After the Great Dao Died

Chen Lingxi returned to the Baosu Marquis Residence just as the Chou hour arrived.

The twelfth lunar month’s wind howled in from the north, sweeping through the corridors and verandas to rustle the old locust tree in the West Courtyard.

He pushed his door open. The first thing he saw was the Mohe Flower still sitting in its Small Celadon Vase.

It had withered a little more.

Several months had passed since Zhao Yong handed the flower to him.

For months, it had remained in full bloom, never fading or losing a petal, like a fake flower forever frozen in its first moment of blossoming.

But now, it was beginning to wilt.

”Perhaps when the Mohe Flower completely withers,” Chen Lingxi thought to himself, a faint, cold gleam flashing through his eyes, ”Zhao Yong’s tail will finally be exposed.”

He shook his head slightly, closed his eyes, and began to circulate his spiritual energy.

It was a moonless night.The waning moon was completely shrouded by leaden clouds; not a single sliver of silver light managed to pierce through.

Chen Lingxi sat cross-legged on his bed, his breathing long and steady, like a man already deep in slumber.

Yet he was not asleep. The cyan qi within his sea of qi revolved slowly, while thin streams of liquid spiritual energy surged silently through his meridians, keeping every bone and limb in a state of peak alertness.

This lasted until the Zi hour.

The crack of a watchman’s clapper drifted over from the bell tower. The third watch had arrived.

Then, he heard extremely faint footsteps.

Someone was approaching.

Chen Lingxi did not move.

He maintained his cross-legged sleeping posture, his breathing remaining steady and his heartbeat slow.

But the cyan qi in his sea of qi was already pushed to its absolute limit within his meridians. The Concealed Edge Method spread silently through his body, pulling his barrier of spiritual energy and blood qi even tighter to ensure not a single trace of his aura leaked out.

Moments later, someone darted in from the direction of the West Courtyard’s moon gate. Their movement technique was incredibly light and swift. Like a night bird, they tapped their toe lightly against the bluestone ground and propelled themselves upward by several zhang, silently vaulting the courtyard wall to land in the shadow of the old locust tree.

The person then pushed the door open, stepped inside, and coughed softly.

Chen Lingxi opened his eyes and saw a figure.

The visitor stood with his hands clasped behind his back. He was of medium build and wore a dark green cloak.

The cloak was made of exceptional material, shimmering with a deep, murky luster in the darkness and wrapping his figure up tightly.

Its collar stood high, hiding the lower half of his face and leaving only a pair of eyes exposed.

Zhao Yong.

”He didn’t wait for the Mohe Flower to wither—he came tonight?” Chen Lingxi thought to himself.

Zhao Yong stood in the shadows beneath the locust tree, not stepping forward immediately. He merely stood with his hands behind his back, his gaze piercing through the window to land on the cross-legged figure inside the room.

Only after a few breaths did he speak. ”You’re awake?”

Chen Lingxi got up, meeting Zhao Yong’s gaze for a fleeting second before lowering his eyelids to hide all the sharpness in his eyes.

He stood, his voice laced with confusion. ”Chief Steward Zhao, you have come so late in the night. What are your orders?”

”Come with me,” Zhao Yong said. He paused, then continued, ”The Mohe Envoy has arrived. I am taking you to see him.”

Chen Lingxi’s heart stirred.

The Mohe Envoy?

He had already met the Mohe Envoy on Cuojin Mountain over a month ago.

Zhao Yong clearly thought Chen Lingxi was still that same drug-testing slave kept utterly in the dark, still eagerly awaiting the Mohe Envoy’s arrival, still dreaming the fool’s dream of joining a Human Immortal’s faction to avenge a blood feud.

Chen Lingxi’s face remained impassive, but he allowed a perfectly timed glimmer of light to ignite in his eyes.

The glimmer was measured flawlessly. It was the look of a man long trapped in the mire who had finally found a spark of hope—wanting to go mad with joy but not daring to, wanting to suppress it but failing, until it all dissolved into a faint quiver in his gaze.

”The Mohe Envoy—” he repeated softly, his voice thick with suppressed elation.

Zhao Yong took in his entire reaction, a faint, almost imperceptible smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

”Follow me.”

With that, Zhao Yong turned and headed for the courtyard gate.

Chen Lingxi took a deep breath and followed behind him.

He had assumed Zhao Yong would take him to some hidden spot within the manor, like the Eastern Warm Pavilion of the Yin’an Courtyard.

But Zhao Yong’s footsteps led straight out of the estate.

In the dead of night, the curfew within the manor was already in full effect.

Yet Zhao Yong simply walked with his hands clasped behind his back, his pace neither fast nor slow, as casual as if he were strolling through his own back garden in broad daylight.

Within the Baosu Marquis Residence, Chief Steward Zhao’s authority could not be understated.

The Marquis spent his years in secluded cultivation, ignoring mundane affairs, while the Eldest Young Master was obsessed with his own training and paid no heed to the estate. In this massive manor, the daily necessities and the hosting of guests for hundreds of people were managed entirely by him alone.

Power was the sort of thing that, once held long enough, bred a natural, unquestionable majesty.

Zhao Yong strode confidently ahead, acting as though he were the true Marquis of the Baosu Marquis Residence.

Chen Lingxi trailed behind him, hands hanging at his sides and head bowed as he followed all the way.

He kept following in utter silence.

The two of them passed through the verandas, bypassed the Yin’an Courtyard, and exited the estate through the east courtyard’s corner gate.

Surprisingly, there were no guards stationed at the gate, nor anyone watching the door.

The long street outside was empty and desolate in the winter night, the bluestone slabs frozen by the nocturnal wind.

Fine, powdery snow drifted down from the sky. The flakes were incredibly small, feeling only like a faint chill as they hit his face before instantly melting away.

Zhao Yong did not stop, walking straight north along the long street.

They walked for nearly half a shichen.

Finally, Zhao Yong came to a halt.

Before them lay an extremely narrow and quiet alley.

High courtyard walls flanked both sides, their plaster peeling long ago to reveal the mottled rammed earth beneath.

The tops of the walls were overgrown with withered wormwood that shivered in the night breeze. At the end of the alley stood a dilapidated courtyard gate.

There was not even a plaque on the lintel. Only a crooked wooden sign hung nailed above the doorframe, its characters washed away by years of rain until they were completely illegible.

Zhao Yong pushed the gate open and stepped inside.

The door hinges let out a shrill, screeching groan that sounded exceptionally piercing in the dead of night.

Chen Lingxi followed him in.

The courtyard was small but impeccably clean.

The blue brick floor was swept spotless; not a single fallen leaf could be found.

A few dwarf pines were planted at the base of the walls, their branches pruned neatly to outline rigid, orderly shapes in the dark.

A lamp burned inside the house.

Chen Lingxi followed Zhao Yong into the room. The furnishings were exceedingly simple: only an elmwood desk, a few sour-jujube wood chairs, and a large celadon vat sitting in the corner, holding several scrolls of calligraphy and paintings.

Right in the center was an altar table, and resting on it was a potted Mohe Flower.

This Mohe Flower was much smaller than the one on his windowsill—barely the size of an infant’s fist. Yet, its petals were a shade deeper purple, and the golden stamens at its heart quivered slightly to emit a very faint medicinal fragrance.

Zhao Yong came to a stop before the altar table and stood with his hands behind his back, facing away from Chen Lingxi.

”We will wait here.”

Suddenly, his gaze shifted to the right corner of the altar, where a few celadon wine bottles and small plates of food rested. Dust clung to the bottles; they had clearly been sitting there for quite a long time.

Zhao Yong raised an eyebrow, stepped forward, and picked up one of the bottles, pulling the stopper.

A rich aroma of wine wafted out. The scent was not overpowering but incredibly mellow. Once inhaled, it felt like a fine thread slipping smoothly through the nasal cavity and straight down into the chest, stirring up a pleasant warmth.

He abruptly glanced back at Chen Lingxi, a faint smile touching his lips. ”Today is actually a fine day. We might as well have a few drinks first.”

With that, he sat down at the table, placed a cup near the edge, and raised his hand to pour the wine.

The liquid cascaded from the bottle’s mouth, shimmering with an amber luster in the candlelight as it struck the bottom of the cup with a clear splash.

”Is he about to make his move?” Chen Lingxi wondered silently.

Zhao Yong picked up his cup, downed it in a single gulp, and then filled one for Chen Lingxi.

After tossing back three consecutive cups, a faint flush surfaced on the half of his face not hidden by the cloak.

A Golden Body tier expert possessed blood qi as condensed and impenetrable as liquid gold. They would not get drunk even if they downed three vats of ordinary wine.

But tonight, Zhao Yong actually seemed a little intoxicated.

He rose from the table and paced around the room with his hands behind his back. Suddenly, he flicked his finger.

A streak of blood qi shot from his fingertip and struck a porcelain vase a short distance away.

Immediately, a hairline crack split down the very center of the wall. The crack widened and expanded until the wall silently slid open to both sides, revealing a hidden room.

Chen Lingxi looked inside.

The hidden room was not large, only about a zhang square.

Tiny shrines were carved right into the walls, holding a collection of assorted bottles and jars. They were caked in a thick layer of dust, making it impossible to see what was inside.

Hung in the dead center of the room was a portrait.

It was about three chi tall and two chi wide, painted on silk with vibrant colors.

The painting depicted a nobleman around thirty years of age, dressed in fine black robes and wearing a jade belt. His face was exceptionally handsome, his features strikingly perfect and dignified.

The moment Chen Lingxi saw the portrait, he knew exactly who this man was.

”Marquis Baosu, Lin Zhongming!”

”Zhao Yong is worshipping Marquis Baosu?”

Doubt swirled in Chen Lingxi’s mind, but he maintained his blank facade.

An altar table was set up just beneath the portrait.

There was nothing else on the table save for a single stone offering.

The stone was roughly the size of a baby’s fist, pitch-black all over, and its surface was so smooth it did not possess a single flaw.

Bizarrely, faint traces of golden light pulsed from within the rock.

The glow was incredibly fine and delicate, as though someone had used the thinnest golden needle to engrave a few characters directly into the stone. The writing flickered in and out of view under the candlelight.

Chen Lingxi’s eyesight was extraordinary; naturally, he could make out the words.

[Lin Zhongming].

His heart stirred.

Lin Zhongming spent year after year in secluded cultivation, completely out of sight.

Why would Zhao Yong make offerings to him?

At this moment, Zhao Yong stepped up to the portrait and stood with his hands behind his back.

He tilted his head back, staring at that handsome face. The flush on his own face deepened, and the grin spreading across his lips grew even brighter.

Yet there was no warmth in that smile. It was laced with a morbid ecstasy—the release of something suppressed for far too long.

He stared for a long while before finally speaking.

”I am in an excellent mood today, so I think I will tell you a story.”

Chen Lingxi stood outside the hidden room, his hands at his sides, listening in silence.

”The man in this portrait is Marquis Baosu, Lin Zhongming.”

”When I was young, a great calamity struck my family. Both my parents were trampled to death under horses’ hooves, leaving only me and my childhood sweetheart to rely on each other to survive.

”Her name was Yun Niang.”

At this, his voice suddenly dropped.

”When I was sixteen, Yun Niang was chosen to serve as a maid in the Baosu Marquis Residence.

”She was breathtakingly beautiful and incredibly gentle. Upon entering the estate, she was assigned to serve directly in the Marquis’s courtyard.

”I had thought that as long as she could live peacefully within the manor, I would be completely content.”

The fingers of Zhao Yong’s right hand curled inward, his knuckles cracking softly.

”But Lin Zhongming actually used her as medicine, forcing her to die a slow death.”

His voice spiked to a shout, echoing through the empty room and rattling the air so hard the candle flame dimmed.

”And then she died.”

Zhao Yong trailed off, falling silent for several breaths. Then, an ecstatic gleam surged back into his eyes. He reached out and pointed at the black stone sitting on the altar.

”This rock is an Immortal Stone! I obtained it by accident! And by claiming it, I claimed a sliver of a chance to become an Immortal!”

He turned around to face Chen Lingxi, the smile in his eyes growing even deeper.

”So, I sold myself into the Baosu Marquis Residence as a slave. I climbed my way up, step by step, rising from the lowest sweeping servant all the way to Chief Steward, swallowing my pride and living in degradation just to survive.”

”Now, forty years have slipped by.”

Zhao Yong tilted his head back, staring at the handsome face on the portrait, the twin ghost-fires in his eyes suddenly flaring bright.

”The chance to kill him has finally arrived.”

He sounded completely deranged, and murderous intent erupted in his eyes!

Chen Lingxi continued to listen in silence.

Zhao Yong seemed extremely agitated as he stared directly at Chen Lingxi.

Those eyes were currently burning with an almost manic light.

”Do you know where this opportunity came from?”

Chen Lingxi shook his head blankly. ”Lingxi does not know.”

Zhao Yong turned around, fixing his eyes back on the portrait.

He raised a hand and pointed right at Lin Zhongming’s handsome face. His finger was actually trembling.

”The world has no idea about this high-and-mighty Marquis Baosu. He claims to be in secluded cultivation all the time, refusing to see anyone.

But in reality, what seclusion is he in? What cultivation is he practicing? He should have died thirty years ago, yet he went against the heavens and forcefully extended his own life using a Demonic Banner!”

”Demonic Banner—” Chen Lingxi repeated the words in his mind.

”That Demonic Banner is like a living creature; it must be fed with flesh and blood!”

Zhao Yong’s voice echoed through the spacious room. ”Since that is the case, I have prepared a very generous gift for him.”

Zhao Yong took a deep breath. His tone smoothed out, yet the agitation trapped beneath it only grew more intense.

”The Soul-Nurturing Flower—which is this Mohe Flower.” He pointed at the deep purple bloom on the altar. ”Combined with all these treasures—” He pointed again, this time at the dust-caked jars and bottles in the shrines, ”And added to the miraculous method granted by the Human Immortal—”

He abruptly spun around, staring right into Chen Lingxi’s eyes. ”It is enough to forge a single pill.”

”When the Demonic Banner consumes the pill, it will suffer a backlash from the medicinal force contained within, releasing a venomous miasma sufficient to claim Lin Zhongming’s life!”

He grew more agitated as he spoke, his voice turning sharper and sharper, like a madman who had repressed himself for forty years and finally found a release just before death.

”Do you know what that rare ingredient is?”

He stared straight at Chen Lingxi, the smile on his lips practically feral.

Chen Lingxi shook his head in feigned ignorance.

Zhao Yong suddenly raised his hand, his index finger pointing straight at Chen Lingxi.

”It is you.”

He laughed aloud, yet snot and tears streamed down his face.

”I tested the medicine on no fewer than two hundred people! Over two hundred! And only you—only you, Chen Lingxi—you alone can withstand the medicinal force of the Soul-Nurturing Flower! You alone are worthy of these numerous treasures! You alone can be refined into a human-form pill!”

As a Golden Body tier expert who had wielded immense authority in the manor for decades, he was now wailing and sobbing like a child.

”Yun Niang! Yun Niang!”

He softly called her name, his voice so hoarse it completely lost its tune.

The call echoed through the room like the mournful wail of a lone ghost caught in the wind.

Chen Lingxi watched in silence.

A few breaths passed.

Zhao Yong’s wailing gradually subsided.

He haphazardly wiped the tears from his face with his sleeve, slowly walked up to the altar, and reached out with his calloused hand to gently stroke the black stone.

”Human Immortal Wu Mohe—he can resurrect the dead and restore flesh to bones.”

He muttered to himself, an almost stubborn certainty layering his tone.

”And since I have obtained this Immortal Stone, the moment I kill Lin Zhongming, I can instantly ascend to immortality.

When that happens, I will undoubtedly be like a Human Immortal myself, fully capable of bringing you back to life.”

His hand remained draped over the stone, his fingertips quivering slightly.

”Yun Niang! Yun Niang!”

He murmured the name softly and tenderly. Nothing remained in his eyes but a bottomless pool of longing, so thick it felt tangible, threatening to spill over his eyelids.

The air grew so heavy it felt solidified.

The candlelight danced in silence, casting Zhao Yong’s hunched silhouette against the wall and stretching it out long.

Chen Lingxi watched him quietly the entire time.

Until this very moment.

Suddenly, he reached out, picked up the celadon wine bottle on the table, and slowly poured himself a cup.