Chapter 362: Demonic Cloud (Requesting Monthly Tickets)

Chapter 362: Magic Cloud (Seeking Monthly Ticket)

Running? Naturally, there was no running. It was impossible to run in this lifetime. Only now, the situation was a bit rushed.

Chen Yì had removed the facial disguise but still wore a black robe and a cloak, a far cry from his usual attire.

Because of Xiao Duo’s cry, Yuan Lao Er, who was practicing Bao Yue Punches by the pond, was awakened.

Chen Yì, seeing his footprints in the grass, raised a finger to signal quiet, then removed his cloak and tossed it onto her head, pointing toward the wooden building where Pei Mu Er was located:

“Wait there.”

Without a word, Chen Yì slipped into another wooden building. As he responded to Xiao Duo’s voice, he tore off his outer robe, leaving only his undergarments, and stepped out of the structure.

Xiao Duo heard the sound and, without hesitation, rushed out with her umbrella. Upon spotting Chen Yì across the courtyard, her heart finally settled.

She hurried over, her umbrella trembling: “Master, why didn’t you call Xiao Duo when you woke up? I thought… I thought you’d run away again…”

Chen Yì glared at her: “Thinking your master had fled once more?”

Xiao Duo’s face flushed slightly but did not lower her head. Instead, she reached out and tugged at his sleeve, as if fearing he would vanish:

“I didn’t see you in the chamber. I panicked… Master, please punish Xiao Duo.”

Chen Yì understood her thoughts. He patted her head: “Next time, don’t rush so hastily.”

“Yes, Xiao Duo noted it.”

Xiao Duo nodded obediently, then asked: “Master, why are you here so late?”

Chen Yì gestured toward the purple bamboo grove: “To teach Er Liu to practice calligraphy.”

Yuan Lao Er appeared promptly outside the grove, tugged at her damp cloak, and hurried over, bowing:

“Master, Er Liu has already written some characters in the forest. If you have time tomorrow, please take a look.”

Chen Yì secretly smiled. “She’s clever and agile—far more manageable than some,” he mused. At least not like…

Xiao Duo didn’t suspect a thing.

Meanwhile, Pei Mu Er, having heard the commotion, strode downstairs, rubbing her sleepy eyes and yawning:

“Er Niu’s master, you said she was to practice techniques, yet she went to practice writing characters.”

Yuan Lao Er instinctively pulled at her soaked sleeves, her voice steady:

“Master’s instruction, Er Liu cannot disobey.”

Pei Mu Er glanced at her, then at Chen Yì, understanding dawning. She suppressed a smile:

“Your brother’s command, then…”

Before she could finish, Chen Yì fixed her with a stern gaze, halting her mid-sentence. He then waved toward Xiao Duo:

“It’s late. Everyone should rest.”

Xiao Duo, seeing him prepare to leave, didn’t press further. She lifted her umbrella to shade his path:

“Master, you’re so strict with Er Liu—even at this hour, still grading her calligraphy.”

“Yes,” Chen Yì said, “strict teachers produce outstanding disciples.”

As he spoke, he gestured behind himself with his free hand, indicating Yuan Lao Er and Pei Mu Er to collect his nightclothes. He returned to his chamber.

Pei Mu Er and Yuan Lao Er noticed his gesture. Once he was gone, they returned to the wooden building.

They stood in the living room, staring at the black robe laid upon the table. After a moment, they exchanged glances and couldn’t help but smile.

Yuan Lao Er spoke first: “Uncle, is Master…?”

Before she could finish, Pei Mu Er stepped forward, covering her mouth with a hand:

“Shhh. Your master is up to something big. It’ll trouble you.”

Pei Mu Er, speaking at length, then traced several characters in the air:

“Be careful—there are strong people in the mansion.”

Yuan Lao Er nodded, understanding. Yet she also knew Chen Yì had ventured out that night. She resolved to inquire tomorrow about Liu Wu’s whereabouts when returning to the Medicine Hall.

Pei Mu Er saw her not speaking and approached, collecting Chen Yì’s nightclothes:

“Come, let’s return and rest.”

Meanwhile, Chen Yì, hearing voices from the adjacent wooden building, felt a deep unease. While changing his clothes, he kept his ears pricked, listening to every sound.

The residents of Xiangcheng Garden, Qingdu Residence—Qie Stopyun, Shen Huatang, Xiao Lao Ye—all were accounted for. Once he confirmed no movement, Chen Yì lay down, his senses alert.

Qie Stopyun, a cultivator at the fourth rank, had perfected sword techniques. With her keen hearing, proximity permitting, she could discern sounds here.

Fortunately, tonight’s night watch was Shen Huatang. Even Xiao Lao Ye, farther still, posed no concern.

At that moment, Chen Yì, adorned with the Path of Steps, moved silently to Pei Mu Er’s wooden building. The mansion’s martial arts masters, hearing faint sounds, would not suspect anything.

Chen Yì waited a while longer, then closed his eyes, entering the cultivation of Si Xiang Gong.

This journey tonight, for him, held both gains and losses.

First, the White Tiger Guard’s plans—those of the Duke’s subsequent actions, or perhaps that nobleman would not stir the winds of Shu Zhou in the near term.

Second, Shu and. With this second-ranked cultivator as an ally, Chen Yì could proceed more smoothly.

Third, the “loss” lay in his lack of time to seek Fang Hongxie and inquire about Li Sanyuan.

“Li Sanyuan was backed by Ji Zhou Trading House. If anyone sought him, it could only be the people of Ji Zhou Trading House. At the very least, those connected to Ji Zhou Trading House—perhaps even Ma Shuhuan’s death ties to them…”

As he pondered these thoughts, his spirit sank deeper into cultivation.

He could not afford to be too relaxed.

…

West Market, Black Fish Alley.

Song Jin Jian quietly approached a dilapidated courtyard, his spiritual energy flowing, leaning to listen to the sounds within.

After ensuring no one had noticed, he slipped through the wall and entered the courtyard like a ghost, his presence haunting the inner chambers.

At that moment, the hall was dim and utterly dark, as if no light could be found within arm’s reach.

Yet for masters like Song Jinjian and Jin Shuanshuan, such darkness posed no obstacle—they could discern every detail within the room.

—Liu Zhaoqiu stood near the entrance, where three individuals remained seated inside.

One was tall and broad-shouldered, while the other two were shorter and lean.

Upon hearing a commotion, Liu Zhaoqiu glanced over his shoulder, bowed, and said, “My lord, they have been waiting for you with utmost reverence.”

As soon as the words left her lips, her eyes flickered over the three strange figures seated in the hall, and a wave of relief washed over her.

These men were not merely odd—they radiated a foul, sinister aura that made her heart race with unease.

Song Jinjian, however, paid her no heed. He merely inclined his head and, with a flick of his fingers, ignited the candles behind the Grand Tutor’s chair.

The faint light spilled into the hall.

All three seated men turned to face him, their gazes differing in expression.

Unbothered, Song Jinjian walked directly to the seat of honor and sat down. The door, moving with his motion, sighed shut behind him.

Only the distant patter of rain remained audible.

Leaning back in the chair, Song Jinjian cast his eyes over the towering man, then fixed them on the two shorter, frail figures. In a cold, detached tone, he spoke:

“You, Mo Yun and his companion, have spent years guiding caravans along the Tea Horse Road, aiding bandits in their incursions into barbarian territories. I hear you’ve earned a reputation no lesser than that of the wolves, Du Cang.”

The two shorter men, both draped in black veils, cracked smiles at his words.

One, the shorter of the two, nodded and gestured to himself: “I am Meng Wen.”

He then pointed to his companion: “Meng Wu.”

When Meng Wu, the other black-clad man, bowed his head in confirmation, Meng Wen bowed his hands to Song Jinjian:

“Brother Song, your kindness is beyond words. We two are but outcasts, wandering from south to north, scraping a living as misfits in the Jianghu.”

Meng Wu’s voice was low and gravelly: “My elder brother speaks truly.”

“Should you permit us, Brother Song, we humbly envy your status as a guest of Master Cui of the Cleansing River Clan, whom Master Cui holds in high regard.”

“My elder brother is right.”

“Yet we have not returned to the capital for quite some time—might I ask what business has brought you to summon us?”

“My elder brother—”

“Be silent!”

Meng Wu’s voice wavered, a touch of resentment in it: “My elder brother—he called me here to death!”

Meng Wen, though, soothed him gently: “Let the elder brother speak. The younger brother shall wait a moment.”

“Ah, yes. When the elder brother is occupied, the younger brother shall not disturb him.”

“Indeed.”

Song Jinjian regarded the black-clad man whose voice still sounded like a child’s, his expression unchanged.

“You have connections within the barbarian lands—that is why I summoned you.”

Meng Wen blinked in surprise, sitting cross-legged on the Grand Tutor’s chair:

“Brother Song, you wish to enter the barbarian territories?”

“Answer me this.”

“Indeed—Brother Song is correct. Over the years, my brother and I have roamed the barbarian lands, piecing together their conditions and forging alliances with some of their people. We know those regions rather well.”

Upon hearing this, Song Jinjian nodded: “Carry a message for one person.”

Meng Wen’s spirit seemed to flicker. He rubbed his hands together: “To whom, my lord?”

“Not a barbarian—but a man from Wei, and a woman.”

“A woman from Wei?”

Meng Wen glanced at Meng Wu, who was now poring over an object on the table, and realized he couldn’t rely on him. Thinking it over, he said:

“In the depths of the barbarian lands, how many Wei people are there? How few? And the territory is vast—do you know which tribe your person resides in?”

“The left king, Mu Ha Ge.”

“The Black Bear Tribe?”

Song Jinjian nodded. Then withdrew a letter from his sleeve and tossed it at Meng Wen:

“That person is named Fu—a teacher whom Mu Ha Ge took in, along with his sons and grandsons, to instruct them.”

“Fu the teacher…”

Meng Wen memorized the name, cradled the letter to his chest, and rubbed his hands: “Brother Song, the Tea Horse Road has its rules…”

Before he could finish, Song Jinjian gestured toward Liu Zhaoqiu: “Fetch her.”

Meng Wen glanced at Liu Zhaoqiu, then gave a sly smile: “Brother Song, how at home he must be in the Cleansing River Clan—how rare to encounter such a striking beauty!”

“She…”

At that moment, Meng Wu suddenly interjected: “Brother, Brother Song seems angry.”

Meng Wen quickly fell silent, leapt from his chair, and followed Liu Zhaoqiu.

Song Jinjian gave Liu Zhaoqiu a meaningful glance, then allowed her to lead Meng Wen and Meng Wu out of the hall.

Once the room fell silent, Song Jinjian turned his attention to the tall, robust man. His expression grew grave:

“Was your journey uneventful?”

The towering figure removed the black cloth from his face, revealing a visage riddled with scars. He rose and bowed: “All has proceeded as instructed, my lord.”

“Indeed?”

Unable to hide the truth, the broad-shouldered man lowered his head: “My lord, I made a stop at Guangyuan County en route.”

Song Jinjian’s face remained impassive. “Your superior’s command?”

“Yes.”

“Your superior sent me to deliver a letter to the governor.”

“Li Fu… and another?”

The sturdy man hesitated, then lifted his gaze: “And Fu’s family.”

“Fu’s family?”

“You have encountered the Fu family before?”

Song Jinjian’s demeanor turned even colder. He sneered: “Before you left, I instructed you to move with utmost caution—do not disturb the balance.”

The black-clad man shrank back, stammering: “Your lord—your lord—if your lord commands, I can only obey.”

Song Jinjian’s gaze never left him, his silence a rebuke.

After ensuring no one had noticed, he slipped through the wall and entered the courtyard like a ghost, his presence haunting the inner chambers.

At that moment, the hall was dim and utterly dark, as if no light could be found within arm’s reach.

Yet for masters like Song Jinjian and Jin Shuanshuan, such darkness posed no obstacle—they could discern every detail within the room.

—Liu Zhaoqiu stood near the entrance, where three individuals remained seated inside.

One was tall and broad-shouldered, while the other two were shorter and lean.

Upon hearing a commotion, Liu Zhaoqiu glanced over her shoulder, bowed, and said, “My lord, they have been waiting for you with utmost reverence.”

As soon as the words left her lips, her eyes flickered over the three strange figures seated in the hall, and a wave of relief washed over her.

These men were not merely odd—they radiated a foul, sinister aura that made her heart race with unease.

Song Jinjian, however, paid her no heed. He merely inclined his head and, with a flick of his fingers, ignited the candles behind the Grand Tutor’s chair.

The faint light spilled into the hall.

All three seated men turned to face him, their gazes differing in expression.

Unbothered, Song Jinjian walked directly to the seat of honor and sat down. The door, moving with his motion, sighed closed behind him.

Only the distant patter of rain remained audible.

Leaning back in the chair, Song Jinjian cast his eyes over the towering man, then fixed them on the two shorter, frail figures. In a cold, detached tone, he spoke:

“You, Mo Yun and his companion, have spent years guiding caravans along the Tea Horse Road, aiding bandits in their incursions into barbarian territories. I hear you’ve earned a reputation no lesser than that of the wolves, Du Cang.”

The two shorter men, both draped in black veils, cracked smiles at his words.

One, the shorter of the two, nodded and gestured to himself: “I am Meng Wen.”

He then pointed to his companion: “Meng Wu.”

When Meng Wu, the other black-clad man, bowed his head in confirmation, Meng Wen bowed his hands to Song Jinjian:

“Brother Song, your kindness is beyond words. We two are but outcasts, wandering from south to north, scraping a living as misfits in the Jianghu.”

Meng Wu’s voice was low and gravelly: “My elder brother speaks truly.”

“Should you permit us, Brother Song, we humbly envy your status as a guest of Master Cui of the Cleansing River Clan, whom Master Cui holds in high regard.”

“My elder brother is right.”

“Yet we have not returned to the capital for quite some time—might I ask what business has brought you to summon us?”

“My elder brother—”

“Be silent!”

Meng Wu’s voice wavered, a touch of resentment in it: “My elder brother—he called me here to death!”

Meng Wen, though, soothed him gently: “Let the elder brother speak. The younger brother shall wait a moment.”

“Ah, yes. When the elder brother is occupied, the younger brother shall not disturb him.”

“Indeed.”

Song Jinjian regarded the black-clad man whose voice still sounded like a child’s, his expression unchanged.

“You have connections within the barbarian lands—that is why I summoned you.”

Meng Wen blinked in surprise, sitting cross-legged on the Grand Tutor’s chair:

“Brother Song, you wish to enter the barbarian territories?”

“Answer me this.”

“Indeed—Brother Song is correct. Over the years, my brother and I have roamed the barbarian lands, piecing together their conditions and forging alliances with some of their people. We know those regions rather well.”

Upon hearing this, Song Jinjian nodded: “Carry a message for one person.”

Meng Wen’s spirit seemed to flicker. He rubbed his hands together: “To whom, my lord?”

“Not a barbarian—but a man from Wei, and a woman.”

“A woman from Wei?”

Meng Wen glanced at Meng Wu, who was now poring over an object on the table, and realized he couldn’t rely on him. Thinking it over, he said:

“In the depths of the barbarian lands, how many Wei people are there? How few? And the territory is vast—do you know which tribe your person resides in?”

“The left king, Mu Ha Ge.”

“The Black Bear Tribe?”

Song Jinjian nodded. Then withdrew a letter from his sleeve and tossed it at Meng Wen:

“That person is named Fu—a teacher whom Mu Ha Ge took in, along with his sons and grandsons, to instruct them.”

“Fu the teacher…”

Meng Wen memorized the name, cradled the letter to his chest, and rubbed his hands: “Brother Song, the Tea Horse Road has its rules…”

Before he could finish, Song Jinjian gestured toward Liu Zhaoqiu: “Fetch her.”

Meng Wen glanced at Liu Zhaoqiu, then gave a sly smile: “Brother Song, how at home he must be in the Cleansing River Clan—how rare to encounter such a striking beauty!”

“She…”

At that moment, Meng Wu suddenly interjected: “Brother, Brother Song seems angry.”

Meng Wen quickly fell silent, leapt from his chair, and followed Liu Zhaoqiu.

Song Jinjian gave Liu Zhaoqiu a meaningful glance, then allowed her to lead Meng Wen and Meng Wu out of the hall.

Once the room fell silent, Song Jinjian turned his attention to the tall, robust man. His expression grew grave:

“Was your journey uneventful?”

The towering figure removed the black cloth from his face, revealing a visage riddled with scars. He rose and bowed: “All has proceeded as instructed, my lord.”

“Indeed?”

Unable to hide the truth, the broad-shouldered man lowered his head: “My lord, I made a stop at Guangyuan County en route.”

Song Jinjian’s face remained impassive. “Your superior’s command?”

“Yes.”

“Your superior sent me to deliver a letter to the governor.”

“Li Fu… and another?”

The sturdy man hesitated, then lifted his gaze: “And Fu’s family.”

“Fu’s family?”

“You have encountered the Fu family before?”

Song Jinjian’s demeanor turned even colder. He sneered: “Before you left, I instructed you to move with utmost caution—do not disturb the balance.”

The black-clad man shrank back, stammering: “Your lord—your lord—if your lord commands, I can only obey.”

Song Jinjian’s gaze never left him, his silence a rebuke.

A moment of silence.

When the rooster’s cry echoed from all directions, he finally spoke: “If there’s another time, death.”

“Yes, thank you, my lord, for your mercy.”

Song Jinjian averted his gaze, waved dismissively: “Has my lord brought any letters for me?”

The robust man in black: “Yes.”

He bowed forward respectfully and presented a letter: “My lord also instructed me to tell you—stones from Mount Ita can wear away jade.”

As Song Jinjian listened, he flipped through the letter in his hand:

[The situation in Shu Zhou has changed.]

[The deputy officials of the three departments in Shu Zhou—governors of the military, civil affairs, and censors—have two candidates each, but the right deputy of the military governor’s office remains vacant.]

[Moreover, it is essential to prepare for that matter.]

After reading the letter, Song Jinjian tore it to shreds: “Later, take the two with you to the barbarian tribes. Be sure to deliver that letter to Mr. Fu.”

The robust black-clad man nodded.

Just as he was about to rise, Song Jinjian called out: “Before you leave, write a letter to your family.”

The man paused, then knelt and bowed: “Rest assured, my lord—I’ve already arranged everything before heading to Shu Zhou.”

“Very well, go.”

Soon after, the three men in black departed.

Liu ZhaoXue returned to the hall, bowed respectfully to Song Jinjian seated in the front: “As instructed, the two have received ten gold pieces.”

Song Jinjian glanced at her, his tone calm: “Money and treasures are external matters; there’s no need to concern yourself.”

After a pause, he asked: “Have you heard anything from the prison officials?”

Liu ZhaoXue shook her head gently: “Not yet.”

“Since the incident with the imperial examination, the prison officials are investigating the deaths of Ma Shuhan and Xu JiTong, so they have no time to investigate the Xiao family.”

“Did Huang Zhuo tell you?”

“Red sleeves.”

Song Jinjian recalled the prison official he’d seen earlier, a smile spreading across his face: “Lord Xiao is more cautious than I thought.”

“Li SanYuan and others—those irrelevant folks—he needs to wait for Xiao JingHong to return and handle it. Truly…”

“A tiger without teeth is no match for a cat.”

Liu ZhaoXue heard this and remained silent.

Song Jinjian said no more, gave a few instructions, and exited the hall: “Come, let’s go meet an old friend.”

Liu ZhaoXue followed, curious but not daring to ask.

Over these days, Liu ZhaoXue had grown familiar with Song Jinjian’s nature.

Seemingly calm and gentle, yet utterly indifferent to everyone and everything.

But not daring to ask, Song Jinjian continued: “He’s only just arrived in Shu Zhou; he should be entertained properly…”

(Chapter Complete)