In Gengchen Immortal Mansion, authority flowed like rivers into the Fengshan clan. For generations, the sect leader’s seat had almost always been theirs. Around it stood the eight great palaces—Heaven, Earth, Yin, Yang, Sun, Moon, Star, and Four Seasons—each spawning main branches, minor branches, and countless offshoots, until the whole sect resembled a sprawling forest of power and lineage.
Liao Tingyan, however, was a leaf at the edge of that forest: a disciple of Qinggu Tian, a minor branch beneath the Red Maple lineage of the Four Seasons Palace.
The Red Maple branch itself was no small name—it had been the Xiao family’s territory for nearly a thousand years. The elder who had dared provoke Sima Jiao on the Three Sacred Mountains, and died for it, was one of their own: a senior elder of the Xiao clan, son of their former head.
Inside a quiet chamber, Xiao Huaying knelt before a man who looked scarcely older than thirty. Her voice cracked with grief.
“Great-grandfather, you’ve finally emerged from seclusion. You must seek justice for grandfather!”
The man she pleaded with was Xiao Changlou, once the Xiao family head. His features were still youthful, unfairly so—his long seclusion of three hundred years had preserved him better than the years had preserved his sons or grandsons. He had shut himself away chasing the Great Perfection realm and failed to grasp it, but his aura still carried the weight of centuries.
“Justice?” His voice was flat, almost bored. Xiao Huaying had been a child when he secluded himself; only a faint impression of her lingered in his mind.
“Yes!” she pressed, eyes burning. “Lord Cizang may be our ancestral master, but how could he humiliate Red Maple so? Grandfather only went to investigate the Three Sacred Mountains, and he killed him as if swatting a fly! Everyone will see this as a slap in our Xiao family’s face. And grandfather—he’d already burned his soul rebirth once. This time he’s truly gone forever!”
Xiao Changlou gave no sign of anger. His words were cold as stone:
“So what if it’s a slap? If Sima Jiao wishes to kill, he kills. Who will stop him? Who will even dare speak against it?”
He sneered inwardly. The Sima clan, once the proud master of Gengchen, was now reduced to one man—and that one man was a prisoner of fate. Even so, he could still silence the Xiao family with a flick of his hand.
Xiao Huaying faltered, stunned. “Great-grandfather, are we truly just to let this pass?”
“I warned your grandfather long ago. Keep brooding over the Xiao dead from Sima Jiao’s madness, and sooner or later he’d join them. And now he has. Enough—leave.”
Though grief still twisted her face, Xiao Huaying dared not argue. She left, shoulders slumped.
But the moment she crossed the threshold, her expression hardened into pure hatred. She had grown up on stories of Gengchen’s rise and the Sima clan’s dominance. Awe, yes—fear, no. She had never lived beneath the weight of Sima tyranny, and so could not understand her great-grandfather’s caution. In her mind, no matter how terrifying an ancestral master might be, he was still just one man. Against a great family, he should be crushed.
“Go to Qinggu Tian,” she snapped to her attendants, her face dark with fury.
If she couldn’t touch Lord Cizang, she could vent her anger on the disciple who had survived him.
By the time she arrived, Qinggu Tian was no longer the backwater branch it had been. Visitors streamed in and out, bearing gifts, their faces full of forced cheer. Shi Zhenshu, the venerable pillar of the sect leader’s lineage, stood at the heart of it all. His very presence pinned the place like an anchor in stormy seas.
Xiao Huaying’s stomach soured. Shi Zhenshu was of higher generation than her, and with him here, any chance of striking at that disciple was gone. She cursed silently.
How laughable—the Shi clan, once mere retainers of the Sima, now sat in the sect leader’s seat and still wagged their tails for that clan’s last remnant. Dogs wearing crowns.
True Immortal Dongyang, Qinggu Tian’s branch master, sat nearby with a face caught between panic and forced composure. Shi Zhenshu leaned toward him, smiling with kindly authority.
“Dongyang, don’t worry. A disciple of yours who can win the ancestral master’s notice—this is a blessing. If she remains by his side, Qinggu Tian will never know hardship again. Perhaps even a main branch’s seat will be yours.”
Dongyang bowed, voice steady, but his thoughts in turmoil. Joy was drowned beneath dread.
Elsewhere, in the Yuanmei branch, Yuan Shang sat cloaked in shadows. The eighteenth son of the Yuan head, and his most beloved, Yuan Shang had been motionless since hearing the Three Sacred Mountains’ news.
That the spy he had planted—Liao Tingyan—was the sole survivor? It was almost absurd.
He knew well what the other factions were plotting. Some wished to shield Sima Jiao, others to slay him, but all clawed toward the same goal: to carve wealth and power from the corpse of the Sima clan. Yuan Shang alone sought something different—Gengchen’s ruin.
And now, fortune had handed him the perfect knife: a woman under Sima Jiao’s eye, still bound to him by bone-eroding poison.
Even Sima Jiao could not save her.
Meanwhile, Liao Tingyan slept through the day like a salted fish bloated in water. Outside, plots, hatreds, and legacies clashed. Inside, she snored.
When she finally woke, dusk had fallen. The world beyond the tower was veiled in spiritual mist, lending a decadent beauty to the ruined mountains. She stretched, bubbling with renewed energy.
No Sima Jiao, no giant snake in sight—perfect. She was free to breathe again.
Only the sentient flame remained, hands on nonexistent hips, bellowing:
“Useless! All those useless brats of Gengchen, and they still couldn’t kill him! A perfect chance wasted!”
Sometimes, Tingyan truly wondered whose side the flame was even on. One moment, it claimed it shared Sima Jiao’s fate; the next, it prayed someone would kill him outright.
Curious, she wandered to the shattered tower’s edge and peered down. There stood a dark figure beside a bed of strange blossoms. The black snake strained its body, carefully rolling away fallen stones to protect the flowers.
The Youduan flowers of sun and moon—the only plants in the mountains.
Sima Jiao lifted his head, eyes sharp even across the distance. He beckoned her with a single flick of his hand.
She tried to shrink back. No use. Pretending not to see him was laughable. Resigned, she trudged down twenty flights of stairs until the flowers’ violet glow touched her skin.
But when she arrived, Sima Jiao was gone. Only the snake remained, diligently shifting rubble.
Then, a whisper brushed her ear: “Why did you take so long?”
She nearly hurled herself into the flowerbed. Spinning, she stumbled straight into his arms.
…Great. That looked exactly like throwing herself at him.
If only he’d trigger his dreaded truth buff. Then she could blurt her innocence without doubt.
But Sima Jiao merely gave her a flat look, the kind reserved for women who’d tried that trick before.
“Do you know what these are?” He gestured at the flowers.
“Youduan flowers of sun and moon,” she said quickly. (Damn it, where’s the truth buff when you need it?)
Sima Jiao’s hand brushed over the blossoms. As the sun set, their petals shifted from white to black, their leaves reversing in turn. Wherever his fingers passed, the flowers darkened, as if colored by his touch.
“Do you know how they grow?”
“No…”
He plucked a petal and let it fall. “They are born from pearls left behind when members of my clan die. One pearl, one flower.”
Tingyan froze. She glanced at the vast bed of blossoms. Each flower… a grave. A silent chorus of the dead.
“When we die, our bodies vanish. Only a pearl remains. I scattered them here. Beautiful, aren’t they?”
Horrifying. Romantic. Both. She nodded. “Beautiful.”
“Then take one. Pick whichever you like.” His eyes bored into her, sharp as blades.
Every instinct screamed trap, but with Sima Jiao, refusing wasn’t an option. She reached out and snapped a flower.
Only then did he add, “Some are medicines that cure any poison. Others are poisons beyond cure. No one can tell them apart.”
Her lips parted. “…Hiss.”
So maybe, maybe, she’d picked salvation. Or doom.
Sima Jiao’s mouth curved faintly. “Seeing as you’re still standing, I’d say you chose medicine. Lucky you.”
And with that, Liao Tingyan collapsed.
Chap 13
.jpeg)
.jpeg)