“A cup of tea’s worth of time—what could possibly happen? That girl was hired by someone to find me. I exchanged a few words with her and gave her a jade pendant.” In the Rivers and Lakes, taking on commissions was as commonplace as eating or drinking, so no one present harbored any doubts.
“That’s not right. I clearly heard the sound of an embroidered stool toppling over.” A burly man chimed in. He was a guest staying in the room below Heavenly Character Room Number Seven. “It was muffled through the blanket, but I definitely heard it.”
After hearing Ruan Xuezong’s explanation—which had initially convinced Head Constable Zheng—the officer scolded the burly man. “You can hear everything from upstairs and downstairs that clearly? Now be honest and confess!” At the same time, he fixed Ruan Xuezong with a piercing gaze once more. “An embroidered stool fell over. Did the two of you come to blows?”
Ruan Xuezong shook his head. “The girl simply glimpsed my face and seemed startled. She tumbled off the embroidered stool.”
What kind of grotesquely hideous face could scare someone like that?
Everyone’s thoughts turned to the great fire at Heart Washing Manor five years prior. Ruan Xuezong, the sole survivor of that manor, had escaped by sheer luck, but his features had likely been ruined beyond recognition—that was why he always wore a mask. Everyone present had seen their share of burns ravaged by raging blazes during their travels through the jianghu: blackened and festering sores, or vivid crimson scars crawling across necks and faces like demons from hell, enough to terrify the stoutest heart.
Ruan Xuezong seized the moment to reveal his true appearance to the crowd. A pair of jade-like hands, pale and flawless, reached for his mask, as if to remove it and prove his words.
At the sight of his gesture, nearly everyone in the inn rushed to stop him—save for a few thrill-seekers eager for the spectacle. “No need, Young Master Ruan. We’re just investigating a case here; you don’t have to go that far.” As for his claim that his unmasked face had frightened a young woman, virtually everyone believed it now. Sympathy welled up in many hearts.
“A real man treading the jianghu values substance over looks, young friend. No need to reopen old wounds.” Shen Jiangling’s eyes betrayed a flicker of pity as he extended the handle of his fan to gently restrain Ruan Xuezong’s hand.
“I’m fine. These scars have long since healed.” Ruan Xuezong’s tone was indifferent, carrying a sense of nonchalance. In his view, the mask would have to come off eventually; now was as good a time as any.
Even if healed, it was probably still ugly as sin. Better not to look—they still had to eat and sleep here tonight. Nightmares awaited anyone who did! That was the collective sentiment in the inn, and people began steering the conversation elsewhere.
“Go on, take it off.” The only one grinning unabashedly was the youth named Nan Fuli. “I’d love to see just how hideous it could be. I happen to know a divine physician of the jianghu. If I take a look, I can send word to him—he might be able to treat Manor Lord Ruan’s old facial injuries.”
He took Ruan Xuezong for some kind of sideshow.
Ruan Xuezong withdrew his hand and replied coolly, “Thanks, but no need.”
Ruan Xuezong could boldly guess that this so-called divine physician was none other than Rain Flower Godlord, the leader of the Life-Death Sect under the Demonic Sects.
Rain Flower Godlord could raise the dead and restore flesh to its pristine whiteness, earning him the moniker of divine physician of the Demonic Sects beyond his sect leader title. His methods, however, were utterly horrifying and utterly unorthodox. For instance, if a woman’s skin had died and rotted away, he could make her bloom with beauty anew—by transplanting skin from the dead onto her face using his secret techniques. Whether one sought even greater beauty or a simple return to normalcy, his way could achieve it.
If someone wished to don a new face and start life anew, and if Rain Flower Godlord took a liking to them, he could grant that wish. The method remained brutally crude: presenting them with a fresh human skin.
Letting a man like that treat his face? Ruan Xuezong’s first instinct would be to slap him away.
The Life-Death Sect’s morbid obsession with corpses permeated from top to bottom. The one redeeming quality—if it could be called that—was that they never experimented on the living. Otherwise, the righteous sects would have long convened a martial alliance conference to wipe out this Demonic Cult in one fell swoop.
That was a digression.
The youth’s casual mention of Rain Flower Godlord, delivered with such nonchalance, only confirmed Ruan Xuezong’s suspicions: the boy was undoubtedly from the Demonic Sects.
After Ruan Xuezong spoke, the burly man followed up with his own account. “I wasn’t eavesdropping on purpose, I swear. I was closing my window when I heard a girl’s laughter from upstairs. I caught a flash of green skirt hem as she entered the room above… I got curious, and not long after, I heard the embroidered stool crash down. Soon, I heard the girl stumbling out the door…”
The burly man insisted he hadn’t meant to eavesdrop, yet he’d recounted every detail so clearly. Wasn’t that eavesdropping? Jianghu folk despised such sneaky types the most.
The inn’s guests shot him disdainful looks.
This at least cleared Ruan Xuezong of suspicion—for the green-clad girl had still been alive and well when she left Heavenly Character Room Number Seven.
The players turned their investigations elsewhere. Thanks to that youth’s lead-in, the guests were reasonably cooperative. Liars were quickly exposed by neighbors in adjacent rooms.
A motley array of stories emerged: illicit trysts between men and women, impromptu flute serenades, jianghu vendettas, provocations, midnight martial practice. Head Constable Zheng grew furious. “Fine. You jianghu folk, none of you sleep in the dead of night.”
After a full round of questioning, he still eyed Ruan Xuezong with the most suspicion. “You say Green Apricot Girl was hired to find you. Why not come during the day? Why wait until the middle of the night?”
“Because the girl clearly intended to seduce me with her charms from the start—otherwise, she wouldn’t have come of her own accord.” Shen Jiangling smiled, the knowing smile of a perceptive adult man.
A girl already exceedingly beautiful and alluring, fawning over a hideously disfigured man with eyes of admiration? By common sense, it wouldn’t be strange if some tale of youthful infatuation unfolded that night. The one who had hired her clearly had ulterior motives.
“Close enough.” Ruan Xuezong was displeased. “I’d like to ask Head Constable Zheng’s fine nephew: that rich young master Wang Sheng used losing his sword as an excuse to provoke me in broad daylight, forcing my hand. The inn’s guests all witnessed the might of the Wash Heart Palm Technique. That evening, the green-clad girl lavished me with praise. Come midnight, she arrived under the pretext of admiring my prowess, took my token, and the next day, her corpse turned up in her room. I could claim this is a crude and vicious frame job.”
Head Constable Zheng wouldn’t hear it. He retorted coldly.
“Wang Sheng may be a worthless brat, but he wouldn’t lay a hand on anyone, let alone with his pathetic three-legged-cat skills—how many could he even hurt? He might have hired the green-clad girl, but he’s not the killer.” As for why Wang Sheng had vanished, beyond fleeing in guilt, Zheng couldn’t think of anything else. After all, a horse in the inn’s stable had mysteriously dropped dead overnight just yesterday.
Meanwhile, the players’ investigation had hit a wall.
They had questioned every suspicious person in the inn. Among the blade-wielding jianghu folk, aside from Ruan Xuezong, there wasn’t a single newly adult palm practitioner. The trail went cold there.
The stables yielded no clues either—no suspicious footprints. The surviving horses lay weakly, their damp eyes gazing at the players as if trying to convey something, but the language barrier held.
This left the players heartsick. “If only I could speak horse.”
Just as the players were at a loss, Five-Colored Mottled Black pondered his serial title in his mind: “Shocking! Horses drained of blood overnight in bizarre deaths—is this a mutation of humanity or the Demonic Sects’ moral decay?” Then he spotted a red-clad child sauntering by.
The boy looked about eight or nine, with a precocious air about him. Without thinking, Five-Colored Mottled Black blocked his path and asked routinely, “Little brother, where were you at midnight last night? Did you see any strange, suspicious figures?”
“I was sleeping in my room.” The child’s eyes darted around before he pointed at Ruan Xuezong. “The strange one is that kid in the white cloak, isn’t it?”
Five-Colored Mottled Black was speechless. “Kid? Manners, kid. You should call him big brother.”
The red-clad boy pursed his lips. “Anyway, he’s the strange one. Why hasn’t Head Constable Zheng arrested him yet?”
The other players, overhearing, put hands on hips. “What do you know, you brat? Zongzong would never be the killer.” “Everyone, calm down. He’s just a child—what does he know?”
“This is the time for that classic line: the most obvious suspect is never the culprit!”
“And don’t forget: once you eliminate the impossible, whatever remains, no matter how improbable, must be the truth! Hahaha!”
The players chatted and laughed, heading off to relay the gathered intel to Ruan Xuezong. They completely missed the child’s face twisting into a sinister scowl as he glared at the blockheads before hurrying away, head down.
As he passed the inn’s guests, Ruan Xuezong suddenly called out, “Little brother, you’re staying in a Heavenly Character room too. Could you stop for a moment and let me see your hand?”
The child halted but kept his head down, silent.
All eyes in the inn turned to them. Head Constable Zheng frowned. “What do you need to see a child’s hand for, Young Master Ruan?”
Intimidated by the gazes of the assembled heroes, the boy tremblingly extended a soft, boneless little hand. The sight tugged at many wanderers’ heartstrings.
“Has Head Constable Zheng forgotten? Those who train in martial arts from childhood inevitably develop thick calluses. Spear users have spear calluses, swordsmen have sword calluses, and palm practitioners have palm calluses…” Ruan Xuezong spoke calmly, then spread his own palm.
Head Constable Zheng paused, then instinctively glanced at his own hand. Sure enough, the calluses differed from Ruan Xuezong’s.
In his previous life, by a stroke of coincidence, Ruan Xuezong had seen the hands of Qi Hongxin, the world’s foremost bladesman. They were broad and sturdy, knuckles prominent like the man himself, with heavy calluses on the fingertips and tiger’s mouth—sharp as a drawn blade, giving a dull sensation upon touch.
Afterward, Ruan Xuezong had put some effort into studying hand calluses. Now, at least, he wouldn’t be fooled into mistaking a laborer for a disguised martial expert.
To ordinary folk, the calluses on this child’s hands might seem like those from chores.
But the jianghu veterans in the inn had eagle eyes. They spotted it at once: those calluses had formed over more than a decade.
Why would a child under ten have such thick calluses? Had he trained in the womb? Impossible!
An old tale sprang to Ruan Xuezong’s mind. “Over twenty years ago, a thief gang called the Plum-Breaking Four Bandits terrorized Jinling City. They abducted a merchant’s daughter on her way to burn incense, extorting nearly two-thirds of his fortune. They even hijacked an imperial escort from the Jinling Escort Agency before vanishing into the jianghu, their whereabouts unknown to this day. When the official arrest warrant came down, the leader turned out to be the beloved disciple of the Kunlun Abbot, renowned for his peerless palm arts. Later, it was said he went mad from cultivation deviation, his body shrinking one cycle every ten years. Such a perverse life-reversing art would demand extreme measures to sustain even briefly—like bloodsucking…”
That old case had cast a long shadow over Jinling City. The crowd’s hearts chilled, and Head Constable Zheng drew his blade.
Seeing his cover blown, the red-clad child grinned mockingly, a ghostly blur darting for the exit. In an instant, he was a thousand meters away.
Ruan Xuezong raised his palm at once, pursuing without pause. Seeing the others still stunned, he barked, “The Plum-Breaking Four Bandits number four. Young Master Wang may be in mortal danger…”
No further prompting was needed. The crowd snapped to it: the bandits in hiding, the missing son of Jinling City’s richest man—this was no small case.
Head Constable Zheng paled and charged after them, blade in hand.
The players were shocked too. The recording team buzzed with excitement, leaping into lightfoot skill to follow—and capturing Ruan Xuezong’s palm strike felling the red-clad boy from afar like a sack. The child had framed him with palm arts, never dreaming Ruan Xuezong’s Wash Heart Palm Technique had reached divine mastery.
“Aaaah, close-up shot! This episode’s views are gonna explode.”
Nan Fuli clapped in delight. “Young Master Ruan is truly brilliant, with martial prowess to match.”
Ruan Xuezong replied coolly, “Spare me the flattery. This was clearly the scene you wanted me to see last night with your flute, wasn’t it?” The man’s ambiguous mix of righteousness and evil, plus his unclear identity, put Ruan Xuezong on high alert.
Indeed, Ruan Xuezong remembered now. After extinguishing his candle, he’d caught a faint, elusive flute melody. It chilled the heart like silken threads, endless and suggestive, as if whispering secrets.
Under some unknown bewitchment, Ruan Xuezong had opened his window and peered down. The stables lay just below—not far at all. Had he looked closely, he’d have seen a red-clad boy tearing into a horse’s neck, guzzling blood raw. Perhaps as he stepped out, he’d overheard the neighboring couple.
“You did well. Go report to Wangshu. This is your reward from this young master—enough for a lifetime of comfort.”
“Thank you, young master. But Green Apricot has a secret for you too: Young Master Ruan wasn’t swayed by my charms. The face beneath his mask outshines mine tenfold, a hundredfold…”
“What nonsense are you spouting in the dead of night, girl… Who’s there!?” That night must have been a thriller—a mantis stalking the cicada, unaware of the oriole behind.
