Whispers of Fate (Shui Long Yin)

Good Cloud Mountain.

Shrouded in dense mist, this was the site of the Central Plains Sword Association, revered by swordsmen across the land. A mountain need not be tall to gain fame—so long as it houses immortals. Nestled within Good Cloud Mountain stood a courtyard of dark green tiles and unassuming bricks, home to the renowned Hall of Sharp Virtue.

The dark tiles of the Hall of Sharp Virtue were forged from broken sword scabbards, each shattered blade carrying a tale of heroism and sorrow. Two carriages slowly ascended to the hall’s entrance, where two figures awaited—one clad in purple with a sword strapped to his back, the other in gray, empty-handed. Yu Furen stepped out first from the carriage and clasped his fists in greeting. "Master Shao, Hero Meng."

The purple-clad swordsman was Shao Yanping, while the gray-robed man was "Gentleman Meng," Meng Qinglei.

Shao Yanping eyed the carriage with keen interest. Last time at Green Peak Cliff’s Azure Fall Palace, he had been silently outmaneuvered by Wan Yu Yuedan and Tang Lici, mistaking Bi Lianyi for Tang Lici. This time, he was determined to get a good look at the much-talked-about Young Master Tang and see what manner of man he truly was.

The carriage swayed slightly, and Shao Yanping’s heart stirred. A true master moved without disturbing even a fallen leaf—so why would the carriage rock? Before his doubts could settle, a figure emerged from the carriage. Dressed in pale gray robes and simple cloth shoes, the man’s footwear bore delicate cloud-patterned embroidery, exquisitely refined, while his attire was otherwise plain. His silver hair gleamed with vitality, and as he turned, his features were as striking as a painting—a true gentleman amidst the mundane world.

Shao Yanping studied the newcomer with fascination. Silver hair was unheard of, but that alone wasn’t the most remarkable thing. The scar on the man’s left eyebrow—clearly not natural, but a blade wound—caught his attention. Though he had never seen the weapon itself, he recognized the mark instantly. The scar bore two faint arcs, resembling twin plum blossom petals—the signature of Yu Mei Zhu ’s legendary blade, Yu Mei .

Yu Mei Zhu was a legend from thirty years past, said to be as cold and untouchable as ice, slaying evildoers with a single stroke. He had appeared in the Martial Arts World only a handful of times, rescuing several revered elders and once defeating all challengers in a single strike during a Central Plains Sword Association, earning him the title of the era’s foremost martial artist. But time had passed, and Yu Mei Zhu had long since vanished from the world. Few in the current Martial Arts World would even recognize his name.

The presence of Yu Mei ’s scar on Tang Lici’s brow filled Shao Yanping with exhilaration—this man was truly one of a kind, a rare treasure beyond compare. There was no one stranger in the world than Tang Lici.

As Tang Lici stepped down, three others followed from the carriage, one of them cradling an infant—an odd sight that drew curious glances.

"Young Master Tang," Meng Qinglei greeted warmly. "It’s been a long time. I trust you’ve been well?" He had met Tang Lici once before at the Imperial Father-in-Law’s estate in the capital and had formed a favorable impression of him. He also knew the man holding the baby was Chi Yun.

Tang Lici’s gaze flickered toward Meng Qinglei, and he smiled faintly. "I’ve been well." His steps were calm, his inner energy concealed, leaving Shao Yanping and Meng Qinglei unable to gauge his strength. He gave Shao Yanping a slight nod. "Hero Shao, I’ve long admired your reputation.""Not at all, it is I who have long admired Young Master Tang," Shao Yanping chuckled before sighing. "The entire Sword Association has been eagerly awaiting your arrival. Yesterday, the Dissolute Shop led a massacre against the Changfeng Sect. Though we arrived too late to prevent their annihilation, we managed to save dozens of wounded. We still don’t know what offense the Changfeng Sect committed against the Dissolute Shop. With your unparalleled intellect, Young Master Tang, you are just the person to help us unravel this mystery."

"Then... won’t you invite me for tea?" Tang Lici extended his sleeve with a faint smile. "And perhaps show me what the famed Hall of Sharp Virtue looks like?"

"Haha, your refined taste honors us, Young Master Tang. This way, please." Shao Yanping led the way inside. The Hall of Sharp Virtue was nestled in a land of thick mist, where white fog drifted endlessly through the doors and windows like an ethereal realm. Yet the heavy moisture made each breath feel stifling and oppressive. The hall’s interior was lavishly adorned, with exotic plants dripping moisture in the dense mist, their colors vivid against the pristine surroundings. Upon entering the guest hall, they saw over a dozen individuals of varying appearances scattered about. Some cast cold glances at the newcomers, while others rose to greet them. Among them, a peculiar figure clad in black robes with a black sword stood out—Cheng Yunpao, the "Frost Sword of Woe."

Tang Lici surveyed the crowd, but most eyes were not on him. Instead, they lingered on Shen Langhun with either surprise or disdain. To the righteous factions of the martial world, an assassin from Vermilion Dew Tower was nothing but a bloodstained villain. Shen Langhun remained expressionless, standing quietly behind Tang Lici. With a flick of his sleeve, Tang Lici stepped forward, hands clasped slightly behind his back, his posture aloof yet his words gentle. "Tang Lici pays his respects to all the esteemed seniors here. Your noble virtues and peerless swordsmanship have long been renowned. It is my great honor to meet you today."

His demeanor was intriguing—his stance lofty, yet his words humble and sincere, without a trace of pretense. The listeners found it strange but not offensive, even feeling subtly flattered, for receiving praise from Tang Lici was far different from hearing it from others. Cheng Yunpao slowly asked, "What do you intend to do now that you’ve come to the Sword Association?"

"To uncover the true mastermind behind the Dissolute Shop, their patterns of attack, their newly established strongholds, and... the whereabouts of Liu Yan," Tang Lici replied, a faint smile playing on his lips. "Liu Yan may be the face of the Dissolute Shop, but I believe the true mastermind is someone else. Moreover, another faction within the Dissolute Shop—the Red-Clad Servants—has yet to appear. These mysteries will take time to unravel, and to eradicate the threat of the Dissolute Shop, we must rely on the strength of the Sword Association."

"Haha, and the Sword Association must also rely on Young Master Tang’s prowess. Allow me to introduce—" Shao Yanping’s gaze lingered on the scar above Tang Lici’s left brow as he gestured to a figure beside Cheng Yunpao. "This is the 'Eastern Peak of the Cloud Sea'...""'Mr. Jiang of the Eastern Peak of the Cloud Sea,'" Tang Lici said with a faint smile, his gaze shifting to another man. "'And this is Shangguan Fei of the Nine Revolution Divine Arrow.'" Jiang Wenbo and Shangguan Fei were momentarily taken aback—both had retired from the Martial Arts World years ago, so how could Tang Lici recognize them? His eyes swept across the gathered guests as he addressed each with respectful titles, occasionally offering a word of praise that made them feel he was deeply familiar with their past deeds, not merely flattering them. Shao Yanping laughed heartily, "The banquet in the hall has already begun. Since you've all traveled far and hit it off so well, please fill your stomachs first before we talk further. This way, please, this way."

Tang Lici smiled slightly and raised his hand in invitation. The guests rose cheerfully and proceeded to the feast together.

Chi Yun watched coolly from the side, while Meng Qinglei chuckled and pulled him along, asking the maids of the Hall of Sharp Virtue to look after Feng Feng before heading toward the Liufang Hall. Shen Langhun's figure flickered slightly, vanishing just before Shao Yanping could call out to him. Yu Furen, surprised by Shen Langhun's sudden disappearance, followed Meng Qinglei into the banquet with a look of astonishment.

At the table, Chi Yun ate with his chopsticks in a domineering manner, acting as if no one else was present. Shao Yanping enthusiastically urged him to drink, and he accepted every toast without hesitation. Though all those seated were his seniors—even the youngest, Cheng Yunpao, was over a decade older—Chi Yun regarded none of them with deference. Given the renowned reputation of "Heavenly Cloud," everyone knew his temperament, so no one took offense. Most of the guests' attention, however, was focused on Tang Lici.

Tang Lici held his chopsticks in his left hand, his movements slow and elegant as he picked up dishes—a stark contrast to the typical martial artists. Shao Yanping, seated beside him, had sharp eyes and noticed over a dozen tiny wounds on his left hand, marks left by snake fangs. He was deeply puzzled—how could Tang Lici have been bitten by venomous snakes?

"May I ask, Young Master Tang, are those wounds on your hand from silver kraits?" a black-bearded elder across the table suddenly inquired. "And were there thirteen of them—the most venomous among silver kraits?" Chi Yun snorted at the question, but Tang Lici merely smiled faintly. He raised his right hand and pushed back his sleeve, revealing hands covered in numerous scars—his right hand even more severely marked than his left. The guests gasped in shock, and Jiang Wenbo exclaimed, "What is this?"

"For Young Master Tang to have been bitten by so many silver kraits yet show no signs of poisoning, it suggests his body already possesses resistance to venom," the black-bearded elder remarked. "However, silver kraits are not known to gather in groups, so this was no accident." Tang Lici examined the scars on his hands carefully before speaking. "The stronghold of the Dissolute Shop contains a total of one hundred and thirty-three traps..." He spoke eloquently, detailing the structure, layout, mechanisms, and positions of Piaoling Mei Yuan with precision. The guests listened intently, each gleaning insights from his words. Chi Yun watched coldly—Tang Lici spoke fluently and carried himself with ease, showing no trace of the madness from the day before. Yet the events in Bodhi Valley remained vivid in Chi Yun's mind. Could he truly have shaken off the shadows and returned to normal so quickly?

From what Chi Yun knew of Tang Lici, that white-haired fox was not the type to simply transcend his troubles—he was never one for transcendence.

That day in Bodhi Valley...

The seventeenth grave—Fang Zhou's tomb.The white clay sealing the tomb was indeed as sturdy as the legends claimed. Tang Lici, covered in burns, his hands dripping with blood, and his strength dissipated, could not possibly dig through the iron-hard burial soil with his bare hands. Shen Langhun stepped in to assist, and Chi Yun drew his blade to strike. Even with the combined efforts of the three, it still took them a full hour and a half to dig a hole into Fang Zhou’s grave.

Inside that hole lay a coffin—but not an Ice Coffin.

It was a flimsy wooden coffin, its planks cracked and of poor quality.

Sunlight streamed into the tomb, carrying with it a strange odor. Tang Lici stared unblinkingly at the thin wooden coffin inside—there was a jagged hole in it, as though someone had thrust a hand through it with tremendous force. Because the hole was so large, sunlight also seeped inside.

Everyone could see clearly—there was indeed a person inside the coffin.

A person with disheveled hair… a wound in their chest, truly heartless—this must be Fang Zhou…

Tang Lici staggered to his feet and with a thud , collapsed against the broken opening of the tomb. Shen Langhun and Chi Yun looked at the corpse inside, a chill creeping up their spines. Then—a scream, sharp and bloodcurdling, tore from Tang Lici’s throat. He clutched the tombstone with both hands, shaking it violently, slamming his head against it— thud , thud … Blood soon smeared the stone. Chi Yun yanked him back, gasping in shock—the corpse in the tomb…

The Fang Zhou in that tomb was a mutilated body—head severed, limbs hacked apart, chopped into over a dozen pieces by frenzied sword strikes.

Strange insects crawled over the corpse, and the rotting flesh emitted an unbearable stench. Was this the result Tang Lici had risked his life for, endured poisoned blades, snake bites, fire, and the agony of losing his strength to find? Was this the outcome he had gambled his closest friend’s life for three years ago, convinced that human effort could overturn fate? Was this the reason he had buried Fang Zhou’s heart inside himself, enduring the torment of two hearts beating in his chest? No matter what, he had believed he could save him—without hesitation, without doubt—believing he could rewrite the past, that he had never failed, that life had never known the word despair ! But—had it all just been a dream he conjured three years ago? Had everything been set in stone the moment Fang Zhou died? Had nothing changed at all? Had it all just been his own delusion… just his blind persistence in absurdities, thinking he had salvaged something when in truth, everything had already been lost…

Could a dismembered, rotting Fang Zhou still be revived?

That question was nothing but a cruel joke.

And for that joke, Tang Lici had paid nearly everything he had.

“Ha… haha…” Tang Lici slumped to the ground, one hand propping himself up, his silver hair spilling onto the dirt. It was impossible to tell whether he was laughing or crying. After a long while, he spoke a sentence that Chi Yun would remember vividly for years to come—he said—

“I believe… this couldn’t have been A-Yan’s doing… He—he must not have known…”Chi Yun had always been foul-mouthed, but he felt that the words he'd said back then were particularly awful. He remembered saying, "If it wasn't him who did the chopping, then who was it? He knew you'd come looking, so he deliberately hacked the body into mincemeat just to see the look on your face now." Shen Langhun's words at the time were also disgustingly harsh: "Let go. Holding onto illusions about such an enemy is signing your own death warrant. I believe your life, Tang Lici, is far more valuable than Liu Yan's."

But Tang Lici murmured, "I believe it absolutely wasn't A-Yan who did it. He must not have known, he must not have known, he must not have known... He wouldn't use such a coffin to bury Fang Zhou, he wouldn't treat him like this, he wouldn't, he wouldn't... There must be someone else... someone else who wanted to harm him, to harm me. I believe he definitely wouldn't, he definitely didn't know... He wouldn't do this to me, he wouldn't do this to me..."

This was what had happened in Bodhi Valley. Perhaps many details had faded from his memory—after all, he was never one to care about details—but the image of Tang Lici that day was something he would never forget in his lifetime.

Just how fervent can a person's emotions be? Some people go through life as still as an ancient well, unmoved by many things; others are sentimental, shedding tears over countless matters; then there are those whose emotions are like icebergs and raging fires—cooler than anyone when indifferent, more ruthless than anyone when heartless, yet more fervent than anything when passionate, so fervent they could easily burn themselves to death.

This fervor stems from what he lacks, what he doesn't have—so the little he does possess, he must cling to, must never let go.

He remembered once saying, "I rarely have friends."

To which the other replied, "Don't tell me that bastard Shen and I don't count as your friends?"

He said, "No. You... none of you know what I'm thinking, do you?"

What exactly constituted a "friend" to Tang Lici? Chi Yun buried himself in eating at the banquet, admitting he had never known what went on in Tang Lici's mind. But to Chi Yun, that never stopped him from considering that white-haired fox surnamed Tang a friend. Someone you drank with, ate with, killed and looted with—that was a friend.

At the banquet, Tang Lici had just finished describing the various arrangements within the Dissolute Shop, though he naturally made no mention of Zhong Chunji's fatal needle or the matter of Fang Zhou's corpse. Jiang Wenbo remarked, "Someone in the Dissolute Shop must have mastered Po Cheng Guaike's mechanical methods—or perhaps Po Cheng Guaike is one of them. But twenty years ago, I met him three times, and he was no villain. Having disappeared from the Martial Arts World for so many years, he's likely either imprisoned or already dead." The black-bearded elder, Serpent Venerable Pu Kui Sheng, added, "To plant explosives inside silver rings and command venomous creatures with such skill—in today's Martial Arts World, only those with extraordinary medical and poison arts like 'King of Black Jade,' 'Golden Physician of the Bright Moon,' or 'Millet Dream Granny' could possess such ability." Tang Lici raised his cup in toast, smiling faintly. "Your extensive knowledge has broadened my horizons, gentlemen." With this simple flattery, both Jiang Wenbo and Pu Kui Sheng felt their reputations burnished. Seeing him drink, they both urged, "Young Master Tang is injured—it's best to drink less." Pu Kui Sheng moved to stop him, sending a finger's energy slanting toward Tang Lici's wrist. But Tang Lici's fingers turned lightly, and Pu Kui Sheng's strike seemed to hit empty air, leaving him momentarily stunned. Tang Lici drained his cup in one go, set it down slowly, and smiled.