Volume One, Chapter 83: The Mysterious Plum Forest of Hidden Paths

Qin Yu was astonished by all that lay before her! Ling Mountain Temple had vanished without a trace, and in its place appeared a strange plum grove. Her round, deer-like eyes narrowed.

Had she not grown up in the temple, she might have doubted her own senses. Now, in the height of summer, the plum trees blossomed out of season, their blood-red buds dazzling and impossible to ignore.

This sudden appearance of the plum grove was surely unnatural.

Qin Yu activated a flight talisman, and soon her feet lifted off the ground; she soared above the plum grove.

From this height, she could see everything within the grove. The plum trees, though seemingly positioned in chaos, were actually arranged according to the principles of the Five Elements, Eight Trigrams, and the arcane arts of divination.

Moreover, the location of each tree was not fixed. If an intruder failed to follow the correct path, mechanisms would be triggered, causing the trees to shift continually until the intruder was trapped and killed.

Qin Yu hovered in the air for some time, noticing something peculiar in the southeast—the plum trees there were noticeably fewer.

She flew to the southeastern corner and descended.

From above, it was hard to see clearly, but up close, Qin Yu realized the trees were not simply fewer—they had been damaged.

She picked up a broken branch from the ground, examining it closely.

The trunk was not yet fully withered, and the plum blossoms at its tip were merely wilted, indicating the destruction had not occurred long ago.

Yet, the fractured ends of the branches were emitting black, ominous energy.

She had seen this black aura before—it closely resembled what she had encountered at the Su family.

She checked the remaining branches; all showed the same signs.

It seemed the person who had breached the formation had used ghosts to clear a path, sacrificing them to find the correct route.

Gazing at the boundless plum grove, she thought that person must have sacrificed a great number of ghosts.

“Go!”

Qin Yu formed a seal with her hands, and a yellow talisman from her waist pouch shot deep into the grove.

As the tracking talisman darted about, the snowy plum blossoms stirred without wind, filling the sultry air with a gentle rustling. Blood-red petals drifted down, as if the entire grove were experiencing a scarlet rainfall.

Qin Yu closed her eyes, wrapping her senses with spiritual energy to follow the talisman’s path.

Soon, the talisman completed its mission and burned away with a swift flash in the grove.

Qin Yu opened her eyes.

She reached into her pouch and withdrew three sheets of yellow paper between her fingers.

Channeling her spiritual power, she guided them to land on three specific plum trees—the southwestern corner, the northeastern corner, and the tree at the grove’s center.

Just now, as the trees shifted positions, only these three remained unmoved.

They must be the grove’s core.

Indeed, the movement ceased.

Qin Yu stepped inside.

The deeper she walked, the more she marveled at the ingenuity of these arcane formations.

Thinking of her teacher, with whom she had shared countless days, Qin Yu recalled how he always seemed unreliable, like an old trickster, causing her to overlook his true abilities.

Her expression darkened, and she grumbled to herself.

He always kept his talents hidden, never showing off. Ling Mountain Temple was small, yet her teacher had set aside an entire room as a study, filling it with three bookshelves of volumes.

When she was young, forbidden to leave the mountain, she spent her idle hours immersed in the study.

At first, unable to read, she sought out books with illustrations. But illustrated volumes were rare, and soon exhausted her curiosity. She pestered her teacher to teach her to read.

Whenever she encountered something she didn’t understand, she would bring the book to her teacher, who languidly rocked in his chair and dismissed her questions, “These are secrets, hard to tell truth from fiction. Just glance through them, there’s no need to dig too deep.”

But now, reflecting on it, Qin Yu realized most of those books contained the truth—he was simply too lazy to teach her.

After walking for about two minutes, Qin Yu stopped.

Ling Mountain Temple stood before her.

She hurried forward, heart pounding with nervous anticipation.

She pushed open the door; inside, the furnishings were exactly as she had left them.

The patch of earth at the entrance had been renovated by her teacher and turned into a vegetable garden, where he had planted many little radishes, now sprouting fresh green shoots.

“Teacher!”

Qin Yu called out as she ran inside.

The tiny temple echoed with her voice.

The louder she called, the more anxious she became.

With her voice so loud, her teacher should have heard her already.

She cautiously opened the door to the study. The pitch-black room was illuminated by Qin Yu’s entrance, the light falling upon an unmoving figure on the floor.

“Teacher?”

She called softly, uncertain, but received no response.

Her heart leapt into her throat, and she rushed over in three steps.

Seeing the familiar patches on the robe, Qin Yu felt half her heart freeze.

Those crooked patches were the first she had ever sewn for him.

She remembered how her teacher had complained about their ugliness, yet wore them with cheerful pride.

Taking a deep breath, Qin Yu carefully turned the body over.

When the familiar face came into view, she could no longer hold back, breaking down, “Teacher!”

Her trembling hand reached for his nose, but all she felt was chilling cold.

Her nose stung with grief.

——

There was a jujube tree in Ling Mountain Temple, and every winter its branches would be weighed down with fruit the size of a spoon.

Qin Yu loved nothing more than standing beneath it with a bamboo pole, knocking down jujubes.

Her teacher, toothless now, could only gaze at the fruit, drooling with longing.

Now, beneath that tree, a new grave had appeared, marked by a wooden plaque carved with graceful characters—

The Tomb of Master Lin Changxiu.

Qin Yu knelt before the grave, burning a basketful of gold ingots in the brazier.

“You loved money more than anything in life, yet never managed to earn much. I’ll burn you extra now. Enjoy yourself down below, and if it’s not enough, send me a dream and I’ll bring you more.”

Finally, Qin Yu burned a hand-cut traditional robe.

“You never bought anything for yourself! I’ll treat you better in the next world!”

Her nose burned with sorrow. She thought herself hardened to life and death, immune to tears, but her grief spilled uncontrollably.

She wiped her tears away with the back of her hand, not caring that the mud smeared her face.

Bowing three times in reverence, Qin Yu silently vowed, “Rest assured, I will find your killer.”

Mu Ling had already awoken, and following Qin Yu’s example, also bowed three times.

“Old man, rest easy! I’ll take good care of Xiao Yu.”

Qin Yu shot her a sidelong glance, her heart softening a little.

Returning to the study once more, Qin Yu gazed at the chaos and felt her eyes sting.

Her teacher had cherished these books most of all, and now they had been so cruelly defiled.

She used her spiritual energy to right the fallen bookshelf, then stooped to gather the scattered books one by one.

She knew these books better than anyone—except her teacher.

She sorted and returned them to their places, only then noticing that three slots were left empty where volumes should have been.

A brief inspection revealed the missing books: one chronicling ancient legends, one discussing the ways of the Three Realms, and one illustrated volume.

The contents, scope, and depth of these three books were so disparate that they seemed utterly unrelated.

Qin Yu stood before the bookshelf, the flickering candlelight casting her shadow on the wall—shifting between real and illusory.

Her brow furrowed.

So, what was the motive for killing and stealing the books?