Chapter 27
Chapter 27: One Problem After Another (Part 2)
“Not normal how?”
“I can’t explain it.” Ding He Ran scratched his chin. “It doesn’t feel like brothers. It feels more like… like that.”
He lifted both hands and tapped his thumbs together. The meaning was obvious.
He couldn’t help remembering Mo Ting Feng carrying Song Wei Chen when she fainted—and the way that cleanliness-obsessed monster had actually handed his own teacup to her. Just thinking about it made Ding He Ran shiver.
“Don’t talk nonsense,” Ye Wu Jiu said, though his voice sounded a little strained. “In all these years, Lord has never liked anyone—man or woman.”
The words, if you tasted them, stung.
“Maybe Lord values Brother Wei’s Soul-Speaker ability,” Ye Wu Jiu added after a beat. “And Brother Wei has no cultivation. He’s just taking extra care.”
“Mm. That makes sense.” Ding He Ran nodded, then forced a brighter tone. “Come on. I just hope Lord wakes up soon. And I hope by then we’ve already caught Nian Niang—that chaos wraith.”
—
Wind-Listening Manor.
A small head peeked around the bedroom door. When she saw it was empty, Song Wei Chen slipped inside and strolled straight to the big desk where Mo Ting Feng usually read. She sat down like she owned the place.
“Hey, Cold-Faced Yama,” she said to the air. “You told me not to run around. Coming here doesn’t count, right?”
Silence, of course.
She sighed and propped her chin in her hand. “For a career woman trying to clear her name, doing nothing is torture. You know He Ran and Wu Jiu went on a mission and refused to take me? Ridiculous. If I didn’t know them better, I’d think they were playing office politics.”
Bored out of her mind, she grabbed a book from the desk.
On the cover were four archaic characters: Secret Register of Seals.
She flipped it open and read as she went, lips moving. “Devil-Sealing Ward… Sight-Obscuring Ward… Puppet Construct Ban… Trace-Hiding Ward… Truth-Spitting Ward… Emotion-Severing Ward…”
She paused. One page had been folded at the corner.
“Huh? Why is this page dog-eared?”
She leaned closer and read the small script.
Seven emotions within could wound a person—joy, anger, worry, longing, grief, fear, shock. Six desires without could wound them as well. Of all burdens in the world, love exhausted the heart the most.
If one wished to reach the Transcendent Realm, to make the body unbreakable and the heart impossible to exploit, one could cast this art to sever emotion and cut off desire.
But once cast, emotion ended and intention stopped.
For the rest of one’s life, one must keep a vow: no feeling, no thought, no longing. The moment the heart stirred, the restriction would backlash, burning the heart and gnawing the bones—lightly, scattering one’s cultivation; heavily, harming the primordial spirit. Those who used this method must think a thousand times, and then think again.
Song Wei Chen’s scalp tingled.
Was that Cold-Faced Yama really planning to do this to himself—just for progress?
But if you had no feelings at all… what was the point of living?
She glanced around, found Mo Ting Feng’s brush and inkstone, dipped the brush, and after a moment’s thought wrote a small line in the margin:
Since ancient times, passion ends in regret.
Yet even the tides keep faith; only in longing do you learn the sea is not deep.
Then she added a tiny cartoon smiley face.
“Wow.” She leaned back, admiring her work. “I’m such a pretty, kind little sweetheart.”
Her legs swung lazily under the enormous chair. Then her eyes darted with mischief.
She snatched a few sheets of gold-flecked paper and began to write and draw.
“Mo Ting Feng is a huge idiot!”
Underneath, she doodled a smug figure with hands on hips.
“What do you mean I’m not allowed to run around? Do you think I’m three?”
She drew a little child sprinting away.
“I’m not the number-one suspect. I’m innocent, but you won’t believe me…”
A teary cartoon head flopped on a desk.
Satisfied, she folded the papers and tucked them into random books on the shelf.
When he found them, he’d be furious. Good. Let his nose twist.
“You said I couldn’t run around,” she muttered at the empty room, “but you never said I couldn’t cause trouble. When you find these, you’re not allowed to settle the score later.”
The room didn’t answer. It never would.
She let out a long breath and suddenly realized how few friends she had in the Dream Realm—so few that when she had nowhere else to go, she’d wandered here.
She waved at the air as if it were someone and stepped out.
—
Passing Sunless Residence, she saw the door standing open. She meant to hurry past—until a cool orchid scent drifted out.
Her steps slowed. Without thinking, she walked in.
She looked around with narrowed eyes. The room seemed no different from before, except the orchid incense burning today was strangely to her liking. The fragrance felt familiar, almost comforting.
It made her think of yesterday, when Mo Ting Feng asked what she felt in this room.
What could she possibly feel?
Now that she thought about it, this was probably where that ice block met his fox-sister in secret.
She rolled her eyes, but her hands were already busy—opening a cabinet, tugging a drawer, peeking into a wardrobe.
Then another thought hit her. A man who set up a room like this right beside hers for secret rendezvous—how could he be practicing something like Emotion-Severing Ward?
She really was worrying about him for no reason.
“Worrying about him even a little is just me having nothing better to do,” she grumbled.
She yanked open the closet and froze.
Inside were rows of women’s clothes.
“Wow. You even stocked this many changes.” She clicked her tongue. “Scumbag. You really know how to play.”
She flipped through the fabrics, then lifted one toward her nose.
They were all brand new. No one had worn them.
Her eyes gleamed.
In no time, White Robe was folded into a neat square and tucked into the back of the closet, hidden under two dresses like a secret.
Mo Ting Feng was gone.
Perfect.
She was going to change her look and slip out of the manor.