SS CH112

Ye Fusheng had seen many things in his life that did not live up to their reputation—like the apricot blossom Fenjiu at Wu Ji’s tavern, which was diluted with thirty percent water yet falsely claimed to be aged wine. But none of that compared to the scam that was the Du’e Cave.

Judging by his experiences over the past half-hour, this place shouldn’t be called the “Cave of Crossing Calamities”; renaming it the “Hide-and-Seek Cave” would be far more accurate.

He didn’t understand why a monk’s ascetic retreat would be filled with so many hidden mechanisms and secret passages, twisted like an intestine tied into countless knots, with roadblocks appearing constantly. Ye Fusheng had to lead the sentries in circles while simultaneously guarding against endless traps. The slightest lapse in attention could lead him right into a dead end.

Before him lay a path blocked by a massive boulder, and behind him were pursuers about to turn the corner. There was absolutely no cover on either side. Frowning, Ye Fusheng rested a hand on his saber hilt, feeling a sudden tightening on his shoulder. He nearly drew his blade to fight his way back, but fortunately suppressed his instinct, using the pulling force to flip himself upward.

Above was a naturally protruding rock, barely large enough for a child like Xie Li to curl up on. For two adults, they had to use it as a foothold, leaning their bodies against the cave wall for balance.

Ye Fusheng was secured around the waist by the person’s left arm, pressing them together as closely as a single sheet of paper cutouts, almost indistinguishable from one another. With their back against the wall, the other person gripped a dagger inserted into a rock crevice with their right hand to stabilize their bodies. Warm breath brushed gently against Ye Fusheng’s ear; feeling a tickle, he couldn’t help but shrink his neck slightly.

Neither made a sound, even slowing their breathing. From this angle, they watched the pursuers file in, lighting torches and searching everywhere. Luckily, their position was hidden and out of the light, allowing their silhouettes to blend seamlessly with the shadows of the rocks; otherwise, they would have been exposed instantly.

Despite the light, Ye Fusheng didn’t rush to turn his head and see who had lent a helping hand. Instead, he pinched off a loose piece of gravel, narrowed his eyes, found an opening, and flicked it out while the pursuers were busy searching.

Hearing the noise, the frustrated pursuers immediately rushed out. Yet Ye Fusheng and his companion still did not speak or drop down. Holding their breath, they waited a little longer. Sure enough, four men with torches returned. Seeing the area was still empty, they finally left for good.

Standing in this twisted posture had stiffened his body, and his waist ached from being held so tightly. Ye Fusheng grimaced, pressed his ear against the cave wall, and slowly exhaled in relief as the sounds faded away.

But the person behind him didn’t let go; instead, the grip tightened.

Ye Fusheng tried to pry the arm away but couldn’t budge it. Out of temper, he sighed without turning around, his tone quite plaintive: “A-Yao, be gentle. My waist hurts.”

The arm around him stiffened and finally loosened, though it didn’t withdraw—merely leaving a bit more space, loosely circling him.

Not rushing to break free, Ye Fusheng used the rare gap to turn around. Unfortunately, they were pressed too closely together; as he moved, he felt a sudden warmth on his lips, brushing against a soft cheek.

The words on the tip of Chu Xiwei’s tongue died in his throat. That fleeting brush felt like a gentle stream flowing across parched, drought-stricken earth—seeping into the cracks, nourishing the withered interior, and reviving a vigorous vitality.

Because it was dark and they dared not light a fire starter, Ye Fusheng naturally couldn’t see Chu Xiwei’s pale face flush a brilliant red. He could only feel the beating of their chests pressed together through their clothes.

Chu Xiwei’s heart raced, as if a mischievous child were skipping stones across a serene lake, the stone skipping several times to create ripples before plunging into the water with a loud plop, unable to calm down for a long time.

He’s an adult now, yet his moods shift as easily as a child’s.

Ye Fusheng wanted to laugh, but his eyes grew slightly warm.

Blinking, he relied on feeling to lean close to Chu Xiwei’s ear and whispered, “A-Yao, why are you here?”

Tilting his head slightly, Chu Xiwei used his customary cold tone: “Following you.”

His qinggong had been taught wholeheartedly by Ye Fusheng, and he had never stopped practicing it for ten years, through wind, blades, snow, and swords. In terms of mastery of the “Xiafei Steps,” Chu Xiwei was in no way inferior to Ye Fusheng. Because he didn’t follow closely and deliberately concealed his tracks, and with Ye Fusheng’s attention largely focused on Hengyuan, it wasn’t surprising he had been overlooked.

Understanding the sequence of events, Ye Fusheng smiled. “So the person who smashed that tree was indeed you.”

He had felt it was strange at the time. Logically, someone capable of approaching them so silently shouldn’t have been careless enough to make a noise. The action didn’t seem accidental; rather, it seemed deliberate, meant to interrupt the interaction between Xue Chanyi and Ye Fusheng.

When Ye Fusheng walked over to the tree and inspected it closely, he already had his suspicions.

The fist imprint on the trunk appeared ordinary, but the force had been concentrated at a single central point before collapsing outward. It was a mark that could only be left by someone highly accomplished in the principle of “using a point to break a surface.”

And this particular technique, Ye Fusheng was far too familiar with—Jinglei.

He guessed at that moment that Chu Xiwei might have learned of the changes at Wuxiang Temple through the Hundred Ghosts Sect’s secret intelligence and secretly rushed to Wenchang Mountain. Therefore, he destroyed the fist imprint, cleaning up the little tail left behind by his temperamental disciple.

Ye Fusheng had originally planned to find him after leaving the Du’e Cave, never expecting they would run into each other here.

When he brought it up, Chu Xiwei flared with annoyance. “What? Bothered that I interrupted—”

Before he could finish his angry words, Ye Fusheng slipped a hand behind his head, pulled him closer, and chuckled lightly. “Be good, don’t be jealous. Master doesn’t like sour things.”

Pausing, Ye Fusheng added, “I only view Miss Xue with the care of an elder toward the descendant of an old friend. There are no other intentions; don’t overthink it.”

Resting his chin on Ye Fusheng’s shoulder, feeling the other’s hand stroke down from the back of his head to the center of his back, Chu Xiwei was like a cat being stroked the right way, slowly retracting his bristled fur.

He mumbled, “I’m not overthinking it, but she is.”

Ye Fusheng hadn’t noticed at the time, but Chu Xiwei had seen it clearly from behind the tree. When Xue Chanyi raised her hand, her eyes were soft. Though it wasn’t deep love, the seeds of youthful admiration were definitely there.

A young girl at the age of first awakening to romance, meeting a man she had shared hardships with—who also happened to be suave, elegant, and skilled in both literary and martial arts—even if romantic love hadn’t fully blossomed, a deep favorable impression had certainly taken root.

Taken aback, Ye Fusheng couldn’t help but laugh. “A-Yao, you might see a thousand and one good things in me, but others don’t necessarily see me the same way.”

Chu Xiwei didn’t answer, just rubbed his chin against Ye Fusheng’s shoulder, causing a slight tickle.

Ye Fusheng had many things he wanted to say to him, but this was hardly the time for tender sentiments. Patting his back lightly, he shifted his feet and spun his body; the two flipped down and landed, stirring only a speck of dust.

This area had just been searched, and the sentries were busy searching elsewhere, making it temporarily safe. Dusting off his clothes, Ye Fusheng got straight to the point: “Wuxiang Temple is already under the control of the Burial Soul Palace. This martial arts assembly is likely going to be a game of catching turtles in a jar.”

If his guess was correct, although Zhao Qing being captured was true, he was merely bait tossed out by Helian Yu. Trading a single Right Protector for so many orthodox martial artists was a highly profitable transaction no matter how you calculated it.

Chu Xiwei nodded but asked, “Do you know who Zhao Qing is?”

After a moment’s thought, Ye Fusheng said, “Aside from the Huangshan Sect bloodbath, Zhao Qing has no other prominent reputation. Logically, he shouldn’t have been able to secure the position of Right Protector; he likely rose through connections… I heard the Burial Soul Palace also has a Left Protector named ‘Zhao Bing’e’. Are these two related?”

“Mother and son,” Chu Xiwei replied.

Ye Fusheng frowned. His knowledge of Zhao Bing’e wasn’t detailed either. He only knew she was the Left Protector of the Burial Soul Palace, nearing fifty years of age. For years, she had helped Helian Yu manage the internal affairs of the Burial Soul Palace, overseeing the defenses of Mizong Ridge and the training of hidden assassins. Though similarly lacking a prominent reputation, she was genuinely a ruthless character.

As he pondered, Chu Xiwei, as if reading his mind, spoke up: “Zhao Bing’e took her mother’s surname. Her older brother was the previous Palace Master of the Burial Soul Palace, Helian Chen.”

Ye Fusheng was startled.

Since passing into Helian Yu’s hands, the Burial Soul Palace had only seen two generations of leadership. But its rapid rise and ruthless methods had made it the leader of the demonic path in just over thirty years. With complex internal connections and a vast sphere of influence, it was incredibly difficult to uproot.

Ever since suffering a massive defeat at Helian Yu’s hands back then, Ye Fusheng had kept a close eye on the intelligence regarding the Burial Soul Palace. He knew its predecessor was a large family with the compound surname Helian, located outside the southwestern passes. The Helian family had a century-long legacy. Their ancestors were of mixed barbarian blood, and they intermarried with barbarian tribes for generations. At one point, they even had marriage ties with the previous dynasty’s imperial family, enjoying unparalleled glory. It wasn’t until the founding of the Great Chu dynasty that the Helian family’s forces were pushed out of the Central Plains, returning outside the passes.

Thirty-four years ago, the Helian family splintered internally. A two-year war of annexation erupted between the declining main branch and the increasingly powerful side branches. Ultimately, the main branch was annihilated, and the side branch emerged victorious, establishing the Burial Soul Palace. The very first Palace Master was Helian Chen.

Ye Fusheng pondered for a moment. “My understanding of Helian Chen is limited to a single scroll of intelligence. It states that his martial arts were formidable, he was ruthless and merciless, and he was a rare strategist capable of seeing the big picture; otherwise, he wouldn’t have forged a path for the Burial Soul Palace. Unfortunately, he was also stubborn and ignorant of the times, blocking the paths of others, which is why he died a bad death.”

The Lueying intelligence network was unrivaled in the world, so it was unsurprising that Ye Fusheng knew this. Hearing this, Chu Xiwei sneered and added, “Sixteen years ago, rumors in the Jianghu claimed Helian Chen died of a sudden illness, and the master of the Burial Soul Palace became Helian Yu, with internal power swiftly shifting under his command. Do you think this makes logical sense?”

Ye Fusheng narrowed his eyes. “Back then, Zhao Bing’e helped Helian Yu?”

“Without Zhao Bing’e, Helian Yu could never have consolidated power so easily. But what if Zhao Bing’e wants to rebel against him now?” Chu Xiwei smiled. “Zhao Bing’e suffered a massive loss because of him, and now she wants to collect the debt, principal and interest included.”

He spoke cryptically, but Ye Fusheng was exceptionally sharp, immediately catching the scent of blood. There were likely hidden truths behind Helian Chen’s death and Zhao Bing’e turning against her own family to help an outsider back then.

Helian Yu had deceived Zhao Bing’e with lies, and now that she knew the truth, she naturally wanted to collect the debt.

Ye Fusheng’s mind raced, combining the intelligence Yingxiu had provided with the current situation at Wuxiang Temple. “You’re cooperating with Zhao Bing’e.”

Helian Yu was the mantis stalking the cicada, but had he considered there was an oriole behind him?

Realizing this, Ye Fusheng rubbed his chin. “Ah-Yao, are you planning to first gauge the true situation within Wuxiang Temple, evaluate who can be used and trusted, and uncover the Burial Soul Palace’s deployments… so that when the incident occurs, you can launch a surprise attack?”

Chu Xiwei raised an eyebrow. “Am I doing something wrong?”

“Absolutely correct, but it’s not enough. Lying dormant and waiting for an opportunity is a good strategy, but it’s also easy to fall into danger yourself. If you plan to clash head-on with Helian Yu, this approach isn’t wrong. But if you want to use this opportunity to bite back at the Burial Soul Palace, relying solely on the Hundred Ghosts Sect won’t be enough.” Even in the darkness, Ye Fusheng’s eyes gleamed slightly, like a sly old fox harboring mischievous intentions. “You could first send people to search along the routes leaving the mountain. If my guess is correct, you should yield an excellent harvest…”