By the time they left the Northern Wing, it was already the third quarter of the Chou hour (1:45–2:00 AM). Xi Liu followed behind Su Lingxi, holding a lantern.
The entire Demon Suppression Bureau felt like an overturned bell, sealed tightly, eerie and ghostly at night, with a faint, lingering smell of blood always at the tip of the nose.
Xi Liu asked, “My lady, shall we return to the Imperial Tutor’s residence to rest?”
“No need.”
Su Lingxi had not come to the Northern Wing without being affected.
Now, searching through her mind, she tried to recall any faces similar to the people she had seen today, but quickly realized it was all in vain—memories from more than a decade ago were still a complete blank.
She was momentarily distracted before continuing, “I’ll rest here at the Bureau.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
After a while, Su Lingxi’s gaze lingered on the case file in Xi Liu’s hand.
She asked, “You’ve been to the prison? Learned anything?”
Xi Liu unrolled the document and handed it to her.
“I first had someone interrogate the official’s son who had gone to the appointment set by the Heir of the Duke of Ying’s family. We found out a few things.
It turns out that person is the son of the deputy supervisor of the Bureau of Livestock.
His father lacks capability, is upright and honest, doesn’t know how to curry favor or play politics, and has held the same low position for years.
Seeing no future in his father’s path, the son had to find his own way—so he sought to befriend the sons of noble families.
A month ago, he managed to get close to the young heir of the Duke of Xuan’s family.
Everyone in the capital knows the Dowager Duchess passed away over half a year ago, and the young heir is still tormented by grief, withdrawn and sullen.
The Chongque Tower was built by him in her memory.
Anyone invited there is likely just there to drink with the heir and listen to him reminisce about the old days with his grandmother, offering him comfort.
It’s much easier than studying boring books.
He never declined an invitation—not once.
Tonight was no different. After entering Chongque Tower, they indulged in delicacies, fine wine, and music.
As the wine took effect, the young heir’s face flushed, and when he mentioned his deceased grandmother, his eyes reddened.
Whether the alcohol was too strong or not, something went wrong.
According to the official’s son, the young heir suddenly smashed his wine cup and said he wanted to take him to meet someone in the tower.
He claimed to have found a master—a great spiritualist who had a secret method that could bring the dead back to life.
That was absurd, of course.
Still, the young man didn’t want to shatter the heir’s illusion.
He just planned to watch silently and let the truth speak for itself.
Once the ritual failed, the heir would naturally give up.
Then he saw the so-called master—allegedly a guest of one of the three great sects.
He watched with his own eyes as the master instructed his servants to bring out a bowl of chicken blood, a bowl of cinnabar, six half-burned incense candles, and three nearly-spent incense sticks.
There were sword dances, bell shaking, talismans pasted all over the walls, and solemn chants to summon a soul.
In the end, no spirit came—but a man-eating demon did.
At this point, Su Lingxi raised an eyebrow.
“The Liu Yun Sect can summon spirits and demons now?”
“I interrogated the spiritualist and read a letter in his master’s own handwriting. He is indeed from Liu Yun Sect. His words sounded noble—he claimed that, since the demon cabinet failed tonight and monsters now run wild, they, having studied for years, must join forces with the Demon Suppression Bureau to protect the capital and His Majesty.”
Chang’an lies at the center, and to its north are many cultivation sects, the most prominent being the Liu Yun Sword Sect, the Tianchan Monastery, and the Floating Flower Sect.
Many members of the newly formed Demon Suppression Bureau come from these three.
Su Lingxi’s connections with these three sects date all the way back to the new emperor’s ascension fourteen years ago.
So the moment she saw the spiritualist’s technique tonight, she already knew who his master was.
Xi Liu continued, “However, years ago, there was a third young master in the Duke’s family—the young heir’s uncle. He once gambled a treasured item in the sect and failed to return it at the agreed time.
The item is of great value to them. Word has it that it’s now in the heir’s possession. So during the summoning ritual, they used a charm to hypnotize the heir, trying to trick him into handing it over.
Afterward, this man planned to join the Bureau using his sect credentials.
Who would’ve thought something this cursed would happen.”
“Sounds like a whole mess of coincidences,” Su Lingxi remarked casually.
“What do you plan to do?”
Xi Liu immediately straightened up. Su Lingxi, as Imperial Tutor, had no family backing her.
Most of those she supported came from humble backgrounds—poor scholars with ambition and a willingness to work hard.
She took them under her wing, taught them relentlessly, and only through years of cultivation did they become trusted allies in court. She never gave up this habit.
Truthfully, those people—including Xi Liu—should be calling her “Teacher.”
But in all the land, no one dared call themselves a classmate of the Emperor.
“I will conduct a thorough investigation. If—” she paused, visibly hesitant, then said, “If everything checks out, the suspect should be released.”
If anything happened to the young heir while in custody, wouldn’t the Duke’s household go mad?
And the late Emperor… the Yan faction would certainly seize on this scandal.
This is a turbulent year.
The nation’s focus is already on these demons.
No room for internal strife.
“Detain him a few more days,” Su Lingxi said, rolling the document back up and gently returning it to Xi Liu’s hands.
“The Ghost-Faced Skull was the first high-level demon to appear in the capital. I refuse to believe it’s all coincidence. Anyone with ties to demons—better to err on the side of harshness. That’s my policy.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Xi Liu understood.
“I’ll take care of it.”
Su Lingxi had a private resting area in the Bureau—just two small rooms with white walls and tiles.
The only thing distinguishing them from a typical guard post was the two stone stools and a table at the front and back entrances.
She wasn’t picky about food or lodging.
When busy, she’d sleep in the palace, the office, or even these small posts.
Rarely did she return to the Imperial Tutor’s residence.
So the boys of Fuyu had waited many times but seldom caught her at home.
Xi Liu went next door. After washing up, Su Lingxi didn’t lie down right away.
She opened the window, then the door, leaning against the bed frame, lost in thought.
After a while, she unhooked the jade pendant from her waist and turned it over in her palm a few times.
A bold and dignified “Su” character was carved into its face.
She examined it, then aligned her fingers with five hidden grooves.
With a faint click, a hidden compartment split open from the side of the pendant.
The Imperial Tutor carried many secrets.
This was one of them.
She removed a waterproof parchment at the top of the compartment and took out a tri-folded piece of paper.
Opening it, she saw her own handwriting—bold and powerful, every stroke exuding a sense of deadly seriousness.
She had written this herself—it was unmistakable.
It wasn’t the first time she’d read this paper, but as her eyes scanned the words, she could still instantly read the emotions she had when writing it.
Normally, her handwriting was cursive and heavy-handed, often messy.
But here, every character was written neatly and carefully—clear and unmistakable, with no ambiguous strokes.
Such precision meant she believed what she wrote was of utmost importance.
The first page had only two lines. At first glance, one could take them in entirely:
“If that day ever comes—remember to be wary of anything from your homeland. Stay away from anyone claiming to be an old friend.”
Su Lingxi’s gaze lingered on the word “friend.”
That final stroke was slightly broken, as if the writer had paused while finishing it, perhaps recalling something.
Over time, the ink had deepened at that point, making the hesitation more apparent.
Who knew her better than herself?
If she hadn’t seen Sang Chu and the others tonight, she might still have doubted.
But after seeing them, she knew exactly what that hesitation meant.
Putting everything else aside, old friends are indeed real.
From the subtle, probing looks of Sang Chu and the others at the very beginning, it was clear—they knew her, without a doubt.
Now that the matter of visitation had been exposed, the Imperial Mentor’s residence would likely return to peace.
She guessed that team would change tactics and begin approaching her openly, engaging her in conversation.
Since there was indeed a shared past, if someone were to take the initiative, she could offer a small opening for them to pry at.
Understanding their respective abilities would be helpful for future deployment strategies.
When it came to crossing blades, it would be good to know both the self and the enemy—that was one reason.
Another was that she had many questions.
Through subtle probing, she might be able to obtain some answers.
With this in mind, Su Lingxi didn’t bother reading the last two pages.
She placed the item back into the hidden compartment, tapped her finger once, then again—the jade tablet clicked shut, completely intact.
After finishing this, Su Lingxi stretched her hands and leaned back, closing her eyes in contemplation.
The item in the compartment had been written four or five years ago.
Back then, she still retained some fragmented memories of Fuyu—vaguely recalling people and events.
But as the forgetting grew worse, even remembering important people became exhausting.
She would often need a long moment of confusion before recalling them.
This made it clear—complete forgetfulness was not far off.
That day was inevitable.
And now, it had finally arrived.
Which was why she left so many things behind for herself.
Yes, those old ministers in court who shouted the loudest were not wrong—Su Lingxi did indeed come from Fuyu and had been exiled.
People from Fuyu were born with the ability to cross the “gate”—they didn’t need the Emperor’s jade pass, nor miraculous power. It was simply the road home.
Legend had it that only those who committed grave offenses would be banished from Fuyu.
Once exiled, Fuyu would reclaim everything.
From that moment on, the gate to Fuyu would be eternally closed—unless a major event occurred in the mortal realm, and the person bore the Emperor’s jade pass as an envoy to pass through the layers of gates and meet with the Fuyu overseer.
Thereafter, all memories of Fuyu—friends, family, teachers, lovers—would slowly be stripped away, until one day they would wake from a long dream, as if it had all been an illusion, vanishing completely, never to be revisited.
Next would be the techniques they had cultivated since birth.
Gradually, they’d lose their peak abilities.
Spells used tens of thousands of times would start to fail, their accuracy would fade.
Eventually, not even muscle memory could defy the cruel punishment—they would begin to forget the steps.
Su Lingxi was one such unfortunate soul, judged to have committed an unforgivable crime.
The absurd part was—she couldn’t even remember what she had done.
Years ago, the version of herself that hadn’t fully forgotten still knew to leave notes warning about those from Fuyu—yet she hadn’t left a single word about the matter itself.
It was a question not worth dwelling on.
Think too hard, and she wouldn’t sleep tonight.
Su Lingxi mentally reviewed her schedule for the coming days, then got up to close the windows and door, and lay down to rest.
The next morning, it rained.
Droplets fell from the eaves and splashed intermittently onto the ground.
Su Lingxi stayed in the Demon Suppression Bureau all day, not going anywhere.
Reports from the monster-hunting teams across the land kept arriving.
They contained details on the monsters—features, attack methods, potential weak points.
All of it was recorded in the demon compendium by officials for all teams to reference—so they could eliminate threats promptly.
The morning was quiet, everyone working on their own.
But by the afternoon, problems started arriving one after another.
First to visit the southern courtyard was Yu Lin’an.
He had only been in Chang’an for a little over ten days, but had already explored every corner of the Eastern and Western Markets.
He had even taken to local customs, exchanging his flowing Fuyu robes with their fluid, water-like texture for the more fashionable round-collared, embroidered wide-sleeved robes of the time, cinched with a jade belt that clinked when he walked.
After last night, whoever came today must truly have been close to her in the past.
Yu Lin’an.
Given his personality, Su Lingxi wasn’t surprised.
“Imperial Mentor,” Yu Lin’an gave a slight nod in greeting.
“Lord Yu,” Su Lingxi put down her booklet and rose, instructing a servant to fetch a small table and tea.
Yu Lin’an sat down and opened with a polite, predictable question:
“Did I come at a bad time? Are you busy?”
“Not at all.”
Su Lingxi glanced at the half-written booklet in front of her, then looked up at him.
She gave him the courtesy of specifics:
“I’m drafting the monster compendium—been stuck on a particular point.”
That was an unexpected opening. Yu Lin’an blinked.
“What is it?”
“At the moment, the Gan Mirror Demon and the Dust Fiend have similar levels of destruction. Their fields of influence haven’t yet formed. I’m unsure how to rank them.”
The Demon Suppression Bureau had been built under her hand—both a seat of power and a crushing responsibility.
Su Lingxi had to oversee many things herself.
When a demon appeared in a city, how strong it was, what rank to assign it, what kind of team to dispatch—none of it could be taken lightly.
A single misstep could mean total annihilation for the team sent, and disaster for the civilians.
And it had only been a few days—already one team had suffered casualties.
Yu Lin’an suddenly felt awkward.
Saying he didn’t know would make him seem useless—especially during their first one-on-one meeting in fourteen years.
After some thought, he replied, “We didn’t study this kind of knowledge in Fuyu. I’ll check some books when I return, maybe ask the sect leader.”
Su Lingxi’s eyes curved slightly in a smile.
“Thank you.”
Fuyu’s knowledge and demon-fighting methods were far more precise than the trial-and-error methods they had here.
What followed was a very official conversation.
Tea was offered; she asked if their accommodations were comfortable, said to relay any needs to the staff.
If she didn’t care, why stop what she was doing to talk?
If she did care, why say nothing but pleasantries?