Chapter 25

Chapter 25: Backlash Devours the Heart

“White Robe has a private residence in Dust Warden Manor. Take the medicine, then move over there.”

Song Wei Chen’s eyes lit up. “Really? I can live by myself? You’re actually letting me go?”

Her joy should have pleased him. Instead, it left a bitter taste.

He could put up with her noise in his life, but the moment she heard she could leave, there was no hesitation, no lingering glance—only bright anticipation, as if she’d been waiting for this order all along.

Song Wei Chen left at once.

That eagerness scraped at him. The last person who had avoided him like the plague was the master of the ancient zither in his courtyard.

Restless, he went out for air. Without thinking, he found himself seated beside that zither.

Mo Ting Feng had never been someone people approached. Wind-Listening Manor had long since become a forbidden corner of Dust Warden Manor, entered only by a handful of trusted aides, and only on rare occasions. Even the attendants cleaned only when he was away at morning council.

He used to enjoy it. But as dusk fell and he sat alone in the bamboo pavilion, the quiet no longer felt like peace. It felt like a hollow ache.

His fingers drifted to the instrument. He hadn’t touched it in years. The body was scarred, charred in places, and within the burnt grain, two seal-script characters had been carved so faintly you could miss them at first glance:

Sang Pu.

He traced the name, and something like fire stirred deep in his eyes.

“Ting Feng, let’s run away. Far away.”

“All right.”

“You’re the Mo Clan’s next Mohist Leader. You’ll really throw everything away for me?”

“The world can be cast aside.”

“You won’t regret it?”

“Not with you.”

But he had trusted the wrong person. Loved the wrong person—most of all.

On the day they were supposed to vanish together, what he saw instead was her in wedding red, becoming another man’s concubine.

She craved splendor and power so much she’d willingly entered someone else’s household. Worse, she’d become the kind of woman she used to sneer at.

She was only a concubine, yet she was Imperial Uncle’s concubine, and the pomp was immense. Ten li of red trousseau poured through the busiest streets of the Imperial Capital, jammed tight with onlookers.

He stood in the crowd and watched her ride high in the bridal sedan, chin lifted as if daring the world to look away. She didn’t even lower the curtain. She paraded openly, making sure everyone saw.

At Imperial Uncle’s gates, a concubine wasn’t supposed to enter through the main entrance. She insisted anyway.

She waited with perfect leisure. When a stick of incense burned down, she lifted her own veil, as if she’d rather stand there forever than take a side door. The crowd surged toward the gate to watch. It was a wedding day, and Imperial Uncle wanted her badly—so badly that, in the end, he broke custom and let her enter with the same ceremony as a principal wife.

Imperial Uncle’s madam watched from afar, her expression twisted. Sang Pu stood there radiant and satisfied.

That calculating, combative look had nothing to do with the woman in his memories. A courtesan, through and through—born to act.

She saw him, too. Her gaze swept over him once, bland as dust, as if he were no more than a stranger.

A bride entering the household had to step over a fire basin. She tossed two small name cards into the flames. They curled and blackened, turning to ash in moments.

No one else cared. He did.

One of them was the visiting card he’d written the first time he heard her play at Annex Villa—when he’d asked to see her.

So this was how it ended. The answer had been there from the start: it had never been love.

The celebrated qin player who once stunned the world—Sang Pu.

The beloved who once swore vows with him—Sang Pu.

The faithless beauty who drove him to the edge of madness—Sang Pu.

The memories rose one after another, and the restriction inside him flared.

Emotion-Severing Ward.

The backlash hit like a blade. Mo Ting Feng’s eyes bled red. He spat a mist of blood—hot, violent—and staggered.

He pressed a hand to his chest and forced himself to breathe, but another mouthful of black blood surged up. His knees buckled. He hit the ground hard.

The courtyard stayed silent. No lanterns, no footsteps, no witnesses. Only the bamboo grove kept him company, leaves whispering in the late wind like long, tired sighs.

—

At Venerable Manor, Song Wei Chen felt lighter after being forced to take medicine and sweat through the fever. The heat in her body seemed to have eased, but she was sticky all over, desperate for a bath.

She called the maid waiting outside.

Unlike Mo Ting Feng—who seemed to repel all human warmth—Song Wei Chen liked company. Part of it was simple fear. She didn’t dare live alone in a manor this big.

“Gu Yu, I want to bathe.”

Gu Yu had been assigned to her that very day by Mo Ting Feng. Along with her came a skilled shadow guard named Jing Zhe, meant to serve at Song Wei Chen’s command. The rest of the attendants were the same household staff Venerable Manor already had.

Gu Yu turned to go, but Song Wei Chen stopped her. “I keep hearing noise nearby. Is there some gathering at Dust Warden Manor tonight?”

“You may not know this, but Venerable Manor’s back wall borders Dust Warden Manor. Outside that wall is Water Street. At night it’s all painted boats and night markets—lively beyond words. Once you’re fully recovered, I’ll take you to see it.”

Song Wei Chen’s face lit up. White Robe really knew how to pick a place. Compared to that Cold-Faced Yama’s gloomy den, this side was practically paradise.

“Why wait? Let’s go tonight. If I’m happy, I’ll be cured on the spot!” She grinned. “Hurry and prepare the bathwater. I’m going to get nice and clean and then go have fun.”

Gu Yu laughed before she caught herself and quickly lowered her head. “Venerable, forgive me. You’re very different from the previous White Robe Venerable. I couldn’t help it.”

“Hey, what’s there to forgive?” Song Wei Chen waved it off. “You’re being so formal I’m the one who feels awkward. Just call me Wei Wei or Brother Wei. I’m not picky.”

“All right, Brother Wei.” Gu Yu looked genuinely moved. She bowed and withdrew.

Left alone, Song Wei Chen wandered to the window. The casement was open, and osmanthus incense burned in a small censer on the table beneath it. She leaned on the sill and breathed in the sweet, clean scent. When she looked up, a crescent moon hung in the pale sky, curved like a quiet smile.

Her mood lifted so sharply she almost wanted to sing.

Sure, she couldn’t go back to reality—but she had a mansion, a job, servants, and the River of Oblivion’s big boss watching her back. What more did she need?

Gu Yu returned. “The bath is ready. I’ll attend you during bathing.”

Attend her?

Song Wei Chen nearly leapt out of her skin. “No, no, no.” She shook her head hard. “I have a… weird habit. If anyone sees me bathe, I’ll—I’ll have a seizure!”

She explained as if it were life and death. “So you have to promise me something.”

Gu Yu stared at their joined hands, flustered and honored all at once, cheeks flushing. “If Gu Yu can do it, I would die a thousand deaths without regret.”

“While I’m bathing, unless I come out myself, no matter what’s happening outside—and no matter what you hear inside—don’t let anyone enter. Not even you.”

Gu Yu nodded solemnly. “All right. I’ll guard it with my life.”

—

In the bathing room, Song Wei Chen bolted the door from the inside.

White Robe hung over the screen. She stepped into the tub, her inner clothes slipping from her shoulders, and sank into the water. The temperature was perfect. A sigh escaped her before she could stop it.

If that Cold-Faced Yama hadn’t cast some bizarre Glamour Art on this White Robe, she wouldn’t be sneaking around like a thief just to wash. And she wouldn’t have had to lie about seizures either.

My dignity is dying by the minute, she complained inwardly.

“And what is that ice block doing right now…?”

The moment she said it aloud, she startled herself.

No. No. No.

As long as he stayed out of her sight, he could do whatever he wanted. Why was she thinking about him at all?

She shook her head, then leaned on the rim of the tub and looked at White Robe on the screen.

“Hey. Why did you pick me? If you’re really that powerful, can’t you send me home?”

White Robe, of course, didn’t respond.

She sighed. “Fine. Then at least come with me later. We’ll go play at the night market.”

She slid down into the water and closed her eyes to rest.

—

Wind-Listening Manor lay in darkness, not a single lamp lit.

A black shadow swept down from the roof and landed beside Mo Ting Feng. After checking his breath, the figure hauled him up, cast a spell, and vanished with him into the night.

—

In the cave of the River of Three Crossings, the Pool of Past Thoughts glimmered with scattered points of cold light.

At its center rose a massive platform of ten-thousand-year gloomwood, long since petrified—dark as jade, icy to the touch. On that platform sat a crystal coffin. It, too, shimmered faintly, as if it were filled with Pool of Past Thoughts water, though the coffin itself was empty.

Around it burned forty-nine soul-guiding lamps, their bodies bone-white and luminous.

A man’s hand, the cuff of his black sleeve visible, brushed the crystal lid with a tenderness meant for a lover.

He raised a main soul lamp of matching crystal and suspended it above the coffin, then pricked the acupoints tied to the heart on his fingers. Beads of heart-blood welled up. He let them fall into the lamp’s water.

Then he lit it.

Blue fire rose—unnatural, ghostly.

With another seal, a ribbon of purple-black sinister qi unfurled like an umbilical cord from the flame, sinking into the crystal coffin. At the same moment, the souls drawn here to reincarnate began to wail as they entered the pool, their cries mindless and raw, as if something unseen were devouring them from within.

“The Grand Array is about to begin.”

The voice was strange—muffled by a mask and warped by a Voice-Changing Spell.

In the darkness, a lean male silhouette stood with hands clasped behind his back, facing the coffin. The scattered lights trembled against the black-purple qi curling from his body, making him look like a shadow wearing human shape.

“Baby,” he murmured, almost laughing. “I can’t wait to see you.”