Chapter 25: The Fiend in Black

The soldier standing guard atop the city gate seemed to sense something passing overhead. He suddenly looked up at the sky but saw nothing. He shook his head and dismissed the thought.

When Qingyin tried to land, she was going too fast to stop herself, tumbling down half the street before coming to a halt. She lay there for quite some time, groaning softly. Slowly, she propped herself up by the waist, looked around, and realized that her home was just up ahead.

She walked toward the tall gate. The heavy doors were tightly shut, the bronze rings mottled with green rust, clearly untouched by human hands for a long time. She stood at the foot of the steps for a moment, then circled to the side of the wall, nimbly climbed over, and landed inside the courtyard.

The grand manor was desolate and silent. Everywhere she looked, the grass was thick and lush. The soil, once soaked in blood, had long since lost its scent, but it seemed to nourish the vegetation all the more, making it flourish wildly in the dark, adding to the eerie atmosphere. It appeared that since the massacre, the Zhou family estate had been abandoned and left uninhabited. Who would dare live here? Anyone stepping inside would feel as if every step might land upon the bloodstains of the murdered, as though vengeful spirits still lingered in the air.

Qingyin stood where she landed, gazing at the familiar yet alien courtyard. A sharp pain twisted in her chest, her legs felt as heavy as lead, impossible to move. She stood there, composed herself, and only after a long moment did she slowly walk forward.

In the dark, ruined garden, once filled with laughter and warmth, now only her slender, solitary figure passed through. All joy had vanished, tenderness gone, leaving nothing but a scene of utter desolation.

She dared not look at the rooms where she had once lived with her mother—her mother had died there. Instead, she went straight to her father Zhou Yishu’s study. In her memory, apart from the ancestral hall, the study was the only place strictly forbidden to everyone. Even though Zhou Yishu doted on her, he never allowed her inside. In fact, aside from Zhou Yishu, who managed the household, no one else was permitted entry. Even when the servants cleaned, Zhou Yishu would personally supervise. Normally, a study needed peace and quiet, but this level of vigilance seemed excessive.

Ever since five years ago, when Third Master She mentioned the "Zhou family’s priceless treasure" in the Lin residence, Qingyin had wondered: if the Zhou family truly possessed such a treasure, perhaps it was hidden in the study.

The windows and doors of the study were pitch black. When she reached out to push open the paint-chipped door, she felt no fear—only a deep, overwhelming sorrow. The room was shrouded in darkness, but thanks to her ability to see at night, she could make out everything clearly.

Dust covered everything, and cobwebs hung from the corners. She paced slowly through the room, examining everything closely.

She approached her father’s writing desk, running her fingers lightly along its edge. Memories of her father’s voice and smile threatened to bring tears to her eyes. Her gaze fell upon a ledger on the desk. She picked it up, shook off the dust, and leafed through it—it was a registry of the Zhou household’s staff. The familiar names were clear on the page, but the people were all gone. Her heart ached unbearably. She slipped the book into her bosom, as a keepsake.

She tilted her head back, forcing the tears welling in her eyes to recede. Mourning was necessary, but not for tonight.

Tonight, she had come to search for something. What exactly, she did not know. The study appeared to be nothing more than an elegant, unremarkable room. Her eyes finally fell upon the writing desk—it was carved from a single, smooth, irregularly shaped jade stone, wider at the top and narrower at the bottom, natural and unique. But how could one use a jade desk for reading and writing? Wouldn’t it chill the arms?

She ran her hand along the curved side of the desk and suddenly felt something unusual. She crouched down for a closer look and saw, on the inner side facing the wall, the shape of a right hand pressed into a depression. She compared her hand to it—the imprint was smaller than hers, seemingly modeled after a man’s hand.

She instinctively guessed it was her father’s handprint. She placed her hand into the imprint and pressed down.

Nothing happened. There was no secret door opening as she had imagined.

Did the handprint need to be pressed by the exact matching hand to trigger the mechanism? If so, only her father could have activated it. But her father was gone now. If there was a secret room, would it remain forever sealed?

As she stood lost in thought, a strange sound suddenly came from the courtyard.

A cracking noise—something splitting open. Alarmed, she hurried to the window. Peering through the torn paper, she saw in the grass beneath a rockery, a patch of darkness seemed to quiver. It looked vaguely human-shaped. Focusing her night-vision ability, she saw that it was a blue-gray stone statue: a warrior in armor, imposing and stern.

But why would a stone statue move?

Moreover, she did not recall such statues ever being in her home. She looked further into the shadows and saw several more human-shaped statues by the wall—previously unnoticed due to the overgrown vegetation.

Another sharp crack sounded. The statue beneath the rockery split open; the thin outer shell of stone flaked away, and from within emerged a “person” in the garb of a soldier. But his entire body was the stony blue-black of the statue—including his eyes, lifeless and hard, as though a stone man had come alive.

The bizarre sight nearly made her cry out in fear. What in the world was that?!

The cracking noises continued. The other stone figures by the wall were also breaking free, shaking off their stiffness as they began to move toward the study, their joints creaking from disuse.

They were clearly coming for Qingyin.

Chilled to the bone, Qingyin dared not hesitate. Shielding her head with her arms, she kicked off the ground and summoned her wind-leaf technique, charging straight at the window. With a resounding crash, the lattice shattered, and she shot outside, darting like the wind between the advancing stone soldiers.

The wall was not far away—if she could reach it at full speed, she could vault over and escape. Behind her, a howl whistled through the air. In her haste, she glanced back and saw the stone soldiers leaping into the air, pursuing her with uncanny agility.

Her heart pounding, she fled toward the wall. Suddenly, from the tall grass at the base, a stone soldier sprang up, wielding a long blade at her. The dark blade sliced through the air with a chilling whistle.

Pursued by fiends behind and blocked by assassins ahead, Qingyin’s already unsteady mastery of the wind-leaf technique failed her completely. She careened straight toward the oncoming blade.

Suddenly, a wild wind rose out of nowhere, carrying clouds of sand and dust. Several trees in the garden were uprooted, crashing down upon the stone soldiers with a clatter of shattering rock. Swept up by the storm, Qingyin spun helplessly through the air, her senses reeling. Suddenly, someone grabbed her by the collar, hefted her up, and, riding the wild wind, vaulted over the wall, carrying her for hundreds of miles.

The entire city of Jiaozhou was engulfed in the rampaging gale—flying sand, whirling stones, the sky dark as night.

Qingyin’s eyes were blinded by sand; she could not see who was carrying her as they sped through the storm. Suddenly, the breakneck speed reduced. She was thrust forward with great force, tumbling hard to the ground. Dizzy, she lay there, catching her breath, and hurriedly rubbed the grit from her eyes. When she finally managed to look up, she found herself inside a mountain cave.

At the cave’s mouth stood a figure dressed in black, his back to her. He raised his hand in an arc, and as he moved, a translucent, shimmering membrane appeared over the entrance, quivering like water, sealing off the cave.

She stared at the man’s back, barely daring to breathe. Who was he? Why had he brought her here? Was this the legendary fate of being carried off by a monster?

The man finished weaving his watery barrier and slowly turned to face her. Dawn was breaking, and the morning light shone through the membrane, casting him in silhouette. She could not see his features, but she felt his cold, piercing gaze bore two holes straight through her.

She shrank back in terror.

The man approached her step by step. The instant she saw his face, her heart seemed to skip a beat. He was tall and slender, his black robes accentuating an ethereal elegance. His eyes were jet black and clear, with a faint golden sheen in the pupils. His skin seemed to shimmer with light. Yet his lips were pressed into a severe line, lending him an aura of icy menace that made one’s blood run cold.

What a bewitching, beautiful fiend!

Judging by her experience as a demon-catcher, anyone who could look like this was rarely human.

It had to be a demon. Yet, despite her special abilities, she could see no tail, ears, scales, or any other telltale sign of a demon. Could this be a powerful monster, one adept at concealing his true form?

As he drew nearer, his expression unfriendly, she refused to sit and wait for her fate. Panicked, she forced herself to her feet, stammered out a catchphrase from her demon-catching days: “What manner of demon are you? Immortal Qingyin is here—cease your mischief and begone at once!”

He halted, folded his arms, and narrowed his eyes at her with open derision.

How arrogant this demon was! If she didn’t teach him a lesson, he’d never know the might of Immortal Yin!

From experience, most ordinary demons she touched would smoke and flee, howling in agony. She told herself this one would be no different, though in truth, she’d always avoided direct confrontation with anything truly dangerous, relying on her friend Motu’s guidance to steer clear of trouble.

This time, with no Motu to identify the threat, she had no idea what she was dealing with.

Better to strike first.

Determined, she lunged forward, reaching to lay a hand on the black-robed demon. Worried his robe might block her power, she changed course mid-motion—her fingers, originally aimed at his chest, instead prodded his chin.