Qi Sui

Just after the hour of Hai, Ye Qingwu led twenty-five disciples as they dispersed in batches into the abandoned residential area in the west of the city.

Some crouched in the shadows behind broken walls, some lay flat on the half-collapsed roofs nearby, and others hid in the wild grass near dry wells.

Lin Zhiyue lay behind a collapsed eave on the southeastern side of the courtyard, peering through the gaps in the rubble to observe the movements at the main gate.

There were three “beggars” at the entrance of the courtyard.

Huddled at the base of the wall, they wore filthy, tattered coats. Chipped, coarse porcelain bowls sat in front of them, a few copper coins resting at the bottom.

They looked no different from the usual vagrants found in the abandoned residential area—grimy-faced, slouching, and coughing from time to time.

But Lin Zhiyue noticed that one of them had clean, neat fingers, short-trimmed nails, and no chilblains on the back of his hands.

Ye Qingwu crouched in the shadows beside her, her gaze slowly sweeping over the three men before she gave an almost imperceptible shake of her head.

Lin Zhiyue clenched her teeth. Elder Ye was at the mid-stage Nascent Soul; if even she could not discern their cultivation bases, then either the three of them carried some high-grade concealment artifact, or their cultivation bases were at least not inferior to Ye Qingwu's.

Holding her breath, she slowly withdrew her gaze and turned in another direction to check if there were any other sentries along the courtyard walls.

Her gaze swept over the roofs and the shadows of the trees inside the courtyard. After confirming there was no unusual aura on the walls on either side of the main gate, she turned back and slipped her hand into her sleeve.

During this time, one of the disciples in the group stepped on a loose tile while shifting positions, producing an extremely faint click.

The sound wasn't loud, but one of the three “beggars” at the courtyard entrance tilted his head slightly, turning toward the sound for a brief moment.

Lin Zhiyue's heart skipped a beat, but the man quickly withdrew his gaze, seemingly finding nothing unusual.

Ye Qingwu did not move. She merely raised her left hand in a gesturing motion to signal the surrounding disciples to remain quiet.

After about the time it takes to drink a cup of tea, faint voices echoed from inside the courtyard, sounding like people talking nearby, though the words were muffled.

The three men at the entrance adjusted their postures against the wall, and one of them pulled out a dry flatbread from his coat and took a bite.

Seizing this gap, Ye Qingwu straightened slightly and turned her face toward Lin Zhiyue.

Lin Zhiyue understood her meaning—the time had come, and they could prepare to strike.

The night grew a bit deeper. The wind blew through the cracks in the broken walls, swirling the dry leaves on the ground before letting them settle again.

Lin Zhiyue withdrew her hand from her sleeve, her fingertips resting on the edge of her folding fan. The fan's ribs gleamed with an extremely faint green luster in the dim light. She had come wearing the Flowing Green Satin, although she somewhat disliked how inconvenient the high heels on her feet were.

“Drifting Green Gauze Everywhere.”

A pale green, misty haze silently spread out, resembling a thin fog diluted by moonlight as it noiselessly enveloped the three men at the courtyard entrance.

Almost at the exact same instant, the three men moved—they were not beggars at all. It took them less than half a breath to go from huddled to leaping up, their reaction speed as swift as cats whose tails had been stepped on.

However, the hallucinatory effect of Drifting Green Gauze Everywhere could hard-control even those with late-stage Nascent Soul cultivation for five seconds. The three men's movements visibly lagged in the mist, as if their limbs were bound by something invisible. That single moment of hesitation was all the time Ye Qingwu needed.

Ye Qingwu's sword struck before they could recover. A bluish-white sword light sliced in from the side, its arc cutting across the shoulder of the foremost man. Immediately after, Cen Xi'er's sword followed from the other side, cutting off the second man's retreat.

Liu Fengyao and Senior Sister Qiao provided support from the sides. Within five breaths, all three men were subdued—one knocked unconscious, and the other two locked in place by spiritual energy, unable to move.

But activity was already stirring inside the courtyard. A gruff male voice called out from deep within the walls, “Qi San? What's going on out there?”

Lin Zhiyue and the others quickly retreated back into the shadows, and Senior Sister Qiao dragged the three subdued men into the corner's darkness to hide them.

The courtyard gate was pushed open a crack, and a short, stout figure poked half of his body out. Ye Qingwu squinted in the dark for a moment before whispering, “Mid-stage Nascent Soul.”

Lin Zhiyue did some quick calculations. It would take time for Ye Qingwu to deal with a mid-stage Nascent Soul opponent. If they waited for him to summon all the sentries, the situation would become increasingly troublesome.

She turned to look at Ye Qingwu, mouthing, “Hold him off, I'm going in.” Ye Qingwu glanced at her without saying a word. Her bluish-white sword was already out of its sheath, its light tracing a clean, sharp arc in the moonlight as it thrust directly toward the short, stout figure.

The fat man reacted incredibly quickly, dodging the tip of the sword, but his body had already left the vicinity of the gate. Taking advantage of this opening, Lin Zhiyue vaulted over the side of the wall. Senior Sister Qiao and several other senior brothers followed closely behind, landing with barely a sound.

From behind, the fat man's muffled shout echoed, “Patriarch—” but his subsequent words were suppressed by Ye Qingwu's sword light.

Lin Zhiyue did not look back.

She navigated through the abandoned residence, guided by the Seven-Colored Deer's coordinates.

The corridor behind the main hall made several turns before she found a stone staircase leading downward behind a seemingly ordinary wooden door.

The stone steps were extremely narrow, allowing only one person to pass at a time. She walked down sideways while Senior Sister Qiao and the other senior brothers remained at the door to keep watch.

At the bottom of the steps was a low basement. The dim, yellow light of an oil lamp spilled from the corner, casting a hazy and oppressive shadow over the entire space.

The first person Lin Zhiyue saw was Jiang Yuezhan. He sat leaning against the stone wall, his limbs bound, but he was still conscious. His gaze shifted when he saw her.

Just as she was about to step forward to approach him, a cold gleam suddenly flashed from the shadows to her left.

There was an ambush.

The sword qi came incredibly fast. As she dodged to the side, the tip of the sword grazed her left arm, ripping a tear in her clothes and sending a sharp sting across her skin.

Using the momentum of her dodge, Lin Zhiyue drew her Azure Scale Sword, ice and wind spiritual energy instantly condensing into frost along the blade.

“Kill... her—” a hoarse command that barely sounded human rasped from the corner. Lin Zhiyue only had time to glance over, not yet able to clearly see the speaker.

The person lying in ambush emerged from the shadows—a short, gray-robed man holding a shortsword, with an old scar running from his brow bone down to his jaw.

He wanted to thrust again, but Cen Xi'er's voice already echoed from above the stone steps. Following closely with her sword light, she precisely blocked the second strike aimed at Lin Zhiyue. The two immediately began a fierce struggle in the cramped basement.

The other senior brothers immediately stepped in to assist, and the four of them joined forces to force the gray-robed man into a corner.

Lin Zhiyue took advantage of this opening to quickly walk over and crouch beside Jiang Yuezhan. She retrieved a pill from her storage space and held it to his lips, whispering, “Take this first.”

Jiang Yuezhan swallowed the pill from her hand, and the spiritual energy in his body quickly recovered a bit. Taking a breath, he spoke, his voice still raspy from the sudden rush of medicinal power: “The Spirit-Sustaining Array... someone... wants to reconstruct their spiritual root. The formation eye is here, right under the stone platform.”

Lin Zhiyue looked in the direction of his gaze—next to the stone platform was a low formation plate. The spiritual runes along its edges were not yet fully activated, but the framework had already been laid out.

Embedded in the center of the formation plate were several dark red crystals, with a turbid light churning within them.

Then, her gaze fell upon the huddled mass on the ground—with a distorted face and displaced features, one look was enough to remind anyone of the malicious ghosts from legends.

The person's neck was stiffened, his mouth opening and closing in vain as if trying to scream, yet he could not produce a single sound.

Just as she was about to ask further, a flurry of hurried footsteps echoed from above the stone steps. Ye Qingwu's figure walked down from the entrance. A few streaks of dust clung to her robes, but her expression was calm, and there were still wet traces on the bluish-white blade in her hand.

She swept her gaze over the situation in the basement, her eyes passing over Lin Zhiyue and Jiang Yuezhan to land on the twisted figure beside the stone platform in the corner.

Her steps faltered, and she stood in place, observing for a moment. When she spoke, her voice was half an octave lower than usual: “Are you... Qi Sui...?”

Hearing his name, the twisted figure shifted slightly, his sole open eye slowly turning toward Ye Qingwu.

He remained silent for a long time before squeezing out a sound from his throat that sounded like gravel scraping against iron: “Ye...”

Ye Qingwu did not answer. She merely stood at the entrance of the stone steps, her bluish-white blade hanging by her side.

The basement fell quiet. The flame of the oil lamp flickered gently in the corner, casting unstable shadows across Qi Sui's half-destroyed face.

Cen Xi'er and Senior Brother Zhou had already subdued the gray-robed man, locking him in the corner.

Lin Zhiyue crouched beside Jiang Yuezhan, her gaze shifting from the formation plate to Qi Sui's severely burned torso.