The impulse passed quickly, and Song Qingshu let it go with an easy smile.
His state of mind had shifted again — further than he quite realised. He had always been broadly equanimous, but what he felt now was something closer to genuine detachment from the world’s ordinary concerns.
‘Zhiruo and the others must be worried. Time to go back.’ Aware that he had been gone for some time, he rose and headed for the door. Near the entrance, he stopped and looked back at the wall of tadpole script.
“I’m not the sort of pedantic fool Zhang Wuji was — mastering the Nine Yang Scripture and then burying it in the Kunlun Mountains for some destined successor to find one day.”
He raised his hand, intending to destroy the wall. Then he hesitated. ‘If I destroy it, the people of the Isle of Heroes will notice something’s wrong, and the trail will lead straight back to me…’
But leaving it intact meant leaving the possibility that someone else might eventually master these arts. The isle’s people were not allies — if one of them succeeded, they would be a formidable enemy.
He was still weighing it when his eye caught the wall again, and he went over to look more closely. After several careful checks, he confirmed it: the characters were all still there, every stroke unchanged — but the tadpole script had lost whatever living quality it had once possessed. The sense of movement, of something straining to leap off the stone, was entirely gone. What remained was like a body from which the soul had departed — the outward form, and nothing more.
‘Could it be that the text held some mysterious power, and once it passed its inheritance to me, it became ordinary script?’
He checked again and again until he was certain. Then he felt a genuine surge of relief. The problem had solved itself — the wall neither needed to be destroyed nor left intact as a threat. He could walk away and no one would ever know.
The old Song Qingshu might have felt a pang of guilt about this kind of thinking. The man walking out of the chamber now did not.
In the early days after transmigrating — whether because of the original host’s lingering personality, or because his meridians had been shattered and his situation desperate — he had been petty in ways he was not proud of. As his abilities and standing had grown, so had his perspective, and he had gradually become more genuinely open-hearted. But even then, a certain hypocrisy had clung to him — doing as he wished while dressing the act in high-minded justifications, so that he could feel at ease with himself.
In the quiet hours of more than one night, he had asked himself: how is this different from being a wh0re who puts up a chastity arch?
The brush with death just now, and the realisation of the Supreme Mysteries Scripture, had cleared something in him. His understanding had climbed to another level. Heaven and earth are not benevolent — they treat all things as straw dogs. From now on, Song Qingshu would act by the way of heaven and earth, not by the moral standards of the mundane world. Destroying the record of the Supreme Mysteries Scripture would serve his interests perfectly and leave no trace. He felt no guilt about it whatsoever.
“The Young Lord is out — we were just debating whether to call for you. You were quiet in there for rather a long time.” Zhang San smiled pleasantly. Normally you’re pestering to leave after a quarter of an hour, he thought privately. I’d started to wonder if you’d fallen asleep.
Li Si made a small sound of puzzlement. “Strange…”
Zhang San noticed it too. “Hmm. Why does the Young Lord seem to carry a certain… unworldly air about him just now?”
Song Qingshu’s heart gave a small start — he hadn’t expected the change from the Supreme Mysteries Scripture to be so immediately visible. He kept his expression easy. “That’s rather a clumsy piece of flattery.”
Zhang San rubbed his eyes and gave an embarrassed laugh. I must be imagining things. What unworldly air could this wastrel possibly have?
“The Young Lord’s time on the island is nearly up,” Zhang San said, setting the thought aside. “Please make your preparations — we’ll be departing for the Central Plains before long.”
Back to the Central Plains?
Song Qingshu felt a private leap of joy. A pampered young lord of this kind would certainly have had no affection for the Isle of Heroes’ remote and desolate shores — he let that joy show freely on his face. “Finally!”
Zhang San nodded to himself. There he is. Still the same little wastrel.
“One more thing,” Song Qingshu said. “The two women in my rooms come with me.”
Zhang San laughed pleasantly. “I’m afraid that won’t be possible, Young Lord. If the Island Master were to find out, not only would my brother and I face consequences — the Young Lord himself would be punished.”
“I’ll speak to the Island Master myself,” Song Qingshu said, holding Zhang San’s gaze steadily.
“But —” Zhang San was about to push back when something odd flickered in the young lord’s eyes, and he found himself nodding before he had decided to. “Well… all right, then.”
Li Si stared at his partner with visible bewilderment.
Once Song Qingshu had gone, Li Si seized Zhang San’s arm. “You. Why?”
Zhang San looked equally startled. “Damned if I know why I agreed to that…” He shook his head. “Never mind. Leave it. If anyone gets punished for it, it’ll be him.”
‘The Supreme Mysteries Scripture is something else entirely,’ Song Qingshu marvelled to himself on the way back. ‘Using it to amplify the Soul Capture Technique — even someone at Zhang San’s level gets caught off guard.’
“You’re back!”
At the sound of the door opening, both Zhou Zhiruo and Qi Fang brightened at once, and both rose to go and meet him — then caught each other’s movement and stopped.
Qi Fang recovered first. She was, after all, not the wife. A faint shadow crossed her eyes, and she sat back down quietly.
Zhou Zhiruo hesitated, then let her concern for her husband win. She crossed to him quickly. “Qingshu — no trouble?”
“None — in fact, I —” He was about to tell her the poison was gone, then caught sight of Qi Fang across the room, and swallowed the words. A faint, private smile crossed his lips.
“In fact what?” Zhou Zhiruo gave him a curious look.
“Nothing.” He redirected smoothly. “Get ready, both of you. We’re leaving the Isle of Heroes in an hour. Back to the Central Plains.”
Zhou Zhiruo gave a small nod. “Good — but we need to move quickly. If we alert those fighters on the island, things could become dangerous.”
“No need to worry about them,” Song Qingshu said with a slight smile. “The Isle of Heroes’ own people are sending us back.” He relayed what Zhang San had told him.
“Going on impersonating this young lord isn’t without risks — there are able fighters on every side of us, and a single misstep could be…” Zhou Zhiruo frowned.
He saw the unguarded fragility in her expression and felt something move in him. He reached out and drew her in. “Trust me. It’ll be fine.”
“If you’re sure, then…” Zhou Zhiruo accepted it, then — “Oh!” — let out a startled sound and shoved him back. “Don’t — don’t hold me wearing that face. It’s deeply unsettling.”
G: RIP to my laptop monitor. Will be working on my phone again until I can get it fixed.