Ch74.2 - Plotting against the law

For some reason, Ying Zhijin was there too, with Changkong respectfully serving her tea.

Su Hansheng cautiously approached, worried the two might start arguing again.

“Big Senior Brother, Second Senior Sister, good afternoon. Have you eaten?”

Ying Zhijin sat with her legs crossed, waving away Changkong’s teapot and having a ghost clan youth pour her wine instead. With a casual gesture, she said, “Nanxian mentioned you wanted three-thousand-year Divine Tree Vines. Separate Years Market just happened to have two today—take a look, do you like them?”

At her words, a youth in Separate Years Market robes respectfully presented two twisted vines to Su Hansheng.

Su Hansheng froze, carefully examining them—they were indeed the same vines auctioned at the Ink Workshop at noon. He looked at Ying Zhijin in astonishment.

“Senior Sister…”

The proprietor had said the market’s manager needed them. Could it be…

Su Hansheng belatedly recalled Ying Zhijin’s argument with Ying Jianhua, when she’d said something about “inheriting Separate Years can still let me live prosperously.” At the time, he’d wondered why she’d need to inherit Separate Years Market.

So Ying Zhijin was the market manager?

Su Hansheng finally realized whose coattails to cling to. He hurried over, obedient and well-behaved. “Thank you, Senior Sister.”

Ying Zhijin patted his head and exhaled a puff of smoke. “Good boy.”

Su Hansheng coughed a few times from the tobacco smell, tilting his head away.

Ying Zhijin raised an eyebrow and offered him her pipe. “You’re old enough—don’t you smoke? Come on, try it.”

Su Hansheng, always curious about new experiences, eagerly reached out to take it.

Ying Jianhua, who’d been expressionless the entire time, finally said coolly, “Don’t corrupt him—Xiaoxiao, come here.”

Su Hansheng turned to look at him.

Ying Jianhua raised his hand, and Changkong quickly placed a storage artifact carved with a magpie pattern in his palm. He said flatly, “Senior Brother has something for you too.”

The storage artifact looked extremely valuable—it probably contained piles of spirit stone mines.

After today’s ordeal, Su Hansheng now understood the importance of spirit stones. He quickly switched allegiances, holding out both hands eagerly for spirit stones. “Thank you, Big Senior Brother.”

Ying Zhijin lazily propped her head up, watching Ying Jianhua with an amused smile.

Ying Jianhua held the magpie-patterned Sumeru mustard seed artifact and said, “This is a relic our master left behind. I had Changkong retrieve it overnight from Yingxu Sect’s Dengming Shrine. It should be given to you now.”

Su Hansheng’s smile froze.

Su Xuanlin again.

Su Hansheng looked dejected and tried to sidle back toward Ying Zhijin.

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“At the time, I thought you’d need to bind it as your master, and I worried your sea of consciousness couldn’t handle the shock at such a young age, so I wanted to wait until you came of age.”

Ying Jianhua’s fingers lightly brushed over the Sumeru artifact. After a long pause, he said quietly, “But Elder Xie sent word yesterday…”

The Sumeru artifact that should have been enshrined at Yingxu Sect’s Dengming Shrine had suddenly acted as if summoned by its master—spiritual energy surging wildly, struggling to escape.

Xie Zhizhi had forcibly restrained it, only to discover that Su Xuanlin’s natal Sumeru artifact had already recognized Su Hansheng as its master.

When Su Hansheng left Falling Parasol Lodge, his brow was still furrowed.

He’d never seen this Sumeru artifact before, much less bound it as master—it must have been another of Su Xuanlin’s unilateral decisions.

But… had Su Xuanlin known he would perish before going to the Tower to Heaven at Buzhou Mountain?

The more Su Hansheng thought about the previous generation’s affairs, the more his head ached. Between his uncle who was a Sacred Object called the Lanke Record, his mother from the Fuli clan—he was carefree by nature, able to quickly forget even dangerous situations, but now that he counted them up, he’d accumulated a whole pile of problems.

An uncle related by blood who wanted to kill him, Chongjue possibly betrayed by a close friend into Infinite Hell, the Silver-Stripped Lamp, the Abyss Dragon…

Su Hansheng’s head throbbed. He gave his not-particularly-bright brain a hard smack and decided to take things one step at a time.

There was still time before three ke past noon—he might as well go find Wu Baili and Yuan Qian to play.

The Ink Workshop had given Su Hansheng his pick of any artifact under a thousand spirit stones, which he’d used to buy Wu Baili a bow.

At this moment, Wu Baili stood tall in the center of Falling Parasol Lodge’s courtyard, bow in hand, eyes glinting coldly as he drew the string, aiming at a point in the empty air ahead.

Yuan Qian said seriously, “Baili.”

Wu Baili concentrated. “Mm?”

“I think we need to discuss this again.” Yuan Qian’s tail tip was ramrod straight. Standing on open ground ten zhang away with an apple balanced on his head for target practice, he said gravely, “The Young Master broke your bow—why am I the one being used as a living target?”

Wu Baili squinted and said casually, “You’re not pretty enough.”

Yuan Qian: “……”

“Wh-what?”

Wu Baili belatedly realized he’d spoken his honest thoughts aloud. Irritated, he released the arrow.

Swoosh.

The arrow shot straight through the apple on Yuan Qian’s head, pulverizing the fruit, bits raining down onto him.

Yuan Qian showed no fear. He picked up a few pieces of fruit, popped them in his mouth, and chewed, mumbling, “So you judge people by their looks after all.”

Wu Baili ignored him, frowning as he tested his new bow.

Still didn’t feel quite right.

Wu Baili tried several more arrows. Yuan Qian ate his fill of apples.

Su Hansheng, cheerfully clutching his two Divine Tree Vines, had been whipping grass along the roadside and having the time of his life as he ambled back to Falling Parasol Lodge.

Wu Baili’s gaze flicked to Su Hansheng. He ignored him.

Su Hansheng sauntered over with feigned nonchalance. “What are you up to?”

Yuan Qian smiled, eyes narrowed. “This innocent snake is being punished in the Young Master’s stead.”

Su Hansheng asked, “Baili’s still angry?”

Wu Baili frowned. “Move. Don’t want you getting hurt.”

Su Hansheng put on a theatrical performance, immediately adopting a pained expression. “Baili, if you’re still angry, then beat me to vent your frustration. Beat me hard—I absolutely won’t fight back or cry out in pain.”

The corner of Wu Baili’s mouth twitched.

As he spoke, Su Hansheng, like someone offering a bundle of thorns to be beaten with, righteously pulled out the Divine Tree Vines he’d been hiding behind his back. “Use these three-thousand-year Divine Tree Vines to whip me!”

Wu Baili froze.

Yuan Qian slithered over in serpent form. Seeing the genuine Divine Tree Vines, he let out a low whistle.

“They really are Divine Tree Vines.”

Seeing a rare flash of surprise on Wu Baili’s usually cold face, Su Hansheng felt thoroughly satisfied, happily waiting for praise.

Wu Baili took the Divine Tree Vines and stroked them endlessly. After a long moment, he said, “Did you steal them?”

Su Hansheng glared at him unhappily. “Don’t slander me. My senior sister gave them to me—they’re genuine, more than enough to make a bow.”

Only after confirming they weren’t stolen did Wu Baili relax.

He tested the feel of the Divine Tree Vines, then raised an eyebrow, looking at the Young Master still waiting for compliments.

“The Young Master just said to let me use these vines to whip you…” Wu Baili’s smile didn’t reach his eyes. “Does that still stand?”

Su Hansheng: “……”

In the end, having brought it upon himself, Su Hansheng was chased out of Falling Parasol Lodge by Wu Baili, practically howling.

After all that commotion, when Su Hansheng arrived at the shrine on the back hill with his books, it was exactly three ke past noon.

Chongjue sat on his cushion as usual, eyes closed in meditation. He’d changed from black robes back to snow-white kasaya. Seated in the shrine, just looking at him brought peace to the heart.

Su Hansheng knelt properly, and his gaze inadvertently caught something, suddenly recalling Qifu Zhao’s words.

“…has ulterior motives toward you.”

Chongjue’s brow and eyes were like a Buddha statue—seemingly forever beyond the sea of desire.

How could that be the look of someone with improper intentions?

Su Hansheng shook his head, dismissing the thought. As he took out his books to tackle the day’s assignments from the hall master, he asked casually, “Uncle, did you go to Separate Years Market today on urgent business?”

Chongjue didn’t open his eyes. “To buy prayer beads.”

Su Hansheng was puzzled.

Didn’t Chongjue usually produce endless prayer beads to give away at will? Why would he need to specifically go buy them?

Chongjue finally opened his eyes and looked at him calmly. “Are you staying here tonight?”

Su Hansheng, remembering Qifu Zhao’s warning about someone following him, had already planned to stay at the shrine. He feigned composure. “Would that be too much of an imposition on Uncle? Let me see if I can finish copying the scriptures first.”

Chongjue hummed in acknowledgment and closed his eyes again.

In the end, Su Hansheng naturally didn’t finish copying the scriptures and cheerfully stayed another night at the shrine.

Chongjue never slept in the guest quarters, so Su Hansheng naturally commandeered the large bed. Surrounded by the familiar scent of bodhi flowers, he fell fast asleep within moments, sinking into deep slumber.

Su Hansheng usually slept straight through until morning, rarely waking during the night.

But tonight, for some reason, in the dead of night his heart suddenly lurched, and in his dream he seemed to miss a step—jolting awake.

His ears rang as if someone were beating drums. Su Hansheng gasped in confusion for a long while, listlessly rolling over, his gaze inadvertently falling on the edge of the bed.

The guest quarters had no lamp lit—only moonlight streaming through the window lattice, casting eerie, flickering shadows throughout the spacious room.

Su Hansheng’s breathing stopped abruptly.

Moonlight poured like a flowing river of silver across wide robes, revealing what seemed to be dark lotuses swaying in the wind.

—Someone was sitting at the edge of his bed, watching him.

***