An eagle flew past Lin’an from the plains of Yanzhou. The Central Plains has seemingly become exhausted of animals to hunt, forcing the eagle to migrate Southwards. It is unknown when it would return to the Central Plains.


    Jing manor had been occupied for quite some time now, and has finally regained it’s former splendour that it had previously lost with the Prime Minister’s death. The goldfish gliding beneath the thin layer of ice has grown fat and colourful, especially vibrant despite the cruel weather.


    Shen Yanlin’s clinic remained desolate as before, but every few days, a maid from Changchun Palace would visit and purchase some medicine. Shen Yanlin didn’t care for the extra income, but remembering the frightening power of Consort Li, he resigned to his fate in the end and obediently delivered the medicine.


    The Thirteenth Prince’s manor had somehow become more renowned than before. Many martial artists had heard of Xiahou Jie and Tang Hong’s battle, and would admire the scars of the mountain from the walls of the estate, sighing with awe at the talent of the two girls.


    Peaceful Pavillion has remained unopen for almost a whole week. It seems that after the death of so many martial artists at the hands of Hong Jingfei, none one dared to enter the previously thriving restaurant.


    Despite this massacre, the people of Lin’an remained upright and optimistic, living a happy and enjoyable life. The laughter of children and sweet talk of young couples echoed throughout all but the quietest of streets.


    A few days after Jing Wen and Zhou Aimin’s visit, news that Consort Li was pregnant was announced from the Imperial Palace. Zhou Aimin, upon hearing this, now knew why Consort Li was unwilling to contend for the elixir of immortality. But aside from her, it seems that the undercurrent created from Hua Quanfu’s soon to be arrival at Lin’an.


    But Jing manor was far less active than the previous weeks it had been in Lin’an. At least, Zhou Aimin did not visit the Imperial Palace daily anymore. Rather, he has been spending the past couple of days observing Jing Wen, who, holding a brush in his hand, continued his attempts to emulate the essence of that piece of paper.


    Snow had come two months earlier than expected, and now that another month had passed since the beginning of winter. It is now the final days of the month of chou (December, when snow traditionally falls in Jiangnan).


    According to Zhou Aimin, there is only a day before Hua Quanfu arrives at the gate of Lin’an.


    ---


    Mount Qingcheng had managed to avoid a disaster with the peaceful end of the conflict between Xiahou Jie and Tang Hong. Now that the anger of general Xiahou and Consort Li no longer loomed on them, the sect elders began fully dedicating themselves to the preparation of Hua Quanfu’s arrival. The weapons were sharpened until they gleamed, and medicine prepared.


    Yang Heng was removed from the excitement these old men held towards the elixir of immortality. He was only twenty-two, and had a long and vibrant life ahead of him. Why would he care about matters of life and death so soon?


    Staring out of the half-destroyed walls of the Thirteenth Prince’s manor in silence, Yang Heng did not hold the reverence and aspiration the other youths around him had. His mind was entirely consumed by the look Xiahou Jie had when she looked at Jing Wen; the adoration that she held towards the blind and worthless man.


    Indeed, Jing Wen had once been at the state of Qi Manifestation and occupied the top spot on the Xinqingnian, but does that matter now? Even if Jing Wen’s past accomplishments were considered, Yang Heng was not far behind, standing proudly as a peak Heart Purification expert and third in terms of spearmanship among the younger generations. This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.


    The sky grew darker as the sun moved nearer to the horizon. The snow-covered streets of Lin’an glittered like gold. Yang Heng looked down Long’an Avenue and could not help but narrow his eyes.


    He had learnt of Liu Shan’s defeat at Jing Wen’s hands despite the person’s suppression. Although he still believes Jing Wen is no better than waste, he was not one to abandon caution.


    As the representative of Mount Qingcheng, he naturally cannot be someone without intellect. Still, no matter how he attempted to repress the emotions spawned by the image of Xiahou Jie and Jing Wen, the sense of resentment persisted.


    Forcibly suppressing these emotions, Yang Heng’s body slowly grew weary, until he can no longer maintain it. He started coughing uncontrollably as a result of the backlash.


    The people standing around the Thirteenth Prince’s manor saw this and listened to Yang Heng’s coughs with worry on their face. But when they attempted to aid him, all were swiftly rejected with a single wave. The bystanders thought of Yang Heng as arrogant as foolish.


    Eventually, the vibration in the air stopped, and Yang Heng turned to look at the sunset. Then, he walked down Long’an Avenue.


    Arriving at a secluded corner, he changed into an indistinguishable set of black clothes, before continuing towards Jing manor.


    As he trod across the roof tiles beneath the night sky, he was unaware of the shadows following behind him.


    ---


    A towering stack of xuan paper could be found in Jing manor’s study. Another three days had passed since Jing Wen’s conversation with Zhou Aimin, and were it not the servants constantly collecting the paper Jing Wen had thrown away, the room would undoubtedly at sixes and sevens.


    Since Jing Wen had dismissed the manor’s previous servants, and the household was now filled with previous victims of Mo Xi, the security capacity of Jing manor was very poor other than the presence of Gao Shu, who was cultivating at an out-of-the-way building.


    Jing Wen placed down the brush and massaged his wrists. The room was heavy with the scent of ink, so Jing Wen left his seat with a cup of tea and opened the windows. The hot air within the room immediately rushed towards the outside, but Jing Wen welcomed the refreshing chill.


    Despite being so close to the walls of the estate, the sound of laughter that filled the rest of the city did not reach Jing Wen. The street Jing manor was on was called Suzhou (苏州) street, and had always quiet, no matter day or night. In fact, this estate was given to Princess Kang as her dowry due to the street’s tranquillity.


    A snowflake gradually drifted into the warm, crimson tea. Observing the ice melting within the tea water, Jing Wen wondered how he would deal with Hua Quanfu. Although he had formed an alliance with Mo Xi and those in Lin’an that prioritise stability, he could not guarantee if after obtaining the elixir of immortality, that they not be overcome by greed. In that scenario, how was he going to deal with these cultivators, many of which have already reached Qi Manifestation state.


    Feeling the frigid breeze against him, Jing Wen suddenly frowned. He wasn’t sure why, but he intuitively felt something was wrong. Observing his surroundings, everything seemed calm, and there was nothing unusual.


    Suddenly, Jing Wen’s hands itched, and the teacup in his hand immediately flew out!


    With a crack, the teacup crashed onto the person’s chest, sinking into his flesh.


    Countless pieces of porcelain that had shattered into powder plunged like countless needles into the person’s body. It was painful and itchy, not something an ordinary person can tolerate.


    The person sucked in a breath of cold air and pushed out the porcelain powder from his body into the white snow surrounding him.


    “Don’t worry, I won’t kill you,” the person was naturally the disguised Yang Heng, so had arrived before Jing Wen to humiliate Jing Wen. As he spoke, his voice was deliberately distorted by the muscles of his throat, making it difficult for Jing Wen to determine his identity.


    Standing beside the willow tree, an old talisman appeared between Yang Heng’s fingers. The cinnabar ink on the paper turned into powerful Qi fluctuations that made the wind in the courtyard grow wild and fierce.


    Jing Wen retrieved a sword from the bookshelf and held it horizontal to himself. It seemed to be cutting the wind in half as it fell upon the blade’s edge.


    The stack of xuan paper within the study was shaking, only remaining in its place due to the jade paperweight atop it. The candle’s flame danced with abandonment. The ice on the artificial lake cracked, like the face of someone that had been tempered by harsh wind.


    Then, the wind stopped.


    The willow tree in the courtyard was split into countless pieces by the aura of the talisman. A terrifying crack appeared on the stone tiles that climbed the walls of the study, reaching Jing Wen.


    A trace of blood left Jing Wen’s lips, and his face became paler. The piece of cloth covering his eyes trembled.


    He had dealt with many charms as a former captain of the Imperial Guards, but had never seen such a talisman before. It appears that the person was expending all efforts in hiding his identity.


    The next moment, the paint on the walls of the study was peeled, revealing the dark bricks inside.


    Jing Wen backed against the table and vomited a mouthful of blood. His face was covered with a mixture of blood and paint particles, while his robes was stained with blood. He looked terrible.


    He raised his hand to wipe away the blood on his chest with great difficulty. Gripping the sword until his knuckles grew white, the dried-up river of Qi within his body began to move.


    Yet the next moment, Yang Heng returned the talisman to his black clothes and looked towards Jing Wen. He said coldly, “What rights do you have?”