Three demon pearls quietly floated above the tree canopy, resembling ginseng-sized fruits.
Su Lingxi now understood why Yu Lin’an had used that particularly subtle word—“drag.”
It had been a long time since she had felt such a furious fire charging straight into her chest.
Just then, an inner servant rushed into the North Courtyard.
Seeing the scene around him, his eyes widened as he ran toward Su Lingxi.
Reaching her side, he whispered something into Xi Liu’s ear.
Xi Liu stepped forward and lowered her voice:
“My lady, Duke Xuan fainted in front of the palace today while pleading for his grandson. The imperial physician said it was a case of acute fire attacking the heart. His Majesty ordered you to release the young heir.”
Su Lingxi’s long lashes trembled slightly.
As the fury ebbed, reason returned.
“One more night,” she said.
Xi Liu nodded and lowered her voice even further:
“Yun Ting said the small building is lit tonight.”
Su Lingxi looked up.
……
After a moment, gazing at the filthy, bloodstained ground of the North Courtyard, she said to Sang Chu, “Clean it up.”
Nothing else.
Her fury could still be felt.
Yu Lin’an averted his eyes with a guilty conscience.
Sang Chu had opened his eyes tonight too.
Though he hadn’t spoken much with Ye Zhuxu and had less contact with him than Yu Lin’an, when Yu Lin’an had expressed concern earlier, he thought it was an exaggeration.
Now he understood what was going on.
He was a dignified man who valued appearance and harmony.
He thought of comforting Su Lingxi, but with Ye Zhuxu around, not only did he not have full control of the team, he couldn’t control Ye Zhuxu himself.
Saying anything would be pointless.
So he frowned and swallowed his words, deciding he’d have a serious talk with Ye Zhuxu tonight.
“Alright.”
Su Lingxi turned and said to Xi Liu, “Let’s go.”
The master and servant turned and left the North Courtyard.
Looking at the scattered flesh all over the ground, several people silently turned to Bai Xiao.
The orange in Bai Xiao’s hand was no longer edible.
Silently, she set it down on the blood-soaked stone table, took out a stick of incense she had pulled earlier but not used.
In the mortal world, incense was mostly used for fragrance.
In Fuyu, however, incense was made into thin sticks about three inches long.
Bai Xiao picked one up, and with a flip of her hand, a small censer appeared before her.
A rich fragrance rose instantly.
A vividly lifelike totem coiled on the censer as if locking eyes from across space—mysterious beyond words.
Bai Xiao took two steps forward and inserted the incense into the censer.
She pressed her palms together and bowed her head in reverence.
The incense lit itself.
It burned rapidly, the fragrance flowing entirely into the censer.
Gradually, the totem on the censer began to change.
One part of it slowly opened its eyes and coiled tighter around the censer.
With that change, Bai Xiao’s appearance and aura began to transform too—her youthful features matured slightly, her hair lengthened, and her sash seemed adorned with something new, though it wasn’t clear.
Soon, the broken limbs and meat chunks in the sky floated like fireflies in silky streams, softly drifting into the two large bronze water vats by the North Courtyard gate.
The water, drawn by an unseen force, swept over tables, doors, and windows, washing away all filth.
The three demon pearls were gently crushed, the scattered fruits restored to their original form, and even the suddenly-appeared large tree was uprooted and vanished from sight.
All of it happened in a flash.
Soon, the North Courtyard looked brand new.
The stale air began to circulate, turning fresh.
Seeing this, someone couldn’t help but exclaim, “Incense Arts really are something.”
“Too bad I have no talent for it.”
“You’re just fooling yourself at this point.” Another person ruthlessly exposed him: “Every time we attend the High Master’s lessons every two months, you scream like a pig. If you really practiced Incense Arts every day under her, you’d cry yourself to death.”
“Don’t mention it,” the man immediately sobered.
“I’d rather die.”
As they spoke, Bai Xiao flipped her hand again, stowing the censer, and with it, the transformations vanished.
“Xiao Xiao, your Incense Arts seem more refined than before,” Sang Chu stepped up and asked.
“I saw the censer’s ‘form’ fully manifest just now.”
Bai Xiao touched her hair.
“A little bit. Teacher says it’s still far from complete.”
Sang Chu was good friends with Bai Xiao’s elder brother.
With her brother away, he naturally took extra care of her and praised her:
“You’re already very skilled. You’re still young. Keep it up, and you’ll have great prospects. Being reselected into the Twelve Witches isn’t impossible.”
Bai Xiao dared not get carried away.
Throughout history, there had only been so many Twelve Witches.
The trials needed to be selected were akin to ascending to the heavens.
She replied, “I’ll work hard.”
People from Fuyu were divided into the Witch and Spirit clans.
Within those, dozens of different types of magic existed.
To the three great sects and the mortal world, all of it was mysterious, but to themselves, only one remained truly enigmatic—the Incense Arts.
Even among friends, there was endless curiosity about this craft.
Someone nearby said, “That censer earlier—was it really part of Incense Arts? Xiao Xiao’s totem looked impressive. No wonder the High Master certified it.”
Bai Xiao knew she was still far from mastery.
Thinking of this, she couldn’t help but glance behind her, at where someone had stood earlier.
She had really wanted to see the strongest totem, the most shocking talent in Incense Arts in action—to witness what it would look like when fully unleashed.
But she didn’t know how much of that person’s power remained now.
“Enough,” Yu Lin’an looked at Sang Chu, tilting his head toward a certain direction and asked, “Didn’t you have something to say? Go now?”
“Alright.”
Sang Chu withdrew his smile, stood up and said, “I’ll go first.”
No matter the friction between Su Lingxi and Fuyu, whether relations were cordial or not, the court’s attitude was reflected in the arrangements of the North and South Courtyards.
The courtrooms were the same, but the accommodations for officials differed.
Considering the magic practiced by Fuyu and as thanks for their aid, each was provided a courtyard with one entrance and one exit, complete with bathhouses—warm in winter, cool in summer.
Except for still lacking trees and flowers, it was otherwise quite pleasant.
Ye Zhuxu didn’t come.
They had originally reserved the largest room near the outer edge for him, but after Yu Lin’an repeatedly waved it off, saying Ye Zhuxu disliked social interaction and might even want to kill if he saw too many people, they gave up and added a secluded room for him to choose from.
Sure enough, Ye Zhuxu took that one.
Sang Chu entered the courtyard and knocked on the door three times.
Then, the door was blown open by the night wind.
Sang Chu stepped inside.
The person within was bending over, lighting candles.
He lit two—one placed in the wall cabinet, one on the windowsill—and was lighting a third, still in hand.
The window was wide open.
Moonlight and candlelight bathed his figure.
With his strikingly beautiful face, the effect should have been lovely—but the first impression he gave was not pleasant beauty, but a sense of danger, of ominous warning.
Sang Chu had seen Ye Zhuxu a few times before.
Though they hadn’t spoken, strong men always respected other strong men.
Until today, Sang Chu’s impression of Ye Zhuxu had been one of austere elegance, a man with a face like jade.
Even if Yu Lin’an had often voiced contrary opinions.
But the moment those three demons’ heads rolled to his feet, Sang Chu’s impression flipped entirely.
To most, Sang Chu was a true gentleman.
And gentlemen generally avoided dealing with madmen.
Especially those madmen who slaughtered at the slightest provocation.
He had come on official business.
“Commander,” Sang Chu stepped forward, addressing him, and handed over the scroll in his hand, reporting:
“While you were in seclusion, we made some deployments.”
Ye Zhuxu accepted it casually, still holding the candle holder in one hand, and skimmed through the scroll at lightning speed.
“On the first day we arrived in Chang’an, we started investigating the people around Su Lingxi. This document lists all the individuals we found who have had direct contact with her over the years—those who are on good terms with her, those who bear grudges, her close attendants, disciples, and supporters in court. We couldn’t get into the imperial palace due to the presence of dragon aura and the Nation-Stabilizing Seal. As for the three major sects, they’re protected by sect-guarding formations, so we didn’t act rashly.”
At this point, Sang Chu paused, his brows furrowing.
“We also staked out the Imperial Tutor’s residence, but… we were discovered. That leads us to suspect that everything we’ve found might not be genuine. It’s possible that Su Lingxi deliberately staged these things to mislead us. After all, this is Chang’an—her territory for the past fourteen years.”
“The places that are truly likely to hide the Twelve Witches—the imperial palace and the lands of the three sects—are still beyond our reach for now.”
They were afraid of alerting the enemy, so from the very beginning, they didn’t even try to meet Su Lingxi, abandoning the idea of leveraging personal relationships.
But things still didn’t go as hoped.
As he spoke, Ye Zhuxu was extremely quiet, so still it was as if even his breathing had paused.
The candlelight flickered softly in his eyes, only occasionally making the slightest ripple.
Before Sang Chu could finish, Ye Zhuxu tossed the dossier aside without a second glance.
“Where’s the letter?”
He asked.
His voice wasn’t deep or cold.
When he spoke softly, it even sounded gentle.
But that gentleness was no less cutting than a blade, and anyone who had seen the events of that night wouldn’t want to hear more.
Sang Chu snapped back to attention, pulling out a half-folded piece of paper from his sleeve and handing it over.
The paper was strange—soft as silk to the touch, yet stiff and upright.
On its front was a colossal gate standing between heaven and earth, emitting a vague oppressive force that clearly indicated where it had come from.
Ye Zhuxu used a long finger to unfold the paper, and its contents poured into his mind like a thread unraveling.
Sang Chu read aloud:
“The stars of Chang’an are in chaos.
Fearing uncontrollable demonic forces and great catastrophe, we must fully assist the court.
At the same time, accelerate the search for the Twelve Witches and the Star-Linking Formation.”
Ye Zhuxu tossed the letter onto the dossier, pressed it down with his finger, and gave a slow, indifferent “Mm.”
Sang Chu was originally going to leave, but after a moment’s hesitation, he returned to his spot and couldn’t help but say:
“A day ago, in exchange for cooperation, we agreed to Su Lingxi’s request. Commander, if necessary, we can act alongside the Demon Suppression Division. After all, only Su Lingxi knows the whereabouts of the Twelve Witches and the Star-Linking Formation.”
Suddenly, the candle in Ye Zhuxu’s hand let out a sharp “pop,” a spark flying up and gently casting light over his thick eyelashes, embedding itself deep in his pupils.
He had heard Su Lingxi’s name more tonight than in all the previous years combined.
A long, suffocating silence filled the room.
“Su. Lingxi. There will never be any consensus between her and me in this lifetime.”
When he said her name, Ye Zhuxu paused ever so slightly, as though savoring something absurd.
Because of the softness of his tone, it didn’t sound overly hateful—someone unaware of the context might even sense an entanglement too deep to ever resolve.
Sang Chu was silent for a moment, then reminded him:
“Commander, this is official business. We and—”
But when he met Ye Zhuxu’s gaze, he fell silent.
“Official business is official business. You are you.”
Ye Zhuxu’s eyelids lowered.
Fire tongues curled around the letter under his fingers, devouring it.
He said, “And I am me.”
This is the trouble with talking to a madman.
Sang Chu didn’t understand Ye Zhuxu—he didn’t know the depth of love or hatred between those two.
But he could tell something was off with Ye Zhuxu’s state of mind, as though he hadn’t stabilized since leaving seclusion.
He didn’t know what Ye Zhuxu was rushing to do, but it didn’t seem like anything good.
He figured he’d wait for someone more familiar to try to persuade him, and if that failed, report the truth to the Grand Master and the Sect.
Ye Zhuxu was of the Spirit Clan, and now the High Tower’s chief.
He couldn’t simply ignore the will of the Sect.
With that thought, Sang Chu closed the door behind him and left.
Ye Zhuxu didn’t seem to notice.
He stood in place for a long time, unmoving.
The candle in his hand burned quickly, and hot wax dripped continuously onto the back of his hand.
He watched silently.
After a while, he reached out and rubbed the wax across his skin until it turned bright red—like vividly spilled heart’s blood.
A few blisters began to form.
Half an hour later, Yu Lin’an, having mentally prepared himself, knocked on the door.
To be honest, Yu Lin’an wasn’t unafraid of Ye Zhuxu.
But he was probably one of the few who knew something about him.
Yu Lin’an stood at the door, silent in the night for a while, then asked:
“This time… did you come to ask her for an answer?”
Ye Zhuxu lifted his eyelids slightly.
Yu Lin’an didn’t have the best memory—he wasn’t one of those prodigies who could remember everything, let alone things from long ago.
But he would never forget that day, fourteen years ago.
That day was called ‘Recurring Day.’