Chapter 28: Chapter Twenty-Eight: The Envoy Arrives

Although some branches and leaves were broken the night before, the ancient locust tree—its age unknown—still loomed over the courtyard, washed clean and gleaming by days of rain, and warm sunlight filtered through the leaf gaps, spilling into the magistrate’s yard; when the wind stirred, shards of golden light danced together.

Pei Ye walked through the dappled shadows toward the front hall, arriving at the threshold, and tapped his shoe soles twice against the steps; white and yellow dry soil sifted down.

As he pushed open the door, three strangers of extraordinary bearing sat inside—each tall and upright, clearly military officials of the court. Their garments, in fabric and cut, were unlike anything seen in Fenghuai County; their faces and demeanor gave the first impression of “outstanding talents among men.”

If people were compared to birds, the common ones in Fenghuai were sparrows; the officials who arrived yesterday from the province were like thrushes; today’s three were two cranes and an eagle.

The foremost was a man with a stern, square face, wheat-colored skin, and black robes, standing like a mountain—his presence seemed to compress and sink the very space around him.

The second was a much younger woman, with fair skin and a serene, beautiful face; though she still wore long trousers, her green upper garment had a longer hem, giving her a more elegant and brisk appearance.

The third man was even younger than the woman, with equally fair skin; though seated and listening attentively, every detail of his posture betrayed an unsettled air.

Pei Ye swept his gaze over them, then bowed his head and clasped his hands: “Greetings, my lords.”

Whether it was an illusion or not, Pei Ye felt the atmosphere, previously heavy, had grown tense since his entrance.

But Chang Zhiyuan’s stern expression softened slightly; he warmly beckoned Pei Ye to his side and pointed to each in turn: “First, pay your respects to these lords—this is Jing Ziwang, Commandant of the Prefecture; Xing Zhi, Black-Sash Artisan of the Divine Capital’s Immortal Platform; and Shang Lang, Spear-Bearer of the Left Longwu Army. Lords, this is Pei Ye, the young hero who relieved our county of its crisis—shrewd, composed, and extraordinarily brave.”

Pei Ye bowed in turn to each, while they studied him.

The boy before them stood taller than most, posture straight, features clear and bright; though still bearing a trace of youth, his demeanor was calm, neither humble nor arrogant—truly “reliable.”

Xing Zhi smiled in greeting; Shang Lang bowed slightly, straightened his back, and clasped his fists in return.

Jing Ziwang, however, stared at him without expression, then turned his head to Chang Zhiyuan: “Commandant Chang, the massacre is fresh before us; the enemy’s artifact has fused with him—who knows what might happen? Let me reiterate: to ensure the peace of our homeland, I must take control of this man.”

Pei Ye blinked, raised an eyebrow, and met Jing Ziwang’s gaze directly. The gesture seemed to anger him; the man’s eyes narrowed, and a crushing pressure, thick as solid matter, slammed down—Pei Ye’s hair stood on end, nearly drawing his sword—but a small dragonlet swam within his dantian, the pressure eased, and a flat, cold voice echoed in his mind: “Need help?”

But soon it seemed to sense the situation, and added: “Oh, never mind. You couldn’t defeat this one even if you tried.”

“...”

Chang Zhiyuan gripped his wrist and pulled him slightly behind him; his white-haired, sword-eyed gaze held firm against Jing Ziwang, his voice level: “Let me reiterate to Commandant Jing: you failed to protect anyone. It was this young man who saved Fenghuai from ruin.”

Seeing the tension, Xing Zhi spoke gently: “Lords, please calm yourselves. Young Master Pei, may I examine you first?”

This was precisely the reason Pei Ye had waited for the Divine Capital envoys; he nodded and stepped beside the female artisan.

He unwound the cloth band from his arm and placed his infected right forearm on the table. In these two days, the deep blue had spread like vines up to the middle of his upper arm.

Xing Zhi extended two fingers and slowly traced along a vein from base to tip; exquisite spiritual energy danced around her fingertips.

This was the first time Pei Ye had encountered power different from true qi—it was more agile, more mysterious, yet less rich and sharp.

After sensing it thoroughly, Xing Zhi lifted her fingers and condensed a small, sharp needle of spiritual energy, pressing it into Pei Ye’s vein, her eyes fixed on his expression.

Pei Ye felt an energy surging wildly within his forearm, but it was swiftly devoured by the deep blue fluid.

“A very docile, very stable force,” Xing Zhi noted in her journal.

“Let me examine your dantian,” the woman’s voice was soothing.

Pei Ye stepped back; Xing Zhi placed her hand upon him. This time, she did not use a spiritual needle; instead, a gentler force, mist-like, seeped in and slowly enveloped the glowing orb. Yet the darting dragonlet seemed to exist on an entirely different plane, untouched.

This time, Pei Ye felt more distinctly—the glowing orb had become a vortex, spinning once, drawing in all the surrounding mist of spiritual energy.

Xing Zhi was slightly startled, withdrew her hand, and frowned: “Essentially the same.”

“What’s the same?” Pei Ye asked.

“After hearing of this case, I spent the night retrieving fifty-year-old records from the Platform on the Candle World Sect. Turning humans into monsters, then transforming them into this substance—that was their practice back then,” Xing Zhi explained calmly. “But at that time, they never performed a ritual to inject this substance into a living body. In fact, it was then considered impossible, for the energy was wildly volatile and highly infectious; anyone who came into contact either died instantly or became one of those monsters.”

Pei Ye couldn’t help glancing down at his own abdomen.

“But you are different. Though the substance’s essence remains unchanged—still consuming everything around it to grow—it seems docile, or rather, far more intelligent. It has learned to coexist with its host.”

“What exactly is this substance?”

Xing Zhi shook her head: “Its level is extremely high. It can assimilate and devour spiritual energy, true qi, flesh, artifacts—even plants. We do not know its origin. The Immortal Platform has only encountered it in connection with the Candle World Sect. At the time, two theories were proposed: one, that it is an independent energy, entirely unlike any substance in this world; the other, that it is precisely the opposite—the ‘One’ that encompasses all matter.”

Jing Ziwang narrowed his eyes and interjected: “A startling claim.”

“Indeed. Whether one theory or the other, both imply an exceedingly high level—but the Candle World Sect does not appear to possess the qualifications for such mastery.”

Pei Ye fell silent a moment, then said: “Taiyi True Dragon Immortal Lord.”

Xing Zhi was startled: “Indeed—you already know? According to our artisans’ experience, knowing this name is not auspicious, which is why I did not mention it.”

“Yet even if you name him, I cannot tell you more. The Platform has never found any trace of this ‘Immortal Lord.’”

“Do gods truly exist in this world?” Pei Ye asked.

Xing Zhi paused, then affirmed: “No. Since the Yu Dynasty, six thousand years have passed; though seekers of immortality have never ceased in every dynasty, no true immortal has ever appeared. But if we broaden the definition, some extremely high-level cultivators may be called ‘immortals.’”

“Then the Candle World Sect’s patron...”

Xing Zhi shook her head: “Fifty years ago, the Platform nearly eradicated them entirely—and we saw no higher power. More likely, they have seized some relic left behind by this ‘Immortal Lord’ after his death.”