Chapter 2: Back in the Past

                           

When Zhan Yunwei regained consciousness, the mournful cry of a crow outside the window reached her ears.

A drop of warm water fell on her cheek, and someone held her close, weeping.

Yunwei opened her eyes. At first, only darkness greeted her, but as the moonlight streamed through the narrow window, she realized where she was.

A dungeon.

In the small, cramped space, women of all ages huddled together. Each face bore the weight of despair, some streaked with tears. In a corner, three handsome young men sat with furrowed brows, equally subdued.

Compared to the prisoners in the nearby cell, their situation was not terrible. The other cell was horrifying. Torture instruments were scattered, bodies coated in blood.

These were spiritual practitioners who had awakened their talents. Xu feared they might escape, so not only were formations laid on the ground, but the railings were also covered with dense talismans.

By the pale moonlight, Yunwei’s gaze swept over familiar faces. She paused, stunned.

Seeing her expression, the one holding Yunwei anxiously stroked her forehead.
"Yangyang, is there anything else uncomfortable?"

Yunwei’s eyes lifted to a haggard, pale face. Her voice was dry and soft:
"Second aunt…?"

Mrs. Hua’s tears fell freely. "Fortunately, you are fine… otherwise, the second aunt would have died of guilt…"

The midsummer night brought a bitter chill to the dungeon, yet Mrs. Hua alone carried warmth. Yunwei felt a dull twitch of pain in her dantian, proof that she was alive and awake. Six years had passed since her death, and yet she had returned to Shengping.

She remembered this moment so clearly because it coincided with upheaval in the spiritual realm.

The Immortal Alliance had opposed the dynasty’s massacre of civilians who had been tainted by evil energy, but the Ling Emperor, long dissatisfied with the Immortal Alliance, used this as an excuse to strike Immortal Mountain and seize the sacred "Xihe Sword."

Xianshan was defeated. Only those who evacuated with the artifact and the gravely injured young master survived. The once-glorious mountain was no more. Many monks had no time to escape—some perished on the mountain, others were imprisoned by the dynasty.

Now, the few in the cell were the imprisoned monks.

Mrs. Hua helped Yunwei upright and pressed a bowl of water to her lips. "Yangyang, drink some water."

The cool liquid soothed her throat, and Yunwei finally gathered the energy to recall what had happened.

Her cousin, Mrs. Hua’s daughter Zhan Xueyin, wept weakly.
"Mother… do you think Uncle and Young Master Pei will come back to save us?"

Mrs. Hua’s gaze turned icy. Her voice was sharp:
"I don’t know, and don’t ask me. Death is nothing to fear. You train, do you not fight against the heavens? Are you still afraid of the dynasty’s butcher knife?"

Yunwei understood her second aunt’s anger. Her iron resolve reflected the temper forged by hardship.

Spirit masters were precious, often born one among ten thousand. They could manipulate spiritual power, seal or purge evil energy—the hope of the spiritual realm.

Her cousin Zhan Xueyin was not particularly talented, yet Lingshan had always cherished her. She had often neglected cultivation, exclaiming:
"There are so many spiritual cultivators… it is not my turn to save people in Du’e City. What danger can there be on Spirit Mountain?"

Yet when Lingshan fell, Zhan Xueyin had no strength to protect herself. She clutched her three-month-old daughter and cried, dragging Yunwei along:
"Cousin, save me!"

Yunwei could not count how many clansmen she had protected. Exhausted, she had only enough strength to save herself—but the baby in her cousin’s arms… she could not abandon her.

Gritting her teeth, she took the infant and sent her into the formation with her last ounce of energy. The result: she and Zhan Xueyin fell into enemy hands.

Yunwei had no regrets. The baby was safe. Nothing was truly lost.

Since Zhan Xueyin’s arrest, she had wept endlessly, as though the sky had fallen. Yunwei, choked by her cousin’s sorrow, took a breath and said aloud:
"Don’t cry. The dynasty will not kill the spirit master. My father and the young master will return to save our clan."

It was true—but her father and Pei Yujing were gravely injured. Their return to the royal city would take months.

Hearing this, Zhan Xueyin’s tears ebbed, leaving only lingering fear.

The dungeon’s atmosphere remained grim. Spirit masters, pampered and protected on ordinary days, now faced the first sting of despair. Panic gnawed at their hearts. Even if the dynasty did not kill them outright, how long could imprisonment last? They recalled too many tales of ruthless treatment.

Yunwei leaned against Mrs. Hua, patting her aunt’s hand in comfort. Tears glistened in Mrs. Hua’s eyes. She had watched Yunwei grow, knowing her niece was pure-hearted. Grateful that Yunwei had saved her newborn daughter, she felt guilt for her eldest’s weakness and harm to Yunwei.

Yunwei knew her second aunt’s pain. In her previous life, Mrs. Hua had died trying to help her escape. Born motherless, she had been nurtured by this aunt since childhood, and she never regretted saving her cousin. This time, she would not let harm come to Mrs. Hua.

Yunwei lifted her eyes. Outside, the full moon shone brightly—a sliver of hope in the darkness.

The silence of the dungeon was broken by approaching footsteps.

A commanding voice called:
"The remnants of Lingshan are all imprisoned here?"

"Yes… who is asking?" the jailer replied cautiously.

"His Highness the Third Prince’s spiritual guard. His Highness orders me to interrogate someone."

The jailer froze.
"Who… who are you looking for?"

"The daughter of the lord of Changya Mountain, Zhan Yunwei."

Every monk in the cell had keen ears. No one spoke quietly. At those words, eyes turned to Yunwei. Even Zhan Xueyin, long at odds with her, felt a pang of sympathy.

The third prince of the dynasty was notorious—domineering, cruel, unpredictable. Tomorrow, the emperor would issue an edict, yet tonight, the prince sent for someone. His intentions were obvious.

The daughter of Changya Mountain, betrothed to Pei Yujing, was famed for both her spirit master talent and her beauty—a destined future mistress of the spiritual realm.

But the dynasty’s shadow now loomed over everything. Even beauty became a sword hanging over her head.

Yunwei looked at her aunt, stiff and pale, then down at her own hand. Her elixir was damaged; every movement brought pain.

The jailer hesitated.
"Your Majesty will deal with these remnants tomorrow. It… makes sense for the third prince to take people tonight… do you dare disobey?"

The jailer dared not refuse. The imperial prison had merged into Chetianfu three years prior, under their unyielding control. Crossing them would mean death in a far crueler form than execution.

Yunwei held her breath, wondering if history would repeat itself this life.

After a tense moment, the jailer said:
"This master waits. I will find someone according to the roster."

Relief flooded Yunwei. The others were likely informing Chetian Mansion; she would not be taken tonight.

It was amusing—her safety, however fragile, was owed to Chetianfu.

Mrs. Hua, pale, grasped Yunwei’s hand firmly.
"Yangyang, you must go. The second aunt will send you away."

Yunwei tugged her sleeve gently.
"Second aunt, don’t worry. I still have some Fu. When I go out, I’ll find a way to get free."

Mrs. Hua believed her, relief softening her features.

Zhan Xueyin leaned forward timidly.
"I’m sorry… Mother. I’m sorry, cousin Yunwei."

For once, regret replaced envy. Though Mrs. Hua remained stern, she did not scold. Yunwei watched silently, a twinge of envy striking her. Only she knew how she longed for such a mother’s love.

Moonlight bathed Yunwei as she silently retracted her gaze, readying herself for what must come.

In the royal city, the silver moon hung high.

A line of men in black robes, embroidered with silver lotus patterns, drove down the "Blue-faced Ghost Crane." Night watchmen hurried out of its path.

Its wings stretched several feet, nearly blotting out the sky. Ordinary people, nobles, even officials, kept a wary distance.

The "Blue-faced Ghost Crane," a magical weapon of the Heavenly Mansion, resembled a giant crane with bluestone feathers, fanged jaws, and deadly claws.

Leading them was the ink-haired, jade-crowned head of Chetianfu, Yue Zhiheng. His eyes were narrow, cold, and calculating.

A subordinate greeted him.
"My lord, you are back."

Yue Zhiheng rubbed his fingers, expression tired but impatient.
"Something happened to Wang Cheng again?"

"This is not the case. The prison reports that His Royal Highness the Third Prince wishes to interrogate someone."

Yue Zhiheng’s tone was calm but sharp.
"The third prince wishes to interrogate?"

Shen Ye, walking behind him, caught a hint of mockery in his voice. The third prince, known for cunning rather than courage, now sought prisoners—likely to judge their beauty, nothing more.

Yue Zhiheng strode toward the mansion, fingers brushing over one hand, eyes cold, red mole under his eye prominent.

"Who does he want?" he asked.

The guard replied carefully:
"The Third Prince requests the daughter of Changya Mountain, betrothed of the young lord of Penglai, Zhan Yunwei."

Yue Zhiheng slowed, stopping before the Xiezhi in the mansion.

"Troublesome."

The guard broke into a cold sweat.
"The person who arrived at the prison at one o’clock… now it’s three o’clock…"

Shen Ye raised his head. Under the moonlight, the adults’ eyes froze on the guards, chilling in their silent authority.
"You mean… people have been taken without my consent?"

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