Chapter 9: Concealment

Liu Jing was an old Crimson Robe, well-traveled and experienced; seeing the monk also pacing endlessly within the plum grove without finding a way out, he knew the man had fallen into the illusion.

Liu Jing frowned, hand resting on his saber hilt. "This plum garden belongs to your temple, doesn't it? A small plum grove—why would there be an illusion barrier?"

The monk, drenched in cold sweat, hurried to explain: "Though the garden falls under temple ownership, the abbot said beautiful scenery should be shared with all, so only two walls were built; the other two sides were never enclosed, and anyone may enter to admire the view."

We monks only prune, fertilize, and water; otherwise, we let the plum trees grow freely and never interfere with what happens within the grove. We truly do not know when this illusion barrier arose—it has even trapped me."

Liu Jing snorted.

After a moment's thought, the monk said: "All illusion barriers require external objects. These plum trees cannot move, but the movable things in the grove are mostly stones. Why not move every stone we can see? Perhaps that will break the barrier."

A flame of anger smoldered in Liu Jing's chest; he gritted his teeth and kicked at every stone he could see. The method might not work—he knew it—but even the most potent illusion arrays often concealed their components from sight.

He kicked away several stones, then spotted a large boulder near the roots of a plum tree, one that required manual removal.

He scowled as he moved it, then straightened up to find the plum tree roots he'd seen earlier now far away; after moving the boulder, a wide gap opened between two plum trees ahead.

Liu Jing's brow tightened; he scanned the suddenly altered surroundings, hands gripping his saber hilt as he stepped slowly forward.

The space opened abruptly—a flat, unblemished clearing between two rows of plum trees, and naturally, not a soul in sight.

How could there be a place with not even a single footprint?

Liu Jing turned to look back at the path they'd just walked, then at this place—everything felt wrong. He ground his boot into the soil, then crouched to examine it closely. Strange—this earth showed signs of both old and new soil.

He pressed his face to the ground, sniffing the scent of the soil; his expression changed slightly, and he rose instantly to scan the surroundings.

The monk hurried over, curious. "Sir, what's wrong?"

Liu Jing's face was grim. "Who came to the plum garden today?"

The monk stared at him blankly. "Sir, this plum garden lies outside the temple; our back gate is usually closed. Today, none of our monks came here—we truly don't know who entered the garden."

Liu Jing scanned the area, his gaze sharpening; he pushed past the monk and approached a plum tree for closer inspection.

The monk saw it too and cried out, "Oh no! Who cut this? They've carved a huge gash into the plum tree!"

The wound on the tree was chaotic—bark and wood flayed outward—but the color was fresh, clearly cut not long ago.

Liu Jing examined the wound closely: whoever struck it had used tremendous force—the cut was deep, so deep the blade must have been hard to pull free, forcing the attacker to rock it up and down to extract it, which created such a ragged tear.

After searching long, Liu Jing found a small pile of wood shavings on the opposite side of the tree's roots.

He frowned at the ground, thinking it suspiciously clean.

The wound showed the cutter and the one who pulled the blade were different—the puller lacked strength, perhaps even height, forcing multiple up-and-down motions to free the blade.

Under such circumstances, the ground should be littered with wood shavings.

Liu Jing paced in circles, then dug into the soil directly beneath the wound; soon, he unearthed numerous fallen shavings and larger wood fragments.

He held the debris in his palm, but his gaze involuntarily drifted back to the ground he'd sniffed earlier…

As he pondered, the monk asked cautiously, "Sir, is there something wrong with this tree?"

"No," Liu Jing lowered his eyes, masking all emotion, and stood. "This tree is clearly dead now. Keep it—it's useless. Have someone cut it down and plant a new one."

The monk glanced at the gaping wound, wanting to say plum trees don't die so easily—even such a large cut might still heal.

But meeting Liu Jing's gaze, he hesitated, then nodded.

Liu Jing stared into his eyes, each word deliberate: "Cut it down immediately. This wound looks too ugly—it's frightening."

The monk hurriedly agreed. "I'll cut it down right away."

Liu Jing gave one final look around. "I'll come back later." Meaning: cut it before I return.

The monk reluctantly accepted.

Liu Jing re-entered the temple through the back gate; this time, he paid closer attention to the ground.

But beyond the gate lay paved blue stone, and many people passed through daily—he found nothing.

He sought out the temple's guest monk to inquire about visitors. "Has a little girl, around seven or eight, come or gone today?"

The guest monk thought, then shook his head. "No young female visitors today."

Liu Jing frowned, thinking he'd been mistaken, and returned to the plum grove.

The monk had already had the tree cut down; branches lay scattered haphazardly across the ground, the scene in utter disarray.

The already difficult-to-find evidence was now completely obscured.

Liu Jing stood silently beside it for a long time, until the monk ventured carefully: "Sir, this plum tree has grown for years—its roots are deep. We can't dig it out today. We'll wait until tomorrow—"

"No need to dig," Liu Jing said. "The roots still look healthy—they can sprout again. Leave it as is." The monk: … You should've said that sooner—I'd have left more branches. Now there are only two stumps.

But the monk dared not oppose a Crimson Robe; he only nodded, promising to make it sprout again as soon as possible.

Liu Jing turned and returned to the Garrison Command.

Wang Yong had not returned.

Wang Yong had been absent for three straight days; the Garrison finally sent men to his home, only to learn he hadn't returned there either—only then did they sense something was wrong.

But Liu Jing said nothing.

He placed the wood shavings, small wood fragments, and a paper bird together, closed the box, and put it in his drawer. After a moment's thought, he picked up the paper bird and went to the Pan household.

The Pan family was packing their luggage.

The events three days prior had terrified them; they had decided to move back to their hometown and no longer live in Jingcheng.

Seeing the Crimson Robes return, Pan Tao's face darkened, yet he forced himself to muster composure.

Liu Jing walked through their home, his gaze sliding over each face. "Who made this paper bird that hung from the veranda?"

!

Pan Tao saw the paper bird in his hand, his heart pounding; he laughed nervously. "My lord, what paper bird? That day was chaos—my family was terrified. I remember nothing about any paper bird."

Liu Jing smiled faintly, his finger tapping his saber hilt; Pan Bai quickly spoke up: "My lord, I hung that paper bird. I saw it at a roadside stall, thought it amusing, and bought it to hang."

He rushed inside, returned with a bag of silver, and pressed it into Liu Jing's hand. "My lord, does the paper bird offend you? Shall I buy another one—"

Liu Jing took the money, snorted at them, kept the paper bird, and turned to leave.

No one knew whether he'd simply invented an excuse to extort money—or whether he'd truly discovered something from the paper bird, and merely took the money as an afterthought.

No matter which way, the Pan family cannot afford to linger.

As soon as he left, Pan Tao said: "We can't stay any longer—we leave tomorrow."

Wang Shi: "But the belongings..."

"What we can't take, give to the neighbors—or leave it for the next owners. We depart at first light tomorrow." Pan Tao cut her off. "Life comes first—the Embroidered Uniform Guard has clearly fixed their eyes on us."

Wang Shi was deeply anxious, lowering her voice: "If we just leave like this, what if she comes back and doesn't find us?"

Pan Tao: "Be silent. From now on, never mention her again. Watch out for walls that have ears."

Pan Tao felt sorrowful; his heart was prickled as if ants were gnawing at it. Three days have passed—if she could return, she would have returned already.

Pan Tao entered the room to inform his mother they would depart at first light.

Old Lady Pan opened her mouth, wanting to ask, yet dared not.

The Embroidered Uniform Guard were everywhere; no one knew where they lurked, watching them now.

Pan Tao knelt half-bowed before her knees, whispering: "Mother, we're returning to our hometown. Once we arrive, everything will be fine."

Old Lady Pan's tears fell steadily; she choked out: "Changzhou is a thousand li away—we have little wealth, and we have elders and the weak. How can we travel?"

When the child left, she had been frantic and helpless, failing even to prepare travel funds for her. It is hard enough for our whole family to return to our homeland—how much harder for a little girl like her?

Old Lady Pan could only ask over and over: "Have you prepared the silver? Have you prepared the travel permits?"

Pan Tao knew she wasn't asking about their own family—she was asking about Pan Yun. His own tears fell too, but he could only nod, voice thick with sobs: "Everything is prepared, Mother. Don't worry. Everything will be fine. Everything will be safe."

Thinking of her eldest son's family exiled to Datong, Old Lady Pan finally gathered her strength and joined in packing their luggage, preparing travel rations.

The next day, the entire Pan family bid farewell to their neighbors and boarded the carriage they had rented from the stable, heading south.

They carried heavy luggage and had elders with them; the carriage moved slowly, estimated to take ten to fifteen days to reach Changzhou.

In contrast, Pan Yun and the other two, relying solely on their feet and occasionally hitching rides, moved far faster—three days had sufficed to reach De Da Ming from Jingcheng.

At this moment, the three sat at a small riverside stall eating noodles. Pan Yun looked up at the bustling canal nearby and asked: "Why don't we take a boat?"

Tao Ji: "We have no money."

Pan Yun: "Of course. A Daoist Priest sleeping in a Monk's temple—obviously broke."

Tao Ji suddenly found his noodles less appetizing. He set down his chopsticks and stared at her. "Are you eating or not? If not, we leave. We must reach Kaifeng tomorrow."

Pan Yun, legs aching from walking, stared blankly down at her noodles. She had never walked so far in her life.

The black cat, having finished the noodles it had picked from its bowl, elegantly wiped its mouth with a paw, then meowed twice at Pan Yun and extended its paw.

Pan Yun, expressionless, pulled out a handkerchief and wiped its paw. Seeing the glint at its mouth, she reached to clean it—the black cat sharply turned its head away, pushing her hand off with clear disgust.

(End of Chapter)