Yanqing Conference
The bells of the Yanqing Assembly echoed atop Qinglang Mountain. The training ground was crowded with disciples and elders, and on the high platform sat the envoys sent from the capital to observe the ceremony. This assembly not only concerned the qualifications for inner disciples to become apprentices, but also directly determined who could accompany their sect to the capital to meet the emperor.
Su Qing stood in the line of disciples, gripping the wooden sword at his waist, but his gaze couldn't help but sweep over Cong Jing beside the drawing table—he was wearing a dark Taoist robe today and was arranging the drawing tubes as a "deacon of the conference." When his fingertips brushed against the bamboo sticks, there was a hint of coldness hidden in his eyes.
When it was Su Qing's turn to draw lots, she stepped forward and reached for the bamboo stick at the top of the container. Suddenly, Cong Jing "accidentally" knocked over the container, scattering the bamboo sticks all over the floor. "Junior Sister Su, don't panic, I'll rearrange them right away." He bent down to pick up the sticks, his fingers quickly swapping one engraved with "First Battle of Group C" with another engraved with "Last Battle of Group A." When he handed it back to Su Qing, his smile remained gentle: "Junior Sister is lucky; you drew the last battle of Group A. You'll have more time to prepare."
Su Qing took the bamboo stick, her fingertips touching the cool wood grain, but alarm bells rang in her heart—she had clearly seen "Group C First Battle" at the top of the stick container, how could it suddenly become "Group A Last Battle"? But in front of everyone, she couldn't question Cong Jing, the steward, so she could only grip the stick tightly and silently retreat. Back in the waiting area, Tong Que hurriedly ran over and handed her her rain-summoning artifact—a staff made of pine branches, a magical artifact that the mountain god had refined with his own spiritual power to help stabilize her energy channels. But as soon as Su Qing grasped the staff, she felt an unusual stiffness coming from the staff. Upon closer inspection, she discovered that the pine needles at the top of the staff had been cut off at the root, and a small piece of black wood tainted with evil energy had been stuffed into the core of the staff. If she were to participate in the competition with this magic weapon, the evil energy would definitely backfire along her energy channels when she cast the Rain Summoning spell. At that time, not only would the spell go out of control, but she would also be judged by the elders as "practicing evil magic".
"It was Congjing! It must have been him!" Tongque stomped his foot angrily. "Just now when I went to get the magic artifact, I clearly saw him lingering outside the magic artifact room!" Su Qing gripped her magic staff tightly, her knuckles turning white—from changing the lot positions to destroying the magic artifact, Congjing was pressing her step by step, clearly intending to embarrass her at the conference, or even expel her from the sect.
Soon, the Group A competition began. Su Qing's opponent was a disciple from a military family, wielding a longsword tempered with spiritual energy, who launched a fierce attack from the outset. Su Qing dodged the sword's edge and was about to raise her staff to cast a rain-summoning spell when the evil energy emanating from the staff suddenly surged into her body through her palm. A sweet taste rose in her throat, and she vomited blood. Her spell instantly became chaotic—the clouds gathering in the sky suddenly turned black, mixed with wisps of evil energy. An uproar erupted below the stage, and the elders on the high platform paled. The leading ancestor shouted in a deep voice, "This woman's spell contains evil energy; could she be a heretical cultivator?!"
Among the observing officials, someone echoed, "Qinglang Mountain is a prestigious and righteous sect; how can we allow evil cultivators to infiltrate? They should be expelled from the mountain immediately!" Jin Jing stood below the platform, a smug smile playing on her lips, as if she could already see Su Qing being driven away. Su Qing clutched her chest, forcing herself to stand up, her mind racing—if she argued now, she would only be seen as making excuses; if she gave up resisting, she would completely lose the chance to go to the capital to clear her name.
In that critical moment, she suddenly remembered that the mountain god had said, "Pine branch ritual implements can exorcise evil spirits when they encounter pure spiritual power." She immediately bit her fingertip and dripped her blood onto the tip of the staff. Her blood carried the mountain god's remaining pure spiritual power. As soon as it touched the staff, she heard a "sizzle," and the black wood in the core of the staff instantly turned to ashes. The broken pine needles even sprouted new buds again.
Immediately afterwards, she focused her mind and gathered her energy, using her own spiritual power to activate her staff. The dark clouds in the sky quickly dispersed, and instead, fine rain fell, not only relieving the chaos caused by the evil energy, but also precisely nourishing the withered seedlings beside the training ground.
"Ancestor, please understand!" Su Qing bowed and said, his voice weak but clear, "My magic weapon was tampered with and filled with evil black wood. The chaos of the spell just now was an accident."
"Now that I have expelled all evil spirits, I beg the Ancestor to examine the ritual implements!" The elders immediately sent someone to fetch the staff, and sure enough, traces of residual evil spirits were found in the staff's core. The Ancestor's expression softened slightly, his gaze sweeping over Congjing beside the divination platform, his tone becoming more serious: "The assembly's stewards must thoroughly inspect the ritual implement room and the divination cylinder. If anyone deliberately disrupts the assembly's rules, they will be dealt with according to the Qinglang Mountain laws!" Congjing's face paled slightly, but he still bowed and replied: "Yes, disciple obeys."
The crisis was finally averted. When Su Qing stepped off the training ground, her legs were still trembling. Tong Que quickly stepped forward to support her: "Are you alright? You scared me to death!" She shook her head, but a sense of emptiness welled up in her heart. In the midst of that terrifying moment, she had tried to call upon the Mountain God several times, but the blue mark between her brows remained cold, and the Mountain God's voice never rang out.
Back in the bamboo hut, Su Qing sat under the lamp, repeatedly stroking the blue mark between her brows, the warmth there seemingly vanished completely. She recalled how the mountain god always appeared in time whenever she encountered danger, but why was the mountain god suddenly silent today, given the perilous nature of the Yanqing Assembly? Was it due to excessive depletion of spiritual energy, or had it encountered some kind of danger? Countless questions flooded her mind, filling her with worry and fear—without the mountain god's help, how would she cope with Cong Jing's relentless pressure, how would she gain a foothold on Qinglang Mountain, and how would she travel to the capital to clear the Yin family's name? Moonlight streamed through the window, falling on the wooden sword and staff on the table, reflecting on her weary face.
She clutched the silver hairpin tucked into her robe, murmuring softly, "Immortal Master, where are you? Are you in danger?" Only her echo pierced the empty bamboo hut; the blue mark between her brows remained cold, offering no response. The bitter taste of the herbs still lingered on her tongue. Su Qing curled up in the straw, her body burning with fever, her consciousness like cotton wool submerged in water, too heavy to lift. In her dazed state, the past she had deliberately suppressed suddenly surged forth like a tide—when she was five, chasing butterflies in the garden, she accidentally knocked over her mother's dressing case. A silver lock she had never seen before rolled out, engraved with the words "Yin Qing." When her mother arrived, her eyes reddened the moment she saw the lock, and she choked back tears as she hugged her, saying, "This is your sister's… If she were still here, she would be as tall as you." Later, she overheard from an old servant that on the day she was born, her wet nurse, taking her twin sister under the pretext of getting some fresh air, had vanished without a trace. Her father searched for three years without success, and her mother cried day and night. It wasn't until she turned three and her features gradually resembled her older sister's that her mother slowly recovered and even adopted the name "Yinqing"—she was, from the very beginning, a substitute for her older sister.
She remembered how her mother always loved to dress her in pink dresses, even though she always said she preferred plain colors; she remembered how her father taught her silversmithing and always sighed, "If your sister were here, she would definitely be more talented than you"; she remembered how her eldest brother would stare at her face in a daze when he gave her candied fruit and whisper, "She looks just like you, so much like you."
She used to think it was just family affection, but now she realized that all that tenderness was wrapped in longing and regret for someone else. "So... I was never really myself." Hot tears fell onto the pillow. She tried to raise her hand to wipe them away, but she didn't even have the strength to lift her hand. Just then, the bamboo house door creaked open, and a familiar figure stood against the light in the doorway—it was Jin Jing.
Jin Jing, holding a basin of cold water, rolled her eyes when she saw Su Qing was awake. Her tone was sharp as ice: "How old are you? You've ruined yourself like this after just one competition, and you're even crying with a fever. If word gets out, the outer disciples will laugh their heads off." With that, she slammed the basin down on the table, soaked a handkerchief, and handed it to her irritably. "What are you standing there for? Put it on your forehead. Are you going to get brain damage from the fever and forget how to use the Rain Summoning Technique?" Su Qing clutched the handkerchief, her fingertips touching the cool fabric, but a strange warmth welled up inside her.
She had thought Jin Jing would take the opportunity to mock her or laugh at her, but she hadn't expected this scene. "You... why are you here?" Su Qing's voice was hoarse from the fever.
Jin Jing kicked the straw on the ground, her gaze drifting to the window, her tone still unpleasant: "I was passing by on my way back to my room just now and heard some noise coming from your room. I thought a thief had broken in. Who knew it was you crying and sobbing here? What bad luck."
She paused, then added, "Don't think I'm just concerned about you. I just don't want you to die here and people to say that my Jin family took advantage of you. Also, I saw clearly from the high platform that your magic artifact was tampered with. Be careful of Cong Jing in the future. He looks respectable, but he's very cunning." Although her words were harsh, Su Qing understood the underlying warning.
She watched Jin Jing's retreating figure, clutching a cold handkerchief to her forehead, and the delirium brought on by the high fever subsided somewhat. It turned out Jin Jing wasn't truly bad; she just habitually wore a sharp exterior to conceal herself. It turned out she wasn't alone; even her former "rivals" could offer a little warmth unexpectedly. The mountain wind outside the window continued to blow, but the grievances and fears in Su Qing's heart gradually faded.
She took out a silver hairpin from her clothes, her fingertips brushing over the character "Jing" on the hairpin, and then touched the cold blue mark between her eyebrows—although the mountain god had not appeared, she still had herself, Tongque's concern, and even Jin Jing's awkward kindness.
The road ahead still had to be walked; feeling dizzy and lightheaded, I drifted off to sleep.
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