Chapter 10: For Whom Is This Empty Dream Written?
by Donghua ReaderNing Changjiu said,
A person—someone familiar. I have a vague sense he’s within the imperial city. I feel that once I see him, I’ll unravel many mysteries weighing on my heart.
Ning Xiaoling grew increasingly perplexed.
What… riddles weigh on your heart, Senior Brother?
Ning Changjiu replied,
Who am I, truly?
A chill gripped Ning Xiaoling’s heart, though she forced a smile.
Senior Brother, don’t frighten me… By the way, who exactly are you searching for?
Ning Changjiu answered uncertainly,
Perhaps a junior brother, or maybe a cute little junior sister like you. In any case, they are also in this imperial city now. I can’t pinpoint their exact location, but I can faintly sense their presence.
Ning Xiaoling pouted.
So Senior Brother is looking for a junior sister after all.
Ning Changjiu chuckled, ruffling her hair.
Take good care of yourself. Your innate spirit has shattered again and needs proper recovery.
Ning Xiaoling flinched slightly.
You know about it?
Ning Changjiu smiled gently.
Forming a spirit is something to be proud of. Now that Master is gone, there’s no need to hide it from anyone.
Ning Xiaoling muttered,
Too bad my little fox looks like a mouse now. And it was born without a tail.
Ning Changjiu said,
Apart from those twelve, all spirits in this world are born with innate imperfections.
Those twelve… Ning Xiaoling’s heart skipped a beat.
Faced with the mysterious and unknown, people always harbored immense fear and reverence. Yet unbearable curiosity inevitably took root in their hearts. After all, she was only thirteen. Ever since her spirit bond formed, her curiosity had only grown stronger, and she couldn’t help but ask,
Do those twelve divine beings and their hidden realm truly exist?
Her eyes brimmed with expectation as she gazed at her senior brother.
Ning Changjiu ruffled her hair and chuckled.
I’m your senior brother, not a deity. How would I know?
Uh…
She stared at him in surprise, struggling to keep up with the sudden shift in his demeanor.
Still unwilling to give up, she pressed,
Then what do you know, Senior Brother?
Ning Changjiu pondered before replying,
I’ve read some legends about the rulers of those twelve hidden realms. Go to sleep now, and I’ll tell you about them another time.
Ning Xiaoling puffed out her cheeks and grumbled,
Oh.
After chatting idly with her for a few moments, Ning Changjiu gently rubbed her temples to calm her spirit. Once she had fallen asleep, he swept up the broken porcelain shards and wood splinters scattered across the floor. Returning to his own bed, he gazed at the faint reddish glow seeping through the window, lost in thought for a long while.
Then he wiped his mouth.
It was blood.
Earlier, he had shattered that woman’s formation in a single stroke, rescued Ning Xiaoling, and forced the assassin to retreat. But in doing so, he had pushed his blade past its limits—and broken it completely.
Now, exhaustion weighed upon him.
That creature from the other night had not only killed Ning Qinshui but also drained his lifetime of cultivation.
These past days, he had often wondered how far he could push himself in a single burst of power. Tonight, he seized the chance to test it. The answer left him unsatisfied.
It was far from the self he remembered. What should have been a vast lake of spiritual essence had shriveled to a mere pool.
His confidence in escaping the storm-tossed imperial city was steadily waning.
Yet he must find that person—unravel the answers within his heart—or else his Dao-heart would remain restless forever.
The game had already begun, the pieces cast. There was no room for regret. With his cultivation now fragile, every drop of power mattered. From this day on, he could never afford to squander it.
Lost in thought, his gaze drifted toward the window.
It should be about time.
True to his words, cries for help echoed from beyond two corridors and a small courtyard—the direction of that woman’s boudoir.
The voice belonged to Zhao Shisong.
Lights still burned in the Grand Preceptor’s residence, where patrolling guards watched the night sky with trepidation.
They knew exactly who resided there now.
Three years ago, blood had stained the steps of Qianyu Hall, earning Zhao Xiang’er her fearsome reputation. Now that the hall lay in ruins, her closest kin were dead. What madness might dwell in the heart of that blood-soaked girl beneath the setting sun three years ago?
Yet since Zhao Xiang’er entered the residence, no commotion had stirred. The lamps burned steadily, eerily calm.
At one moment, a guard glanced at the sky.
He had heard a faint bird’s chirp.
His companion heard it too, but dismissed it.
Strange birds have been appearing in the city lately. Rumor has it they’re connected to that Sparrow Ghost. They say bloodstained crows circle cursed houses, cawing all night long.
Hearing this, the other sighed.
I hear the Witchmaster has emerged from seclusion. May his boundless magic resolve this matter soon, so we needn’t live in constant dread.
Meanwhile, in the State Master’s residence, a window opened a crack.
A vermilion sparrow perched on Zhao Xiang’er’s delicate white palm, releasing the note it carried.
She teased its feathers lightly. The crimson bird chirped, then flapped its wings and flew away.
Unfurling the scroll, her brows furrowed as she scanned the words.
The young Taoist?
The Grand Preceptor, clad in loose robes, had slowly regained composure after drinking his medicinal broth. Sitting cross-legged in meditation, he noticed her expression shift.
Has something changed?
Zhao Xiang’er rolled up the note and tossed it into the brazier.
Nothing.
She recalled the young Taoist priest she had glimpsed earlier at the general’s residence. When their eyes met, he hadn’t looked away. Foolish, she had thought then. She had paid him no mind.
But now, Tang Yu had risked sending a message through Hong Que. Clearly, this Taoist was no ordinary figure.
And if the tide truly turned, even she might be swept along, forced to grasp at any chance.
But what difference could a prodigiously talented Taoist boy truly make?
Suppressing her unease, she silently recalled his face. From now on, she would keep an eye on him.
For now, her only task was to rest under the Grand Preceptor’s protection.
The old man sighed.
The imperial capital has become a gathering of winds and clouds. Not only spies from the Kingdom of Ying, but also disciples of the Sword Saint of Rong have come seeking vengeance. Assassin guilds across the land have mobilized their forces. Are you truly confident you can endure this?
Zhao Xiang’er replied calmly,
If I relied on myself alone, of course not.
The Preceptor frowned.
The Qianyu Palace is destroyed. Even with this residence’s defensive array, it’s but a tortoise shell—seemingly sturdy, yet doomed to crack when struck.
Zhao Xiang’er met his gaze.
Sir, are you truly unaware? Or do you simply dare not consider the possibility?
Her words pierced the last shred of hope in his heart. Bloodshot veins flared in his eyes, but the medicinal broth suppressed his power.
He stared at her, voice trembling.
You wish to destroy the nation? But do not forget—you are not of royal blood. Without imperial lineage, even with the Vermilion Bird Fire-Burning Pestle, what power do you have to wield it? The current emperor—first, he will never heed you. Second, his frail body could never withstand its backlash!
The Preceptor sighed deeply.
Let go… What you seek is but an empty dream.
Zhao Xiang’er smiled, delicate features lit with a chilling brightness.
Soon, heaven and earth shall turn upside down. Phoenix flames will scorch the city, and the Vermilion Bird will spatter blood. Sir, you shall see.
As dawn approached, Zhao Shisong touched his neck, still shaken that he had survived.
Before him stood a youth in blue Taoist robes, his gaze serene.
I’ve reached an agreement with her. She has promised to spare your life. But no matter what happens in the city, you must not let anyone from the Prince’s mansion interfere. When needed, you must stand by His Highness.
If you agree, drink this bowl of talisman water. Should you renege, its effect will take hold. This is what I secured for you. Had she wanted your death, no one but me could have stopped it.
Zhao Shisong hesitated, then accepted the bowl and drank.
Leaning against the wall, he sighed.
Thank you, Master, for saving my life.
Ning Changjiu asked curiously,
Your mansion is so vast—did you not hide even a few masters of profound cultivation?
Zhao Shisong shook his head.
Twenty days ago, both of our revered cultivators perished in Qianyu Hall. That’s why… these past days have been filled with dread.
Ning Changjiu pressed,
Why must you kill that consort?
Zhao Shisong answered bitterly,
Pressure from the Kingdom of Ying, pressure from the borders, pressure from Rong, pressure from His Majesty… Even the common folk raise banners crying to slay the demoness. For twelve years, Zhao supported Qianyu Palace, yet the Empress gave no reply. Three years ago, the Prince himself destroyed our ties with Rong. And this time…
Ning Changjiu leaned closer.
What happened this time?
Zhao Shisong hesitated, then whispered,
A month ago, a deity of Ying appeared, delivering a divine edict from the Hidden Kingdom. He demanded the harbinger of doom be executed.
Ning Changjiu was startled.
The Hidden Kingdom? By the laws of Heaven and Earth, how could they meddle in the mortal world?
But even as he spoke, he realized that unless one had cultivated to the peak of mortality, the laws of Heaven and Earth were unfathomable.
And spirits of immense power did exist, such as those guarding Rong.
But the true rulers of the Hidden Kingdom were the Twelve.
He asked,
What else did that deity say?
Zhao Shisong replied,
If Zhao aided in eliminating the Empress, he would halt his hostilities. Zhao would become a vassal of Ying, and Ying would safeguard us.
Ning Changjiu pressed,
Did that deity intervene when the Empress was slain?
Zhao Shisong closed his eyes, recalling the horror.
The night before, a painted puppet was smuggled into the city. It served as a vessel. On the day of the siege, it came alive. We were ordered to light the fires and watched helplessly as it entered Qianyu Palace.
Ning Changjiu asked,
So the one who actually killed Her Majesty was that puppet possessed by the deity?
Zhao Shisong nodded.
Of course. To have raised a prince of such caliber, what kind of being was she? Even the ten greatest masters of Ying together might not have matched her. Only a deity could slay a deity.
Ning Changjiu asked,
And what became of the puppet?
Zhao Shisong gave a bitter laugh.
Even after the flames died, we saw neither her nor the puppet. We only carried out the plan that had been arranged.
Ning Changjiu fell silent, his mind sketching a vast outline from tangled threads.
At last, he asked,
In your eyes, what kind of person is Zhao Xiang’er?
Zhao Shisong sighed.
Peerless in grace. But even her mother could not escape fate. At such a young age… even if she could kill us, how could she alter destiny?
Ning Changjiu nodded. No matter her brilliance, she was still bound by mortality. Only at the pinnacle of spirit cultivation could one transcend dynasties.
Suddenly, he asked,
Your Prince Xiang’er… has he been betrothed?
Zhao Shisong froze, then smiled faintly.
No wonder the young Taoist wants to step into this mess…
Ning Changjiu shook his head.
I’m merely inquiring, not admiring.
Zhao Shisong chuckled.
Youth is fickle. And when the prince is such a beauty, who could blame you? You’re of similar age—I wouldn’t mock you.
But seeing the young Taoist’s calm, untainted gaze, Zhao Shisong let the matter drop.
Rumors did circulate over a decade ago, but with no developments since, they must have been false.
As dawn broke, Ning Changjiu said,
Mr. Zhao, I’d be grateful if you could take me for a walk around the imperial city.
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