Madness Conceals Truth, Ji Hantian Sets a Trap to Test

The ripples on the water were still spreading.

I stared at those rings until they went completely still. The old servant's footsteps outside had long since faded away. The bowl of water sat quietly in the corner by the wall, reflecting the faint light filtering in through the window. My face was still pressed against the brick floor, my breathing slow and even, like someone truly unconscious.

But I knew they would not leave me in peace for long.

Sure enough, before long, the sound of a key turning in the lock rang out again. This time, it was not the old servant carrying a lantern, but two medicine boys in gray robes. They held a small celadon bottle, its mouth sealed with wax, and from it wafted a bitter smell laced with something fishy.

My eyes remained shut, but my ears pricked up.

"The Young Master ordered three doses a day. If he won't drink it, pry his mouth open and force it in," one of them said in a low voice.

The other answered and crouched down, reaching for my jaw. I conveniently twitched slightly, letting out a muffled whimper from my throat, as though I were struggling awake from a nightmare. Their movements paused, and they exchanged a glance, apparently thinking this would make things easier.

The porcelain spoon had barely touched my lips when I shuddered violently, turning my head aside as broken mutters spilled from my mouth. "Fire... It's burning... Father... save me..."

The medicine boy frowned. He simply set down the spoon, pinched both sides of my cheeks, and forcibly pried open my mouth. The medicine slid down my throat, bitter and fishy, with a faint, almost imperceptible sluggishness mixed within—it was the trace of demonic qi hidden in the medicine.

I choked and broke into a violent coughing fit. Half a mouthful of medicine sprayed over my collar, staining it a dark brown. They cursed about something, then did not bother with me any further as they packed up and left.

The door was locked again.

I lay sprawled on the floor, allowing the remaining medicine at the corner of my mouth to drip down slowly. But the instant that medicinal power spread through my meridians, the Pseudo-Primordial Body within me quietly began to operate. An extremely thin pale golden sheen flashed over the surface of my bones and vanished. The demonic qi was stripped away, settling beneath my skin like dust, while the truly useful thing—that trace of Residual Dao Fragments mixed into the medicine—was silently absorbed by the system.

With a slight turn of thought: A little more.

To them, this medicine was poisonous bait meant to test whether I had gone mad. To me, it was cultivation nourishment fed straight into my mouth.

Afu hid behind a corridor pillar and watched everything unfold. I did not open my eyes, yet I could sense his presence. He did not dare come closer. His fists were clenched white, his nails digging into his palms. He knew I was pretending, and he knew he could not give anything away. There was an understanding between us that needed no words. As long as he was still standing there, I had not truly fallen.

The night deepened.

At the third quarter of the Rat hour, the medicine's effects began to rise. My divine sense felt as though it were soaking in warm water, its edges blurring as my consciousness drifted. This was the best time.

I abruptly sat up, my eyes unfocused, and began humming a badly off-key nursery rhyme. It was an old tune the elders of the Ji Clan used to lull children to sleep, one everyone had known how to sing when they were young. As I hummed, I swayed to my feet and knocked over the little stool beside the table with a dull thud.

The guards outside immediately shoved open the door and rushed in.

I turned a deaf ear to them and headed straight for the window, my steps unsteady like those of a sleepwalker. A guard reached out to stop me, but I suddenly turned and rammed my head into his chest. Borrowing the force, I rolled away and slipped through the half-open window.

The wind beyond the eaves was cold.

I crawled along the roof tiles, slow in movement but never missing my mark. Three years ago, when I had still been the Young Master, I often practiced qinggong on these rooftops. I remembered the location of every single tile. The spirit lamps on night patrol lit up once every thirty paces. Counting their rhythm, I vaulted over the wall in the intervals between the lights and landed in the rear courtyard of Ji Hantian's residence.

The study was on the eastern side of the main hall.

I deliberately crushed a roof tile beneath my foot, producing a crisp sound. There was no movement inside. Dragging my feet, I approached the window lattice, braced a hand against the wall, then let my body tilt as I tumbled headlong into the room.

The inkstone was knocked over, splashing ink all across the floor.

I collapsed into a sitting position in the corner, panting as my fingers unconsciously scratched at the ground. My lips kept repeating in a mutter, "Fire... It's burning... Father, save me..."

Within a few breaths, the guards charged in.

I immediately went limp, my eyelids trembling as a trace of white foam dribbled from the corner of my mouth, as though I had fainted from excessive fright. They hurriedly lifted me up and dragged me back to the side courtyard. Along the way, I cracked my eyes open slightly and saw Ji Hantian standing at the study entrance. His Purple-Gold Python Robe fluttered softly in the night wind. He lowered his head to look at the ink stains on the ground, then looked toward my retreating figure, his gaze dark and gloomy.

I did not smile, nor did I need to.

The next morning, iron shackles were fitted around my ankles.

Two heavy Black Iron Rings were locked around my legs, connected by a short chain just long enough for me to shuffle a few steps inside the room. The guards stood outside the door, their eyes fixed on me the entire time.

I sat on the edge of the bed, lowered my head to look at the pair of shackles, and lightly tapped one of the iron rings with my finger.

The sound was dull.

Good. The more I looked like trash, the safer I would be.

At noon, Afu brought in a bowl of thin porridge. He kept his head lowered and did not dare look at me, but when he set it on the table, his finger quietly brushed across my sleeve cuff—a signal between us that meant, "Everything's fine."

I lowered my head and drank the porridge without saying a word.

That afternoon, I "had an episode" twice more. Once, I suddenly screamed while basking in the sun in the courtyard. The other time, I smashed against the wall in the middle of the night. Each time, the guards came to check on me, but I never resisted or acted lucid. I only kept repeating those few mad phrases.

They gradually grew accustomed to it.

On the third night, I lay on the bed listening to the insects outside the window. The iron chain around my ankle weighed on my lower leg, digging in painfully. But this little pain was nothing. What truly concerned me was that the Heaven-Slaying Origin within me had already accumulated to ninety percent. Only the final thread remained before it would be complete.

Yet that final thread had not come.

I closed my eyes, my fingers slowly rubbing the Jade Slip in my robes. It was still cold and utterly unresponsive. But I knew it was waiting, just as I was waiting.

After an unknown amount of time, faint footsteps sounded outside the door.

They did not carry a guard's rhythm.

I immediately tensed, yet did not move. My breathing remained steady and deep, as though I were fast asleep.

The door opened a crack, and a figure flashed inside before gently closing it behind him.

It was Afu.

He crouched beside my bed, his voice lowered to almost a whisper. "Young Master, over by the woodshed... they're changing shifts tonight."

Without opening my eyes, I merely nodded faintly.

He paused, then added, "The key... I can steal it."

I still said nothing. I only raised my right hand and drew a circle over my chest.

He understood the meaning: the time had not come; do not take the risk.

He gritted his teeth and rose to leave.

Just as his hand closed around the door handle, I suddenly spoke, my voice hoarse. "Don't touch the third brick on the east wall."

His entire body stiffened. He looked back at me, nodded, and silently retreated outside.

After the door closed, I slowly opened my eyes.

Moonlight slanted in through the gap in the window, casting a cold gleam across the iron chain. I raised my hand and looked at the lingering sensation on my fingertips—in that instant just now, I had clearly felt the Jade Slip in my robes tremble faintly.

It was not a tremor.

It was a response.

Just like when the altar had exploded that day, it had sensed something.

I slowly reached into my robes. The instant my fingertips touched the Jade Slip, an extremely faint chill shot up my arm and straight into my heart. At the same time, from somewhere far beneath the ground, came a very soft crack.

Like a chain loosening by one link.

I stared toward the door, and another sound seemed to rise beside my ears—

Not the wind, nor footsteps.

Something in the depths of the darkness was slowly opening its eyes.