Chapter 590: Madness

Qingli Fei Family.

"Cough… cough…"

From the flower hall came a violent fit of coughing.

"Lord Fei, may I come in?"

Fei Wu stepped into the flower hall and involuntarily shuddered.

Even though he was now a Cultivation Stage Eight adept capable of flight and protected by divine aura, the moment he entered the hall, he felt a chill crawl up his spine.

The hall was dimly lit; colorful paper figures stood all around, some missing arms, others lacking legs, some half their faces gone—yet the rouge on their cheeks remained vividly red.

Heehee…

In the breeze, a child's laughter came from nowhere.

The lantern light flickered, casting shifting shadows across the paper figures' faces.

Paper tigers and paper wolves circled about…

In a daze, Fei Wu felt as if he had entered some demonic lair, surrounded by monsters and spirits.

"Though the Paper Folding Art is widely known, it carries taboos—once practiced, it is deemed a demonic path… such as forcibly imprisoning living souls within paper figures…"

A thought arose unbidden in Fei Wu's mind: "Though this may enhance the paper figures' power, the imprisoned souls are doomed to eternal torment—highly inauspicious. Even the Blood Shadow Sect rarely cultivates this art, and in orthodox lands, discovery would bring catastrophic consequences…"

He recalled some intelligence uncovered by the family's covert agents, and his mood grew heavier.

"Ah, Fei Wu… Why aren't you preparing to assume the position of new family head? What brings you here?"

At that moment, a withered voice spoke.

Fei Wu saw Fei Shentong.

But this Fei Shentong was nothing like the man he had been.

His skin was wrinkled and gray, radiating an indescribable decay; his face, etched with deep crevices, held not a trace of life—only two lifeless eyes, occasionally shifting slightly.

"How can you say that, Lord? You will always be our finest family head."

Fei Wu quickly expressed his loyalty.

As Fei Shentong's use of the Paper Folding Art drained his lifespan, his temperament had grown erratic under the dark art's influence—he had executed a senior elder just days ago.

Though Fei Wu was the designated next head, he could only bow and pledge loyalty.

"Huh?"

As he passed behind a screen, his expression changed abruptly.

Behind the screen stood a brazier.

Inside it burned half a paper face, along with many paper money offerings…

"This…"

Fei Wu's eyelid twitched.

"Cough… cough… The Paper Figure Art is too sinister. To prevent these figures from haunting me after death, I must burn them… cough… cough…"

Fei Shentong coughed again, his complexion turning even more ashen.

"Nonsense… Paper figures created by the Paper Folding Art lose power if not used by their creator, but they've never been known to haunt—unless… they were forged using the Living Soul Offering method…"

Fei Wu mentally scoffed, yet his face grew even more sincere: "I see…"

He looked again at the brazier and, amid the rising flames, faintly glimpsed the face of a little girl—weeping, or perhaps grinning wickedly.

He quickly turned away, refusing to look further.

…

"Cough… cough… I know I am dying."

Fei Shentong motioned for Fei Wu to sit and spoke to himself: "Back then… to secure our family's future, I had to ally with Poison Dragon Hill. Now, though our family has recovered slightly, Poison Dragon Hill has gained another Stage Eight adept—quite prosperous indeed…"

"Yes, that's the most troubling part…" Fei Wu sighed.

If the Fei family still had a Foundation Establishment cultivator, Poison Dragon Hill's strength would mean nothing—they could easily absorb them.

But the key problem: they had none.

Even when they destroyed the Yin family, they never found the family's Dragon King Ginseng—whether hidden or taken by other raiders, no one knew.

This left Fei Shentong nearly hopeless.

Without the Dragon King Ginseng, when the six-year cycle arrived, what would he offer the higher sect for a Foundation Establishment spiritual item?

Without such an item, how could the Fei family ever produce another Foundation Establishment cultivator?

Yet Fei Shentong and Fei Wu had kept this secret together—both desperately searching for the Dragon King Ginseng, with Fei Shentong even engaging in multiple battles to do so.

Meanwhile, they poured the family's wealth into secretly acquiring a Foundation Establishment spiritual item.

"Now that I am near death, I must do one last thing for the Fei family… I will assassinate Fang Xing."

Fei Shentong spoke calmly: "Once Fang Xing is dead, even if Poison Dragon Hill still has Lu Feng, they'll be powerless. The reputation will suffer, but I'm already dying—if the truth surfaces, just blame it all on me."

After all, Poison Dragon Hill had firmly sided with the Fei family, and the two families were bound by marriage.

Years ago, it was Poison Dragon Hill's aid that saved the Fei family from annihilation.

For years, both sides had publicly maintained this narrative.

"Though we are orthodox, we must not be bound by the name of orthodoxy… Our ancestors seized power through cunning and force to build the Fei family's foundation."

Fei Wu replied thus.

"Hmm. Our generation may be weak, but the next has several Foundation Establishment seeds… If we can secure a spiritual item, we can still fight for it… These two matters are most critical." Fei Shentong nodded.

Suddenly, a breeze blew in, and a paper crane flew through the door.

Fei Shentong reached out and caught it, his face lighting up: "A Foundation Establishment spiritual item… finally, a lead."

"Oh?"

Fei Wu also brightened: "It seems fate truly favors the Fei family."

He took the crane, unfolded it, and frowned: "Qiao Family Merchant Guild? The Qiao family once produced a Foundation Establishment cultivator and had ties with several noble families… Now, their head, Qiao Wuyong, is Stage Nine, on the verge of Foundation Establishment. The Qiao family has been searching everywhere and has acquired a Foundation Establishment spiritual item—this… if discovered, the Fei family will be condemned by all."

"As always, I'll act—try to eliminate all witnesses. If it leaks, blame it all on me."

The old man said.

Had the Dragon King Ginseng still existed, he might not have been so reckless.

But the key problem: the Dragon King Ginseng was gone—he had to scheme from all angles to ensure the Fei family produced another Foundation Establishment cultivator and slowly rebuild their foundation…

…

No mistake. One word. One line. One detail. One look!

Several months later.

Poison Dragon Hill.

Ten thousand acres of bamboo forest.

Fang Xing gestured, and a paper crane landed in his palm.

The crane unfolded automatically into a sheet of paper.

It was a letter forwarded by Song Yunqian, sent by Fei Yong.

It described only daily life in Qingmu Ridge, but careful reading revealed patterns of the sect's operations.

"Fei Yong is clever…"

Fang Xing nodded, glanced at the letter's end, where Song Yunqian had thanked him, and understood: "She's thanking me for keeping Fei Yong away from trouble? Fei Shentong must be near death—but this succession still carries unrest?"

Honestly, Fang Xing didn't care whether Fei Yong became head or not.

He glanced at the little Ginseng Spirit, Xiao Qing, diligently working as a gardener—suddenly, Xiao Qing paused, the wooden watering can in hand, then his tiny white feet halted, sinking into the earth and vanishing: "The nuisance is coming…"

Fang Xing turned his head. Soon after, Lu Feng walked over, his face pale with alarm: "Uncle Fang… terrible news. The Qiao family's caravan was ambushed—no one survived, not even Master Qiao."

"Huh?"

Fang Xing's expression shifted: "True?"

"Absolutely true…" Lu Feng looked utterly lost: "The Qiao caravan was our biggest client. Now the Qiao Merchant Guild is crippled—they can't even form new caravans. What do we do with our stock of Poison Dragon Gall, herbs, spirit pearls, shellfish, and bamboo paper?"

"Qiao Wuyong has been your friend for decades—and all you care about is your inventory?"

Fang Xing gave his incompetent nephew a sidelong glance: "Who was behind the attack?"

"Unknown. The attackers were ruthless—everyone died, and their souls were stolen. All traces were erased. Even after the Qiao family hired a Foundation Establishment cultivator to investigate, they found no clues…"

"So they planned this carefully. Did Qiao Wuyong make an enemy? Or was it pure profit-driven greed?"

Fang Xing pondered, then turned to Lu Feng: "I told you long ago not to rely so heavily on the Qiao caravan. Now's your chance—form your own Poison Dragon Hill caravan and sell the goods everywhere."

"This…" Lu Feng hesitated.

Forming a caravan wasn't trivial—it required selecting skilled, high-cultivation guards, both sharp-witted and powerful.

Traveling far and wide to sell goods was exhausting, hindered cultivation, and exposed them to constant danger—many died in the line of duty.

Worse, after all that effort, they might earn less than selling to the Qiao caravan.

Lu Feng had no interest in this.

After long hesitation, he mumbled: "What if… we just sell the stock to Yunlai Market this time?"

"You'd lose at least thirty percent. Sell if you want—but don't drag me into it."

Fang Xing waved him off, then brewed himself tea: "The world is a tide, people like water—how many ever truly return?"

To be fair, Qiao Wuyong was a decent man, and their relationship was tolerable.

Yet he suddenly died.

It gave Fang Xing a moment of reflection—but only a moment.

Across the world, no one escapes death; accidents strike without warning.

He silently poured a cup of tea for Qiao Wuyong, a quiet offering.

Qiao Wuyong was Cultivation Stage Nine and had traveled far and wide, well-experienced... only a Foundation Establishment expert or a top-tier Cultivation Stage Nine could have killed him...

Could a common plundering cultivator be this powerful?

Fang Xing felt a flicker of doubt in his heart, but he paid it no mind and had no intention of avenging Qiao Wuyong.

"Blackie!"

He called out, and a black snake immediately slithered over.

"Enlightenment Technique!"

Fang Xing casually sent a ball of green light into the black snake's body, sensed it briefly, and nodded in satisfaction: "Good... after this molt, you will surely ascend to Cultivation Stage Nine."

(End of Chapter)