Chapter Forty-Seven: Veil of Confusion

Staring up at the nine-story tower with the imposing characters of the Imperial Astronomer's Office emblazoned upon it, Sanyan felt his heart shatter into seven pieces.

“Master, if you’ll permit me to call you that, this place is not my humble courtyard, protected by a mere inconspicuous illusion. The fifth-ranking Grand Celestial in this institution, Rong Mu, is a master of the art of labyrinths; the entire Imperial Astronomer's Office is riddled with countless traps and mechanisms, both inside and out.

Countless men, ghosts, and monsters have fallen prey to them over the years!

Master, Great Immortal, I have no idea who you truly are, why you dwell in this mortal body, or why you’re unafraid of Daoist arts, but this is truly no time to act recklessly.”

Sanyan pointed at the building. “Just three yards from my fingertip is an array that enshrouds the whole tower. In years past, few monsters have ever slipped through. Are you truly—”

His eyes widened as he watched Jiang Lan stride straight through the entrance. “How did you get inside?”

He looked around, bewildered. Wasn’t he supposed to feel the scorching heat of the promised flames? Why was there nothing at all? Was he blind?

Jiang Lan eyed Sanyan’s awkward posture and squinted. “Could it be that you’re some kind of fiend?”

Sanyan fumed, but he refused to take the bait. Carefully, he reached behind for the talismans stowed in his cloth bag, but before he could touch them, he inexplicably stumbled into the circle within.

Now, even leaving would be a Herculean task!

“You! You! You are insufferable!”

“Shh!” Jiang Lan dragged Sanyan to the wall as several young men in white Daoist robes passed by.

“Hm? Where did that sound go?”

“There was no sound. You’re just nervous. Not even a swallow could fly through this tower. Come on, let’s finish our rounds and get some sleep. There’s early class tomorrow, and we can’t lose our spirit. If Master returns and finds us lacking, we’ll be in for a lecture.”

“There really was a sound! Why did it stop?”

“I’m heading back. You search all you want. Who knows, maybe it was just a night cat.”

“Wait, don’t leave! Wait for me!”

As the young men passed, Sanyan let out a long sigh of relief. He threw Jiang Lan a look full of resentment—what karmic debt had he accrued in a past life to be saddled with such a troublesome ancestor?

“Ancestor, what are we to do now~?”

Ordinary mortals might enter unscathed, but trying to leave would surely trigger the traps. They wouldn’t be fatal, but would certainly alert the sentinels. That’s the reputation the Imperial Astronomer’s Office has earned for over a decade.

“Since we’re here, let’s settle in. Don’t worry—if the sky falls, someone taller will hold it up.”

Sanyan nodded, feeling a bit comforted. He straightened his back, preparing to follow Jiang Lan, only to realize he was half a head taller.

His knees buckled—it seemed he was the one meant to shoulder the burden!

The mechanisms inside were indeed formidable, leaving no room for carelessness. Jiang Lan forged ahead, leading the way.

“Which floor is the Calamity Division usually on? If we keep searching like this, dawn will break before we’re even discovered.”

“The seventh floor! The Calamity Division is quite renowned—the higher the floor, the greater the prestige.”

Jiang Lan had no choice but to pick up the pace.

Together, they broke through hundreds of illusions and traps, finally reaching the landing between the sixth and seventh floors. Gasping for breath, Jiang Lan muttered, “If only I’d brought Ming along.”

This mortal body lacked the Yin-Yang Eye, making the illusions especially taxing. The emotional snare on the sixth floor had been the worst—he’d seen the man with water patterns on his brow again. If not for Sanyan burning his own life force to wake him, Jiang Lan would have been lost in the illusion.

Now, with Sanyan gravely injured and unconscious, Jiang Lan had no choice but to stow him in the divine pouch, entrusting him to Chifeng’s care with strict instructions not to be rough.

As Jiang Lan set foot on the stairs to the next floor, a chill ran through him.

“It’s happening again!”

The ground beneath his feet turned soft and yielding; he stood on moist earth, surrounded by dewy, vibrant grass.

Strange beasts ran at the foot of the mountain; as soon as Jiang Lan stepped forward, they scattered in fright.

“The young mistress has returned—run! Run!”

In an instant, the once-lively meadow was deserted, not a living thing in sight.

Jiang Lan ignored all this, her gaze fixed on a pond at the edge of the meadow. She approached—not so much walking as gliding, a few steps bringing her there in an instant.

The still water reflected a white sky streaked with rainbow clouds—and the image of a woman.

In the water, the woman’s brilliant eyes sparkled with radiance. Her black hair was pinned high with an iron ornament, her blood-red, ornate robe trailing three feet behind her. Beneath her graceful neck, her collarbones were clearly defined.

There was a boldness between her brows, and a defiance that reminded any onlooker of the spirit within.

This was not Jiang Lan, but Yin Xun!

The god whom all six realms believed dead and whose name was forbidden.

Her scarlet robe swept a long arc as Yin Xun strode up the mountain path.

At the summit, above the endless peaks, blazed the words: “Wushan of the Divine Realm!”

She brushed her cheek with her hand and gazed at the droplet of water that lay in her palm.

In over a hundred thousand years, she had never shed a tear; she thought herself unbreakable, her heart unyielding as stone. Yet in the end, she had proved vulnerable after all.

How laughable.

That unacknowledged tear was incinerated by karmic fire in her palm as she set foot on the path to the mountaintop.

Along the way, divine beasts and little monsters alike tucked tail and fled, shouting, “The young mistress is back! Run! Run!”

Some, too rotund to run, simply rolled down the mountain.

The summit of Wushan was a city much like a mortal one, built by Yin Xun’s father, Lord Yin Han.

Within its walls lived only the closest kin of the Yin and Ji clans; no outsiders were permitted entry.

Her father was fiercely protective—any handsome male god appearing within thousands of miles would be driven away. If any resisted, he’d beat them senseless without a second thought.

Yin Xun inherited this trait from him.

Her mother, only daughter of her maternal grandfather, was meant to inherit the mantle of ruler of the demon realm. But her grandfather looked down on the ancient, domineering bloodline of her father, and refused to accept him as a son-in-law.

He forcibly took a son from his cousin—Yin Xun’s great-uncle—nearly tearing the Ji clan apart. Only her father’s fists kept her grandfather and the demon realm’s great clans in line.

Why call her father “the old man”?

Because, for all his youthfulness, his age and status were ancient; his noble, ancient Candle Dragon lineage ensured a long life.

By years alone, a hundred grandfathers would not compare.

And yet, such an old man, handsome and cunning, managed to steal away the demon lord Ji Ran’s youngest daughter—and kept her for a lifetime!

Ji Wu was one of the strangest tempers in the six realms; he had smashed Wushan to pieces more than once, demanding her father return his mother. But who could have predicted that the mighty Lord Yin Han would hole up, refusing to emerge, until his wife was pregnant—only then did he dare face his father-in-law and take his punishment.

Still, it was said that Yin Xun’s presence spared him—her mother claimed her grandfather, for her sake, only lashed him three times with the divine whip.

Even so, her father lay in bed until she was born.

As these memories flickered by, Yin Xun knew it was all illusion, yet she kept ascending the steps, one by one.

But the lush green turned slowly to a sea of crimson. Her pace quickened; she charged forward, heedless.

The towering city was reduced to ruins, flames leaping skyward, corpses strewn everywhere, rivers of blood flowing—especially the golden blood, which stung her eyes.

“Old man!”

“Mother!”

“Yan!”

“Qiqi!”

“Zhuo’er!”

...

She stumbled over corpse after corpse, her eyes and hands numb, the scent of death thickening, until at last, at the city’s main gate, she found four bodies hanging.

“No!”

She dashed forward in a frenzy, but found herself suddenly surrounded.

The scene shifted—to the pinnacle of the six realms!

All the strongest forces of the five realms had assembled, banners raised in the name of exterminating evil.

Her black hair was now stained with blood, her frosty eyes burning red. Surrounded by so-called righteous ones, floating in the clouds or standing atop the peak, her face bore nothing but a bloodthirsty smile and splashes of blood.

“Yin Xun, today is the day you die!”

Yin Xun looked at the brash youth. A flick of her left hand, crackling with violet lightning, and the youth was silenced forever.

“I seek only vengeance; the rest of you have nothing to do with it. If you have come merely on hearsay and have not harmed my family, I will allow you three counts to leave this peak. Stay, and blame only yourselves for what follows!”

“One.”

“Two.”

“Three.”

Some did flee. Yin Xun’s gaze swept over all those who remained—including the one she had cherished and loved.

Her grandfather was locked in the Ninefold Hall. Only Qingtian and Heiyao stood at her side.

But it was enough.

Red blood and gold mingled, cascading from the summit of the six realms down to the mortal world, where immortal energy was weakest, and life burned brightest.

Lost in agony and rage, Yin Xun watched as the strongest of the divine and immortal realms shattered before her, the world fading from crimson to the rich brown of sandalwood. Clutching the stair rail, Jiang Lan drew a deep breath.

“What a formidable illusion!”

Sweat beaded on his brow. Hearing the crow of a rooster outside, Jiang Lan dared not pause, and raced up to the seventh floor.

He produced a Concealment Talisman and began searching every room.

At last, he discovered something amiss in a pill room.

Why would a division as important as the Calamity Division leave a sizable room empty but for a single pill furnace? It made no sense.

Jiang Lan released Sanyan, who had been recovering for a month in the divine pouch—a pouch that, as Chifeng had told her, could control the passage of time inside.

Sanyan awoke to find himself in a strange room, face stinging.

He pulled out a mirror and saw several unmistakable palm prints.

“You hit me?”

Jiang Lan felt a little awkward, but what could he do if calling out hadn’t worked?

“A dog bites Lü Dongbin, unable to recognize a good man’s help. If I’d known, I wouldn’t have saved you at all…”

Jiang Lan guiltily extended five fingers.

“What are you doing?” Sanyan batted his hand away.

“How about five hundred taels?”

“Deal.”

Feeling the weight in his palm, Jiang Lan helped him up from the floor.

“I can sense that something is sealed inside. This isn’t an array made with labyrinthine arts—I can’t decipher it.”

A confident, brash smile lit Sanyan’s face. Though his clothes were ragged, compared to Jiang Lan’s extraordinarily plain features, he was almost dashing.

“There’s no need for a hidden chamber if it’s not for imprisoning someone.”

Sanyan rummaged around. “Any container will do. Just look for traces of magic.”

Jiang Lan instantly understood and moved to help, when a sudden noise came from outside.

“This isn’t good—someone’s coming!”