Exposing Disguises, Wuchen and Qingwan Agree to a Duel

The room fell into brief darkness after the candle flame died out. I stood rooted to the spot, the sensation of the medicine pestle still lingering on my palm, my knuckles slightly numb from the force. The shadow of the cloud-pattern official robe outside the window was long gone, yet a sense of unsettled weight seemed to hang in the air.

I didn't turn around, but I heard the soft creak of the door hinges.

Wind rushed in from outside, rustling the paper on the corner of the desk, which had been corroded by demonic powder, emitting a faint tremor. The footsteps were light, barely echoing on the floor, but I knew who it was.

"You didn't go far," I said, my voice colder than I expected.

"And you're not asleep?" he stood three steps away, his dark robes billowing, his breathing steady. "You're waiting for an explanation."

I slowly turned, meeting his gaze. The candle wick suddenly rekindled with a spark, illuminating the faint red scar on his left cheek, like an old wound breathing.

I didn't answer, only raised my hand and pulled out the wooden hairpin from my hair. With a flick of my wrist, the tip pressed against his throat.

He didn't move, didn't retreat, not even his eyes changed.

"Three years ago, you woke up in the black market, and the first thing you did was hide your pulse." I stared at him. "You pretended to be useless for too long, so long that you habitually suppressed your steps even when walking. But last night, when you burst into this room, your cloud-treading boots landed too steadily—that's an expert's instinct."

He chuckled softly. "So you used a hairpin to test your luck?"

"This isn't a test." I pushed forward half an inch, the tip of the hairpin leaving a shallow mark. "This is confirmation. You saved me not out of past kindness, but because I can help you investigate Ji Hantian. You injured me to observe the reaction of the demonic powder, didn't you?"

He still didn't evade, instead raising his hand, fingers spread, and slowly placed them over the hairpin. Blood trickled down his palm, dripping onto the ground with a faint sound.

"You're right about everything," he said in a low voice. "But if I truly wanted to use you, I wouldn't have told you that the aura of the pseudo-primordial body has already infiltrated your meridians."

My fingertips trembled.

"Then why didn't you say so earlier? Why wait until now?"

"If I had, you wouldn't have believed me," he released his hand, letting the hairpin hang in my grasp. "Just as you don't believe now that I simply want to hand the truth to you, rather than have someone else tear it open."

The room fell silent for a moment.

I withdrew the hairpin, but my guard remained up. "Then why are you standing here now? To continue the act? Or to silence me?"

He suddenly took a step forward, so close I could feel the warmth of his breath.

"I'm here to ask you one question," he said. "Do you want to know the real me? Not the rumored useless young master, not the shadow lurking in the dark, but... the one who dared to be thrown off a cliff three years ago and still crawl back alive."

My heart skipped a beat.

"Do you want to personally peel off this skin?" His voice was very soft, yet it struck like a hammer on a bell. "In three months, when the secret realm opens, on the arena, we will fight to the death for secrets."

I sneered. "A fight? You think I'll play this game with you?"

"It's not a game." He took half a step back, his tone calm. "If you defeat me, I'll tell you how the 'pseudo-primordial body' came to be, why it's on me, and why it can affect you. If I defeat you..." he paused, his gaze darkening, "you'll have to tell me how many levels the Blood Phoenix Body has awakened."

My pupils contracted.

That name—was the last word my mother spoke before she died. I had never mentioned it to an outsider.

"How could you possibly know that?"

"Just like you knew I was pretending to be useless," he looked at me. "Some things, no matter how deeply hidden, will reveal traces. Every time you activate your bloodline, your fingertips turn golden; when you're injured, your wounds heal at an unnatural speed; and that flash of golden light last night... it wasn't a protective spiritual array, it was your bloodline resisting external force."

I bit my lower lip, not denying it.

"I'm not forcing you to agree now," he turned and walked towards the window, then leaped onto the eaves. The hem of his robe fluttered in the night wind. "But you must understand, Ji Hantian has already begun to act, and Yan Jiuxiao is also watching us. You can't handle every step forward alone."

I looked up at his silhouette on the rooftop, the moonlight casting a thin layer of silver on his shoulders.

"What makes you think I'll accept the challenge?" I called out.

He looked back, a slight smile on his lips. "You don't trust me, but you haven't destroyed the blood-stained wooden hairpin either. You already have an answer in your heart, you just don't want to admit it yet."

As his words fell, he leaped, disappearing into the night.

I stood there, unmoving for a long time.

My fingers unconsciously traced the old marks on the hairpin's handle—a mark I had carved myself at the age of ten, a diagonal line representing my mother's name. I had changed countless accessories over the years, but I had always kept this hairpin.

Now it was stained with his blood.

I looked down at my palm, where the warmth from him healing me seemed to linger. That warm current wasn't pure spiritual power, but more like something deeper, flowing slowly through my meridians, faintly resonating with my bloodline.

I closed my eyes, and when I opened them again, I had regained my composure.

I picked up the hairpin from the ground, wiped it clean, and reinserted it into my hair.

Pushing open the door, moonlight spread across the small path, the bluestone slabs shimmering. The sound of the watch drum echoed from the distant city wall; the third watch had passed.

I stepped forward, my pace not fast, but firm.

As I reached the alley entrance, my earlobe suddenly felt hot, as if someone were watching me from behind. I stopped, not looking back, just gripping the medicine pestle tighter.

The wind brushed past my ear, carrying a fleeting whisper: "Ye Qingwan, don't lose too badly."

I sneered and continued forward.

After walking half a street, my right hand suddenly twitched. The poison needle in my sleeve was long gone, but the muscle memory of launching it still lingered on my fingertips. I opened my palm and found a faint golden thread appearing at the edge of my palm lines, vanishing in an instant.

This was not the power of the Blood Phoenix.

It was another, more hidden, more profound power, quietly awakening.

I quickened my pace, passing through two narrow alleys, and turned into the small courtyard at the end of East Street. This was my temporary residence in the city, rarely visited by anyone.

As soon as I pushed open the door, I noticed a faint scratch on the threshold—it wasn't left today.

I immediately became alert, pressing myself against the wall and straining my ears.

No one was moving inside, nor was there any fluctuation of spiritual power. However, the position of the teacup on the table had changed. The handle, which had been facing south, was now tilted fifteen degrees.

Someone had been here.

I slowly drew out the Medicine Pestle, about to step inside, when I suddenly remembered something and stopped.

Ji Wuchen's parting words echoed in my ears again.

"Do you want to personally tear off this skin?"

I stared at the half-open door, my heartbeat gradually slowing.

If it were truly an enemy, they wouldn't have left such faint traces. If it were a test, then the other party must be waiting for me to understand.

I put away the Medicine Pestle, tidied my sleeves, and strode into the room.

The lamp had not been lit, so I relied on memory to find my way to the bedside. From under the pillow, I retrieved a Jade Slip—the only memento my mother had left me, inscribed with a fragmented incantation.

The moment my fingertips touched the surface of the Jade Slip, a searing heat shot up from my palm, rushing straight to my forehead.

I grunted and slumped onto the edge of the bed.

A scene flashed before my eyes: a desolate wasteland, flames burning the sky, a figure standing with their back to me, surrounded by golden flames. He turned his head, his face blurred, but a faint red scar slashed across his left cheek.

Immediately after, another aura crashed into my Sea of Consciousness—cold, heavy, like a crushing weight, carrying an indescribable sense of pressure.

I shook my head violently, and the image instantly vanished.

The Jade Slip tumbled to the floor, emitting a crisp clink.

Panting, I raised a hand to wipe the cold sweat from my brow, only to find my fingertips stained with blood—my nose had started bleeding without me realizing it.

This was not an illusion.

Someone had tampered with this Jade Slip and left a tracking mark on it.

I quickly formed a hand seal to purify the Jade Slip and sealed it back into its brocade pouch. Just as I tied the knot, the wind suddenly stirred outside the window.

I looked up and saw a dark shadow flash past a corner of the eaves.

I grabbed the Medicine Pestle and rushed out the door, but all I saw was the empty rooftop and a cold moon hanging high in the sky.

The wind billowed my clothes, and the tips of my hair inexplicably turned a shade of crimson.