There were lights burning and incense wafting in the room, and more than one person standing inside.
By the lattice window, beside the lacquer table, and behind the screen, there were figures leaning silently.
Some stood with arms crossed, holding swords and looking up, others gazed into the distance through the window — all wearing similar expressions of impatience, eyes cast down, most of their faces hidden in the drowsy shadows.
The Imperial Mentor.
Su Lingxi’s gaze landed on the man nearest to her.
He neither bowed nor saluted, simply nodded slightly to her, calm and composed.
“Sang Chu, deputy commander of the Floating Jade Demon-Slaying Operation, at your service.”
It was the same voice that had just invited her in.
“I’ve been overwhelmed with affairs lately and only just found the time to meet.”
Su Lingxi smiled, unconcerned with formalities, responding naturally, “I’ve long heard of the commander’s reputation. A pleasure to meet you.”
Whether her words and smile were sincere or merely polite — no pair of eyes in the room was fooled.
In fact, as the two spoke, almost everyone who had been lowering their gaze now looked silently in their direction.
And by the time her final word was spoken, a few pairs of eyes dimmed, ever so slightly.
She doesn’t remember.
And they hadn’t expected her to have forgotten so thoroughly.
Even so, two or three of them stared at her intently, unwilling to look away.
It had been… too long.
Fourteen years was nothing for the Floating Jade people, who could live four or five centuries.
But in that moment — seeing that familiar face, subtly changed by time, standing just a few steps away — even the strongest minds fell into a momentary daze.
Fourteen years stretched infinitely long, like a raging river — the waves crashing down so violently, they seemed to steal one’s breath.
Su Lingxi had only been eighteen when she left Floating Jade.
A clever, mischievous girl molded by the passage of fourteen years into a calm, authoritative Imperial Mentor.
The way she looked at people, the curve of her lips, every word she spoke — all well-measured, smooth, and in complete control.
Even her old friends found no cracks to peek through, no way to glimpse her true thoughts.
“Visiting at this hour, I must have disturbed your rest.”
The voice of a sixteen or seventeen-year-old girl would have been naturally sweet and bright.
But Su Lingxi’s voice, while still crisp, had lost its sweetness — replaced instead with an innate sense of gravity and calm.
Sang Chu poured her a cup of tea, slid it to her across the table, and, not denying her point, smiled as he added, “Visiting so late at night, the Imperial Mentor must have something important to discuss with us.”
Su Lingxi lowered her eyes to the teacup, giving him the courtesy of picking it up in her hands.
Her fingers turned the cup slowly, rubbing along its red plum pattern on white porcelain.
The tea inside was scalding hot — before long, her fingers were reddened from the heat. But she seemed unaware of it.
Frowning slightly, she spoke candidly, “An hour ago, something happened in Chang’an.”
Perhaps she truly was busy — calling her burdened with state affairs would be no exaggeration.
Su Lingxi was always straightforward, never one for unnecessary pleasantries or small talk, always getting straight to the point.
Though they hadn’t seen her in fourteen years, they knew she had carried the Emperor’s jade seal into Floating Jade twice.
It was said that, when she stood before the “Gate” last time, she had said only one thing:
“The Celestial Pillar is broken. The Demon Vault has fallen.”
Sang Chu waited for her to go on.
“The Ghost-Faced Skull appeared. In the newly compiled Hundred Demon Record, it ranks fifty-eighth.”
Su Lingxi seemed to be speaking only to Sang Chu, not paying attention to the others.
She took a sip of tea — its searing bitterness leaving a numbing sting on her tongue, which she swallowed without flinching.
“It’s not particularly powerful. But I fear its appearance isn’t coincidental. And it’s certainly not the only demon in Chang’an.”
“Higher-ranked demons are stronger and stay hidden. If they don’t show themselves, the Demon Subjugation Bureau will have a hard time detecting them. Floating Jade has a unique advantage in this regard. The Bureau needs Floating Jade’s strength.”
“But hasn’t Floating Jade already been assisting the Bureau?”
Sang Chu — graceful and dignified — had a presence that was never aggressive, whether smiling or serious.
His voice only added to his scholarly charm, warm and pleasant.
He lightly tapped the bridge of his nose and reminded her gently, “If I recall correctly, the very day we arrived in Chang’an, fifteen squads from Floating Jade were dispatched to assist with demon subjugation.”
“Yes,” Su Lingxi replied.
“But the most elite squad has yet to act.”
At this, Su Lingxi finally looked around the room, scanning the others — though only briefly — before withdrawing her gaze.
“The top ten demons once caused rivers of blood a thousand years ago. We still know too little about them. The capital is the heart of the empire — the palace, the Emperor — all here. Without a strong enough force on standby, I cannot rest easy.”
Sang Chu didn’t respond right away, seemingly lost in thought.
It was the young man by the window, who had been staring at Su Lingxi the whole time, who clicked his tongue.
He tapped his long fingers against the armrest beside him with rhythmic thud-thud sounds, drawing everyone’s attention.
“So,” he said, “the Imperial Mentor wants to recruit all of us into the service of the court?”
The young man was quite handsome — with long, black, silky hair tied casually with a red ribbon.
He sat on the lacquered table by the window with one knee bent, carefree and nonchalant.
Su Lingxi met his eyes for a moment, then lowered hers, lips curving in a faint smile.
“I’d love nothing more than to have more fierce warriors at His Majesty’s command. But though my appetite is large, my courage is small. When matters exceed my capabilities, I prefer to measure my options carefully. So for now — that’s not my intention.”
“Then you want us to stand by for orders? From the court?”
Su Lingxi shook her head and replied softly, “From me.”
Several gazes immediately sharpened.
The atmosphere subtly tightened.
“The mortal court is in crisis. Floating Jade was summoned to Chang’an for aid.
If the Demon Bureau and the Imperial Mentor cannot handle the threat, they should step down and let those more capable take over — not make demands like this.”
Su Lingxi remained silent for a moment. She wasn’t surprised.
In fact, the moment the demons escaped, she had already foreseen this moment — a confrontation over command between her and Floating Jade.
Before going into battle, it was essential to determine the commanding general, the deputy, and the vanguard. Demon-slaying was no different.
Glancing around the room, Su Lingxi spoke:
“In general terms — supporting the royal family and safeguarding the realm is the duty of the ‘Gate’. And Floating Jade follows the Gate’s commands.”
“In more specific terms…”
She didn’t rise to the bait of the phrase “less capable,” which was clearly meant to provoke.
Words couldn’t solve anything — and she had long cultivated the habit of getting straight to the issue with every action and word.
“In the heart of Chang’an, under the Emperor’s very feet — whether demons are present or not — it’s the most complex place in the world.
People’s hearts are unpredictable, the situation ever-shifting.
The three great sects are constantly shifting alliances.
Court factions rise and fall. Nothing stays constant.
“Floating Jade is noble — untainted by the stench of the mundane world.
You came cleanly.
Perhaps it’s best… if you return with your good name just as clean.”
Her words struck home — far more effective than any heated argument.
Floating Jade detested forming ties with the court or palace — whether good or bad.
As Su Lingxi had said, Floating Jade had a duty to support the royal house.
But once tied down by responsibility — limitations would follow.
They practiced the world’s most profound arts, looked down on the three great sects who claimed to pursue the Dao, and yet — they were still wary of the weaker court, still wary of the Empress.
Or perhaps… it was the Emperor’s seal of state, and the dragon vein beneath the capital, that kept them in check.
“Ties that run too deep will entangle karma and invite backlash.
Simply put, it brings misfortune.
Therefore, no one is willing to get too close.
To be fair, if these words had come from a different Imperial Advisor—phrased more gently, with a softer attitude—perhaps the command would have been handed over with only token resistance.
After all, they were here to solve a problem.
But the wrong person said it.
The more concise and pointed her words, the more they seemed calculated and targeted—like tossing a burning torch into a dry room, instantly igniting a smothering, suffocating frustration and resentment.
Su Lingxi was born in Fuyu, raised in Fuyu.
Even if she had completely forgotten her past, who didn’t know of her origin and background?
Yet now she had completely embraced her role as the Imperial Advisor, exhausting herself in service of the empire.
She spoke of Fuyu’s purity and loftiness—but she had once been one of them.
She criticized the imperial city for its filth and intrigue, where officials schemed for personal gain—yet she had thoroughly immersed herself in it.
She faced them not as friends—forget warmth or goodwill—she treated them like potential threats with unclear loyalties.
Subtle probes, diplomatic evasion.
A hot breeze drifted in through the window, rustling the papers stacked on the sandalwood desk with a sound like raindrops or dew sliding across leaves.
One soft flutter after another, each sound stretching the silence longer.
Finally, it was the young man who let out a sudden snort through his nose, just as he was about to speak, when Sang Chu called out:
“Yu Lin’an.”
Yu Lin’an met his gaze, frowned, and held his tongue.
Then came a girl’s voice.
When Su Lingxi entered the room, she was the only one who had properly seated herself on a stool at the Eight Immortals table.
Her voice was young, her face even younger—she looked no more than twelve or thirteen.
Two icy-blue crystals were stuck near her eyes, making her irises appear even more clear and translucent.
“But we can’t agree to your terms.”
She looked up at Su Lingxi, hands quietly resting on her knees, pressing down the soft white hem of her dress.
Despite her age, her manners were already well-formed.
“Fuyu has its rules. We only follow the orders of the Commanding Officer.”
This was the third time Su Lingxi had heard someone mention this “Commanding Officer.”
Clearly, they weren’t referring to Vice-Commander Sang Chu.
Since the person hadn’t appeared yet, their mystery and disposition would remain unknown for now.
But right now, after all the circling and probing, they were back at square one.
Su Lingxi hadn’t intended to let the conversation stall—her time was limited, and she didn’t like wasting it.
“Well then.”
She held a teacup and turned to lean against the table, mirroring their relaxed stance.
Her posture was calm, even her shoulders loosened.
The corners of her eyes curved slightly as she smiled:
“I assumed you already had a firm resolve about demon-hunting and could give me a definite answer.”
Her words now carried a sharper edge.
Sang Chu’s smile faded. He turned his head slightly.
“The Imperial Advisor came uninvited—I assumed you came in peace. But now, it seems, you are not here as a friend.”
“Uninvited?”
Su Lingxi set down the teacup she’d been warming in her hands, letting out a soft laugh:
“I would’ve thought my visit to the Northern Institute was just what you wanted.”
She raised a brow.
“What, you didn’t want to see me?”
Her tone was suddenly casual, no longer the official detachment from before.
It was like teasing among friends, not unfriendly at all.
This caused the few people in the room to exchange surprised, uncertain glances.
In truth, the illusion of peace in the room had just been peeled away—like a veil lifted.
But the one lifting it knew how to negotiate, even while exposing faults, she did so with a smile.
Su Lingxi had deliberately delayed seeing these people for over ten days—not because she was truly too busy, but because she needed time to observe.
In these turbulent times, with so many shifting pieces, she, caught at the center of the storm, had much she needed to confirm.
First and foremost: was demon-hunting their only purpose in coming to the human realm?
Even Xiuliu could tell she was from Fuyu and had shown hesitation multiple times—Su Lingxi herself would never be caught unprepared.
Ten or so paces to her right stood a tall, slender woman balancing like a crane on one leg.
She looked perpetually sleep-deprived, dark circles under her eyes. Her voice was sharp:
“What do you mean by that?”
“Oh… nothing much.”
Su Lingxi blinked slowly, as if something had caught in her throat.
She turned her head and gave a soft cough, then replied,
“I just wanted to ask—after monitoring the Imperial Advisor’s manor for days, did you get what you wanted?”
“Were the answers you received… satisfactory?”
This time, the room truly fell silent.
You could hear a pin drop.
The friendly ones became solemn, the cocky ones pulled their feet back in line.
Su Lingxi’s sudden attack didn’t carry overt aggression—that was precisely why it was hard to tell whether she truly knew something, or was fishing for a reaction.
From the moment she entered the room, her gaze had never lingered on anyone for long—she’d paid more attention to her teacup than to any of them.
But in fact, before stepping into this room, portraits of every person here had been laid out on her desk.