Chapter 29

Chapter 29: A Suspicious Background

“Don’t be afraid, Miss,” the man said softly. “I’m the owner of Moonwatch Tower next door. You’re unwell. I’ll take you back to the inn first.”

He carried her inside and set her down on a wide, cushioned guest couch in the quietest corner of the main hall.

“There are comfortable rooms upstairs,” he added, “but I worried you might find that improper, so…”

“This is fine,” Song Wei Chen said as the dizziness ebbed. “Thank you.”

Now she could see him clearly.

He had striking phoenix eyes that seemed to hold a pool of autumn water, a tall straight nose, and full lips curved as if he might smile at any moment. Broad-shouldered and slim-waisted, dressed in jade-green robes, hair tied at the crown while the rest fell loose like ink—handsome in a way that felt unreal.

“Are you some kind of immortal?” she blurted. “You’re really good-looking.”

He smiled. “Miss is even more beautiful. I fell for you at first sight.”

Only then did Song Wei Chen realize how shameless she sounded. Heat rushed to her face. She coughed lightly, flustered.

“I’m not what you think. I just get dizzy when I stand up after squatting too long. I really didn’t mean to fall into you.”

“When did I ever say you did it on purpose?” he asked, amused. “And even if you had… I’d be happy.”

Her embarrassment sharpened into pure awkwardness.

“Then I won’t bother you any longer. Thank you for saving me, Young Master. I didn’t bring money today. I’ll come back another day and pay you for the chestnuts.”

She stood up too quickly, eager to flee. Her legs gave out at once and she went down hard.

The weakness hit like a wave. Am I really this fragile here? she cursed inwardly.

Her face drained of color.

The man’s expression changed instantly. He caught her and lifted her up, urgency in every movement, then called for a servant boy to fetch a physician from the clinic.

“Miss!”

Song Wei Chen wanted to tell him not to worry, but the words wouldn’t come. The man’s face was tight with panic.

—

Almost at the same moment—as if some invisible thread had been tugged—

Mo Ting Feng opened his eyes at Minister of Works Manor.

He wore only an inner robe, sitting in a pool that gleamed like jade. Threads of devouring qi clung to him, slowly being drawn away and swallowed by the water.

“If you hadn’t woken up,” a lazy voice said nearby, “you would’ve soaked my Marrow-Washing Pool into a vat of poison.”

The speaker was Zhuang Yu Heng, the master of Minister of Works Manor, known as Lord Yu Heng.

He lounged on an elegant platform beside the pool with a cup of wine, dressed in white brocade embroidered with gold, a crown of gold and jade on his head, pale brocade boots threaded with gold at his feet. He looked every inch an immortal prince.

Lord Yu Heng’s features were as clear as moonlight, his brows sharp, his eyes bright as morning stars. Calling him the Dream Realm’s most handsome man would hardly raise objections. Over the years, countless noble ladies had wanted to marry him—some even included the eldest princess of the realm lord—but they never dared do more than imagine it.

Long ago, Yu Heng’s cultivation had gone awry. On a day when a Tiger year, Tiger month, and Tiger day aligned, he would lose his mind and become a dangerous devil creature. No noble house wanted to bind itself to a half-devil. In the end, their fear left him a lonely kind of freedom.

For thousands of years, only the Devil-Sealing Ward set by Mo Ting Feng—known as the Dream Realm’s First War God—could restrain Yu Heng on those days and keep him from causing catastrophe. That, more than anything, was why the two of them were as close as brothers.

Yu Heng studied medicine because he wanted to cure himself. But a long illness made a skilled doctor, and in time he earned the name: the Dream Realm’s first Medicine King.

A maid refilled his amber cup. Yu Heng took a sip and glanced toward the screen, where Mo Ting Feng was dressing.

“What did you do this time?” Yu Heng’s tone sharpened. “If you’d arrived half an hour later, your cultivation would’ve been ruined.

“You severed emotion. You can’t be moved. Other people might not understand, but do you not understand?”

“Say two more words and I’ll poison you mute,” Mo Ting Feng said without looking up.

Mo Ting Feng stepped out from behind the screen, fully dressed now, and sat across from him.

“In poison?” Yu Heng snorted. “Give you five hundred years and you still wouldn’t beat me, old man.”

Yu Heng leaned in, eyes bright with gossip. “Which miss managed to provoke you like this? Do I know her? Don’t tell me it’s my cousin.”

“It was an old memory,” Mo Ting Feng said flatly. “Stop guessing.”

He drank, expression dark.

Yu Heng understood. He’d known Mo Ting Feng for years. Sang Pu’s story was not new.

Mo Ting Feng had avoided speaking that name for a long time. Why had it surfaced now?

Yu Heng didn’t press. He simply changed the subject.

“I heard the new White Robe is a Soul-Speaker. The whole city is buzzing. When will you let me meet them?”

Mo Ting Feng paused.

In his mind, he saw the little liar moving into Venerable Manor, grinning bright enough to blind. He didn’t know what she’d been up to while he was away. He didn’t know whether Gu Cang Yue had come to stir trouble.

Mo Ting Feng set his cup down and rose. “I’m leaving. There’s a case.”

He was already at the door when Yu Heng flicked his wrist and tossed a small medicine bottle over. Mo Ting Feng caught it without even turning.

“Emotion-Severing Ward has no cure,” Yu Heng said, voice tight. “Lightly, you become a cripple. Heavily, you die. You know that.

“All I can do is ease the He Dong backlash. One pill every three days. It’ll protect your mind and meridians.”

“Thanks.” Mo Ting Feng didn’t look back as he left.

“Don’t fall for anyone!” Yu Heng called after him, the worry on his face no longer hidden.

Something was wrong.

Someone had moved him.

—

Inside Moonwatch Tower, in a simple bedroom with clean, masculine lines, the physician spoke quietly to the man while Song Wei Chen sat propped against the bed.

A bowl of brown-sugar ginseng-ginger water sat on the table, more than half gone. The attack had come fast and left fast. She felt steadier now.

After the physician left, the man returned to the bedside. His gaze was gentle, worry threaded through it.

“The physician says your qi and blood are weak, and you haven’t recovered from your cold. You should rest.”

“Thank you, Young Master.” Song Wei Chen forced a laugh. “I’m usually healthy. Maybe I just haven’t adjusted to this place yet. I didn’t scare you, did I? I was worried you’d think I was trying to scam you.”

He smiled and shook his head.

She swung her legs off the bed, trying to stand. He reached out as if to stop her.

“Miss, you don’t need to rush. Earlier, things were urgent, and the inn was full. I had no choice but to bring you to my room. I hope you won’t take offense.”

“I’m really fine. If I stay longer, that’s ruder. And I don’t want to delay your business.”

She began smoothing the bedding, pretending she wasn’t flustered. Behind her, she could feel his gaze linger.

Before he could speak, a Nuo opera mask hanging on the wall suddenly fell with a thud. The sound startled her.

She picked it up and frowned. “This mask…”

“It was my fault,” he said easily. “I bought it at the night market last night. I’ve always liked collecting masks. I wore it out today and frightened you.”

Song Wei Chen’s eyes narrowed.

The room’s wall was lined with masks of every shape and style. Her mind jumped to the River of Oblivion’s big boss—the bird-beak mask, the way he carried himself.

On impulse, she raised the mask and covered half the man’s face.

The lower half of his features…

Why did it feel so familiar?

“May I ask your name, Young Master?” she asked carefully.

“I’m Shu Xue Long,” he said. “I used to do business elsewhere. I only moved here recently.”

“Do you have any relatives with the surname Gu?”

He shook his head, puzzled. Then, as if something occurred to him, he asked, “Did Miss mistake me for the Lord of the River of Oblivion?”

“You know him?” Song Wei Chen asked sharply. “What is your relationship with him?”

“Gu Cang Yue, Lord of the River of Oblivion—who doesn’t know him?” Shu Xue Long gave a small, self-mocking smile. “I lived in Deep Dreamlands before. I’ve had business dealings with his estate, but I’ve never had the honor of seeing him. People who have seen him sometimes say I resemble him a little.

“But I’m an ordinary man. My status is worlds apart from his. How could I dare compare? I didn’t expect… Miss has met that lord?”

“No.” Song Wei Chen forced a casual tone. “I haven’t met him. I only heard he likes wearing masks, and when I saw your collection, I thought of him.”

His openness loosened the knot in her chest. And honestly, even if their builds were similar, their temperaments were worlds apart. If he were truly that arrogant, handsy bird-man, would he really be this patient?

Maybe she was overthinking.

She laughed awkwardly. “Good thing you’re not him. If you were, and I knocked your mask off earlier, I’d be in huge trouble.”

“Oh?” Shu Xue Long’s eyes warmed with curiosity. “What kind of trouble?”

“Nothing, nothing.” Her mind flashed to Gu Cang Yue’s cold words in Autumnwater Town: only a partner may remove my mask.

She shoved the mask into Shu Xue Long’s hands and headed for the door. “It’s late. I really should go. I’ll come back another day to thank you properly.”

The moment she opened it, an elderly steward rushed in, frantic.

“Boss Shu! The songstress sent word—she returned the deposit too. She says First-Grade Tower is paying more, so she won’t sing here anymore. She’s supposed to perform any minute. What do we do?”

The bedroom door stood open. Outside, music and chatter drifted through the air. It was the busiest dinner hour, and Moonwatch Tower was packed.

Shu Xue Long stayed calm. “Can the dancer perform another Nuo piece?”

The steward shook his head. “That dance drains you. Even if he forced it, the quality would be poor. And many guests came for the songstress…”

“Has Miss Mian Mian arrived?” Shu Xue Long asked.

“She should be here any moment!”

“Then if we have no choice, have Miss Mian Mian play an extra piece and cover the time for now.”

As he spoke, Shu Xue Long glanced at Song Wei Chen. “Miss, wait. I’ll escort you out.”

The steward grabbed his sleeve. “Two pieces in a row? Without a reason, even Miss Mian Mian won’t be able to keep the guests!”

Shu Xue Long took a step toward Song Wei Chen—and was pulled back again.

Song Wei Chen didn’t wait for the argument to end. Panic was already bubbling in her throat.

If Mo Ting Feng had returned and realized she’d disappeared…

“Boss Shu,” she said quickly, forcing a bright smile, “you have urgent matters. Don’t worry about me. Thank you—I’ll go now and repay you another day!”

Before Shu Xue Long could respond, she slipped away like a startled cat.

—

Moonwatch Tower’s main hall had a large stage in the center, where a Nuo opera dance was underway. The performance was loud and polished, and the tables were full—guests packed shoulder to shoulder.

Song Wei Chen had no interest in the show. She kept her head down and pushed toward the exit—

—and was shoved hard from behind by a servant boy rushing to greet customers.

She stumbled straight into a veiled miss who had just stepped inside.

The miss fell to the floor. At the same time, a passing male guest stepped on her hand.

“It hurts!” the miss cried, collapsing to her knees.

The guest who’d stepped on her went pale, then used the crowd to slip away, pretending nothing had happened.

Song Wei Chen’s heart lurched. She hurried forward to help. “I’m so sorry, Miss! Are you all right?”

The miss was already in tears, clutching her hand, trembling as if in unbearable pain. Song Wei Chen gently checked it.

A little red. No cut. No scrape.

It should’ve been fine—

A slap cracked across Song Wei Chen’s face.

She staggered, stunned, heat flaring on her cheek. When she looked up, the veiled miss was being supported by a maid-like woman who glared at Song Wei Chen with open fury.

“What backwater girl dares to bump into our Noble Consort?”

“Noble Consort?” Song Wei Chen pressed a hand to her burning face, eyes flashing. “Even a Noble Consort has to be reasonable. I was shoved, and I apologized. Your mistress hasn’t even spoken—why are you barking here?”

She’d never been slapped in her life.

Jaw tight, she stared at the veiled miss. If the servant dared strike people without a word from her mistress, Song Wei Chen wasn’t about to swallow it.

“Apologize?” the maid snapped, voice rising. “A joke! My mistress is noble beyond compare. You filthy girl dared injure her hand!”

She leaned in, eyes bright with spite. “Let me tell you—if you don’t leave an arm behind today, you’re not leaving!”