Chapter Fifty: Requesting to Borrow the Sacred Herb

Murong Yan had heard that Ye Feng had been suddenly struck down by a violent illness. Anxiously, she mounted her sword and sped to the Ye residence. When she saw Ye Feng unconscious, her tears fell like rain.

Xu Yaozu, Li Yiqing, and the others soon arrived as well. Upon discovering the jade vial on the ground and examining Ye Feng’s symptoms, they concluded he had been poisoned and hastily inquired about the origin of the vial.

Xu Yaozu immediately recounted how Ye Feng had visited his home earlier that day and admitted that the jade vial belonged to him. Everyone trusted Xu Yaozu’s character and thus turned their suspicions to Xu Zhihui.

As a result, some remained to channel spiritual energy into Ye Feng, protecting his heart, while others were dispatched to apprehend Xu Zhihui. Before long, the soldiers returned empty-handed, reporting that Xu Zhihui had already fled, leaving no trace behind.

Everyone was at a loss; the poisoner could not be found, nor could they identify the poison or determine where to find an antidote, let alone how to prepare one.

At this moment, Mu Shijin reported, “Marshal, when I was a wanderer, I witnessed many strange happenings and heard tell of a place three thousand miles to the south—Mount Cuixia. There live two eccentric siblings, both over a hundred years old, known as the Two Elders of Cuixia. They cultivate many rare herbs and flowers, most of which are potent medicines. If you can find them, perhaps you might obtain a celestial herb to save Deputy Marshal Ye!”

Without hesitation, Murong Yan wiped away her tears, rose to her feet, and declared, “I’ll go. If I cannot save Brother Feng, I have no wish to live on alone!”

She meant what she said. At once, she mounted her sword and soared into the sky. In less than half an hour, she arrived at a vast mountain range.

The mountains were grand and imposing, rolling endlessly with peak after peak, stretching for more than a hundred miles. Ancient trees grew thickly, each one towering and lush, their canopies so dense that not a ray of light penetrated the forest floor. Wildflowers and berries were interspersed throughout, their fragrance suffusing the air and lifting the spirit.

But Murong Yan’s heart was heavy with sorrow; she had no mind to admire the scenery. She circled overhead, searching for signs of habitation. Yet amid the endless mountains and dense forests, how could there be any dwellings? The thick foliage made it nearly impossible to discern anything on the ground.

Her anxiety mounting, Murong Yan called out loudly, “Esteemed elders! Immortals of the mountain!…”

Only the whistling wind answered her cries.

By now, the sun had just risen, the morning mist was beginning to dissipate, and dewdrops clung to the hem of her robes, seeping through her skin and chilling her to the bone.

Her grief deepened, and she wished she could hurl herself against the mountaintop and reunite with Ye Feng in the afterlife.

Just then, a mountain song drifted to her ears. She turned toward the sound and saw a small boy carrying two buckets of water, tottering along a narrow path.

Murong Yan quickly landed, straightened her attire, and saluted him. “Little brother, is this Mount Cuixia?”

The boy nodded. “It is.”

“Are there two elderly people living on this mountain, both over a hundred years old?”

The boy sized her up, shook his head, and replied, “I don’t know,” then hurried along his way.

But Murong Yan was shrewd; she sensed the boy was hiding something and quietly followed him.

Before long, the boy turned into a pine grove, where red brick roofs peeked through the trees, suggesting someone lived there.

Murong Yan quickened her pace but accidentally stepped on a branch. Hearing the noise, the boy turned, caught sight of her, and started violently. “Master! There’s a stranger!” he cried, dropping his buckets and fleeing into the house. With a bang, the door slammed shut.

Murong Yan realized things were not going well and chased after him, calling, “Little brother, please announce me to your master! I am Murong Yan and humbly request an audience!” She rapped her hands on the door knocker.

But no matter how long she knocked, no one answered.

Lost and helpless, she turned around and was startled to find a shriveled old man, black and thin, with bulging goldfish eyes fixed unblinkingly on her.

He startled her so much she nearly cried out. When she had composed herself, she asked, “Elder, do you reside here as well?”

The old man was no more than four feet tall, stooped and hunched, leaning on a cane, so emaciated he was little more than skin and bones.

He let out a dry cackle. “No, no! I don’t live here. I live on the mountain opposite. I’ve watched her for decades and know she’s a miser. If you’ve come here to ask for medicine, you’ve come to the wrong place!”

Though the old man looked odd, Murong Yan could tell from his silent movements—she hadn’t even noticed when he appeared behind her—that he was no ordinary person.

At once, she dropped to her knees with a thud and pleaded, “Immortal master, my Brother Feng has been poisoned and his life hangs by a thread. Please, save him!”

The old man retreated three steps, waving his hands. “No, no! You’re begging the wrong person. I don’t know how to save people—only how to harm them, though I never actually do.”

His beady black eyes darted about, and he snickered, pointing at the door. “Go beg that old woman. She’s an expert at healing—though, in decades, she’s never saved a soul!”

Murong Yan glanced between him and the house, hesitant.

The old man asked, “She won’t open the door, will she? Why not climb up and take a look over the wall?”

But Murong Yan thought that would be rude; if they caught her, wouldn’t it be even harder to obtain the medicine?

The old man only chuckled. “If you don’t look, you’ll regret it! Her garden’s full of rare herbs and flowers. If you could pick just one, it’d not only cure poison but extend life and enhance your spiritual power. Those are treasures coveted by all demon slayers.”

At this, Murong Yan’s curiosity was piqued. She quietly gathered her spiritual energy and levitated gently upward.

Just as her head rose above the wall, she saw the courtyard was filled with plants—each stalk as thick as a bowl, looking like flowers but actually leafy herbs, vibrant and colorful, their fragrance intoxicating.

She was filled with envy, thinking, If I could just pick one, Brother Feng would be saved!

Suddenly, a furious shout rang out, “You want a beating?” A long bamboo pole swung at her, striking her squarely on the head.

With a loud thud, Murong Yan saw stars and her face drained of color.

As she fell, she caught a glimpse of a plump, rosy-cheeked old woman, tall and hefty, dressed in a bright red floral jacket with a pink blossom in her hair, looking every inch like the queen of flowers herself.

Her arms were thick as pork hocks, glistening with a sheen of oil—one hand on her hip, the other clutching the bamboo rod, and her broad mouth spewing curses. “Little girl, did you come to steal my treasures? I’ll break your legs!”

Murong Yan rubbed her aching head, aggrieved but not daring to offend the old woman. She could only beg, “Immortal master, my Brother Feng is gravely poisoned and at death’s door. Please, have mercy and save him!”

The shriveled old man also joined in, pleading, “Hibiscus, my dear sister, we’ve been at odds for decades—why torment the girl further? Just give her a stalk of your celestial herb and save a life!”

The old woman grew even angrier, scolding, “You hunchbacked old fool! You talk a good game, but if you want someone saved, do it yourself. Didn’t Master give you a detoxifying elixir? Haven’t you used it yet? Why not give it to her!”

Hearing this, Murong Yan turned hopefully to the old man.

He immediately backed away, stammering, “No, no, she’s lying! I have no such elixir!”

The old woman snorted from within the courtyard, “Hmph! You always talk big, but when it’s your turn, you can’t bear to part with it!”

The old man looked terribly embarrassed and tried to explain, “Hibiscus, you can’t compare the two of us. I have only one such elixir—if I give it away, what if I’m poisoned one day? Yours, by contrast, are plentiful—what harm in giving just one stalk?”

Seeing Murong Yan’s hopeful gaze, he realized he’d misspoken and quickly forced a laugh. “No, no, that elixir is my life-preserving treasure. There’s only one and no more. You’d best ask the old woman!”

So saying, he shrank back several steps.

Murong Yan saw the old man’s predicament and resumed pleading with the old woman, but even as the sun set behind the mountains, she remained unmoved.

When dusk fell, the old man called to Murong Yan, “Little girl, come with me and rest at my place. If you can’t get it today, try again at dawn. Pester her for a few days—maybe she’ll relent!”

Murong Yan obeyed and followed him to the opposite mountain. There, the slopes were covered with flowers that bloomed at night—brilliant but unsettling: black as pitch, purple glowing in the dark, and reds glaringly vivid. Each plant was both mesmerizing and disturbing; their stench was nauseating.

Covering her nose, Murong Yan trailed behind the old man, growing ever more dizzy and short of breath, her cheeks burning and her heart racing.

At last, they reached a humble cottage. When the old man opened the door, a wave of sweet fragrance greeted them, instantly clearing Murong Yan’s mind and spirit.

He lit a lamp, revealing a simple but tidy room. Most conspicuous was a small jade box on a flower stand by the wall—exquisitely crafted, utterly out of place amid the plain surroundings.

The lid was open, revealing a single, round, peach-sized pill, its surface bright red and glossy, perfectly matching the jade box. The room’s fragrance emanated from this very object.

The old man brought out steamed buns, clear water, and pickled vegetables. Murong Yan, unreserved, ate heartily.

After the meal, the old man comforted her, “Don’t worry, child. Try again with the old woman tomorrow. Years ago, she was kindhearted too—if only I, this wretched hunchback, hadn’t made her so bitter…”

Murong Yan was about to ask more when he urged, “Best get some sleep, child. Rise early and try again tomorrow.”

Murong Yan nodded, but once in bed, she tossed and turned, unable to rest. The day’s events felt like a dream. Why were these two elders so strange in appearance, bearing, and words? One was good-hearted but had no antidote; the other had the antidote but a heart of stone. Would she ever obtain the celestial herb?

Wait—didn’t the plump old woman say the old man had the elixir? If only she could steal it, Brother Feng would be saved!

But no, he has only one pill. If she took it, wouldn’t she break his heart?

Just as she contemplated theft, a thought struck her: the old man had only one pill, but the fat woman had so many herbs—why not steal one from her instead?

With this idea in mind, Murong Yan slipped from bed, quietly opened the door, and crept out into the night to steal a celestial herb.