised in luxury as the second son of a great family, he had been tutored in the four arts from childhood and could play the qin himself. He could discern good from poor technique, and to him, this music was breathtakingly beautiful, like heavenly music from beyond the mortal realm.

Shen Jiangling’s reputation as a man of elegance was known from one end of the land to the other. Both men in the room fell silent, fully immersed in the performance.

Ruan Xuezong pushed open the door. Sure enough, there under the moonlight stood the young monk, caressing the strings.

The monk’s head was slightly bowed, the strings quivering beneath his fingertips. His profile was handsome and refined, a gentle smile playing on his lips.

Ruan Xuezong stood at the threshold, hands clasped behind his back.

Since the monk had invited him with music, he would appreciate it openly.

Ruan Xuezong noticed that once the young monk realized he had an audience under the moonlight, the playing became even more seamless and natural, producing a wondrous effect. It was as if the monk knew exactly what Ruan Xuezong wanted to hear next—the tune would flow low like water one moment, then shift precisely as desired the next.

The young monk’s poise was otherworldly and refined, whether in his lowered gaze or the casual flick of his fingers across the strings. An indescribable charm permeated every gesture.

Drawn by the music, Shen Jiangling stepped out as well. He stood shoulder to shoulder with Ruan Xuezong, both savoring the now even more enchanting melody.

But then, abruptly, the tune changed.

“So, Layman Ruan has a prior engagement with a beauty tonight. This monk has intruded.” Under the starlight and moon, the young monk’s hands suddenly hovered above the strings.

Shen Jiangling instinctively reached for his fan, feeling a touch of embarrassment. It wasn’t the teasing implication of being the “beauty” that flustered him; rather, it was that he had just been discussing a certain someone with Young Friend Ruan when that someone promptly appeared.

“Playing the qin by moonlight—truly elegant, Master,” he said reflexively, though he knew full well that since the monk had chosen to play near Ruan Xuezong’s courtyard, the invitation was not meant for him.

The young monk made no reply. His hands descended silently, resuming the unfinished piece.

Yet the smile on his handsome face faded slightly, and the lingering notes took on a cold, austere edge, unlike the first half. The music already evoked the chill of the evening breeze, but now that chill intensified, pouring from all directions into their collars and sending shivers through their bodies.

Ruan Xuezong, ever sensitive to the cold, quietly drew his cloak tighter around himself.

He was no stranger to music and recognized the shift—from an inviting welcome to a curt dismissal. He retreated silently to his room.

The players in the courtyard, however, were utterly entranced, their heads stacked with buffs. On the forums, praise for Du Rulan had reached a fever pitch.

The Clear Wind Fishing Ground lay along East Sea Bay, and as the name suggested, it was rich in fishing and gathering spots. The fishing enthusiasts were thrilled. Back in Jiangnan City, they caught only freshwater fish, but here they hauled in river fish alongside bountiful sea catches.

They sold some of the fish and cooked the rest.

For days, Ruan Xuezong’s meals had consisted entirely of seafood. The players steamed oysters and clams, their tender white flesh succulent and fresh. Drizzled with vinegar or the players’ specially crafted fish sauce, they were delectable.

He made a point of eating extra during the day, knowing full well that the full moon night was imminent and a fierce battle loomed.

That night, the young monk’s qin played right on schedule.

At first, Ruan Xuezong thought it was another invitation. But after responding a few times to the monk’s silent smile, he began to feel he was reading too much into it.

Everyone who heard the music probably thought Master Rulan was summoning them personally.

This time, Ruan Xuezong stayed put. As soon as the notes began, he turned in early—and slept soundly despite his exhaustion. He had no idea that, under the moonlight, a ethereal figure in red robes drifted to the player of the qin.

The musician let out a soft chuckle, laced with hypnotic power. “Go on, then. Take your Mandarin Duck Swords. Kill anyone who stands in your way.”

The figure in red slowly raised her face—a beauty so stunning that “nation-toppling” was an understatement. Yet now her complexion was deathly pale, her pupils dilated, like a exquisite puppet stripped of will.

As she listened, the chaos in her mind cleared. On this night of the full moon, nothing in the world mattered but the qin player and his desires.

“Good… I’ll take my Mandarin Duck Swords and kill anyone who tries to stop me,” she murmured.

It was the hour of xu, between seven and nine at night, when Ruan Xuezong jolted awake. The Clear Wind Fishing Ground was in utter pandemonium. The Demonic Cult Saintess had regained her freedom and was laughing triumphantly. Players clashed with black-clad assailants who seemed to drop from the sky, their movements hampered and hesitant.

Ruan Xuezong spotted the reason immediately.

Amid the chaotic crowd, a flash of red stood out starkly. It was a sword of breathtaking beauty, its blade a vivid crimson that rippled like water with every swing. The peerless beauty wielding twin blades left bloody trails in her wake, her eyes vacant yet brimming with murderous intent. All who beheld her felt a chill of dread.

Spotting Ruan Xuezong, one player clutched his wound and rushed over to explain.

“It’s bad, Young Master! Miss Mingzhu suddenly burst into the dungeon. Elder Gong had instructed the servants that no one could enter without his permission. But the young miss outranks everyone save Elder Gong himself, and her martial prowess is formidable. The servants couldn’t stop her. Just as they were about to report to Elder Gong, she slit their throats… The last servant fled in terror to find Old Lord Gong, only to discover Elder Gong gravely wounded in his room, the keys on him stolen by the young miss.”

“She used the keys to free the Demonic Sect witch, and everything spiraled out of control.”

Ruan Xuezong understood the players’ hesitation now. They could fight the Demonic Sects without mercy, but with the young miss siding with them and striking at players, it was different. Young and deadly skilled—a second-rate expert in the rivers and lakes—she cut through players like a hot knife through butter. They felt utterly powerless against her.

Anyone who hesitated at the sight of her face would be sent straight to the respawn point with a single stroke.

The battle hung heavily in her favor.

“She must be under control,” Ruan Xuezong said gravely. “Where is Hero Shen?”

“Hero Shen is holding off the Demonic Sect.”

The players had anticipated various Demonic Sect tactics, but never this one.

Elder Gong had long since stored the Sea Roar Sword in Clear Wind Pavilion, guarded by countless experts and players. The black-clad invaders clearly sought that sword, and now Gong Mingzhu and the Demonic Sect forces were converging on it. The outer defenses strained under the assault.

To make matters worse, endless black-clad figures emerged, loosing flaming arrows that sealed off the area watertight.

With every arrow, a player burst into flames and fell. Soon, the grounds blazed fiercely.

Ruan Xuezong was about to confront Gong Mingzhu head-on when a voice called out.

“Manor Lord Ruan, don’t…” He turned to see Gong Xiao, supported by players who had rushed to treat him. The man, over fifty, was ashen-faced, blood bubbling from his chest. “Manor Lord Ruan, don’t hurt her. My daughter is the child of my old age. Her skills are no match for yours, but the Demonic Sects laid their plans months ago… That warning letter was their final ultimatum…” They had all imagined demonic schemes, but not this: one of their own turning against them. Gong Mingzhu had freed the witch and stabbed her own father, staining the Clear Wind Fishing Ground with blood.

As he spoke, fresh blood trickled from his mouth. The players paled in fright and hurriedly dabbed it with white cloths.

Under control and mindless, Gong Mingzhu wielded her Mandarin Duck Swords at their peak, her jade-like beauty and rainbow arcs of sword light mesmerizing. But tragically, she struck at her own father!

“I won’t lay a hand on the young miss,” Ruan Xuezong assured him.

Even if he did, it would be pointless. Whoever controlled Gong Mingzhu knew that full well. She was a sword in relentless motion, gripped by an enemy to sow chaos in the Clear Wind Fishing Ground—a mere tool.

Striking the tool achieved nothing; the puppeteer was the target.

Flames raged everywhere, the clamor of weapons and cries filling the air. Ruan Xuezong closed his eyes briefly and, amid the din, isolated the faint vibration of qin strings.

He pursued it at once.

Under the moonlight, Du Rulan still played, his eyes narrowed, his monastic robe draped casually. An elegant smile graced his face. “Layman Ruan, you’ve finally arrived.”

He was not surprised that Ruan Xuezong had found him.

Ruan Xuezong noted how each pluck of the strings matched the rhythm of Gong Mingzhu’s twin blades. Sound waves rippled through the night, guiding the puppet to her master’s will.

Ruan Xuezong wasted no words. He surged forward like a startled swan, striking with a palm—decisive and lethal, aimed at the fatal point.

A faint mocking smile touched the young monk’s lips. “Layman Ruan, are you sure you want to kill me? With a flick of my finger, Miss Gong will slit her own throat faster than your palm can reach me.”

Ruan Xuezong hesitated for that instant, and the monk nimbly evaded, resuming his playing. The qin rang out more fiercely.

Shouts echoed from the fray: “Bad news! The young miss got the sword! It’s fallen into Demonic Sect hands!”

“Worse! She’s like a walking corpse now, holding her Mandarin Duck Swords to her own neck! Damn these despicable Demonic Sect bastards!”

The Demonic Sect Saintess’s silvery laughter rang through the air, soon escalating to a raucous cackle.

With things at this pass, what could Ruan Xuezong do? He withdrew. “Release Miss Gong.”

The Sea Roar Sword was theirs now; the Demonic Sects had no reason to linger unless they aimed to raze the Clear Wind Fishing Ground entirely.

“You’re an intriguing man, Layman Ruan,” Du Rulan said, glancing remotely at him. “From the moment you first laid eyes on me, your gaze held suspicion and calm. This monk is curious—what gave me away?”

“Your shoulder.”

“My shoulder?” Du Rulan’s eyes narrowed with interest. He followed Ruan Xuezong’s gaze to his left shoulder and understood at once.

Beneath his monastic robes, his left shoulder bulged slightly, stuffed with something.

Most wouldn’t notice, but Ruan Xuezong’s perception was keen. He had spotted it immediately—and suspected falconry.

Handlers of eagles and hawks wore armor or metal guards to protect their shoulders from talons. Du Rulan did the same. Habit had him donning his white robe and cassock, but that raised shoulder had betrayed him from the start.

Disguise arts in the rivers and lakes could alter bearing, features, even identity with ease. Whether a blooming maiden or a decrepit elder stood before him, Ruan Xuezong rarely saw through it.

But after the black eagle’s attack came Du Rulan, and the incongruity stood out.

Eagles were carnivores, craving fresh blood, scorning carrion.

Buddhists abhorred killing, pitying even a crushed ant. Yet a high monk keeping an eagle? Spare him the tales of Buddha feeding eagles his flesh or sacrificing to tigers. Tao Caiyan had eyed that eagle with gleaming hope, like a lifeline—which meant it belonged to a Demonic Sect elite.

“You guessed right, Layman Ruan.” Du Rulan chuckled lightly and whistled skyward. Soon, a black eagle descended to perch on his left shoulder.

Man and bird were intimate as kin, their audacity stark against the inferno. Wounded players gaped in shock.

This raid had cost the Clear Wind Fishing Ground dearly, while the Demonic Sects remained ruthlessly focused.

“The Sea Roar Sword is ours. Withdraw,” Du Rulan commanded. At his word, the black-clad figures melted into the darkness like bats, traceless and silent.

What Ruan Xuezong hadn’t expected was that, as Du Rulan departed, the red-clad puppet stirred. She struck Shen Jiangling aside with her flowing sleeves, then wandered blankly after the black-clad horde.

The injured players stood stunned, frantic as ants on a hot pan. “Mingzhu—!” Old Lord Gong went deathly pale, trembling violently before spewing a desperate mouthful of blood.

“This girl’s a nuisance, still mooning over Lan-ge. Shall I finish her?” Tao Caiyan sneered, her dagger poised for the throat.

In that instant, a soaring palm shadow whistled down, swift as a meteor. With the whoosh of displaced air, the silent strike landed on the young monk. His white cassock stained crimson.

Ruan Xuezong traversed with peerless lightness skill, as if treading the moon. His hand gleamed like carved jade under the light, brighter even than the moon itself.

Tao Caiyan’s face twisted in horror. She shrieked instinctively.

This was her second glimpse of Ruan Xuezong’s palm strike. The first had been fierce and domineering, like a prairie fire against her. This one was soft and soundless, seamlessly one with the moonlight—like a night spirit, pure and transcendent, overwhelming all.

The qin fell utterly silent.

[Ding! You faced the enemy head-on, your skill astonishing all present and saving Gong Mingzhu’s life. Clear Wind Fishing Ground faction favorability +3000.]