Chapter 6: Bright Moon, Big Dipper, Yet Rain Falls

Lin Zhuoyu formed a seal to undo the Silence Art on himself, just as a roar of flame burst skyward from the distant Heaven-Worship Arena.

Night had fallen. The seven red cords on the altar shot up into the sky, linking toward the Big Dipper’s seven stars.

The Big Dipper Festival had begun.

Yan Su left one golden talisman at Lin Zhuoyu’s side, instructing, “Do not wander. And do not go near.”

“Mm.”

“The Violet Fox is a master of disguise. If anyone deliberately approaches you—no matter who—activate the talisman at once.”

“Oh.”

Yuan Jiucang watched from the side in awe.

In this one stretch, Commander Yan had spoken enough for half a year—and by the looks of it, he could keep instructing for another half hour yet.

Getting no response, Yan Su frowned. “Why are you not answering?”

“Oh, do I need to reply?” Lin Zhuoyu covered his mouth in mock astonishment. “You cast the Silence Art on me, Eldest Senior Brother—I thought you never wanted to hear Little Junior Brother’s voice again in this life.”

Yan Su: “…”

Lin Zhuoyu laughed heartily and gave him a push. “Go on. I’m not a child anymore—I know to run from danger.”

Still uneasy, Yan Su left a second talisman behind before departing.

It was Lin Zhuoyu’s first Big Dipper Festival. He loved the qilin dance, and he light-footedly trailed behind the dancers, his robe hem bouncing, blossoming like a flower.

The Dipper’s starlight overhead echoed the seven lamps’ glow, growing ever brighter. When the Dipper’s power peaked, the Violet Fox would most likely emerge to draw in spiritual power.

The Bureau’s Envoys spread out, guarding the perimeter.

Lin Zhuoyu spent lavishly on a Qilin Mask, its brow corner hastily tacked with small nails and sitting loose and crooked. He tugged at it to straighten it, his gaze sweeping lightly across the distance.

“Hm?”

The Violet Fox still had not appeared?

Or its disguise was good enough to evade the Bureau’s probing—hence its confidence.

Lin Zhuoyu pondered, then suddenly snapped his fingers. “Qingru.”

His life-bound artifact “Qingru” drifted silently out of the jade on his spirit sword’s tassel, the flowing water winding through Lin Zhuoyu’s fingers, nuzzling him affectionately.

Lin Zhuoyu flicked a finger. “Go.”

The water, bearing petal after petal of peach blossom, shot skyward like an arrow loosed from the bowstring.

Atop the Bureau’s highest watchtower.

Ling Wensong sat on the edge swinging his legs, watching the crowds seethe below, and gave a soft scoff.

His Envoy stood behind him, asking hesitantly, “Commander, are you not going to help?”

Ling Wensong sneered, “The Bureau’s spirit-grade artifacts did not detect a whiff of the Violet Fox. Help with what—be clowns together?”

The Envoy’s mouth twitched. “Then what you said to Little Immortal Lord Lin earlier…”

Ling Wensong shot him a sideways glance.

The Envoy shut up at once.

Ling Wensong snorted, wearing the smugness of a man settling in for a good show. “Yan Su’s arrogance. If the Violet Fox slips away this time, Lin Zhuoyu or no Lin Zhuoyu, I will not let him off. Let him wait for the Chief Officer’s censure.”

As he spoke, a drop of water landed lightly on his cheek.

Ling Wensong frowned.

This year’s festival was special—every city had spent months preparing. Even with a Great Demon on the loose, it had not been called off, and the date was an auspicious one calculated countless times over. Rain was impossible.

Ling Wensong raised a hand to wipe it away; the water solidified and floated in his palm.

“Boundless Water?”

In all the Three Realms, only Lin Zhuoyu’s “Qingru” could command the Boundless Water.

“Qingru” had been condensed by Daoist Lord Tongxu from the boundless waters of a long river; poured upon demonkind, it would ignite eerie blue fire in an instant.

The bright moon hung high; the Big Dipper blazed.

Yan Su stood in the falling rain, five golden talismans circling him.

The instant the rain began, the talismans turned to sharp threads, surging irresistibly toward a corner of the arena.

“Hsss—”

When Qingru’s water struck the figure in black robes, it ignited blue flame as if corroding.

“Ah!” The figure shrieked, caught off guard, stumbling to its knees. The golden talisman detonated; a second followed close behind, becoming chains.

CLANG!

A burst of spiritual power forced the binding open, knocking the chains askew.

The talismans plunged three feet into the ground and blew back the figure’s hood, revealing a half-human, half-beast true form.

The Violet Fox had attained human form—except its head remained a fox’s, grotesquely crowned with a snow-white skull bone mask. Its worship interrupted, it bared sharp fangs in fury.

Yan Su’s talismans were blindingly fast; half a breath after the Violet Fox’s true form showed itself, the third arrived before it, slamming its body into a peach tree with a thunderclap.

Its back crushed, the Violet Fox choked out a mouthful of blood.

Yan Su stood tall as a crane; the fourth talisman crawled up the Violet Fox’s neck across the back of his hand, his eyes utterly without ripple, as if he were regarding a dead thing.

“Yan Linyuan…”

The Violet Fox’s face was full of hate; it got out only three syllables before the sharp talisman cleanly severed its neck.

The fox head tumbled to the tree roots, blood spattering the ground.

The peach blossoms bloomed ever fuller.

Lin Zhuoyu had been marveling with the crowd at the sight of rain falling upon the moonlit Dipper when his gaze, following Qingru, swept past—and he let out a puzzled “Eh?”

Yan Su’s brows knotted. The Violet Fox that should have become a corpse had silently turned into a single fox tail.

Severing its tail to escape.

The Violet Fox excelled at disguise—but tail-severing was a first.

Lin Zhuoyu seemed to realize something; eyes closing, he summoned Qingru again, every droplet under his command, sweeping over houses, tree shade—everywhere a person could hide.

Drip.

The sound of water striking the ground rang like a great bell in his ears. Lin Zhuoyu’s eyes snapped open, and his figure vanished like water mist.

The tailless fox demon fled wretchedly down an alley. Trading a tail for its life, it had escaped—but gravely wounded, blood spattering the ground in scarlet blossoms.

It needed to choose a new bone mask…

The fox demon staggered forward. The alley’s end opened onto the teeming crowds—snatch any one head at random, and it might yet form its core at the festival.

Gasping, scrambling on all fours, it lunged forward—and in the instant before the alley mouth, a clear voice sounded by its ear.

“Eldest Senior Brother.”

The fox demon whipped around.

Before it could see who had come, a spirit sword pierced the void with a sharp whistle, punching precisely through its waist and pinning it dead against the wall.

Agony wracked the fox demon’s whole body; its blurred vision barely focused on a green figure alighting lightly, a child’s Qilin Mask of blessing and exorcism at his cheek.

“You…”

This one possessed a beauty rare even among demonkind; when he smiled, the corners of his eyes curved, like peach petals fallen on jade ripples—soothing to the soul.

“You lack the talent and the brains. You could not form your core even at the Big Dipper Festival. Stop creating more slaughter.”

The fox demon glared at him venomously, speaking human words. “Does killing a human count as sin?”

Lin Zhuoyu regarded it—and suddenly smiled. “Humans and demons truly cannot speak the same language. Let me ask you: does the Fox Clan have a Great Demon with ‘Qing’ in its name?”

The fox demon sneered. “And why would I—”

Lin Zhuoyu’s hand closed on Eldest Senior Brother’s sword hilt and gave a featherlight turn.

The fox demon’s scream tore out. “Ahh—!”

The sharp blade, together with Qingru’s water vapor, ignited violently inside its body.

Lin Zhuoyu watched it and said softly, “I don’t like foxes. The mere sight of that face makes me want to vomit—if I have no answer within three breaths, I will have no choice but to hand you over to the Demon Suppression Bureau.”

Remembering the man who had beheaded it without the slightest hesitation, the fox demon shuddered involuntarily.

Lin Zhuoyu: “Three. Two…”

The fox demon truly was not clever. Watching “one” about to fall, it blurted, “Wait! Of the Fox Clan, only one lineage bears ‘Qing’…”

Lin Zhuoyu: “Which?!”

Fox demon: “Qing… shan…”

But before it could finish, a strange sigil appeared at its throat, wrenching tight around its neck—and then its tongue, as if melting, dropped to the ground with a plop.

Lin Zhuoyu was startled.

Watching it about to be strangled to death by the sigil, Lin Zhuoyu instantly activated his art. “Subtle Probe!”

The Subtle Probe Art was a forbidden technique, forcibly invading a person’s Sea of Consciousness and divine soul to search their memories—and exacting backlash in return.

But the Fox Clan was rarely encountered, its hidden power unheard of—this was the first fox demon to appear in the world in fifteen years.

There was no time to think. Knowing Yan Su was nearly upon them, Lin Zhuoyu drove the intricate art into the fox demon’s brow.

…He was still one step too late.

A golden talisman and a golden seal arrived simultaneously from two directions, piercing and crushing the fox demon’s head and heart.

Lin Zhuoyu’s “Subtle Probe” landed on nothing.

Ling Wensong landed from sword flight. “Junior Brother Wuyou, are you hurt?!”

Lin Zhuoyu: “Tch.”

Ling Wensong: “?”

Did he hear that right?

Lin Zhuoyu turned in the dim alley; candlelight lit his face, dispelling the momentary gloom that had flashed across it. His peach-blossom eyes curved as he smiled. “Nothing serious. Many thanks for the rescue, Senior Brother Wensong.”

Ling Wensong stepped closer, took one look—and realized the fox demon’s limbs were already bound by two golden talismans, its waist pierced and nailed to the wall by Lin Zhuoyu’s spirit sword. He had not been needed to play the hero at all.

Yet Lin Zhuoyu said nothing of it, and was still thanking him.

Ling Wensong felt a touch awkward—and, somewhere within, a touch warmed.

A man like Yan Su—how did he deserve such a fine junior brother?

As he thought it, that disagreeable voice sounded behind him. “Lin Zhuoyu.”

Yan Su had struck one of the killing blows against the fox demon too, but Lin Zhuoyu did not dare “tch” at his own senior brother; guiltily tucking his tail, he trotted over, more docile than he had ever been.

“Eldest Senior Brother was amazing! If the golden talisman hadn’t come in time, that fox demon would have eaten me! Your life-saving grace cannot be repaid—I have no choice but to offer myself in marriage!”

Yan Su’s face was frighteningly cold. He did not rebuke him in front of outsiders—just seized Lin Zhuoyu’s hand and strode off.

Ling Wensong watched their departing backs, brow arching lightly.

All these years clashing with Yan Su, he had never once seen his face so ugly.

How strange. What exactly was the relationship between these two?

Dragged out of the alley mouth, Lin Zhuoyu remembered something and hurried to say, “Senior Brother, Senior Brother…”

Yan Su turned to look at him coldly.

Lin Zhuoyu had never seen Yan Su this angry; his voice shrank smaller and smaller, and he mumbled, “I-I-the Qilin Mask I bought fell on the ground. Wait while I pick it up, okay? …N-not picking it up is fine too.”

Yan Su raised a hand and beckoned; the Qilin Mask lying far off flew to his palm.

Seeing blood on it, he wiped it spotless with his cuff before gently settling it back on Lin Zhuoyu’s head.

Yan Su said coldly, “Anything else to pick up?”

Lin Zhuoyu said softly, “Yes.”

Under Yan Su’s icy gaze, Lin Zhuoyu bent and rummaged haphazardly at the ground, then cupped his hands together and raised them in solemn ceremony, holding a pile of air, and pronounced in a grave voice, “I have picked up my reverence for Eldest Senior Brother.”

Yan Su: “…”

Seeing him still grinning and joking, Yan Su said coldly, “Hand.”

Lin Zhuoyu choked, attempting one last struggle. “Eldest Senior Brother…”

Yan Su: “Do not make me say it twice.”

Lin Zhuoyu steeled himself and extended his hand—the remnant of the Subtle Probe Art still clinging to his palm.

For an instant, a crack split Yan Su’s ageless face; the pads of his fingers gripping Lin Zhuoyu’s wrist pressed down involuntarily, as if at the very limit of restraint.

“Lin Zhuoyu. For all your learning, you should know the price of the Subtle Probe Art.”