Chapter 168: Night of the High Wall

Carrying a lantern, Yin Feng left the lively discussion scene. The attendants and knights were still arguing over the source of the strange noises, and as expected, the debate had turned to personal attacks, with clear signs they planned to investigate together.

She had wanted to listen a little longer, but it was truly time to leave. Though the sun still hung high in the fiery clouds, the stone staircases and corridors behind the thick walls—lit only by narrow firing slits—required lantern light to navigate.

The return journey was long: starting from the workshop in the outer bailey, she had to climb and loop through layer upon layer, passing through buildings stacked like a multi-tiered wedding cake, finally crossing the inner bailey checkpoint to reach her quarters.

The tall staircases were exhausting to climb; it took her some time to reach the upper levels. From the balcony, she could see the crowd gathered around the workshop gradually dispersing—the knights and attendants returning to their posts, the apprentice craftsmen packing up their worktables and retrieving small tools indoors.

In the dimming twilight, a flame ignited, splitting into several small patches that drifted along the path beneath the wall's shadow, like ash floating in a cold, filled ditch.

It was the night patrol—some led by a knight. Encountering a young lady returning late was likely one of the few bright spots in their moldy, monotonous duty, inevitably triggering meaningless ceremonial greetings; returning those greetings would be troublesome.

She quickened her pace, determined to reach her room sooner.

As she passed a window shaped like a house beside the tower's spiral staircase, a large flock of creatures with shrill cries flapped past, startling her into a stumble—her shin struck the dull edge of the next step.

Sitting down, she lifted her skirt and rubbed the sore spot, gazing outward. It was countless birds—normally hovering around the lower granaries, feeding on spilled grain—suddenly startled into flight by something unknown, rising like a black cloud.

Even after their frantic wingbeats vanished into the darkening sky, the continuous, boiling clamor still echoed between the rock walls.

Few had the chance to witness so many birds sweeping past at close range; astonishment briefly erased all else—including the pain in her leg.

And that flock seemed like a herald of day and night's turn: the light at the window subtly receded and vanished. When she rose again, only the borrowed lantern illuminated her surroundings.

She climbed wearily onward, crossing uneven stone steps and passing through interconnected corridors and halls. The section with the most doors was the outer bailey's guest quarters.

Perhaps due to the off-season, servants had lit only three or four lamps. Before one door sat a meal long gone cold, its surface coated with congealed white fat. A rarely seen busy man stood at the door, holding a fresh tray.

"Professor Bulimo, are you in?" His call received no reply. Seeing Yin Feng approach with her lantern, Wilbert handed the tray to the servant and offered a polite, casual greeting, "Good evening, Young Lady Yin Feng. I hope the views of Westmin Castle haven't disappointed you; armor, after all, is always less ornamental than skirts."

"I've heard some energetic young men have been troubling a lady lately—I've already warned them. As a knight, such behavior is deeply impolite." He circled around the topic with ritualistic obliqueness, making the conversation's intent less obvious—though the real point was just one short sentence.

"Do you know where Mr. Bulimo might be?"

"Good evening, Mr. Wilbert." Having lived here for some time, Yin Feng had begun to understand the rhythm of such behavior—calmly wasting time was a form of social etiquette. "He mentioned nothing of the sort to me. Why ask?"

"My master has some health concerns requiring consultation, and I thought a renowned figure in the field had arrived—unfortunately, I didn't get the chance."

"I heard he came for the academic gathering. Did you speak with him during your meeting? Did he mention visiting any other places today?"

"No. Professor Bulimo only said he'd stay here one or two days, waiting for Mr. Kraft to return." Yin Feng shook her head. She wasn't worried he'd gone to steal from the inner bailey's rooms—not only because of the key-locked copper lock on the door, but because the inner bailey's patrols and checkpoints wouldn't turn a blind eye.

"Well, then we'll have to call our own physician. They probably won't be much help." The steward removed the cold dinner, leaving the new tray in place. "As for this—dispose of it."

The servant briskly carried the cold soup and bread with meat downstairs, a smile on his face that didn't seem feigned. Yin Feng often wondered where the food left uneaten at doors went; the uniform answer was always, "Disposed of." It would never be served to guests again.

Sometimes she found this extravagance more astonishing than the castle's high walls.

She refilled her lantern with oil from the servant and left the guest quarters. Behind her, Steward Wilbert muttered to himself, blaming himself for having assigned Professor Bulimo to the outer bailey.

There was still a long way to go. Yin Feng gripped a low railing rumored to have claimed lives, walking slowly. In truth, her height made it perfectly safe—but the night wind rising from the heights and the abyss below felt as if it might lift her body and hurl her into the bottomless starry void.

The sense of peril stirred a primal urge: she feared, yet curiously leaned forward to peer down.

The night patrol's torches below appeared as flickering dots—a reversed, sparse constellation—disorienting her sense of up and down. Her body felt increasingly light, as if ready to detach from the ground, which offered only her soles and no true grip.

From this vantage, everything seemed cold and tiny: the armored figures, the busy servants, the elaborate rituals, the hidden agendas of all these people—and herself—were all just minuscule points, indistinguishable from one another, no different from those she'd seen before.

A vague, indescribable sensation choked her throat, like half-cooked wheat grains—too coarse to swallow, too stubborn to spit out.

She thought of many things: visitors, knights, professors, stewards—but also of nothing at all. They all merged into a single lump, a congealed mass of raw existence—understood, yet utterly incomprehensible.

Bored, lost—she stared only at the star-pattern of firelight on the ground, feeling that all the insurmountable, unfathomable things were merely drifting ash, meaningless in their complex, tedious motions, chasing after things within lives that might be snuffed out by any unseen wind.

Just like now: one of them extinguished without warning, unnoticed.

Her empty mind mirrored the scene, thinking of nothing else. She didn't even consider what it might mean—lost in the sudden surge of emotion or sensation.

Then another light flickered—and vanished from her sight. This one was directly beneath her, at an unknown drop, just moments ago moving silently at the edge of her vision. She didn't know where it had been—perhaps a resting point in the patrol, where they entered a room for warmth and hot soup, or simply passed through a corridor.

The howling wind drowned out any sound from below. She asked herself if this was normal—but she had never noticed the castle's night scenery before.

A gut feeling of wrongness stirred. She wanted to seek help—but this path saw few travelers at night. The only possible companion, Steward Wilbert, was likely still waiting in the lodging area for Professor Bulimo to return.

Yin Feng instinctively glanced toward the building half-empty of rooms, hidden from view by a tower along the way. Since she hadn't gone far, turning back would take only a moment.

Was it necessary? After all, no rule required night patrols to keep their torches visible from above at all times.

While hesitating, a larger—closer—light flickered violently, shrinking rapidly and vanishing.

A different, chilling night wind brushed her ear. She wasn't sure if it was an illusion—yet it whispered a piercing cry from the suspended walkway above, cut short by a desperate fall, its echo shattered and scattered by the high winds, reaching her as only one fragment.

【What was that?】

The falling torch illuminated a tiny patch of the sheer cliff wall—for just an instant, Yin Feng was certain her eyes had seen movement: not one, but multiple things on the near-vertical, nearly foothold-less natural rock face.

Her blank mind flooded with the image: they looked like a fusion of swollen orange peel mold and poisonous mushrooms, their strange hue easily distinguishing them from the background.

If visible from here, the true size of these "little mold spots" might be… at least the height of an adult.

With the light's disappearance, the only indicator of what was happening vanished too. That night patrol—five or seven men—had served only to deliver her the barest hint of information.

【Something's coming up】

She knew nothing else. She didn't know what they were, how many, or where they'd gone—but one thing was clear.

She could not stay here. This was an open path, with no cover ahead or behind. Without hesitation, she lifted her lantern and ran toward the nearest building—the tall tower between her quarters and the visitors' lodging.

If there was still time, she could try to meet up with Steward Wilbert—crowded places would likely be safer. And if she sensed danger en route, the tower's multi-level interior offered enough space to hide and maneuver.

As she ran, she unexpectedly recalled that night in the southern hills—when unknown things knocked at her door, and she could only rely on others, hiding and fleeing.

Yin Feng felt the unspoken blocks in her heart crystallize. She longed for something—perhaps nonexistent—that could bring total change, something that made her "powerful," as direct and effective as a sledgehammer strike, even more so—something that could smash both tangible and intangible things, and end this endless, weary helplessness.

Not this—fleeing in terror, helpless as now.