Human Immortal Wu Mohe

The moment those words were spoken, the little courtyard fell suddenly silent in the dusk.

The wind stopped.

The lantern beneath the eaves no longer swayed, its candlelight casting half of Zhao Yong's face into shifting light and shadow.

Chen Lingxi looked at Zhao Yong, seeming still caught in surprise and disbelief.

Zhao Yong remained unmoved. He merely stood with his hands behind his back, waiting for Chen Lingxi to digest the news.

Several breaths later, Zhao Yong spoke again.

This time, he did not open his mouth to make a sound.

His lips moved faintly, and a thread-thin stream of blood qi silently spilled from his throat. It condensed without dispersing, like an invisible strand of silk, shooting straight into Chen Lingxi's ear.

Blood qi spun into a thread, voice transmitted in secret!

Chen Lingxi was greatly shocked.

He had heard Jiang Yuan mention it before. This was a Golden Body technique!

Zhao Yong, this old steward, was actually one of those legendary Golden Body figures who could stand against a thousand armored soldiers by himself?

"The great tide beneath heaven has already descended into chaos." Zhao Yong's voice rang by Chen Lingxi's ear, every word distinct, yet not a trace leaked outside!

"Great Li's sins run deep. Emperor Daye oppressed the people, levying taxes without restraint and carving canals everywhere. In two years, forty-nine canals were dug. Thirty million wronged souls wailed through the endless night, while bones lay exposed across ninety thousand li of wilderness."

"Your father, your mother, your entire household—all of them met the fate of heads severed from bodies because of a single Mirror Listening report from that venomous woman."

Zhao Yong's gaze settled on Chen Lingxi's face. Within those eyes like dried-up wells, two clusters of dim fire suddenly ignited.

"Chen Lingxi, are you willing to serve as a foot soldier before the horse, and join me, Liu Changle, and all of us in avenging this blood-deep hatred?"

When his words fell, silence returned to the courtyard.

Chen Lingxi stood frozen where he was.

The shock on his face was not entirely feigned—what Zhao Yong had just said carried far too much information.

A rebel!

Zhao Yong was a rebel!

Zhao Yong, steward of the Baosu Marquis Residence, holder of so much authority within the marquis residence and deeply trusted by Lin Suri, was actually a rebel.

And... he actually dared to expose his identity so boldly before an official slave?

Thoughts raced through Chen Lingxi's mind, but his gaze never left Zhao Yong's face.

He saw Zhao Yong's eyes.

What burned in those dried-well eyes was not trust or expectation, but something sharper and colder.

It was—certainty.

Zhao Yong was certain he would agree.

Or rather, Zhao Yong was certain he would not dare refuse.

Chen Lingxi's heart tightened, and he immediately understood.

He had no choice.

If he refused, Zhao Yong would never let him leave alive.

Lin Longyue's protection? Distant water could not put out a nearby fire.

"Secret voice transmission! Golden Body!"

Chen Lingxi recalled Zhao Yong's methods.

A Golden Body cultivator killing an official slave at the minor attainment of Copper Crimson was no more than the flick of a finger.

After killing him, Zhao Yong could simply find some excuse: poison backlash from testing medicine, sudden death from illness.

Even if Lin Longyue grew suspicious, she would find nothing.

As for Lin Longyue's earlier declaration that "from now on, Chen Lingxi answers directly to this young lady," in Zhao Yong's eyes, it was likely not worth mentioning at all.

Would a Golden Body cultivator, one who might even be a rebel, truly fear Lin Longyue?

Chen Lingxi ran through all these thoughts in his mind, yet only showed a mingling of struggle, hesitation, and panic. His lips moved several times, as though he wished to speak, only to swallow the words back down.

Zhao Yong stood with his hands behind his back and did not urge him.

He was waiting.

Waiting for Chen Lingxi to figure it out himself.

Several breaths later, Chen Lingxi raised his head. Some of the struggle faded from his face, replaced by a cautious, probing expression.

"Steward Zhao..." he began, his voice lowered to nearly a whisper as though afraid the walls had ears. "Chen Lingxi dares to ask—which royal banner does the steward serve beneath?"

At those words, the smile at Zhao Yong's lips deepened.

The hand behind his back gave a faint pat, as though praising Chen Lingxi for knowing what was good for him.

"The royal banner this old man serves..." he said. His tone remained even, but beneath that calm lay reverence and fervor too difficult to conceal. "Belongs to an immortal reborn into this world."

Chen Lingxi's brow lifted slightly.

Zhao Yong continued, "He once splashed ink to save a plague, turned his hand to revive white bones, lifted a cauldron to suppress and kill a thousand men, and in a single fury made blood flow for a hundred li."

He paused, speaking each word with deliberate weight.

"He is the [Human Immortal]—Wu Mohe!"

Wu Mohe.

Those three words fell into Chen Lingxi's ears like a boulder plunging into a lake, stirring wave upon wave.

Of course he had heard that name.

Among the nineteen rebel kings under Great Li's heavens, none was more formidable than Xiao Changlü, who called himself the [Heavenly King Severing Evil]. He commanded three hundred thousand troops, had broken twelve prefectures in succession, and beaten the imperial army back step by step.

And following close behind him was this [Human Immortal], Wu Mohe.

This man's origins were a mystery, as though he had appeared from nowhere. Three years ago, he raised the banner of rebellion in Huainan Circuit, and in merely a few months gathered tens of thousands beneath him.

Rumor had it that he truly possessed divine powers. When plague ravaged Huainan Circuit, he splashed ink through the air, and wherever the ink fell, the plague miasma vanished. When refugees starved to death by the roadside, he turned his hand and stroked their faces, and the dead could actually sit up again.

There had also been one battle where he was trapped in a barren valley by more than a thousand imperial armored soldiers. Alone, he lifted a cauldron and hurled it, killing over three hundred men in succession and scattering the rest.

These tales were widespread throughout the Capital Circuit. In the teahouses and taverns of Yuan River Prefecture, storytellers recounted his deeds so vividly that whenever they reached an exciting part, the entire hall erupted in cheers.

Shock appeared on his face, then shifted into an intricate, indescribable expression.

Hesitation.

Struggle.

Finally, it became a trace of... longing.

"Steward Zhao." Chen Lingxi spoke, his voice trembling. "If Chen Lingxi... agrees to the steward's offer, can I truly... take revenge?"

As he asked this, he stared intently at Zhao Yong. The longing in his eyes nearly overflowed.

Zhao Yong looked into his eyes and slowly nodded.

There was no unnecessary speech.

Chen Lingxi took a deep breath.

He lowered his head and remained silent for several breaths.

Then he raised his head. The struggle in his eyes had entirely faded, replaced by the resolve of one smashing the cauldrons and sinking the boats.

"Chen Lingxi is willing to serve the steward."

Zhao Yong looked at his face, and a smile appeared.

He said nothing more. Reaching into his robes, he took out an object and offered it to Chen Lingxi.

It was a flower.

The flower was tiny, no larger than an infant's fist. Its petals were deep purple, layered one upon another as though countless sheets of thin silk had been pasted together.

At its center was a point of golden-yellow stamen, releasing a faint medicinal fragrance.

"This is a Mohe Flower." Zhao Yong placed it in Chen Lingxi's hands, his tone solemn. "Nurture it day and night. Do not let it wither. When the Mohe envoy reaches Yuan River Prefecture, he will follow the flower's fragrance to find you and pass the Mohe Profound Art on to you."

Chen Lingxi received the flower with both hands and lowered his gaze.

The petals trembled softly in his palm, as though breathing.

He held the flower to his chest and replied respectfully, "Chen Lingxi shall remember."

Zhao Yong gave a grunt, turned with his hands behind his back, and headed for the courtyard gate.

When he reached it, he paused and looked back over his shoulder.

"Wait quietly for the chance, and heed this old man's commands."

With that, he did not linger. His figure disappeared into the deepening night.

His footsteps gradually faded, soon scattered by the wind.

Chen Lingxi held the Mohe Flower and did not move.

The lantern beneath the eaves swayed lightly in the wind, casting his shadow across the bluestone ground, now long, now short.

The deep-purple petals gleamed with a cold, ghostly light in the dimness. The golden stamen at its center trembled faintly, like some living creature drawing breath.

Chen Lingxi watched it for a long while, then suddenly—

He gave a cold laugh.

Holding the flower, he returned to the small room in the courtyard, shut the door, and set the Mohe Flower upon the table.

Then he sat before it and, by the last thread of daylight filtering through the window lattice, studied it intently.

"Zhao Yong."

He silently repeated the name, and the cold smile on his lips deepened.

"He still wanted to use me as a medicinal catalyst, and he even made up such nonsense."

"Eight or nine parts of what he said just now were lies."

He was so certain not because he had guessed blindly.

"Before I killed Wang Kong, I asked where Liu Changle had gone."

Wang Kong had answered clearly then. Liu Changle had vanished into thin air. Zhao Yong had flown into a rage over it, beaten all the servants of the North Courtyard, yet failed to learn where he was. He had searched for several days straight.

If Zhao Yong had set Liu Changle free himself, why would he need to make such a tremendous fuss?

It might have been one thing in another residence, but this was the Baosu Marquis Residence. With the marquis in seclusion pursuing the Dao and Lin Suri focused on cultivation rather than managing affairs—

For Zhao Yong to release an official slave would take no more than a word. He could do it silently, and no one would question it.

The authorities would be no different.

Why would he need to feign rage, beat people, and search everywhere until the entire residence knew of it?

Zhao Yong held an extraordinary position in the residence and controlled much of its authority.

If he had truly released the man, no one would dare question him, and there would be no need for such hypocritical theatrics.

There was only one possibility—Liu Changle's disappearance had been beyond Zhao Yong's control.

That was why he had been enraged, why he had searched, why he had wanted to turn the North Courtyard upside down.

Once he thought that through, Zhao Yong's earlier claim that "this old man set Liu Changle free" collapsed without needing to be attacked.

Chen Lingxi shook his head, his gaze falling upon the Mohe Flower.

This was the second reason.

He picked up the flower, brought it close to his nose, and took a deep breath.

Then he closed his eyes. The strand of spiritual qi in his dantian slowly circulated out, advancing along the meridians in his right arm before pouring into the Mohe Flower.

The instant his spiritual qi touched the petals, Chen Lingxi's mind shook with a thunderous crash.

His spiritual qi clearly sensed it—within the flower's medicinal fragrance lay a dark, turbid poison.

Just like Dragon-Drawing Powder.

Chen Lingxi tried drawing the poison into his body to analyze the difference.

Half an hour passed.

At last, Chen Lingxi exhaled a breath of foul air.

"This poison was not as violent as Dragon-Drawing Powder. It was exceedingly slow, exceedingly concealed.

"Once it entered the body, it would accumulate soundlessly. One day, two days, one month, two months—it would never act.

"But once the accumulated amount crossed a certain threshold, it would erupt all at once."

Chen Lingxi looked at the seemingly delicate and beautiful flower in his hand, and the cold smile at his lips could no longer be suppressed.

"Zhao Yong, Zhao Yong."

"This medicinal fragrance is no different from Dragon-Drawing Powder. He merely changed to a gentler method, wanting me to soak in this poisonous miasma day and night, slowly cultivating a more suitable medicinal catalyst."

"What medicine is Zhao Yong trying to refine, that he is so obsessed with medicinal catalysts?" Chen Lingxi muttered to himself. "He has Golden Body cultivation, yet he went to such lengths to deceive me. That could count as thinking highly of me."

"And besides... had he not yet learned that Wang Kong was dead? He did not ask about him at all."

As he pondered, he walked to the window, found a small celadon bottle, filled it halfway with water, placed the flower inside, and set it on the windowsill.

Moonlight leaked through the window and fell across the deep-purple petals, making their cold, ghostly sheen all the more apparent.

"With the Concealed Edge Method, this poison cannot harm me at all."

"This works out well." Chen Lingxi looked at the flower, his gaze calm. "He thinks I have already walked into his trap, so he will not be in a hurry to strike at me. That buys me time."

He needed time.

The longer the time, the higher his qi-circulation cultivation and blood qi would rise, the stronger the Azure Edge Method would become, and the more polished the Concealed Edge Method would be.

By the time Zhao Yong discovered that this medicinal catalyst could never be properly cultivated, he might no longer be the official slave who could be kneaded at will.

(There is one more bonus chapter.)