Chapter 168: The 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 noise, and as expected, the debate had turned to personal attacks, with growing momentum toward organizing an expedition to investigate.

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

The return journey was long: from the workshop in the outer bailey, she had to climb and wind through layer upon layer of buildings, each tiered like a multi-layered wedding cake, then pass through the inner bailey checkpoint to reach her quarters.

The towering 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 stowing 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 canal.

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

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

As she passed a window shaped like a small room beside the tower's spiral stairs, a large flock of chattering creatures 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 aching 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 stone walls.

Few had the chance to witness such a massive flock of birds sweeping past at close range; the surprise briefly erased all other thoughts—including the pain in her leg.

And that flock seemed like a herald of day and night's turn: the light at the window had quietly 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 hardened with floating white grease. A rarely seen busy man stood at the door, holding a fresh tray.

"Professor Brimmer, 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, Miss Yin Feng. I hope the view from Westmin Castle hasn't disappointed you; armor, after all, is always less ornamental than a gown."

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

"Do you know where Mr. Brimmer 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 health concerns requiring consultation, and I thought a renowned figure in the field had arrived—unfortunately, I failed to arrange a meeting."

"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 Brimmer only said he'd stay here one or two days, waiting for Mr. Kraft's 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, it seems we'll have to call our own physician. They probably won't be of 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 reply 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, scolding himself for having assigned Professor Brimmer to the outer bailey.

A long stretch remained. 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 would lift her body and hurl her into the endless starry void.

The sense of peril stirred a primal urge: she feared it, yet curiosity compelled her to lean forward and peer down.

The night patrol's torches below appeared as flickering dots—a reversed, sparse star map, disorienting up and down. Her body felt lighter, as if ready to detach from the ground, which offered only her soles and no true purchase.

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

A vague, indescribable sensation choked her throat, like half-cooked barley grain—too hard to swallow, too bitter to spit out.

She thought of many things: visitors, knights, professors, stewards. Or perhaps she thought of nothing at all—everything had merged into a single lump, a congealed mass of life: understood, yet utterly incomprehensible.

Bored, lost, she stared at the star-pattern of firelight on the ground, seeing all that was insurmountable and unfathomable as ash drifting in the wind—meaningless, performing complex, tedious acts, chasing things within lives that could be snuffed out by any unseen gust.

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

Her mind, empty and still, reflected the scene without thought. She didn't even consider what it might mean—lost in the sudden surge of emotion or sensation.

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

The howling wind drowned out any sound from below. She asked herself if this was normal—but she'd never paid attention to 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 quarters for Brimmer to return.

Yin Feng instinctively glanced toward the building half-empty of rooms, now obscured by a tower along the way. Considering she hadn't gone far, turning back would take only moments.

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

In hesitation, a larger—closer—point of light flickered rapidly, shrinking and vanishing.

A different, chilling 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, then shattered and scattered by the high winds, reaching her as only a 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, indistinct yet undeniably present on the near-vertical, nearly foothold-less natural rock face.

Her mind, blank a moment before, flooded with the image: they resembled 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 "mold spots" might be… at least as tall as an adult.

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

【Something is 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 were likely safer. And if she sensed danger en route, the tower's multiple levels 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 burdens within her crystallize. She longed for something—perhaps nonexistent—that could bring total change, something "powerful," as direct and effective as a sledgehammer strike, even more so: something that could shatter both tangible and intangible things, and end this endless, wearying helplessness.

Not this—fleeing in terror, helpless as she was now.