On the third day of Qiu Shi’s enforced confinement, Chong Ying brought news that Cheng Yi’s injuries had improved, and he could now take a few steps out of bed. However, Dongheng Courtyard remained heavily guarded—no one outside could enter, and no one inside could leave, making it impossible for him to come and express his gratitude in person.
Baitang Courtyard was spacious, with a small, perpetually mist-shrouded lake nestled beside the western corner tower, beyond a bamboo grove. Moss-covered stone steps faded in and out of view through the haze, ascending layer by layer to a high pavilion at the lake’s center.
Inside the pavilion, a gentle breeze stirred as Qiu Shi reclined on a soft couch, a music theory scroll in hand. Chong Ying stood beside her, his voice monotonous as ever: “...Last night at midnight, the City Lord emerged from seclusion. The lights in the main residence burned through the night, and the Young Lord was summoned there, not leaving until dawn.”
The City Lord of Qin Hai Main City was Qiu Shi’s father, Song Chengshu.
“I understand.”
Qiu Shi turned a page and asked, “Have there been any updates on Cheng Yi’s background, as I previously tasked you to investigate?”
Chong Ying stood rigid as a straight line, his figure enveloped in shadow, replying methodically, “My lady, the Black Dragon Clan has little record of Cheng Yi. We only managed to gather rumors from some collateral branch members living outside Black Dragon Valley.”
“Rumors?”
Qiu Shi’s gaze lifted from the scroll, her voice pausing imperceptibly. “Go on.”
“The Black Dragon Clan’s descendants are always born with black horns and tails. But Cheng Yi was different—at birth, he had a white head, black body, and white tail. According to elders who witnessed it, the white was as pure as snow, but among the Black Dragon Clan, this was considered an ill omen.”
“As a result, he grew up without playmates. The medicinal herbs, spiritual treasures, and cultivation techniques he needed had to be fought for by his own hands. Ostracized by his clan, his life has not been easy.”
“Though the clan provided him no resources, his cultivation isn’t far behind the other prodigies of his generation. This suggests his bloodline and talent are anything but weak.”
“Did you uncover which Black Dragon elder he descends from?”
Qiu Shi closed the book entirely, raising her eyes.
“Cheng Yi is the third son of the Black Dragon Clan’s Second Elder. His mother’s identity remains unknown.”
In her dreams, Qiu Shi had never bothered to investigate Cheng Yi’s background. To her, a life-saving debt was a debt regardless of origin—whether he was from the Black Dragon Clan or even the notorious Demon Tribe, she would have brought him back to heal.
“White head, black tail.”
Qiu Shi’s jade-like fingers rested on the pavilion railing, lost in thought.
Newborn demon beasts usually inherit traits from whichever parent possesses the stronger bloodline. The Black Dragon Clan ranks among the higher-tier demon lineages, so their offspring typically take after one parent entirely. For Cheng Yi to exhibit traits of both was exceedingly rare—it could only mean one thing.
Cheng Yi’s mother must have had a bloodline no weaker than his father’s, likely on equal footing. Hence, he bore characteristics from both.
But if that were the case, why was he treated so poorly?
The clan elders being old-fashioned and superstitious was one thing, but for the shrewd figures among the Black Dragons to follow suit defied explanation.
A promising direct descendant like him, if nurtured properly, could become a pillar of the clan—a boon any lineage would welcome. No rational faction would reject such an opportunity.
Yet the Black Dragon Clan had done exactly that.
“Dig deeper into Cheng Yi’s origins.”
After a long silence, Qiu Shi tapped her fingers lightly. “Send Yun An and Yun Ying to guard Dongheng Courtyard. Keep an eye out for Lu Jue’s people—and observe how Cheng Yi and his servant behave.”
Chong Ying nodded and vanished into the shadows.
Qiu Shi rose, her cascading rouge silk skirts blooming like layered clouds. She examined the sound-transmitting jade at her waist—still no flicker of spiritual light.
Qin Donglin hadn’t contacted her.
Over the past two days, she’d reached out no fewer than ten times without reply.
Missing one or two messages was normal—Qin Donglin was a busy man. Ignoring three or four still fell within reason; when he didn’t want to engage, no one could force him. But after seven or eight attempts, given his temper, only one scenario explained why he hadn’t coldly told her to stop pestering him.
—Qin Donglin was angry.
When angered, his patience reached unimaginable heights.
In the past, a dozen rapid-fire messages via sound-jade would have elicited a frosty command to shut up. If truly vexed, he’d simply crush the jade, cutting off her ability to bother him entirely.
But when genuinely upset, he’d leave the jade intact—watching the messages flash, yet never responding.
In all their years, this scenario—where she could reach him but received no reply—had only occurred twice before.
After a moment’s thought, Qiu Shi activated the jade again, this time contacting Wu Fei.
The palm-sized jade lay cool in her hand. After a long pause, unfamiliar background noise surfaced—market hawkers touting low-grade spiritual treasures—alongside a deliberately hushed, familiar voice.
Qiu Shi perked up, leaning closer while keeping her own voice low in case Qin Donglin was nearby: “Wu Fei? Is that you?”
“Who else would it be?”
Wu Fei’s tone carried his trademark lazy amusement. “What cosmic wind blew you into remembering me today?”
“Is Qin Donglin with you?”
She brushed aside his teasing, cutting straight to the point. “And where are you two?”
“Since when do you need me to find him for you?”
His voice remained playful, laced with knowing humor.
“Stop with the questions.”
Qiu Shi pressed her temples. “Are you with Qin Donglin or not?”
“Yes.”
Wu Fei’s voice was perpetually cheerful. “We arrived in Lin'an City yesterday. Aunt Ruan intercepted him—he never entered the main city.”
Qiu Shi hadn’t realized they’d already reached Lin'an. After a beat, she asked, “Aunt Ruan came too?”
“Mhm.”
Wu Fei held nothing back. “Claims it’s for Elder Song’s birthday celebration.”
His tone sobered slightly: “Little Qiu Shi, with Liugi Mountain’s affairs, Aunt Ruan has no reason to arrive in the main city a month early.”
“I know.”
Qiu Shi stared at the glowing jade, struggling to steady her voice. “I can’t leave today. Tomorrow, I’ll visit Lin'an to see Aunt Ruan.”
From his high vantage point in a tavern, Wu Fei watched the human currents below ebb and flow like water.
His gaze withdrew as he drawled, “I’ve heard most versions of your romantic escapades by now. Rumor has it you’ve truly taken a liking to that black dragon?”
“You believe idle gossip from busybodies with nothing better to do?”
Qiu Shi scoffed, her voice turning icy.
“Normally I wouldn’t meddle between you and Qin Donglin. But if this were true, you’ve crossed a line. You’ve left no face for Liugi Mountain—or for Qin Donglin.”
Wu Fei’s words carried pointed weight.
“I know my limits.”
Qiu Shi hated hearing such words the most. Had it been her old temperament, she would have either cut off contact immediately or at least cooled her voice with a warning. But now, she remained as calm as ever, even asking with a hint of concern about Qin Donglin’s condition: "How is he? Did either of you get injured in the secret realm while traveling from the East Sea?"
She still remembered the end of that dream—Qing Feng’s words about "Demon Lord Qin Donglin."
Ordinary wounds couldn’t harm Qin Donglin, and ordinary inner demons couldn’t ensnare him. For something to grow from weakness to strength, it must have undergone a long period of dormancy. She feared this very moment might be the turning point when the inner demons took hold, which was why she couldn’t help but ask.
In the dream, she hadn’t contacted Qin Donglin or Wu Fei at all, nor did she know Aunt Ruan had come to Lin'an City.
After her father secretly issued a kill order, she had taken Cheng Yi and run away without telling anyone.
Now, because she had made changes, more things she hadn’t seen in the dream began to surface like the tip of an iceberg.
"Nothing serious, just a bit exhausting from the journey," Wu Fei added casually. "It only took two days to get from the East Sea to Lin'an City—I arrived covered in dust."
Qiu Shi fell silent for a moment.
Not long after cutting off the communication jade, Ming Yue hurried up the stone steps, her expression tinged with unconcealed worry: "Miss, the madam asks you to come to the main courtyard now."
Qiu Shi gave a soft hum, unsurprised.
Her father had just emerged from seclusion, and upon hearing about recent events, he would undoubtedly intervene.
In the dream, she had also made this trip, but it hadn’t ended well. Her father, who had always doted on and indulged her, had scolded her repeatedly, so furious yet helpless that he eventually dismissed her with a wave.
The main courtyard was quite a distance from Baitang Courtyard. By the time Qiu Shi arrived, nearly half an hour had passed.
Under the corridor, purple wildflowers climbed overhead, swaying proudly. Song Chengshu and Song Yunhe, father and son, sat across from each other at a small table, each holding a chess piece, hesitating over their moves. The steaming tea at their sides remained untouched.
Not far away, on a lounge chair, Qiu Shi’s mother reclined with half-lidded eyes, the hem of her moon-colored skirt barely brushing the ground. Hearing footsteps, she turned her head, and her eyes curved into a smile at the sight of Qiu Shi.
"Xiao Shi, come here."
Tang Ru beckoned her over, her voice gentle. "Don’t go near them—your father will just throw a tantrum when he loses again."
"Mother."
Qiu Shi’s steps veered slightly as she walked to Tang Ru’s side, casting a glance at Song Yunhe before whispering, "Father takes back every move he makes. In a single game, Gege has to let him win countless times. Why does he still insist on playing?"
"Everyone else runs at the sight of your father. If he doesn’t pester your brother, who else can he drag into a game?"
Tang Ru’s laughter revealed two delicate dimples, softening her entire demeanor. Then, she studied Qiu Shi’s face and asked, "Why do you look so pale?"
A pang of guilt twisted in Qiu Shi’s heart.
Tang Ru had a gentle, water-like temperament, and Song Chengshu had always spoiled Qiu Shi, rarely restraining her. Whatever she fancied, she was free to pursue—except for those two days of house arrest, which had been Tang Ru’s firmest act of discipline yet.
"Mother."
Qiu Shi blinked, her voice tight. "Aunt Ruan has come to Qin Hai."
The smile on Tang Ru’s face faded for an instant.
Qiu Shi tugged lightly at her sleeve. When Tang Ru looked at her, she lowered her lashes and murmured, "Mother, I need to speak with you and Father about Cheng Yi."
