12 Subtle Signs Emerge (2)

“What’s happening!?” Jiang Xiaoman threw off the covers and jumped up in alarm.

In her dream, she thought she heard a series of firecrackers, but upon waking, a piercing scream echoed through the manor like an explosion.

No doubt, something terrible had occurred.

“I don’t know. I’ll go check,” Ling Sicheng said, swiftly putting on his doctor’s robe. Just as he finished buttoning it up and was about to open the door, he hesitated, then decided to take the Cold Star Sword with him.

Jiang Xiaoman jumped down from the bed and grabbed his arm. “Wait! I’m coming with you.”

Outside, the dawn was still hazy—it was barely the third watch. Had it not been for that thunderous scream, Jiang Xiaoman would have still been lost in her beautiful dream. Yet Ling Sicheng was already up early.

A scream that shatters the dawn rarely heralds good news. Still, Jiang Xiaoman clung to a sliver of hope that it was merely a servant startled by a snake or rat, or perhaps a thief had sneaked in. But if it was truly related to the eerie sounds, then everyone in the manor was in grave danger.

Only a few steps from the back door of the right courtyard lay an open space connecting the right and rear courtyards, simply planted with a few locust trees favored by the matriarch. It was usually very quiet. But today, the space was packed with people, and a strong metallic scent of blood hung heavily in the air.

It seemed the manor’s servants and attendants had all gathered, their restless heads bobbing. Through the chaos, Jiang Xiaoman caught sight of a harrowing scene—

Something terrible had indeed happened.

Someone was dead.

A man hung by a rope around his neck from a tree, his face ghastly pale and devoid of life. His eyes were wide open, his tongue purple, and dried blood crusted at the corners of his mouth. His throat had been slashed open. His dark cotton robe was stained with black patches, and the blood spattered around him bloomed like grotesque flowers—on the tree trunk, the stone ground, the courtyard wall behind him.

Despite the gruesome, distorted expression, Jiang Xiaoman recognized the face at once—it was the young master, Cen Yuan.

Yesterday he was alive and lively; this morning, he was a lifeless corpse.

No, the only person who had contact with Cen Yuan last night was…

Ling Sicheng. He had followed Cen Yuan at midnight and dug up what Cen Yuan had buried.

Jiang Xiaoman cautiously glanced at the man beside her, her heart trembling.

But she quickly dismissed the dreadful thought. No, no, although Ling Sicheng’s ideas could be extreme, he was not the kind to kill commoners at will! Besides, the shock evident in his eyes suggested he never expected such a thing to happen.

Ling Sicheng noticed the burning gaze cast upon him. He could read her thoughts at a glance but was too indifferent to explain, simply raising a hand to point ahead.

“Look, is there something on that wall?”

Jiang Xiaoman turned to glance at the courtyard wall behind the locust tree. The thick trunk partially blocked the view, but faint dark marks were visible. She tiptoed and changed her angle, and what she saw made her start in horror—

Written on the wall in dripping fresh blood was a huge character: “Demon.”

“Demon.”

Jiang Xiaoman stood frozen, her mind buzzing. Rumor had it that some powerful demons would arrogantly leave their names after killing. Could this really be the work of the eerie sounds?

Every hair on her body stood on end.

…

As the “master and servant” pair approached, the servants in the back rows cried out loudly like seeing saviors: “The divine doctor is here!”

The household staff turned their heads, their tense expressions softening at last.

“Hurry, hurry.”

“Make way for the divine doctor.”

The crowd hastily parted to let them through. Ling Sicheng’s expression was calm and unreadable as he strode forward down the cleared path, with Jiang Xiaoman following closely, nervously observing the faces of the servants and maids beside her, each etched with fear and unease.

Jiang Xiaoman’s heart was equally terrified—God above, she usually lived a peaceful life at home. In her nineteen years, she had only left the house on missions about ten times. Even then, she was always accompanied by senior brothers and sisters. Though she had witnessed one or two demon attacks, those were fleeting moments and far less gruesome than this scene…

Luckily, she had a skilled immortal sect expert by her side now, which comforted her inexplicably.

Ling Sicheng stepped forward, circling the hanging corpse with careful scrutiny. His deep eyes flicked left and right. He steadied the body with one hand and reached up with the other to loosen the taut rope around the neck. But the knot was too tight; he had to use both hands to undo it.

“Lend a hand and help lower him,” he called out, but none of the nearby servants dared move forward.

The servants exchanged glances; the maids linked arms, trembling uncontrollably. A few at the front were so frightened they collapsed to their knees, weeping. Clearly, they could not be relied upon.

Taking a deep breath to steady herself, Jiang Xiaoman stepped forward with firm resolve and firmly supported the suspended corpse. Ling Sicheng deftly untied the knot, and the body of Cen Yuan went limp like paper. Together they carefully laid him on the ground.

The young man in white wore a frost-like solemn expression as he gently closed the poor young master’s eyes.

With the body now horizontal, the long, deep wounds were even clearer. The dried blood had turned black, staining the tattered cotton robe in patches. Several gaping wounds, as if clawed by a giant beast, revealed torn flesh and glimpses of white bone beneath.

A strong metallic stench swept over Jiang Xiaoman, who covered her mouth and nose, her stomach churning violently, barely suppressing the urge to vomit. After all, she was a member of the immortal sect—she dared not show weakness.

As soon as the body was laid down, the head steward Ma and the manager Zeng arrived one after the other. Both turned pale at the sight.

Ma helped the kneeling maids to their feet, then ordered the servants to disperse, struggling to restore order.

Manager Zeng hurried to the corpse, intending to check for signs of life, but Ling Sicheng grabbed his arm and shook his head slowly. Zeng immediately understood, though his face was filled with horror, muttering in disbelief, “How… how could this be…”

Next came Cen Lan and Master Baihua.

Cen Lan screamed aloud. Fortunately, Master Baihua, who had arrived simultaneously, opened his folding fan to shield her eyes. She covered her mouth and tried hard to calm herself, trembling as Peach Blossom and another maid supported her as she staggered backward.

It was clear young lady Cen Lan was deeply shaken. Without the maids’ support, she might have collapsed on the spot.

Master Baihua was far more composed. Behind his half-mask, he first lowered his head to examine the corpse carefully, then looked up to scrutinize the bloody character on the wall. A faint smile curved the lower half of his face—a smile that, though usual for him, was particularly chilling at this moment.

Jiang Xiaoman increasingly suspected he was no ordinary wanderer but a seasoned expert who had faced countless demon slaughter scenes.

“Dead?” Master Baihua asked lightly as he approached the body, waving his fan.

Ling Sicheng nodded. “Yes. Throat slit through. Instant death.”

Master Baihua stepped past the corpse and slowly approached the bloodstained wall, studying the marks carefully.

After a long moment, he asked softly, “Do you think it did this?”

“Certainly not. It’s not that stupid,” Ling Sicheng replied calmly, without looking up, crouching to continue examining the body.

Jiang Xiaoman silently observed the cryptic exchange, her mind swirling with questions—Who was “it”?

How strange—it seemed these two were quite familiar now. Putting aside the mysterious Master Baihua, Ling Sicheng was always so proud and aloof, yet now he was willing to converse with such a shadowy figure? Moreover, just yesterday, he had sneered at this man, yet today they were so harmonious. It was baffling.

She shook her head, puzzled though knowing this was not the time to ponder such things.

Ling Sicheng seemed to discover something. Furrowing his brows, he touched the cotton robe on the corpse and brought his hand close to his nose to smell.

Curious, Jiang Xiaoman leaned in and saw a crimson powder on his fingers. Looking closer, she noticed many of these powdery specks scattered on the clothing, especially near the wounds—tiny dark red marks all over.

Suppressing her nausea, she also took some powder on her fingertip to examine.

It was loose and grainy like sand but left deep stains on her skin, which required vigorous rubbing to remove.

She couldn’t identify it. Could it be related to the demons?

“What is this?” she whispered, looking at Ling Sicheng.

Though her voice was low, Master Baihua glanced at her briefly. Jiang Xiaoman immediately covered her mouth, realizing she had momentarily forgotten her role as the mute apothecary. She glanced around; fortunately, everyone else was still too shaken to notice her speaking.

Ling Sicheng remained deep in thought and did not answer immediately.

He rubbed the red powder carefully, then finally said slowly:

“It’s rust.”

Jiang Xiaoman stared at her fingers, stained dark red across several digits.

Rust? So much of it!?

“A Yuan, A Yuan!”

A hoarse, trembling cry came from behind. Jiang Xiaoman and Ling Sicheng looked up simultaneously. The servants bowed their heads and stepped back respectfully as the old matriarch of the Cen family was supported by two maids, limping forward.

Tears streamed down the old woman’s face as she sobbed uncontrollably, her hands shaking desperately, reaching out to touch the cold corpse on the ground.

Suddenly, hurried footsteps thundered behind. Cen Qiu, eyes bloodshot, saw the scene and let out a piercing scream before fainting on the spot.