Chapter 806: One Hundred Fifty-One: Seven Men, One Woman

One Hundred Fifty-One: Seven Men, One Woman

The brighter corridor resembled the light after dawn, even the ceiling above taking on a faint, pale indigo hue like the morning sky.

At the eighth cell from the inside along the corridor, a plain, slightly yellowish hand slowly pushed a food tray out from within the water curtain door.

The faint scraping sound of the tray’s bottom against the floor, during this slow motion, became so weak and sluggish it was nearly imperceptible.

Outside the water curtain of this C-shaped cell, a dull-witted young man stood pressed close, silently watching the scene through the water curtain, which looked like “milky glass.”

After closely examining the hand of the occupant of the C-shaped cell, Ouyang Rong temporarily suppressed a thought that had lingered in his mind for a long time:

The occupant of the C-shaped cell was genuinely pushing the tray out with trembling, labored effort.

His movements were truly slow—not feigned. Ouyang Rong, who practiced Daoist techniques and excelled in muscle control, could tell the tendons and muscle tremors on the back of the man’s hand were real and impossible to fake.

Therefore, this person was physically impaired or ill.

Until now, his suspicions had overestimated this man’s threat.

In other words, even if he was the occupant of the C-shaped cell, what of it?

Wasn’t he still a prisoner of the Yunmeng Sword Marsh, bound by these layers of shackles?

Ouyang Rong waited patiently until the occupant of the C-shaped cell withdrew his hand, then bent down and lifted the food tray.

He placed his palm over the lid, still faintly sensing the lingering warmth of the man’s hand.

He lifted one corner of the tray with his fingers and glanced inside.

Just like the vegetarian meal delivered every night.

This slow-moving occupant of the C-shaped cell was among the few who finished their vegetarian meals completely.

The pickled radish and sour cabbage dishes Ouyang Rong specially prepared were both emptied.

He held a certain fondness for this man—perhaps a compulsive habit common among cooks; Ouyang Rong was no exception, hoping his diners wasted not a single grain.

The C-shaped cell was the last to hand out its food tray.

Ouyang Rong picked up the empty tray, joined it with the other collected empty trays, and walked straight toward the staircase at the entrance.

As he passed each water cell door, his gaze swept over them; before leaving, he paused at the staircase and turned back to look at the bright corridor.

Unfortunately, though the water curtains had lost their blackness, they remained hazy, obscuring the view inside.

It had only just turned daylight outside the water cells; the sun had not fully risen, and the morning light was gentle.

Ouyang Rong wasn’t sure if the dimness outside was the reason.

Would he need to wait until noon or afternoon, when the sunlight was brightest, to see clearly through the water curtains?

Ouyang Rong could only guess, but he wasn’t certain.

Unfortunately, he had no further reason to linger.

If he stayed any longer and Yun Xiangyi returned suddenly, he would have no good excuse to explain his actions—even if Chen Jiaxin and Enting outside vouched for him, it wouldn’t help.

For caution’s sake, he must leave without hesitation or delay.

As for what comes next, he would decide tomorrow night.

Ouyang Rong practiced unity of knowledge and action, immediately descending the stairs and returning to the room where Yun Xiangyi had been reading Buddhist sutras.

He quickly tidied up, gently closed the wooden gate, left the water cells, and returned to the waterfall above.

Along the way, he encountered no trace of Yun Xiangyi.

Ouyang Rong breathed a quiet sigh of relief.

Only now did he find a moment to analyze the eight hands he had just seen.

Judging roughly by their appearance:

These eight prisoners were likely seven men and one woman.

Analyzing the skin texture on their backs, three of the male prisoners were likely elderly; the other four men’s ages remained unknown.

But Ouyang Rong was fairly certain the occupant of the C-shaped cell was young, for he had observed this man’s hand the longest and most carefully.

Still, he could not yet definitively determine the person’s gender, for a woman’s hand could also be plain—like those of the older and younger women doing menial work in the Qingliang Valley kitchen, who never bothered to care for their hands.

Unlike the occupant of the X-shaped cell, whose slender, delicate hand was unmistakably female.

Of course, one might argue the possibility of a feminine, effeminate woman—but this was only a preliminary analysis; no need to obsess over such details.

Ouyang Rong pursed his lips, his expression thoughtful.

Old Sun the Daoist was certainly among them.

He must be one of the three elderly prisoners.

Thus, the target range narrowed from the original eight cells to just three.

They were Cell Ding, Cell Wu, and Cell Gui.

From now on, he could focus his investigation on these three cells—finally, he had some direction, better than the blind groping of before.

Yet this discovery also shattered a long-held hope in Ouyang Rong’s heart.

That hope was that Xiuniang was also here, in one of these cells.

But he knew exactly what Xiuniang’s hands looked like; none of the eight hands he saw today belonged to her.

The possibility that she was in the deeper Jia or Yi cells was nearly impossible.

Not to mention the Nüjun Hall—just consider Yun Xiangyi herself; she would never mistreat her own junior sister.

The vegetarian meals delivered each night, aside from her own, numbered only eight—there were no meals for the deeper Jia or Yi cells.

Yun Xiangyi would never withhold even a single meal, even if she was angry that her little sister had, while she was away, secretly freed Old Sun the Daoist and taken the prisoner down the mountain to rescue her lover… but Yun Xiangyi would never do such a thing.

Ouyang Rong disliked the Nüjun Hall’s ancestral hall and disapproved of the Nüjun women like Zhishuang, but he also knew Xiuniang shared sisterly bonds with them, especially with her senior sister Zhishuang.

Just one point proves it deeply:

If Xiuniang left the Nüjun Hall and the ancestral hall lost Yue Chuzi, the first heir to the Yuanjun position, then Zhishuang, as the second heir, would be the greatest beneficiary.

Yet Zhishuang had persistently, furiously insisted on forcibly taking Xiuniang away, again and again.

Matters of status and interest were never faked.

So while Ouyang Rong resisted, even acting violently during the battle at Xunyang Stone Cave, he had always turned a blind eye, repeatedly letting Zhishuang escape.

Because he understood clearly: he and Zhishuang merely held different positions; in the broader direction, they both acted “for Xiuniang’s good,” each with their own methods.

Each clung stubbornly to the belief that their own way was right.

That was all.

Just as the various Daoist lineages of Qi Refiners each pursued their own mythic paths—different routes to “myth,” yet all valid.

And this is precisely what makes so many matters in the mortal world so troublesome…

At one moment, in the pitch-black corridor, the dull-witted young man sighed softly as he walked forward.

Though he had already received rumors from Aqing, vaguely knowing this hope was slim,

Now that it was fully confirmed, Ouyang Rong still felt a pang of disappointment.

Stepping out from the waterfall, Chen Jiaxin and Enting sat on the rocks beside the pool.

The daylight had fully broken; golden morning light filtered through the tree leaves, falling precisely upon the two women.

The ponytail tied at the back of the sword-clad girl’s head glowed with a brown-gold halo in the radiant light, sunlight threading through her hair like gold.

From Ouyang Rong’s angle, each strand of hair seemed edged in gold.

Seeing Ouyang Rong emerge, Chen Jiaxin kept her gaze straight ahead; only Enting opened her eyes and turned to look at him.

Ouyang Rong, carrying the empty trays, passed silently by the two women.

After he had gone far, Enting withdrew her gaze; then, Chen Jiaxin, who had been meditating with closed eyes, rose and walked toward the forest where Ouyang Rong had disappeared.

Enting ignored it, continuing her meditation, guarding the pool.

About an incense stick later, in a pavilion beside a spring.

The same old place.

The dull-witted young man met the sword-clad girl.

Ouyang Rong arrived first; while lost in thought, he waited a while until Chen Jiaxin entered and got straight to the point:

“How did it go?”

Ouyang Rong nodded:

“I saw.”

“Saw what? The prisoners? Are the water-curtain doors truly transparent by day?”

Ouyang Rong glanced at Chen Jiaxin’s face, which held a hint of excitement, and shook his head.

Just as her expression darkened with disappointment, he gave a slight nod:

“I saw only hands. Eight hands.”

Chen Jiaxin paused, startled:

“Hands?”

“Mm.”

Ouyang Rong replied calmly, then recounted in detail everything he had witnessed in the water cells.

Chen Jiaxin’s expression went blank; after a long while, she processed it.

She immediately praised:

“You’re clever enough to spot this angle, find a flaw… So the most likely cells are Ding, Wu, and Gui?”

“Yes.”

“Good. It’s still a major gain—at least we didn’t come back empty-handed.”

Chen Jiaxin’s face showed satisfaction; she instinctively raised her hand to pat his shoulder, then immediately remembered—he was a male subordinate, not one of her Nine Surnames sisters; she couldn’t act like the big sister around him.

She lowered her hand without changing expression, placed both hands behind her back, circled the dull-witted young man twice, and nodded lightly:

“Then tomorrow, let’s delay a bit longer and see if your further guess is right. If so, by noon, the visibility through the water curtains of the dungeon doors will be clear enough to see inside—then…”

Chen Jiaxin made her arrangements, but noticed Ouyang Rong’s expression had changed, and asked:

“What do you want to say?”

Ouyang Rong thought for a moment, then replied with a sigh:

“Technically, the vegetarian meal should arrive after midnight; previously, it was never later than the third watch. Tonight, it was delayed until after the fifth watch, past dawn—already too late. If it’s delayed again tomorrow night, until tomorrow morning, it might upset the prisoners…”

Upon hearing this, Chen Jiaxin’s expression didn’t change, but her tone turned cold:

“Let them be upset. They’re prisoners already—what more do they want? Getting a vegetarian meal is already more than enough. It’s only because our Master has a compassionate heart that she has Yutang deliver them meals every night. If I ran the water dungeon, they wouldn’t get so much as a fart to eat. Picky, picky—do they really think our Sword Marsh Water Dungeon is a dining hall…?”

Chen Jiaxin waved her small hand, her tone clearly irritated:

“Don’t worry. Just do exactly as I say. If they’ve got the guts to come find me, hmph.”

Seeing this, Ouyang Rong had no reply. Faced with this defiant little miss, he merely nodded silently, offering no resistance.

The two discussed for a few more moments, agreeing on arrangements for tomorrow night, including how to respond if Yun Xiangyi suddenly returned.

Both were cautious by nature and clever; they rehearsed their lines together.

Soon after, they each departed.

When Ouyang Rong returned to his courtyard, it was already the morning Si hour; warm sunlight bathed him, gradually heating his clothes.

He pushed open the courtyard gate, had no intention of washing up, and headed straight for his room, planning to collapse into bed and sleep until evening.

As soon as he entered, he saw the room in disarray—many items overturned, as if knocked over.

Yet the secret mark he’d left by the door showed no signs of being touched.

Clearly, not an outsider—someone inside.

Household thieves are hardest to guard against.

Ouyang Rong, half-used to it, immediately turned his head to glance at the wardrobe, then walked over to open the door.

The door wouldn’t open.

The wardrobe door had been locked from the inside.

“Mmmmmm.”

A drowsy, whiny, affectionate snuffle came from within—Little Ink Spirit, rolling over in protest at the disturbance.

Ouyang Rong’s face remained expressionless as he glanced around.

He didn’t need to look—he knew who’d done it.

That little Ink Spirit had a habit: after eating, at certain hours, she loved to “run wild through the house,” like a cat—no one knew if she’d learned it from Li Guoer’s pet.

It seemed to be her way of expressing joy.

The chaos in the room—upended, overturned—clearly meant the Lady Immortal had eaten too much and was now running amok.

But Ouyang Rong couldn’t figure out where Miaosi had gotten the food.

He walked to the table, picked up an overturned pastry box, frowned, and examined it closely.

The box was empty, and the pastries looked unfamiliar.

He didn’t know how they’d appeared in the room, but they’d clearly been the cause of the Lady Immortal’s overindulgence.

Ouyang Rong hurried to the wardrobe and pounded on it: “Bang! Bang! Bang!”

Immediately, Little Ink Spirit’s annoyed voice came from inside:

“Who is it? So cruel to knock like that…”

Answering so quickly? She couldn’t possibly have been asleep.

Ouyang Rong asked, expressionless:

“Who brought these pastries? Qing, or Mrs. Li next door?”

Miaosi, supremely arrogant, shot back:

“So what?”

Ouyang Rong said nothing—but a small object slipped silently from his sleeve.

The Peach Blossom Source Map emerged from its suspended bamboo tube.

Azure sword qi flared in all directions.

Little Ink Spirit inside the wardrobe clearly heard the soft “pop” of the bamboo tube opening—and Ouyang Rong’s silence outside.

She grew visibly flustered, feigning calm:

“Hmph. Since you’re so eager to know, I’ll tell you—these pastries were offered to me by Sha Er’gou. You can envy all you want, but you won’t get any.”

Ouyang Rong’s motion to break down the door halted…