Chapter 8: Enshrouded in Mist (Part 1)

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Jiang Xiaoman closely followed Bichun, winding along the narrow path from the right courtyard to the left. After passing through a small gate, they came upon a corner overgrown with weeds and shrubs, where an old house made of blue bricks stood. The ruins were surrounded by withered grass, and the walls were covered in lush vines.

A worn-out door bore a seal. Bichun stepped forward and quickly tore off the seal, muttering, “This alchemy chamber has lain abandoned for years ever since the mistress ordered it sealed. Even those of us in the manor almost forgot it existed. I wonder how the divine healer came to know about it.”

Jiang Xiaoman listened and nodded slightly. Bichun smiled again. “Your divine healer looks so young, yet somehow he inspires such trust—a profound, unfathomable aura.”

Jiang Xiaoman nodded emphatically. Indeed, she wondered where he had learned all this information. Rumor had it that someone in the mortal realm went by the code name “Immortal Gate Link.” Perhaps Master Ling should be nicknamed “Worldly Link”—it suited him well.

Though they were temporary partners, given the vast distance between Tuzhou and Mount Yue, her knowledge of Young Master Ling was superficial at best. Aside from his exceptional swordsmanship capable of killing water demons with a single stroke, what other abilities he possessed remained a mystery.

Bichun glanced back to see the young medicine maid frowning in confusion. Mistaking her hesitation for fear of the abandoned house, Bichun hurriedly explained, “Miss, do not be afraid. This alchemy chamber was built especially for Young Master Shen. He was weak at birth, so the old master invited a high expert from the Immortal Sect to construct this room for alchemical cultivation. To be honest, this chamber helped Young Master Shen survive the most difficult three years.”

An expert from the Immortal Sect?

Jiang Xiaoman’s heart stirred with doubt, but she nodded repeatedly, feigning ignorance.

The “Young Master Shen” Bichun mentioned must be Cen Shen, son of Cen Qiu, who had just celebrated his tenth birthday this year. Although she hadn’t seen him in the main hall earlier, she recalled Ling Sicheng mentioning that ever since he could speak, the boy had been learning bookkeeping and trading from his father—clever and well-loved by both parents. Bichun said he had taken the elixirs for three years, and since Mr. Cen had passed away six years ago, that meant the old master sealed this chamber the same year he died.

Bichun pushed open the creaking wooden door, and a gust of wind mixed with dust rushed out, forcing them both to step back several paces.

Once the wind settled, Jiang Xiaoman stepped inside.

The interior was desolate, dust covering every surface. The alchemy furnace in the corner was draped in cobwebs; books and scrolls lay in disarray; empty jars scattered across the floor.

Her eyes were immediately drawn to the furnace. Though dulled by dust, she recognized the exquisite craftsmanship—it was identical in style to the one they used at home, albeit smaller.

Seeing her interest, Bichun added, “This furnace used to require spiritual stones from the Immortal Sect to operate, but those stones have been pawned off. I’m afraid it no longer works.”

Jiang Xiaoman reached out and touched the furnace’s surface, her fingertips gathering thick dust. After brushing it away, the furnace revealed its true brilliance.

A subdued, ethereal glow shimmered through the jade-green color, indistinguishable from the immortal furnace at her family home. If memory served, their treasured immortal furnace had been a gift from the Wen family patriarch at her grandfather’s birthday. Made from mysterious iron unearthed in Qingzhou, it neither rusted nor corroded, remaining pristine through the ages.

This raised a fresh question: the Wen family of Qingzhou, a great immortal sect, wouldn’t casually build alchemy chambers for ordinary mortals. It seemed the Cen family had once maintained special ties with the Wen family.

If so, the Cen family had not rejected dealings with the Immortal Sect in the past. Yet now, the old mistress’s face darkened whenever the Immortal Sect was mentioned. Why such taboo? What hidden reasons lay beneath?

Jiang Xiaoman’s mind brimmed with questions, but bound by the mute identity Ling Sicheng had assigned her, she kept silent for the time being.

Bichun moved deftly, quickly clearing off the dusty clay stove and rummaging through a pile of broken boxes in the corner to produce a small, translucent tripod basin.

“This is the crystal steamer Ling Divine Healer mentioned. It’s a treasure; the old master never let us touch it.”

She carefully placed the basin atop the stove, hurried outside to fetch some water, then lit the fire with a few swift motions.

Bichun wiped sweat from her brow and said, “Miss, if you need anything else, just let me know.” Seeing Jiang Xiaoman had no other requests, she added, “The furnishings here are simple—please forgive that. I’ll leave you to your work.”

Jiang Xiaoman nodded. Bichun exited and gently closed the door behind her.

The room fell silent, with Jiang Xiaoman alone inside.

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She exhaled deeply.

Though Bichun was pleasant company, Jiang Xiaoman felt most at ease when alone. All her life, whenever others were near, despite having much to say, she dared not speak freely. In the end, she could only utter a few simple words and sink into awkward silence amid puzzled looks.

Until she met Ling Sicheng.

Truth be told, this freedom to speak was a blessing.

Speaking of Young Master Ling, she recalled the task he had assigned her. Knowing full well she couldn’t concoct medicines, why had he sent her here?

Only then did she remember the white bottle and yellow paper in her hand.

Unfolding the yellow paper, she found no recipe—only a neat line of writing:

“This pill sinks in water and does not dissolve except in the four seasons. While the water vapor remains, one may use this time to gather intelligence.”

So all this effort to bring her to this corner of the left courtyard was merely to spy on rumors. She smiled inwardly. With her skills, sneaking into the left courtyard was a trivial matter; Young Master Ling was indeed meticulous—perhaps overly so.

As bubbles began rising in the steamer, she poured the pill from the white bottle into the basin.

The moment the pill touched the water, it fizzed and darted about like the mischievous rat demons her eldest senior brother had caught and brought home—quite amusing.

Jiang Xiaoman watched the pill intently when suddenly she heard faint voices outside the door.

—

“Are you sure that belongs to the Jiang family of Tuzhou?”

“Positive! I heard it straight from the qin master…”

The words “Jiang family of Tuzhou” snapped Jiang Xiaoman to full alert.

The voices belonged to a man and a woman. The questioner’s voice was too soft to identify, but the responder’s low tone was unmistakably that of Cen Yuan.

She cautiously crept closer to the door, eager to hear more clearly.

Cen Yuan’s voice was heavy with repression: “If father had left it to you, these troubles wouldn’t be happening now.”

“…”

The woman said nothing. The man continued, “Now that you know, and he’s arrived, hurry—once you have it, deliver it to him.”

After a brief silence, the woman’s voice returned, tinged with anxiety: “But… won’t this cause…”

The man scornfully interrupted, “Woman’s mercy. I told you—wait, someone’s coming. Go back for now; we’ll discuss this later.”

The voices faded, leaving only hurried footsteps. Outside, silence returned.

*

“My family’s belongings?”

Jiang Xiaoman’s heart brimmed with curiosity and confusion. She gently pushed open the door but found only empty wild grass outside. The speakers had vanished.

Why mention her Jiang family? Cen Yuan usually dealt only in qin instruments—how would he come into contact with anything of hers?

As she pondered, footsteps approached from a different direction—slow and steady.

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The footsteps grew louder along the courtyard wall. She hurriedly closed the door and retreated.

Through the crack, she saw the steward leading Mr. Baihua enter through the small gate she had used earlier, apparently coming from the back courtyard.

These two were likely headed to the guesthouse “Exorcism,” where the qin master Zhang resided.

Whether or not they could dispel evil spirits was another matter; Jiang Xiaoman worried that amateurs might alert the snakes in the grass.

As they neared, their conversation drifted to her ears.

“Is what you said true? There really is a barrier?”

The steward’s voice trembled with doubt.

“Dense as a spider’s web, tough as iron chains, seamless—not laid by ordinary hands,” Mr. Baihua replied calmly.

Jiang Xiaoman pondered silently. This iron-faced stranger seemed a lowly wandering cultivator, yet he recognized a sealing barrier.

As they approached the alchemy chamber door, she carefully closed the crack and listened.

“This is strange—we never invited the Immortal Sect.”

“Never?”

The steward’s voice tinged with regret. “While the old master lived, he had some dealings with them. Since he passed, there’s been no contact... Do you have a way to dispel this barrier? Although it only blocks spiritual energy and doesn’t affect movement, its presence is unsettling.”

“It’s not difficult, but…”

“Tell us your terms, sir.”

In the brief silence, Jiang Xiaoman peeked again, catching Mr. Baihua’s uncovered mouth curve slyly upward.

“Additional payment required.”

“That’s negotiable,” the steward replied, breaking into a smile.

Jiang Xiaoman snorted softly. Just when she’d begun to respect him, he revealed himself as a mercenary.

The martial world was vast, filled with gifted individuals who, though possessing spiritual power, refused to join orthodox sects. Some scorned cultivation’s vanity and the sects’ strict rules; others had been expelled before completing training. Many became demon pill hunters; some, like Mr. Baihua, were signed by obscure minor sects as freelance wanderers. All pursued profit.

As their voices faded and the two walked away, Jiang Xiaoman’s curiosity deepened. She quietly slipped out and followed, hiding in the bushes as she carefully trailed them.

The steward remained uneasy about the barrier.

“But who would erect such a powerful seal?”

“If not the Immortal Sect, then it must be a demon.”

“A demon!?”

Jiang Xiaoman shared the steward’s shock, but hers was directed at Mr. Baihua’s keen insight—he was no ordinary wanderer after all.