Chapter 2: The Awakening Youth

Title: Shadow of the Silent Blade

At midnight, the full moon hung high in the sky. The gates of the majestic palace stood tightly shut, yet all the floor lamps within were lit, their crimson candlelight illuminating the interior furnishings brightly.

Ning Qinshui stood at the palace entrance, frowning slightly.

The guide was still the same official from earlier that day, Song Ce. He explained,

“This is the main hall of General Wang Yangyu. Since the general’s sudden death three days ago, this grand hall has been sealed. Yet, every night after midnight, the candles within the palace ignite spontaneously. Occasionally, a faint, aged voice drifts out.”

Ning Qinshui frowned.
“What kind of voice?”

Song Ce replied,

“Very indistinct. No one can make it out clearly, but the palace maids all say it’s General Wang Yangyu’s voice.”

Ning Qinshui asked again,
“Where is General Wang’s body?”

Song Ce seemed to recall something, unconsciously clenching his fist as he sighed,

“It was burned.”

Ning Qinshui frowned in confusion.
“The body was cremated so quickly? Was it infected with a plague?”

Song Ce shook his head, his expression complex.

“It too spontaneously combusted. No matter how we tried, we couldn’t extinguish it.”

Ning Qinshui’s expression shifted slightly. He stroked his long, graying beard, flicked his sleeves, and began rapidly calculating with his fingers.

Song Ce sighed,

“If the old gentleman had chosen to retreat in the face of difficulty, we would not have pressed the matter.”

But Ning Qinshui paid no heed. His hand was already pressed against the door. The seal was torn away, and Ning Qinshui pushed the door open. The candlelight within the hall cast a faint red glow upon his beard and hair.

As he crossed the threshold, a copper coin slipped from his sleeve, landing precisely upon the stone step.

“Hmph. Trivial tricks, mere smoke and mirrors.” Ning Qinshui swept his gaze around the room. With a flick of his robe, most of the candles flickered out. His voice grew deep and commanding:

“Changjiu, Xiaoling, follow me to subdue the demon.”

The young man and woman glanced at the dimly lit, eerie hall, their hearts sinking with dread. Yet they answered in unison:

“Yes, Master.”

As Ning Qinshui spoke, his pace slowed. His hand slipped into his sleeve, and seven small objects resembling beast teeth emerged, floating around him like protective talismans.

Behind him, the girl clad only in a thin Taoist robe crossed her arms. She stole a glance at the old man, her expression tinged with slight resentment.

The fair-featured youth beside her, however, seemed almost foolishly devoted. He simply followed the old man, eyes fixed on his nose, nose on his heart, daring not to glance around.

The old man paid no heed to the lives of the youth and maiden trailing behind him. They were merely promising specimens he’d acquired at a market years prior. Though precious, they were ultimately like magical artifacts—when the time came to shatter them, one must do so, no matter how much it tore at the heart.

Ning Qinshui flicked a talisman from his sleeve. The moment it left his hand, it burst into flames mid-air. Before the ashes could settle, it transformed into an ethereal yellow bird, circling the hall. After a moment, the bird let out a shrill cry.

The old man’s expression flickered with surprise before he coldly snorted,

“Found you!”

He took a single stride forward, a gust of wind sweeping through the hall. His body seemed to cover several zhang in an instant, as if shrinking the earth to an inch, landing before a divine statue enshrined in another hall.

Ning Qinshui, seasoned and experienced, wasted no words. Between his fingers, eight yellow talismans had materialized. With a push of his palms, all eight talismans shot forth like a rope linking end to end, binding the stone statue tightly. The unquenched candles in the room seemed to sense this, their flames flickering wildly, as if struggling to break free from their wicks, clustering together.

“Old Master…” A voice suddenly sounded from behind him.

Ning Qinshui, poised to press his advantage, froze. His expression grew uncharacteristically dazed.

“Old Master…”

The voice called again, warm and familiar, like an old friend encountered by chance on the street after years apart.

“Do not disturb my focus!”

Ning Qinshui bit his tongue lightly. The pain brought clarity, and his vision quickly refocused.

Yet before him now stood a towering man clad in armor. The man’s eyes, ashen and lifeless, stared blankly at him. His face, body, and hands were rotted away to exposed bone. The armor was covered in fine cracks. He grinned, revealing rotting flesh beneath, blood-soaked and white, with maggots wriggling within.

Ning Qinshui did not recognize this man, but his instincts told him this was the general who had died that day—Wang Yangyu!

…and so on until the final moment:

The world darkened, candlelight flickering wildly.

Within the shadowy hall, the youth’s form was obscured by the old Taoist’s shadow.

In an unnoticed moment—

The youth suddenly opened his eyes.