The inn had been loud from the very beginning, but now it had turned restless, like a pot left too long on the fire, bubbling over with noise and curiosity. Lantern light flickered against polished stone walls, reflecting shards of amber and gold across every surface. The air was thick with the scent of roasted meat, spiced broth, and sharp wine, mingling into something heady enough to make even a sober man dizzy. And at the center of it all sat Jiang Yunxian, looking as though someone had just reached into his chest and stolen his breath without permission.
Xing Yue watched him with thinly veiled disbelief, her brows knitting together as she lowered her voice. "What now?" she asked, her tone restrained but edged with exasperation. It was difficult enough traveling with him, but moments like this made her question every decision that had led her here.
Rong Qi, resting quietly in the form of a feather against Jiang Yunxian's lapel, seemed entirely unaffected by the chaos. If anything, he looked like the only reasonable presence among them. He gave a faint, inward sigh. Transforming into his human form in a place like this would only invite unnecessary panic. Mortals would not react kindly to a translucent figure calmly picking up chopsticks and eating as though nothing were amiss. He had long since learned how to exist without such needs, so to everyone else, he was nothing more than an ornamental feather—silent, harmless, and easily ignored.
Jiang Yunxian, however, was anything but harmless at the moment.
His expression had shifted into something dangerously quiet, the kind of quiet that suggested a storm gathering just beneath the surface. His earlier dramatics had drawn attention—too much attention—and now whispers rippled through the inn like wind through tall grass. People glanced at him, some amused, others irritated.
The two men who had caused the disturbance did not bother hiding their disdain. One, with slender, almost delicate hands, sneered openly before letting out a soft, dismissive huff. The other did not even spare him a second look, offering only a cold, indifferent glance before turning away and walking off as though Jiang Yunxian were beneath notice.
That was enough.
Jiang Yunxian's fingers twitched against the table. His jaw tightened. For a moment, it genuinely looked like he might stand up and overturn the entire place just to make a point. Those idiots had ruined his sleep—his precious, irreplaceable sleep—and now they dared to act as though he was the inconvenience? It was outrageous.
Completely unacceptable.
He shifted, ready to rise. "I suggest you act mature about this," Rong Qi's voice cut in smoothly, calm and annoyingly reasonable. "I understand you were dragged out of your sleep by a pair of cut sleeves, but making a scene will only make you look foolish. I know you do not care much about that, but I am saying it anyway."
Jiang Yunxian froze.
For a brief moment, the entire table held its breath with him.
Then, slowly, painfully, he forced himself to sit back down. He swallowed his anger like bitter medicine, his pride protesting every second of it. His lips pressed into a thin line, and though he said nothing, the restraint alone made his expression darker than before.
But just as he settled, something shifted.
A strange sensation rose from deep within him, creeping up his throat like something alive. It was sharp, sour, and unsettling, as though his body itself rejected something unseen. His stomach churned violently. He reached for his wine out of habit, tilting the gourd to his lips, but the moment the liquid touched his tongue, the feeling worsened.
His face paled.
"Are you okay?" Xing Yue asked immediately, her voice losing its earlier irritation and turning sharp with concern.
Jiang Yunxian did not answer.
He could not.
There was a very real possibility that if he opened his mouth, he would disgrace himself in the most humiliating way possible, right here in the middle of a crowded inn. His pride would not survive that. So he remained silent, rigid, his hand tightening around the edge of the table.
Rong Qi observed him quietly, then added, almost too casually, "You look green."
Jiang Yunxian shot him a glare that could have killed a lesser being.
But the truth was undeniable. Something was wrong.
This was not just irritation, not just anger, not even the lingering effects of exhaustion or alcohol. This was deeper. It twisted inside him, subtle yet invasive, like a disturbance in the balance of his own body.
And just as his thoughts began to sharpen around that realization—
A scream tore through the inn.
It was sharp, shrill, and filled with raw terror, cutting through the noise like a blade.
Everything stopped.
Conversations died mid-sentence. Chopsticks froze in mid-air. Even the musicians in the corner faltered, their instruments falling into uneasy silence.
Then came the sound of something crashing.
A table overturned. A chair scraped violently against the stone floor. Someone shouted.
The calm, noisy warmth of the inn shattered instantly, replaced by a rising wave of panic.
Jiang Yunxian's gaze snapped toward the source of the scream, the discomfort in his body momentarily forgotten. Xing Yue was already on her feet, her instincts sharp, her expression turning cold and alert.
Around them, people began to move, some rushing forward in curiosity, others backing away in fear. The lantern light flickered more violently now, casting long, trembling shadows across the walls as if even the building itself sensed that something had gone terribly wrong.
And in that moment, the ordinary noise of life gave way to something else entirely.
Something darker. Something that did not belong.
___
The scream had come from upstairs, sharp enough to cut through the layered noise of the inn and drag everyone toward it like iron drawn to a magnet. The staircase filled quickly, sandals and boots thudding against polished wood, voices rising in alarm and curiosity. Lanterns swung overhead as people pushed past one another, their light casting long, trembling shadows along the narrow corridor.
Jiang Yunxian followed more slowly than the rest, his earlier uneasiness settling deeper into his bones. Something about this felt wrong in a way that had nothing to do with noise or commotion. It was quieter than that. Colder. The kind of wrong that crept in before anyone noticed it had already taken hold.
When they reached the upper floor, the source of the chaos revealed itself with cruel clarity.
It was the room next to his.
The same room that had not known silence all through the night. The same room filled with laughter, muffled voices, and the restless rhythm of bodies that only finally stilled when the first crow announced dawn.
Jiang Yunxian stopped at the doorway, his expression tightening as the realization settled in. What had sounded like indulgence hours ago now stood in stark, horrifying contrast to what lay inside.
The cleaner who had discovered the body was still there, trembling near the entrance, her face drained of color. Her hands shook so violently that she could not even cover her mouth to stop the sobs slipping through her fingers. Xing Yue moved past the others without hesitation, her steps steady, her gaze sharp as she approached the center of the room.
The body lay on the bed—or what remained of it.
At first glance, it barely resembled a human being. The skin had drawn tight against bone, shriveled and dry, as though every drop of life had been drained from within. The limbs were stiff, the face sunken into something hollow and unrecognizable. It was not death alone that had taken this person. It was something far more deliberate.
And yet, she had a name.
Baozai.
Before this room, before this brothel, before the painted smiles and forced laughter, Baozai had been someone else entirely. She had been born in a small coastal village where the sea was both a blessing and a threat, where fishermen rose before dawn and children learned early to read the moods of the tides. Her laughter had once been easy, carried by the wind that swept through narrow wooden houses and salt-stained streets.
But the sea was not kind forever.
The tsunami came without mercy, swallowing her home in a single, monstrous breath. It took her parents, her siblings, and everything she had ever known, leaving her alone among the wreckage of a world that no longer existed. By the time she was found, she was barely more than a shadow of herself—hungry, silent, and with nowhere left to go.
The brothel had taken her in, not out of kindness, but opportunity.
She grew there, shaped by survival rather than choice. Years passed, and the girl who had once run barefoot along the shore became Baozai, the most sought-after woman in the house. Her beauty drew attention, but it was her quiet resilience that kept her standing. She learned to smile when she did not want to, to speak when silence would have been easier, and to endure what could not be escaped.
There were whispers that the owner had once considered letting her go, granting her a chance at something better. But greed had outweighed mercy. Baozai had become too valuable, too profitable, a cornerstone of the brothel's success. Freedom, for her, remained a distant illusion.
And now she lay here, reduced to something unrecognizable, her story ending not with escape, but with something far more cruel.
The cleaner, through broken sobs, had pointed out the only detail that confirmed her identity—a small butterfly mark on her ankle. Delicate, almost beautiful, untouched by whatever horror had consumed the rest of her. It was that mark that told everyone who she had been.
Jiang Yunxian stood at the doorway, his gaze fixed on the body, and for the first time since arriving, his uneasiness sharpened into something clearer. This feeling in his chest, this subtle nausea and unrest—it was not random. It was recognition.
Not of the girl. Of what had done this.
"This is insane…" someone whispered behind him, but the words barely registered.
Xing Yue turned slightly, her voice low but steady. "What do you think?"
Jiang Yunxian did not answer immediately. His eyes lingered on the room, on the faint traces of disturbance, on the unnatural stillness that clung to everything. Then, quietly, he said, "Those men… they seem to be her."
Xing Yue narrowed her eyes. "Those men? The—"
"Cut sleeves?" Rong Qi's voice completed from where he rested.
Jiang Yunxian nodded faintly, though his expression suggested something more complicated. He reached into his qiankun pouch and retrieved a small pill, placing it on his tongue without ceremony. The bitterness grounded him, steadying the unease twisting inside his body.
"I think that is exactly what they want us to believe," he said.
Rong Qi shifted slightly. "You mean they want people to think they are cut sleeves?"
Jiang Yunxian glanced at them both, then spoke with a strange kind of calm. "What would be your first reaction if I told you I was in love with you? Like that?" It was directed to Rong Qi, but they both made faces.
Xing Yue's face twisted immediately, as if the very idea offended the natural order of the world. Rong Qi, though lacking a face in his feather form, somehow conveyed equal parts judgment and disbelief.
Jiang Yunxian gave a small, knowing nod. "Exactly. Shock. Discomfort. Distraction. That is all it takes. While everyone is busy reacting, no one is paying attention to what truly matters."
The implication settled between them.
This was not random. It was staged.
The noise, the behavior, the attention they drew—it had all been part of something larger. Something meant to mislead.
Rong Qi, perhaps out of instinct or caution, slipped from Jiang Yunxian's lapel and landed lightly in Xing Yue's palm.
Jiang Yunxian frowned. "What are you doing?"
"Being careful," Rong Qi replied simply.
Both of them stared at the feather for a moment before Jiang Yunxian exhaled in mild disbelief. "You are literally a feather. Even if I had such thoughts, I would have sold you for a few taels of gold."
Rong Qi did not respond, though the silence carried its own kind of smugness.
Jiang Yunxian shook his head slightly, letting it go. This was not the moment for pointless exchanges.
He looked back at the room, at Baozai's still form, at the faint traces of something unnatural lingering in the air.
They had come here for something else entirely, but now the path had shifted.
Whatever had done this was not ordinary.
And whether they liked it or not, they were already involved.
"Seems like returning to Cloud Peak Sect will have to wait," Jiang Yunxian said quietly.
The lantern light flickered again, and somewhere below, the noise of the inn had not fully returned. It lingered in that uneasy space between curiosity and fear, as if the building itself understood that something had entered it—something that did not belong.
And had not yet left.