Chapter 4: The Maiden Kneeling Before the Hall

Title: Shadow of the Silent Blade

The night was silent, the lamplight faint. Ning Changjiu stared at her, expressionless. His pale eyes, already drained of color, seemed almost transparent.

It was a fleeting moment of confusion.

Then, just as quickly, he regained his composure—like a firework flaring and fading within the sleeve of his blue robe.

“Rest well and spare yourself worry,” he said.
“I shall always be your senior brother.”

Ning Xiaoling watched him with fear.

Ning Changjiu studied her face. The girl instinctively shrank back, bumping into the wall. She shuddered.

Amidst the chaos of her thoughts, Ning Changjiu turned and left. The lamp went out as he departed. Huddled in the corner, Ning Xiaoling stared into the pitch-black darkness, all courage drained from her body. She collapsed onto the bed, hands cupping her face. Tears spilled between her pale, parched fingers.

Click.

Ning Changjiu closed the door.

Outside, the autumn rain showed no sign of letting up. Ning Changjiu pulled a chair over and sat by the doorway. The boy, who looked only sixteen, carried himself with unexpected maturity and solemnity.

“Who am I, really…” Ning Changjiu whispered to himself.

He had pondered the question the entire afternoon. The rain rose and fell, sometimes light, sometimes heavy, but never offered him an answer.

Five Days Earlier

On that terrifying night, Ning Qinshui had struck his crown. His third eye opened, and countless malevolent spirits surged into him. Just as his soul was about to be devoured, something deep within awakened.

It was an unfamiliar consciousness, one that seemed to emerge from a bleak, gray-hued prison field.

The ghosts scattered instantly, and he awoke. The world felt crystalline and sharp. Within his mind, countless profound Daoist techniques unfurled, as if they had always been his.

He raised a finger, watching the walking corpse disintegrate. Two sets of memories collided within him.

In one, he had been Zhang Jiu. When he entered the sect with his Second Elder Brother, their master disliked the surname and renamed him Changjiu“, to grow long and see far.” He had chosen the surname Ning himself, because the character resembled a sword.

Fragments of his twenty-four years of cultivation flashed like fleeting shadows.

And then came the final memory—
the one Ning Xiaoling had asked about two days earlier.

“What did you remember?”

“I remembered my master killing me.”

That brief exchange had ended his previous life.
And begun this one.

So which Ning Changjiu was he?

“Senior Sister, you once said that beyond the Hidden Kingdom, the dead cannot be revived. Then what am I?”

Scene: The Imperial City

Deep within the city, towering pavilions lined the long stairway. Where once stood a radiant palace, now lay only charred ruins.

The path to the ruins was sealed, guarded day and night by soldiers with lanterns.

“Who goes there?” a guard suddenly barked.

The faint light caught the rain, outlining a lone figure walking with an umbrella.

An ancient red umbrella. Its ribs were fine and even, its dark crimson canopy beaded with rain. Droplets splashed off its surface, dissolving into mist. The night itself seemed liquid.

A delicate shoe peeked beneath the hem of a skirt, stepping into puddles with a soft, crisp sound.

The guard’s lantern trembled violently. His hand went to his sword hilt.

The girl stopped. Calmly, she unfastened a jade token from her waist and held it out.

The guard took it uncertainly. Another glanced at it—and instantly dropped to his knees in the rain.

“Welcome back… Welcome back, Your Highness!”

The first guard understood and collapsed as well.

The girl nodded softly, reclaimed the token, and ascended the cracked stone steps toward the ruined palace.

Before the blackened walls, the umbrella tilted. Lightning split the sky, illuminating her face, delicate, refined, framed by rain-drenched black hair. Her jet-black eyes reflected the lightning.

Thunder rumbled. She set the umbrella aside and knelt in the rain.

“Daughter apologizes to her mother. Student apologizes to her teacher. Subject apologizes to her people.”

Autumn rain soaked her hair and skirt. Her voice was faint, like the drizzle swaying in the wind.

“Xiang’er… why live in vain?”

In the night, the maiden bowed her head.

Scene: Ning Xiaoling & Ning Changjiu

At dawn, the rain eased, but clouds still loomed.

Ning Xiaoling sat quietly, dressed in pale robes. Ning Changjiu cleaned the stove and bowls, swept the floor spotless, and arranged the table with practiced ease.

She narrowed her eyes at him but said nothing.

“Someone came yesterday,” Ning Changjiu finally said.
“The master’s body will be burned beneath the Nine Spirits Platform today, to prevent it turning into a corpse demon. Shall we go see?”

Ning Xiaoling stiffened.

“That old master nearly killed us. What’s there to see?”

“Don’t you want to know who killed him?”

A chill ran through her, but she forced herself to answer coldly:

“I heard a great demon called the Sparrow Ghost lurks in the city. It’s already killed many. Their deaths were… gruesome.”

“How would you rate our master’s Taoist arts?”

She hesitated.

“Though I detested him, his arts were truly exquisite. He exorcised demons and captured ghosts for countless wealthy households, never once failing. For him to die like this… it is strange.”

Ning Changjiu nodded. By mortal standards, Ning Qinshui had indeed been a master.

“Let’s leave it at that,” Ning Xiaoling sighed.
“We should focus on living our own lives now… right, Senior Brother?”

Ning Changjiu ignored her evasive tone.

“Though the body perishes, the spirit endures. Scattered, it returns to heaven and earth; gathered, it forms a soul. But the more souls in the world, the less essence remains in the cosmos. Many Taoists believe this defies the natural order.”

“What does that have to do with us? Are you going to uphold this rule?”

“No. But I intend to stay here searching for something. For that, I need a reason.”

She was even more confused.

Scene: Song Ce Enters

A knock. Three times.

A middle-aged man in official robes entered, Song Ce.

“Going to see your master off?” he asked.

Ning Changjiu nodded, pulling Ning Xiaoling to her feet.

“Someone will bring you money soon,” Song Ce said.
“It cannot ease the pain of loss, but it should be enough for you to learn a trade and live.”

He thought the pair would no longer have the heart to continue as Taoists.

“Xiaoling thanks Magistrate Song,” she said with a curtsy.

Ning Changjiu studied him.

“Why does Magistrate Song look so haggard?”

“The capital is in fear,” Song Ce sighed.
“The palace has sought reclusive masters, but after half a month, there’s no result…”

Ning Changjiu interrupted, calm:

“Because last night was restless. Another death occurred in the palace.”

Song Ce stared at him, shocked.

Ning Changjiu met his gaze earnestly.

“Since no one else can be relied upon, why not let me try?”

Song Ce scoffed.

“Your master failed. What have you learned that you dare such arrogance?”

“I know a little.”

Song Ce laughed harshly.

“Later, come with me to see your master’s remains. Then let’s see if you still speak so recklessly.”

“How can I know without trying?”

Song Ce frowned, his patience thinning.

“You forget too easily. That night in the hall—you survived by fortune. Do not squander your life.”

Ning Changjiu’s voice was calm as still water:

“As Taoist priests, we must undertake the duty of slaying demons and exorcising evil. Now my master is dead. But I still live.”