Chapter 6: The Heavenly Physician’s Nine Needles Continue the Ghostly Pulse, A Prelude (Part 1)
by GideonThe next dawn, Wen Jin was awakened by the rustle of the bamboo grove swaying outside his window. He opened his eyes groggily, feeling a cool freshness all around him and a sense of total ease throughout his body.
His mind was muddled for a moment before he quickly realized—last night, he hadn’t slept in his own bedchamber!
And right now, he was practically draped all over Lan Xiangru. Guilt surged through Wen Jin as he shot up from the bed with a whoosh. “I… I’m sorry!”
Lan Xiangru watched him scramble clumsily to the foot of the bed, dressing with lightning speed. Even his movements as he climbed down were incredibly awkward, clearly showing his remorse for having crushed a crippled man.
Lan Xiangru coughed softly. “It is no matter.”
Wen Jin stood before the bed, his gaze lowered, silent and still.
Lan Xiangru added, “Your body is warm. You kept me warm all night; I slept very well.”
Though he didn’t know how much of this was true and how much was mere comfort, Wen Jin’s heart eased considerably at the words. A smile returned to his face. “As long as you slept well. I’ll go add some charcoal and boil a pot of hot water.”
Shortly after, Du Wen arrived with two sets of brand-new robes. Wen Jin helped Lan Xiangru change into a white lanpao, then used a hair ribbon to tie back his long hair.
Seeing the result, Du Wen praised him repeatedly. “Young Master Lan truly looks like a jade tree in the wind in white robes—so gentle and elegant. There is a scholarly air about his brow.”
A young master from a family of scholars, yet he possesses the aura of a bandit? Wen Jin thought to himself, before asking, “Where is Big Brother Feng?”
“The Young City Lord went down the mountain last night,” Du Wen replied. “He should be back by noon.”
Wen Jin asked again, “What about Meng Duwei?”
Du Wen scratched his head. “This lowly one does not know.”
Logically, after Meng Duwei had killed so many disciples of Fengyue City, City Lord Ji would never let him off. Yet Feng Shulou had protected him so fiercely. His descent from the mountain must have been to hide Meng Duwei in some secret location to recover from his injuries.
A thought struck Wen Jin. He smiled and draped an arm around Du Wen’s shoulder. “Big Brother Du, how long have you been in Fengyue City?”
“Nearly eight years,” Du Wen replied.
“Then do you know why Meng Duwei joined the Heaven-Seizing Cult, and how he became the disciple of the Azure Dragon Priest, Mo Changling?”
“This… I’m afraid I don’t know. The City Lord has devoted himself to martial arts for many years, and Deputy City Lord Ji and the Young City Lord have taken over all the affairs of Fengyue City. No one in the entire city ever mentions the Second Young Master. However, I heard that the Second Young Master’s biological mother, Madam Ouyang, fell ill from longing for her young son. Something seems to have gone wrong here; she hasn’t stepped out of the back courtyard for ten years.”
Du Wen spoke, gesturing with one hand while pointing to his own temple with the other.
Wen Jin suddenly recalled seeing a woman in yellow by the lake outside the West Courtyard when he left Fengyue City the day before. The woman did indeed seem a bit abnormal. Could she be Meng Duwei’s biological mother, Ouyang Yue?
Du Wen glanced inadvertently at the water clock and jumped in fright. “Oh no! There’s still porridge simmering in the kitchen!” With that, he rushed away like a gust of wind.
Wen Jin lifted his hips and sat on the yellow pearwood Eight Immortals Table by the window, casually twirling the wooden comb in his hand as if imagining the various reasons why Meng Duwei had joined the Demonic Cult.
“Meng Duwei is the abandoned child of Fengyue City,” Lan Xiangru, seated in his wheelchair, suddenly spoke, breaking the silence in the room.
Wen Jin glanced at him in surprise. “How do you know?”
“Hearsay.”
“What else have you heard?”
Lan Xiangru shook his head. “That’s all.”
Since it was merely hearsay, Wen Jin didn’t take his words to heart.
As the hour of Chen drew to a close and the hour of Si began, Feng Shulou arrived at Flying Flower Terrace to channel his inner energy and clear Lan Xiangru’s qi meridians. Once his task was complete, he departed in haste, not lingering for a single moment.
Wen Jin’s curiosity was unbearable, yet he was unwilling to let Lan Xiangru know he was spying on the Feng Family’s private affairs. Thus, he clutched his stomach and groaned in feigned agony, “Ouch… my stomach hurts… Ouch… oh, the pain! Du Wen, take good care of Young Master Lan. I’ll be right back…”
Du Wen asked worriedly, “Young Hero Wen, are you alright? Have you eaten something bad? Should I—”
Wen Jin ignored Du Wen’s incessant chatter, leaving his words behind as he stepped out of the courtyard. Immediately, he unleashed his qinggong, following the footprints in the snow.
Feng Shulou had not initially concealed his tracks, but after crossing a small peak, the footprints inexplicably vanished.
Wen Jin stood rooted to the spot, scanning his surroundings for a long time. Finally, he noticed that the snow on a few branches of a spruce tree to his front-left was different from the rest. He leaped into the air, his toes landing on the verdant branch, and gazed into the distance. Sure enough, he spotted a clue.
Moments later, Wen Jin arrived at the foot of a waterfall, his Treading Snow Without a Trace lightness skill leaving no mark behind. Steam rose from the falls, and the air was thick with the scent of medicinal herbs—this was surely the Spirit Spring Water from Flying Flower Terrace.
A small wooden cabin had been built before a massive boulder adjacent to the waterfall. Wen Jin guessed that Feng Shulou must be hiding Meng Duwei here. He cautiously circled behind the boulder, and just as he crouched down, a sharp clatter echoed from within the cabin. He looked up quickly, only to see Feng Shulou silently sweeping up the shattered porcelain shards strewn across the floor.
Meng Duwei had been grievously wounded by Wen Jin, yet he refused to drink the medicine Feng Shulou had brewed. Now, his face was as pale as paper, making the Blood Butterfly on his cheek stand out with an even more bewitchingly eerie glow.
After a few breaths, Feng Shulou said, “I brewed this medicine myself. I would never harm you.”
Meng Duwei sneered.
Feng Shulou finished cleaning up the debris, rose, and walked to his side. “A-Ze, you have suffered so much all these years.”
“Suffered?” Meng Duwei mocked. “The night I was abducted by Mo Changling, did anyone in Fengyue City even think to save my life?”
Wen Jin froze for a moment. Lan Xiangru spoke the truth, he thought. Meng Duwei truly was Fengyue City’s abandoned pawn.
But the true story behind it all remained a mystery.
Feng Shulou quickly tried to explain, “A-Ze, it’s not what you think. Father—”
“Don’t you dare mention that man!” Meng Duwei cut him off, his voice cold. “I have returned to Fengyue City for one reason: to kill him and avenge myself! If you still value our bond as brothers, then do not stand in my way!”
“A-Ze…”
“Thirteen years,” Meng Duwei said with a desolate smile. “Do you have any idea how I survived those thirteen years?”
Before Feng Shulou could speak, Meng Duwei’s expression shifted. A ferocious glint and murderous intent flooded his eyes, transforming him into a terrifying, demonic figure. “When I was eight, Mo Changling locked me in a dungeon where the sun never shone. There were ninety-nine other children my age trapped with me. He forced us to slaughter each other. Only those who claimed three lives a day were given fruit and preserves to eat.”
“At first, I was terrified. Terrified of the dwindling number of children around me. Terrified of starvation. Terrified of the screams that threatened to deafen me… In that blood-soaked dungeon, closing one’s eyes meant eternal sleep. After several days, my eyelashes were matted with blood, yet I dared not blink. I was afraid that if I closed my eyes, I would never open them again.”
“One day, a cold dagger was pressed against my neck. Strangely, I felt no fear. I realized the one holding the blade was trembling.” Meng Duwei’s eyes lost their murderous glint, and he suddenly chuckled. “Guess what happened next?”
Feng Shulou’s Adam’s apple bobbed with difficulty as he rasped, “Stop talking…”
Meng Duwei acted as if he hadn’t heard, continuing on his own, “I killed him—not with the dagger, but by crushing his windpipe with my teeth and drinking every drop of his blood.”
“That was the first time I felt full after being thrown into the dungeon. After that… I grew accustomed to killing, accustomed to drinking blood when I was hungry, accustomed to doing whatever it took to survive.”
Feng Shulou abruptly moved forward, seizing his wrist. “Stop talking!”
“Why do you want me to stop?!” Meng Duwei shouted. “I lived only to wait for you all to save me! I waited thirteen years—thirteen whole years! Not a single person from Fengyue City came to save me!”
Feng Shulou’s lips trembled, his eyes blurred with a mist of tears.
Meng Duwei laughed harshly and continued, “After I had killed five hundred people, Mo Changling finally released me from the dungeon. I was ten years old then, my features beginning to mature. Seeing my beauty, he decided to keep me as his plaything. I tried to kill myself time and again, but failed. In desperation, I slashed my cheeks with shards of broken glass, yet he found my face even more beautiful stained with blood. He then tattooed a Blood Butterfly upon my skin.”
Feng Shulou’s heart ached with a sharp, piercing pain. Trembling, he raised his hand to touch the lifelike Blood Butterfly, but Meng Duwei seized his wrist. “Do you know what Mo Changling did to me after that?”
Feng Shulou shook his head violently. “A-Ze, don’t say any more. I beg you…”
Meng Duwei’s lips curled into a mocking smile as he guided his elder brother’s hand slowly downward.
Wen Jin, who had already been listening with a growing chill in his bones, felt a wave of pure revulsion at Meng Duwei’s actions.
Feng Shulou instinctively tried to pull away, but his arm seemed to have lost all strength, refusing to obey him.
Suddenly, Meng Duwei’s fingers tightened around his hand, and through the crimson fabric between his legs, he grasped a void of nothingness.
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