Chapter 218: When Will the Bright Moon Appear

Chapter 218: When Will the Bright Moon Appear?

……Three breaths.

The night moon hung in the sky.

The surface of the curved pool was still.

The lingering melody of the moon song gracefully flowed.

A warm breeze brushed through, carrying the faint echoes of poetry and women’s laughter.

On the pavilion boat.

Chen Yì gazed at the middle-aged scholar, his voice calm: “Looks like my fate is rather good.”

The middle-aged scholar—or perhaps Yan Fushā, who stared at him with a vacant expression, as if he hadn’t expected such calmness, such resolve.

A moment of silence.

Yan Fushā’s plain face bloomed into a smile, his laughter ringing out freely.

“You’re not afraid.”

“You’re actually not afraid, haha…”

“Don’t you fear death?”

His laughter boomed, his tone oddly serene.

Far across the pool lit by countless lamps and glowing dusk, the sound echoed.

After a while, the laughter faded.

Yan Fushā looked at Chen Yì, smiling: “You truly fear nothing?”

Chen Yì set down the medicine bottle, his voice faint: “Everyone fears it.”

“Then why… is it because of Pei’s little brat?”

“Yes.”

Yan Fushā’s smile faltered, scrutinized him for a moment, then shook his head: “What a pity.”

He didn’t elaborate on the pity.

Chen Yì couldn’t press further.

From the moment he’d been brought aboard this pavilion boat, every face there bore only one identity: a mortal enemy of life and death!

As he pondered these things, Chen Yì scanned the surroundings with the corner of his eye, then asked:

“What next?”

Yan Fushā regained his former composure: “This first trial—Mr. Lightboat has passed.”

“I, Yan, will fulfill our promise. Within three days, I’ll deliver the antidote to you.”

Chen Yì nodded without a word, “Thank you.”

His body’s grave poison still clung to him, holding on.

Three breaths… Hmph.

Yan Fushā saw him still so composed, and smiled—a smile that was half jest, half sincerity:

“This second trial, I planned to toss you into the pool, see whether the boat or you swims faster.”

Chen Yì paused, slightly surprised.

This person…

Sick to the bone.

Yan Fushā noticed his expression, his smile widening.

“But I’ve heard Mr. Lightboat carries such bearing. Ordinary plays would likely escape his keen eye.”

“So I had to present you with some… entertaining diversions.”

As he spoke, Yan Fushā clapped his hands.

In an instant, two figures in black robes emerged from the pavilion, placing a ceramic jar on the table.

Yan Fushā pointed at the jar: “This is a ‘poison cauldron’ from my sect, used for martial cultivation.”

“During rituals, we’ll place snakes, insects, beetles, spiders, and toads inside, letting them battle one another.”

“Only the surviving poison creature holds value for our cultivation.”

Yan Fushā took a jar, broke the seal on its lid.

A pungent stench of blood and decay wafted out.

Chen Yì glanced at the two jars—this time, he couldn’t guess the purpose behind them.

Before he could ponder further, Yan Fushā continued: “The rituals are nearing their end. Each jar holds one surviving poison creature.”

“Mr. Lightboat, perhaps you may guess which creature survives?”

Chen Yì looked at the poison cauldron, “Guess?”

Yan Fushā nodded: “If you guess correctly, you may proceed to the third trial.”

Chen Yì frowned inwardly, feigning annoyance: “Isn’t this just a matter of luck?”

Yan Fushā nodded, then shook his head: “Yes, but also not.”

“Heaven and earth divide into yin and yang, five elements. Humans also divide into yin and yang, five elements. Poison creatures too follow this.”

“They generate and control one another—hard to discern.”

Chen Yì suddenly understood.

This aligned with his medical arts.

Yin and yang, five elements, the six channels, meridian divergence, the twelve stems and twelve branches…

His thoughts raced.

Chen Yì studied him intently: “Might I take a look?”

“Of course.”

Yan Fushā set the poison cauldron on the table, tore open the paper seal of the other jar, and held it out: “Please, sir.”

Chen Yì glanced at him, then stepped forward, turning his back to face the two jars.

Hiss!

Before Chen Yì could discern what was inside one jar, a shrill hiss erupted.

Then a black shadow burst from the cauldron.

—A pitch-black serpent, its scales glinting like shadowlight!

Chen Yì squinted, neither flinching nor retreating.

He stood rigid, staring at the black serpent, letting it approach.

Pfft.

Until that black snake had drawn within an inch of his face, only then did a massive hand manage to clasp its head.

"Sss—!"

The black snake hissed incessantly, twisting its body with frantic, desperate struggles.

Yet no matter how it writhed, the serpentine creature remained a full inch from Chen Yiyi.

Chen Yiyi gazed at the black snake inches from his face, its fetid stench thickening in his nostrils.

Even he could make out its two razor-sharp, black fangs and the viscous poison oozing within its gullet.

At that moment, a faint glimmer flickered in his eyes—*breathing technique*.

After a few breaths,

Chen Yiyi seemed to regain his senses, stepping back a pace, his brow slick with sweat like a downpour.

Yan Fushasha studied him over, smiling: "Mr. Qinzhu, forgive me—these venomous beasts are fearsome. Take care not to be wounded."

Then he withdrew another poison vessel, producing a beetle as thick as an arm. One in each hand.

"I’ll hand you these myself."

"Thank you, Master Yan," Chen Yiyi replied, wiping sweat from his brow. In that instant, he scrutinized the beetle.

Its breath… was off.

At that moment, Yan Fushasha spoke: "Mr. Qinzhu, your performance today leaves me impressed."

Chen Yiyi paused, not lifting his gaze, still feigning observation of the two creatures.

"What am I to be praised for?"

"Your audacity."

"Even these common venomous beasts in my possession would frighten some folk to death."

"Ah," Chen Yiyi nodded, straightening his back to face him, pointing at the beetle. "These two are alike enough—I choose this one."

Yan Fushasha blinked, "Really?"

When Chen Yiyi affirmed with a nod, Yan Fushasha grinned, shaking his head:

"Seems Mr. Qinzhu merely understands books, yet lacks the true insight of Heaven and Earth’s yin and yang."

"What insight?"

"Both creatures are bound by Heaven and Earth’s spiritual resonance—snake is metal, beetle is wood. Metal devours wood…"

"In this contest, the snake must survive."

Chen Yiyi glanced at him. "I choose the beetle."

Yan Fushasha declared firmly, "Then I’ll savor the third act alone."

Chen Yiyi waved a dismissive hand. "The outcome remains uncertain—let’s see."

Seeing his obstinacy, Yan Fushasha’s eyes darkened with ire.

"No mourning for the coffin, no tears shed—let Mr. Yan see you die properly."

Then he set both creatures into one cauldron, flipping another atop it.

Once done, Yan Fushasha stepped back, hands clasped behind him: "One minute."

Chen Yiyi knew he meant wait one minute, and so sat quietly.

Soon, the cauldrons swayed gently, emitting faint hissing sounds.

Clearly, the battle within was fierce.

Not long before the cauldrons stilled, their sounds fading. Yan Fushasha flicked the upper cauldron away, staring at Chen Yiyi:

"How fares it? See for yourself, Sir."

Chen Yiyi paid no heed, fixated on the intact cauldron below.

Truthfully, his gamble was sound—but not certain.

Earlier, when he’d used *breathing technique* to examine the beetle, beyond its wood resonance, he’d glimpsed a fire spirit within.

Now, as black smoke drifted from the cauldron, a dark gleam emerged.

*Clack.*

A sharp, bone-like crack.

Then the all-black beetle crawled forth, its body still slick with viscous residue.

Chen Yiyi exhaled slightly, murmuring, "I chose right."

Yan Fushasha paused, turning to the beetle, eyes widening: "Impossible…"

Before he could finish, he flicked a silver needle from his fingertips, pinning the beetle to the cauldron.

White mist coiled around it instantly, its form writhing in anguished cries.

Chen Yiyi stepped back, frowning. "Trouble?"

Yan Fushasha avoided his gaze, sneering: "Your cultivation’s fine, Sir Qinzhu—fortunate to encounter such a rare beast."

He refused to admit his error.

Chen Yiyi understood, yet knew not to provoke him now.

For the whereabouts of Pei Wengluo—he feared they’d never meet again.

Why conceal himself, if not for this?

Thinking thus, Chen Yiyi pressed a hand to his abdomen, speaking: "The third act begins."

Yan Fushasha’s gaze darkened, then broke into a smile:

"Ah, ah…"

"This act, with its twists and turns—I, too, saw not its course. Truly well-played!"

After his smile faded, Yan Fushasha’s eyes turned cold, fixing on Chen Yiyi:

"Sir Qinzhu must hold Pei family’s whelp in high regard, yes?"

Before Chen Yiyi could answer, Yan Fushasha continued, "You’ve toyed with me, all to see her once. Surely you prize her highly."

"Then allow me to grant you a chance!"

In truth, he’d only sought to amuse this Xiao family son-in-law, favored by Liu Zhaoxue.

He’d neither intended to kill Chen Yiyi, nor send him to meet Pei Wengluo.

Yet now, his mind had changed.

Yan Fushasha patted his hand, his voice cool and commanding: "Send a message."

"Understood."

A man in black withdrew a bamboo tube from his sleeve and launched it toward a distant painted boat.

Instantly, flames erupted.

Chen Yì squinted, his eyes narrowing as he took in the scene. Far off, on the second floor of the painted boat, a sheer curtain parted slowly.

A figure bound to a chair became visible—was it Pei Lanling?

But her condition was unmistakably dire.

She was bound with ropes, her face smeared with a layer of black ointment. Two armed men stood guard at her sides, their posture one of watchful readiness.

Upon seeing this, Chen Yì felt a sudden relief.

The tiger cub was still alive—how fortunate, given the circumstances.

At that moment, Yan Fushasha spoke.

"I’ve long heard of Gentleman of the Light Boat’s mastery of qin, chess, calligraphy, painting, and poetry. Especially in the Way of Writing, his ideas drift far and wide."

"This third act, I imagine, still requires some timely wit."

Chen Yì lowered his gaze and asked, "And how, precisely, do you wish me to respond?"

Yan Fushasha gestured toward the lively crowd by the pond.

"On this day, the Mid-Autumn Festival arrives, with its fine weather and beauty, countless lanterns alight, and you and I here watching a play aboard this boat."

"Seizing this opportunity, I’d like Gentleman of the Light Boat to compose a poem."

"If your poetry is fine, I’ll let you meet that Pei young scoundrel!"

Chen Yì hesitated. "This—this—"

Before he could finish, Yan Fushasha cut him off.

"Gentleman of the Light Boat, do not rush. I’ve not yet finished speaking."

"I know you were entrusted by Master Yue Ming tonight, with hopes of claiming the title of 'Poetry Master.'"

"Were it not for my intervention, you’d still be at Baguang College, surrounded by beauty, your poetry in hand."

"Later, I’ll have your poems delivered to the college."

Chen Yì furrowed his brow. "Why all this?"

This time, he could not fathom Yan Fushasha’s purpose.

Poetry was poetry. He had verses for the moon, for Mid-Autumn, for the season’s splendor—plenty to draw upon.

Yet sending his work to the Poetry Assembly—what use was that?

Yan Fushasha smiled coldly. "I intend for the scholars at the college to examine your verses."

"If you win the 'Poetry Master' title… No."

"If your poetry can suppress the entire city’s contenders, I’ll grant your wish."

Chen Yì blinked. "Suppress the entire city’s contenders?"

Yan Fushasha studied him. "You cannot do it?"

Chen Yì glanced at the boat where Pei Lanling sat, then nodded. "I have no confidence in that."

"Ah."

Yan Fushasha smiled, murmured something to his attendant.

The man then plunged into the pond, rowing toward the painted boat.

"Gentleman of the Light Boat, wait a moment. This rare performance—I’d hate for Pei family’s young scoundrel to miss it."

No explanation needed; the proximity made Chen Yì hear the earlier commands.

—Awaken Pei Lanling. Inform her of the details.

Damn this madman!

Chen Yì seethed inwardly, his face a mask of calm.

"Fine."

A short while later, Chen Yì saw that the black ointment on Pei Lanling’s face had been wiped away, revealing a round, delicate cheek.

But she stirred without a flicker of resistance.

Clearly, she’d been dosed with something akin to the "Breeze-Induced Intoxication."

Soon after, the black-clad man spoke again.

Pei Lanling seemed to grasp something, turning her gaze this way.

Chen Yì met her slightly agitated eyes and merely waved.

She saw him, tears welling in her eyes, her lips parting—yet no sound escaped.

Yet Chen Yì heard her whisper, "Brother."

Brother.

He nodded gently, signaling he’d heard, then turned to Yan Fushasha.

"Poetry, then. Bring paper and ink."

Yan Fushasha nodded toward the black-clad men watching Pei Lanling, his smile tinged with something unspoken.

"How confident are you, Gentleman of the Light Boat?"

Chen Yì glanced at him. "As I told you, I doubt you’d understand."

"You… very well."

Yan Fushasha hummed, gesturing for his men to fetch paper and ink, clearing a space. His voice turned sharp.

"Gentleman of the Light Boat, this is your only chance."

"If you miss it, I swear you’ll never see Pei family’s young scoundrel again!"

Chen Yì ignored the threat, his expression steady as he prepared.

He laid the paper flat, dampened his brush, and ground the ink.

Poems about the moon had been penned since antiquity—how many could sway the poets of Shuzhou at this very moment?

After much thought, he realized only one would suffice.

Once the ink was properly mixed, he turned his head and glanced once more at Pei Lanling across the water.

Seeing that day, the unflinching, impossible-to-fear, heaven-defying Pei Wanlu was sobbing all over, he could not help but squint and blink in concern.

Then Chen Yi, regardless of whether Tiger Girl had seen, drew a deep breath to press down the searing agony in his gut, took up the brush and dipped it in ink to write:

"When will the bright moon appear? I'll raise my cup to ask the vast sky……"

(End of chapter)