Chapter 32

Shen Qingqiu jolted upright in the boat.

A floating corpse! Gods damn it all!

He’d just finished saying “the water’s so clear” and now a corpse had to drift into view? Could the universe not slap him in the face quite so hard?

Liu Qingge hooked the floating body with the boat pole and flipped it over. Another skeleton. It had been wrapped head-to-toe in black cloth and was face-down in the water, which was why they hadn’t noticed at first.

“Junior Brother Mu,” Shen Qingqiu asked, “have you ever heard of a plague that can reduce a person to bare bones in an instant?”

Mu Qingfang shook his head. “Never.”

Going against the current meant stagnation was regression. After lingering for a while, their small boat had already drifted back some distance. Liu Qingge took up the pole again. A moment later, he said, “There are more ahead.”

Sure enough, five or six more bodies floated toward them, all skeletons wrapped in black cloth, identical to the first.

Shen Qingqiu was concentrating on this puzzle when Liu Qingge suddenly thrust the long pole into the stone wall beside them. The slender, brittle bamboo sank straight into the hard, seamless rock as if piercing mud. The boat jolted to a halt. Sensing the disturbance, Shen Qingqiu stood abruptly. “Who’s there?”

From the darkness ahead came the sound of ragged breathing. The lantern at their bow faintly illuminated a human silhouette. A young voice demanded, “Who are you? Skulking around in the underground river—what’s your business?”

“I was about to ask you the same thing,” Shen Qingqiu replied.

Though he stood on a rickety little boat, his dark hair and green robes, the long sword at his waist, and his utterly composed demeanor gave him an air of transcendent grace. By now, Shen Qingqiu had honed the art of acting the part to a fine science—he had his own style, and it was quite convincing. The youth clearly hadn’t expected someone who looked the part so well. After a stunned pause, he shouted, “Get out of here! No one’s allowed into the city right now!”

Liu Qingge snorted. “You? Who could you possibly stop?”

“There’s plague in the city!” the boy retorted. “Leave if you want to live!”

Mu Qingfang spoke gently. “Little brother, we’ve come precisely for that reason…”

Seeing they wouldn’t be swayed, the boy yelled in frustration, “Are you deaf? Get lost! Now! Or I won’t be polite!” Before the words had fully left his mouth, a spear thrust toward them, its momentum fierce enough to be intimidating. Liu Qingge gave a cold laugh, pulled the pole from the wall, and with a flick of its tip, sent the boy flying into the water. Shen Qingqiu listened to the furious splashing and sputtering curses. “Should we fish him out?”

“He’s got plenty of energy. Leave him,” Liu Qingge said, and resumed poling. “We’re going into the city.”

The three emerged from the underground river, and their illicit vessel drifted back into the darkness. The exit opened into a desolate, shallow marsh within the city walls, devoid of people. They walked toward the city center for a while before hearing rapid footsteps behind them.

The boy, dripping wet and fuming, caught up. “I told you not to come in! What’s the point? Plenty of people came before you saying they’d save us—great monks, daoist priests, people from some ‘Flower Palace’ or other. None of them ever left! You’re just seeking your own deaths!”

So the boy’s ambush in the dark had actually been an attempt to warn them off. Shen Qingqiu said, “Well, we’re already here. What do you suggest we do now?”

“What else can you do? Don’t wander off—follow me! I’ll take you to the great monk.”

The trio had no objection. None were familiar with Jinlan City, and a guide would prevent unnecessary detours. Shen Qingqiu inclined his head slightly. “What’s your name, little brother?”

The boy puffed out his chest. “I’m Yang Yixuan, son of the Golden Character Armory in the city.”

Was this the son of the merchant who’d risked his life to report to Zhaohua Temple?

Liu Qingge noticed Shen Qingqiu studying the boy. “What are you looking at?”

“I’m thinking,” Shen Qingqiu mused, “this kid can hold his own against you for a few moves, and his temperament isn’t bad either. Both are rare qualities. He has potential.”

“Potential is useless. I don’t take disciples. Too much trouble.”

As they entered the main city, they began to see more people—though “more” was relative to the earlier emptiness. A single street might hold three or four figures at most, each shrouded from head to toe in black cloth, moving hurriedly like startled birds or escaped fish.

The Golden Character Armory was sizable, occupying four adjoining storefronts along the widest main thoroughfare. The interiors had been merged into one large space, complete with inner courtyards, halls, and a cellar.

Master Wuchen was in that cellar. He lay on a bed, a blanket covering his lower body. At the sight of the Cang Qiong Mountain Sect reinforcements, he murmured a Buddhist invocation. Shen Qingqiu said, “Master, the situation is dire, so let’s dispense with formalities. What exactly is this plague afflicting Jinlan City? Why did you enter and then cease all communication? And why is everyone wrapped in black cloth?”

Wuchen gave a bitter smile. “The answers to all your questions, Immortal Master Shen, are one and the same.”

With that, he pulled aside the blanket covering his lower half. Shen Qingqiu froze.

Beneath the blanket were only two thighs. Below the knees, there was nothing. The lower legs that should have been there were simply gone.

“Who did this?” Liu Qingge’s voice was cold.

Wuchen shook his head. “No one did it.”

Shen Qingqiu was baffled. “No one did it? Did they just vanish on their own?”

To his surprise, Wuchen nodded. “Precisely. These legs vanished on their own.”

Black cloth was still wrapped around his upper thighs. Wuchen reached down, struggling to unwind it. Mu Qingfang hurried to assist. The monk said, “This may cause some… discomfort for you, Fellow Daoists.”

As the cloth was unwound layer by layer, Shen Qingqiu’s breath hitched.

Master, you call this ‘some discomfort’?!

Where his thighs should have been, the flesh was now a mass of festering rot, the skin necrotic, putrid meat exposed. As the cloth loosened, a foul odor filled the air.

“This is Jinlan City’s plague?” Shen Qingqiu asked.

“Yes,” Wuchen confirmed. “In its early stages, the disease manifests as small red patches. Within three to five days, or up to half a month, these patches spread and begin to fester. After a month, the rot reaches the bone. The afflicted must wrap themselves in black cloth and avoid exposure to light and wind to slow the progression.”

No wonder everyone in the city looked like black-wrapped mummies.

“The progression takes a month,” Shen Qingqiu said. “Then why did the Mister Yang who went to report to Zhaohua Temple turn to bone instantly?”

Wuchen’s face contorted with grief. “A shameful admission—I only learned this later. Those infected can survive for about a month if they remain within Jinlan City. But if they leave the city beyond a certain distance after infection, the disease accelerates violently. Two of my junior brothers attempted to return to the temple and perished on the spot.”

So that was why no one could enter or leave!

“What’s the source?” Liu Qingge demanded. “How is it spread?”

Wuchen could only sigh. “I am ashamed. Despite my days here, I have made no progress against this plague. I know neither its origin nor how it spreads. I am not even certain it is contagious.”

Mu Qingfang was puzzled. “What do you mean?”

Shen Qingqiu had a flash of understanding. “Look at the armorer’s son. He’s been tending to Master Wuchen closely all this time, yet he wears no black cloth. His skin appears whole and healthy. If this is truly a plague, isn’t it strange that Master Wuchen hasn’t infected him?”

“That is exactly the point,” Wuchen said. “I am deeply sorry to have drawn you all into this peril.”

“Your intention was to save lives, Master. Please don’t blame yourself.” Shen Qingqiu noticed Mu Qingfang studying the festering wounds with intense focus, as if he couldn’t smell the decay. “Junior Brother Mu, have you discovered anything? Can you devise a treatment?”

Mu Qingfang shook his head. “This does not seem like a typical disease. It resembles more of a…” He glanced at the others. “I need to examine more patients before I can draw a conclusion.”

Shen Qingqiu left the cellar and saw the armorer’s son stomping back, a long saber slung over his shoulder in a temper. He smiled. “What’s wrong, young master?”

Yang Yixuan fumed. “More people just entered the city. Those ‘Flower’ something-or-other people are the most useless—they’re just rushing here to die!”

Probably another batch of ‘reinforcements’—or rather, fresh casualties—from Illusory Flower Palace. Seeing the boy’s cheeks puffed out like steamed buns, Shen Qingqiu felt like teasing him. “Little brother, I see your martial skills are decent. Who taught you?”

Yang Yixuan ignored him. Shen Qingqiu added, “Let me give you some advice. Go find that elder brother who knocked you into the water today. He’s exceptionally skilled. Fighting him a few more times will teach you more than any master could.”

Hearing this, Yang Yixuan immediately abandoned Shen Qingqiu and ran off. Pleased at having foisted a persistent nuisance onto Liu Qingge, Shen Qingqiu walked on. Turning a corner, he stopped at the sight before him.

The city was deathly still, every household door tightly shut. Many who had been homeless before now had nowhere to go and gathered in the streets. Where once bustling crowds would have forced them into shadows, the empty avenues now let them act without restraint. They had set up a large iron cauldron, stacking firewood beneath it to boil water. A few were plucking feathers from chickens pilfered from who-knows-where. All were wrapped in stifling black cloth. Their eyes, when they fell upon Shen Qingqiu—whose pristine appearance clashed starkly with the scene—held no surprise. They looked at him as they would a dead man. After all, they’d seen plenty of imposing cultivators stride into the city these past days, vowing to save them. What good had it done? Those cultivators had died even faster.

The cook tapped the cauldron with a ladle. “Soup’s ready! Come and get it!”

Several vagrants who had been lying nearby picking off lice scrambled up, bowls in hand.

The plague had shattered the city’s rhythm. This sort of communal pot might truly be keeping people alive.

Shen Qingqiu steeled his resolve. We must identify the source of this plague, and fast. He turned to leave, only to nearly collide with an old woman hobbling toward him on a cane.

Her body was hunched, her hand trembling so violently the bowl she clutched threatened to slip from her grasp. Shen Qingqiu moved to step aside, but whether from frailty or hunger-addled dizziness, her foot caught and she stumbled right into him.

He caught her by the arm to steady her. "My apologies... my apologies..." she mumbled, her voice thick and slurred. "This old one is addled..." With that, she hurried past him, likely fearing the communal soup would run dry.

Shen Qingqiu took two steps before freezing mid-stride.

Something was wrong.

That woman had looked as fragile as a candle guttering in the wind, ready to be snuffed out by the slightest breeze. So why had her body, when it collided with his, felt heavier and more solid than a full-grown man's?

He whirled around. Among the crowd jostling for the hot broth, the figure of the "old woman" was nowhere to be seen.

To the left was the entrance to a side alley lined with faded floral decorations. Shen Qingqiu sprinted toward it just in time to see a hunched, hook-backed shadow vanish around the far corner.

Holy hell, she's moving like a track star hurdling for the finish line! Some "old woman" she was! He'd been completely fooled.

Shen Qingqiu took off in pursuit. Granted, the old woman act had been suspicious, but could he really be blamed for not catching on immediately? Right now, everyone in Jinlan City was a suspicious figure shuffling along wrapped head-to-toe in black cloth!

As he ran, a sudden itch bloomed on the back of his hand. He glanced down at it.

This hand was truly cursed. First, it had been the one skewered full of holes by Elder Tian Chui. Now, it was the one starting to sprout the tell-tale red patches of infection.

Come to think of it, this was also the hand that had so recklessly tapped open that damnable book, Proud Immortal Demon Way. He really, really wanted to chop the damn thing off!

The brief distraction cost him half a step. A sharp whoosh of sword energy sliced through the air above him. His folding fan snapped open in readiness, a wind blade poised to fly. "Who's there?!" he demanded.

A figure dropped from the eaves of a nearby roof, landing lightly. They faced each other.

Shen Qingqiu blurted out the name before he could stop himself. "Gongyi Xiao?"

The young man immediately sheathed his sword, surprise outweighing any delight. "Senior Shen?"

"It's me," Shen Qingqiu confirmed. "What are you doing here?" Remembering Yang Yixuan's complaint about more Illusory Flower Palace disciples entering via the underground river, he guessed this was the group. "Did the Palace send you to lead an investigation?"

Gongyi Xiao shook his head. "This Junior was indeed ordered into the city to investigate, but... I am not the leader of this group."

Shen Qingqiu found that strange. Gongyi Xiao was the old Palace Master's most favored junior disciple. Before Luo Binghe's appearance, he had been the universally acknowledged successor-in-waiting, even beloved by the Palace Master's own daughter. Any mission involving disciples would invariably see him in command. Who, besides Luo Binghe with his protagonist halo, could possibly usurp his position?

But there was no time to ponder this now. "Follow me!" Shen Qingqiu ordered, pointing down the alley.

Gongyi Xiao gave a crisp acknowledgment, and the two of them leaped forward in unison.

The hunched figure darted into a three-story building. Even from outside, the cloying scent of perfumed powder hung in the air. The balconies were adorned with faded, gaudy decorations. This had clearly been a brothel in its past life. Now, no laughter or music remained, only a yawning main door and a dark, desolate hall on the ground floor.

Holding their breath, the two cultivators crossed the threshold.

The main hall was a wreck of overturned tables and chairs. Shen Qingqiu glanced at Gongyi Xiao. "We split up. Check the private rooms on the left. I'll take the right."

He used his folded fan to push open the door of the nearest room. A figure lay on the bed, shrouded in shadow. His heart leapt to his throat before settling just as quickly.

It was only a skeleton, dressed in an elaborate, colorful gown, a head full of hairpins and jewels. It lay in a peaceful, sleeping posture. Likely one of the courtesans, knowing her time had come, had adorned herself in her finest clothes and gone to her final rest with grace. To meet death in one's most beautiful state—perhaps that was a woman's innate desire. Shen Qingqiu felt a pang of sorrow for a brief moment before backing out and gently closing the door again.

Several rooms in a row contained similarly dressed female skeletons. It seemed this establishment had been almost completely wiped out. Shen Qingqiu was about to push open the sixth door when a sound—a thump and muffled voices—drifted down from the second floor.

Both men flew up the stairs. Shen Qingqiu was a half-step ahead, still on the staircase, when a young man's gentle, cultured voice floated down.

"It is of no consequence."

Just two words. Yet hearing that voice was like being struck by lightning.

A sharp crack sounded as Shen Qingqiu's grip on his fan tightened uncontrollably.

For a heartbeat, even his breath seemed to stop.

He froze on the stairs, but his elevated position gave him a clear view down the second-floor corridor to a lavish private chamber at its end. A group of disciples in Illusory Flower Palace colors clustered around a central figure.

It was a young man dressed in profound black robes, an ancient-looking sword strapped to his back. His face was jade-like perfection, and a pair of eyes, deep as cold pools under winter stars, swept idly in his direction.

He had matured considerably, and his aura was now vastly different, but that face—the kind that could grace the cover of any romance novel from any angle—was one Shen Qingqiu would recognize even if beaten to death!

Simultaneously, a long-dormant, achingly familiar voice, accompanied by the mechanically flat tone of a poor online translator, exploded in a rapid-fire burst of notifications within his mind:

[Hello. System successfully activated.]

[Universal Activation Key: Luo Binghe.]

[Self-diagnostic: Primary energy source operational. Status: Optimal.]

[Hibernation Mode terminated. Standard Mode engaged.]

[Update package downloaded and installed.]

Wait, you actually updated?!

[Thank you for your continued use.]

Can I get a refund?