Chapter 403: Don

“Those children weren’t sent away—they were sent into the imperial palace.”

“They were all… all purple and blue like ghosts, silent and motionless, yet still breathing.”

“He said it was a sin, that harming so many children would bring retribution, and that I must watch my son closely.”

“Sure enough, the son his wife bore him died of illness before he was a month old, and my son… also drowned in the river before he was even grown.”

“What kind of world is this? What kind of world is this…”

Fine as silk threads, icy rain continuously fell from the sky, pattering to the ground and pooling into vast puddles along the dilapidated official road.

The speeding carriage roared through the puddles, splashing water everywhere.

Inside the bumpy carriage, Kuang Cheng’s mind kept replaying the concubine of the Minister Wang’s words, leaving him utterly chilled.

His thoughts were correct, but he had misunderstood two key details.

The first detail: those children weren’t sent to others—they were sent to the imperial palace to begin with.

The other detail: the children brought here weren’t waiting to become vessels—they had already been filled with the so-called immortal fortune from the ruins.

【Not only did the orphans vanish, but also the three imperial princes went missing.】

【This new policy was severe—it executed a great many officials.】

【Since the sudden change of the era name, Qingyun’s peace has declined year after year.】

【Great Xia was once the most powerful empire in Qingyun, yet it ultimately became nothing but a tool of the immortal sects.】

Countless fragmented pieces of information flooded his mind at once, making him tremble uncontrollably.

He must return immediately—he could no longer let Mu Jing investigate further, or he would be in grave danger.

Boom—

Thunder rumbled faintly, rain drizzled mistily, from dawn until nightfall.

The entire Shengjing lay beneath thick, dark clouds, perpetually gloomy, as if a black cloth had been draped over the horizon, airless and sealed.

The carriage, having raced all day, arrived in Shengjing half an hour early and halted before the water shop in the southern city.

Kuang Cheng lifted the carriage curtain and leapt out immediately, ignoring the splashing mud, heading straight for Mu Jing’s residence.

Mu Jing lived in Willow Leaf Alley in the southern city; his house was larger than Kuang Cheng’s. When Kuang Cheng had no money to repair his home, he had always stayed at Mu Jing’s, so he knew the address well and soon arrived at the gate.

But the moment he stepped inside the compound, he sensed something was wrong.

The house was too silent—not a single insect chirp or bird call, and in the pitch-black night, not a single lamp glowed.

Had they gone to bed this early?

Kuang Cheng breathed heavily, a faint unease in his chest, walking through the compound toward the front hall.

His instinct was to knock on the main hall’s door and call out, but before he took a few steps, he saw a figure calmly sipping tea at the courtyard’s tea table.

In an instant, Kuang Cheng stopped.

“Kuang Cheng, you left the city during your duty without seeking leave from me.”

“Director He…”

Kuang Cheng paused slightly, his gaze growing rigid.

Before him, He Jingyuan, thick-bearded and thick-browed, stared at him with eyes like a tiger’s.

The Imperial Immortal Supervisory Office was established after Great Xia’s new policy; He Jingyuan was personally promoted by the Emperor.

He was a former student of the late Emperor, marginalized over twenty years ago due to court infighting, then oppressed for years by the Chong Prince’s faction, allied with immortal clans, until he angrily resigned and joined the military. After years on the northern frontier, he was recalled by the current Emperor—he was a true close minister of the Son of Heaven.

When Kuang Cheng heard the concubine say the children were sent into the palace, seeing him didn’t surprise him at all.

“You’ve traveled far—have some tea first.”

Sensing the silence, He Jingyuan picked up the teapot and poured a cup for him.

Kuang Cheng’s throat moved slightly: “Where is Mu Jing?”

“Sit down first. Let’s talk slowly.”

Kuang Cheng understood the initiative was no longer his; he sat gently on the stone bench.

Seeing him seated, He Jingyuan pulled a paper-wrapped bundle from his robe and placed it on the table: “Are these the documents left by Minister Wang?”

Kuang Cheng looked at the ledger inside the paper bag—he knew they had already been to his home: “Director He, this has nothing to do with Mu Jing. It was merely my own excessive curiosity—I wanted to know what was transported to the palace with the tax tribute all those years ago.”

“Then since you’ve investigated, what do you have to say?”

“I have nothing to say. I’m merely astonished that the Imperial Immortal Supervisory Office and the Emperor are allied with those ancient clans.”

“No, you’re wrong,” He Jingyuan shook his head. “Those clans and the immortal sects are the same breed—greedy, murderous, insatiable. We merely use them in turn.”

Kuang Cheng thought of Huwa, who searched daily for his sister, and smiled bitterly: “Forgive this humble servant’s dullness—I cannot comprehend such profound truths.”

“You haven’t lived through it, so you don’t understand. But this story is long—you must listen carefully.”

“I am eager to hear.”

He Jingyuan looked up at him: “Do you know that before Great Xia unified the Nine Provinces, the immortal sects were all reclusive, and there were far fewer clans?”

Kuang Cheng stared at him without expression: “I’ve read the Qing history—I know these things.”

“Correct. At that time, though humanity had just endured war and countless refugees wandered, the Nine Provinces were rich in resources, so life wasn’t yet unbearable. But after Great Xia unified the Nine Provinces, the immortal sects tasted the sweetness of universal tribute and began recruiting disciples en masse, expanding their power. From that moment, they ceased being descendants of virtuous sages and became plunderers of Qingyun.”

“Soon, they seized full control of their respective major provinces, yet their ambitions remained unsatisfied, so they turned against each other, competing fiercely, spawning countless clans, each dominating their own territory, no longer under Great Xia’s control. Their annual tribute demands grew ever larger, making Great Xia increasingly unable to bear the burden, and public resentment swelled.”

“But the problem was—the Sacred Artifact was in their hands; no one could restrain them.”

Every Xia emperor had long suffered under the immortal sects, knowing that only by attaining power greater than theirs could this distorted system be dismantled, so they turned their attention to ancient ruins, searching and exploring—and in the blink of an eye, a hundred years passed. Finally, during the reign of the late emperor, we discovered how to open the ruins.

“But by then, the court had already been infiltrated by cultivators. Led by the Chong Prince, the pro-immortal faction held real power with the support of the sects and clans. We could do nothing—some were dismissed, others persecuted, countless people withdrew from court entirely.”

“After the late Emperor’s death, the current Emperor ascended. That year, the barbarians attacked the northern wall more fiercely than ever. The Emperor personally went to the northern frontier to boost morale, living and eating with us for a long time. At that time, each of us seemed to carry a fire in our hearts—but that fire was merely an emotion, like resentment against the world, utterly useless.”

“What we didn’t expect was that things gradually improved, because the Chong Prince and Wei Li’s greed grew ever greater—the official tribute payments shrank, yet their own pockets swelled. Over time, this angered the immortal sects, and gradually, the Emperor regained some real authority.”

“So we opened the ruins, found the immortal fortune within, and spent years testing it repeatedly.”

“But while it sounds simple, it was anything but easy. The imperial house had been weak for far too long, and we had too few allies. With such a vast power gap, we could manage small schemes, but to plan a grand strategy—we were stretched too thin.”

“So the Emperor began secretly plotting, intending to use the greedy and vengeful clans, guiding them to Qiling, Danshan, and the sacred sites of the sages, to fulfill our plan—and meanwhile, let them destroy each other in mutual ruin.”

“Among us was a true prodigy blessed by Heaven’s Mandate—he executed this plan flawlessly. Finally, the strongest elder passed away, the heads of the major immortal sects lost their peak strength, and most crucially, during the time the Sacred Artifact was shielded by Heaven’s Dao, the ancestral temple could no longer hold the severed fate-line—it was absorbed by the containers we had prepared in advance. Soon, the sacred site will open, and we will seize the entire clan’s fate-line, utterly destroying the immortal sects and changing this world!”

“The Emperor once said you and we are kindred spirits. The one blessed by Heaven’s Mandate even called you one of the rarest pure hearts in this world. Kuang Cheng, we have never been enemies—we are the ones who must join hands to change the world.”

After speaking, He Jingyuan stared intently at Kuang Cheng.

He knew Kuang Cheng was clever—he would understand the meaning behind his words.

The courtyard fell silent for a long time; even the sound of icy rain falling was clear and soft. Just as He Jingyuan was growing impatient, Kuang Cheng finally spoke: “So where is Mu Jing?”

He Jingyuan’s eyes froze instantly: “Is that all you have to say?”

“I lack the insight to comprehend such grand ambitions. All I wish to know now is where Mu Jing truly is.”

Kuang Cheng lifted his head, expressionless, voice devoid of any emotion.