Volume Five: Destitution and Despair Northward Gaze at the Cloud Monument Chapter Fourteen: The Return

Su Mengling listened to Zhuo Hua and the head constable’s words and muttered to herself, “Very well! Let me first clarify my father’s situation; it’s never too late, even if I die afterward.” Then she called out loudly toward the jailer, “Jailer, Brother Jailer, come quickly and open the door.”

The jailer, carrying a bunch of keys, hurried to the cell door. As he unlocked it, he cautioned Su Mengling, “Miss Su, you must control yourself later. Don’t do anything foolish. We are of little influence; the weak cannot prevail over the strong. There’s an old saying: better to live badly than to die well. You’re still young!”

Su Mengling bowed gracefully toward the jailer with a squat and thanked him before stepping out of the cell.

Then the jailer went to Zhuo Hua’s cell door, unlocking it as he spoke, “Young master, judging by your appearance, you don’t seem the type to commit crimes. Miss Su is truly pitiful. Please persuade her well; she must not take her own life! Alas!”

Zhuo Hua nodded and said, “Thank you,” then hurried after Su Mengling, worried something might happen to her along the way.

They walked in silence, one after the other, following the head constable at a steady pace until they reached a large courtyard deep within the inner residence.

Outside the moon gate stood a man with a pockmarked face, gesturing for them to enter. Seeing they hesitated, he urged, “Please, you two! Didn’t you come to ask the city lord something? Why are you still standing there?”

Su Mengling showed no expression and strode inside boldly, with Zhuo Hua closely behind, not daring to fall behind.

They arrived at the main hall, the doors wide open, and inside, the sound of zither music and singing floated out. Zhuo Hua tugged on Su Mengling’s sleeve. “Ling’er, wait here. Let me go in first and see what’s going on.”

Su Mengling shook her head, biting her lip. “Big brother, since I’ve come this far, I must go in and confront that heartless Yan Muyun. I want to know what he did to my father.”

Without hesitation, she stepped inside.

Within the room, three or four dancing girls performed in the center of the hall, while several musicians on the left played wind, string, and percussion instruments. Both groups labored earnestly to entertain Yan Muyun, who lay sprawled on a soft couch.

The city lord of Moonview City, shamelessly exposed in broad daylight with his chest half bare and clothing in disarray, wore a lecherous smile that drew glances of disdain.

“Here you are! Have you eaten?” Yan Muyun asked lazily.

“Where is my father?” Su Mengling asked directly, cutting to the heart of the matter.

“He’s dead!” Yan Muyun, in a rare good mood, decided not to beat around the bush and spoke frankly.

“How did he die?” Su Mengling stepped forward, pressing him.

“He took his own life—ran his head into the white tiger statue at the government office gate,” Yan Muyun said, stretching lazily.

“That’s impossible. My father would never take his own life!” Su Mengling refused to believe him. Though a scholar by nature and gentle with others, her father was proud and resolute to the core; he would never succumb to despair so easily.

“So many people on the street saw it. Why would I lie to you?” Yan Muyun lay back, hands behind his head, humming along with the music.

“You...” Su Mengling was about to question further but was stopped by Zhuo Hua.

Zhuo Hua pulled her behind him and asked Yan Muyun, “Did you use torture on Old Su?”

Yan Muyun did not answer.

Zhuo Hua repeated the question twice, but still no reply.

On the third time, Yan Muyun, eyes closed, tossed a woman’s skirt from the couch, landing it on Zhuo Hua’s face with a taunting smirk. “If you put on this skirt and dance for me, I’ll tell you!”

No matter how disciplined Zhuo Hua was, no gentleman could endure such humiliation.

What happened next shocked everyone present.

Zhuo Hua sprang forward, grabbed a bronze incense burner from the table, and hurled it at Yan Muyun’s face.

Yan Muyun, being a descendant of the Immortal Clan, albeit a minor branch, had some cultivation. He snapped his eyes open just in time and raised his hand to deflect the flying incense burner.

Seeing the attack fail, Zhuo Hua immediately grabbed two fruit bowls from the table and smashed them toward Yan Muyun’s head.

Yan Muyun flipped and narrowly dodged the two bronze bowls. Before he could catch a breath, a small lamb-cutting knife flew toward him at a sharp angle, aiming for a vital point just below his navel.

Startled, Yan Muyun kicked off the soft couch, attempting to leap away, but because he was sensitive to the cold, he had layered the couch thickly with quilts and blankets. He only managed to get halfway up before the knife plunged into his left calf.

Though Zhuo Hua had lost his cultivation, the essence of his techniques remained etched in his mind. This fierce strike yielded remarkable effect.

Yan Muyun cried out and fell from midair onto the uneven couch, which collapsed to one side, pinning him underneath.

Immediately, the room erupted into chaos. The singing girls and musicians screamed and scattered wildly.

Zhuo Hua knew reinforcements would soon arrive, and his time was short. Sweat pouring down his face, he desperately sought a way to finish off Yan Muyun. His eyes landed on the large table.

Determined, he tried to push the table over onto the collapsed couch, but without cultivation, he could only move the table, not flip it.

Suddenly, the table was lifted. Zhuo Hua turned to see Su Mengling had noticed his intent and came to help.

Together, they channeled their grief from losing loved ones into strength and pushed the table over onto the couch with a thunderous crash.

“That should have crushed him,” Zhuo Hua said, hands on his knees, gasping for breath.

Su Mengling said nothing, climbed atop the overturned table, and jumped several times. Then she beckoned to Zhuo Hua, inviting him to join.

He reached out, and she pulled him up with force. They both hopped a few times together.

Suddenly, Zhuo Hua noticed a small wooden box lying near the disheveled couch. It was the very box taken from the Su residence that day.

Just as Zhuo Hua opened the box and took out the Qi-Conditioning Pearl inside, the pockmarked head constable and a large group of officers and constables arrived on the scene.

Entering the hall, everyone was stunned. Tables and chairs were overturned, food and fruit scattered across the floor. The once-favored carved soft couch was flipped, with the massive table atop it, and on the table stood two figures coldly staring at them.

“How... how did you get your handcuffs off?” the head constable asked in disbelief. He had seen them cuffed tightly when they arrived.

Su Mengling clenched the keys in her hand — given secretly by Hu San’er in the cell. They had used the opportunity during their conversation with Yan Muyun to slowly remove their shackles.

“Did you force my father to death?” Su Mengling asked the head constable fiercely.

He was still dazed but nodded at her question. Then realizing the implication, he hastily shook his head. “Old Su committed suicide. It’s not our doing.”

“Did you torture my father?” she pressed.

“No, no! Even if we did, there’s no need to tell you. Besides, he confessed himself—he admitted to conspiring with that pale-faced youth impersonating the Cloud Palace Lord, colluding with the Dark Tribe. He signed and sealed it. How could it be false?”

“Nonsense! My father was a man of virtue who constantly examined himself by the gentleman’s way. How could he be a spy for the Dark Tribe? What more absurd lies can you concoct?” Su Mengling roared. She hadn’t expected that before his death, her father had suffered their brutal humiliation, leading to his fatal crash at the mansion gate—he had been trying to prove his innocence!

“What’s the use of arguing? Men, arrest them all! Rescue the city lord!” the head constable suddenly realized he still held the advantage in the room.

His men surged forward, charging at Zhuo Hua and Su Mengling.

Though Su Mengling had been fierce moments before, seeing so many rushing at her, a chill ran through her heart, and instinctively she hid behind Zhuo Hua.

That’s when she noticed something different about him.

Streams of energy flowed from all directions, converging around Zhuo Hua’s body. Around the table, a considerable whirlwind formed.

The rushing officers seemed to sense something strange. The man surrounded by a faint blue glow was unlike before; his eyes closed, he drank in the long-missed energy with ravenous hunger, intoxicated by the sensation of true qi enveloping him once more.

“One day, I will return with the wind—that will be the return of the Lord of the Clouds.”

“The wicked will be cleansed by the heavenly gale; the world shall be restored to clarity.”

Su Mengling looked at the fallen officers and constables, and the doors and windows hanging loosely like leaves swept by a storm. She raised her large, anxious eyes and weakly asked Zhuo Hua, “Big brother, are you really the Lord of the Clouds?”

Zhuo Hua smiled, gently ruffling her hair. “Silly Ling’er, when have I ever deceived you?”

With that, he lifted her down from the overturned table and set her softly on the ground.

Then, with a wave of his right hand, the table and couch were swept aside.

Zhuo Hua gathered qi and approached the barely breathing Yan Muyun. He raised his right palm flat, lifting Yan Muyun off the ground like a strand of noodles.

His voice was cold as he demanded, “Tell me, where did you hide Old Su’s body? And where are the other Moonlight Stones and Bright Moon Stones from your home?”