When the sun climbed to its zenith, Pi Yanlin squatted on the bluestone slabs in front of Jishi Hall. The scorched aroma of roasted sweet potato, mingled with the bitter scent of wormwood wafting from the pharmacy, danced at the tip of his nose.
He took a bite of the sweet potato, his Adam's apple bobbing—the phrase "the Holy Monarch Cult messenger said," uttered by Xiaoliuzi while he was wailing, felt like a thin needle pricking his molar.
"Aconite," he murmured, eyeing the mottled sun shadows on the stone bench, his fingers unconsciously rubbing the scrap of paper tucked in his sleeve. "A mere half-qian of it raw is enough to kill a man. That fool Xiaoliuzi couldn't even recognize a full prescription, let alone know the proper dosage."
The System interface suddenly popped up before his eyes: [Remaining time for today’s 'lay-flat' check-in: 47 minutes].
He tilted his head to glance at the half-open wooden door of Jishi Hall. The gold paint on the "Saving the World" sign was peeling, making it look like a grinning, hideous face.
"No rush for the check-in." He shoved the last piece of sweet potato into his mouth and patted the ash off his blue cloth robe. "Better go have a word with Manager Zhang first."
The pharmacy was heavy with the pungent smell of licorice.
Pi Yanlin leaned against the doorframe, gave a yawn, and smiled at the white-bearded old man scrubbing medicine jars behind the counter. "Uncle Zhang, my cat, Orange, ran in here this morning. I suppose she couldn't resist the smell of the herbs?"
Manager Zhang’s hands faltered. When he looked up, the wrinkles at the corners of his eyes bunched up like a chrysanthemum. "You’re joking, Young Master Pi. How could a pharmacy possibly have room for a cat?" The cloth in his hand tightened, his knuckles turning white. "Would you like me to help you look for her?"
"No need, no need." Pi Yanlin shook a dried fish in his hand. "She recognizes this." As he spoke, he headed toward the inner hall. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught the way Manager Zhang’s Adam’s apple bobbed; the hair on the back of the old man’s neck stood on end—he looked exactly like an old dog whose tail had just been stepped on.
When Manager Zhang turned to grab the medicine scale, Pi Yanlin gently hooked his toe on the threshold and drifted onto the rafters like a falling leaf.
Dust layered the beams. He held his breath, watching as Manager Zhang fished out a key and crouched to unlock a secret compartment beneath the counter.
As moonlight crept onto the eaves, Manager Zhang finally made his move.
He pried up a blue brick in the back hall and pulled out a sandalwood box. Inside lay three sealed letters, neatly arranged. The wax seals bore the image of a spreading phoenix, red as congealed blood.
"Third quarter of the Xu hour, West Water Bridge." Manager Zhang lowered his voice as he pressed the letters into the hands of a person wearing a bamboo hat. "The Holy Monarch said the Zhao Estate matter has leaked. We must..."
"Enough." The person in the bamboo hat spoke in a hoarse voice, their hand covered in black cloth. "Just remember: those who wag their tongues too much will find their own tongues fed to the dogs."
Pi Yanlin’s nails dug into his palms.
He pulled a copper whistle from his robes and gave it a light blow—the pre-arranged signal for Gu Qinghuan.
*Bang!*
The moment the Dark Iron Saber shattered the wooden door, Manager Zhang’s face went ghastly white.
He lunged through the back window into the courtyard, narrowly dodging a strike from Gu Qinghuan’s iron ruler, which slammed into the brick wall and left a crater.
"After him!" Gu Qinghuan barked to her two constables. She turned to see Pi Yanlin dropping from the rafters, clutching a half-burnt, secret letter.
"The Holy Monarch knows of the Zhao Estate affair and has ordered the immediate removal of all remaining parties." Pi Yanlin looked up after reading, the moonlight casting a cold shadow in his eyes. "The Zhao Estate? The Lady Zhao who hanged herself last month?"
Gu Qinghuan pressed her hand to the iron ruler at her waist. "I investigated that case. It was said that the Lady had an affair with a servant and hanged herself out of shame. But the coroner said..." She cut herself off, staring at the letter in Pi Yanlin’s hand. "This wax seal... it’s the same as the one in the secret compartment in my father’s study."
When the night watchman struck the third watch, Pi Yanlin lay back in his drafty, dilapidated shack.
The System notification chimed right on cue: [Today’s 'lay-flat' check-in completed. Obtained: Second Level of the Lazy Immortal Formula.]
A surge of heat rose from his dantian, and the veil that had clouded his vision suddenly lifted.
A night owl perched on the windowsill; the sound of its feathers trembling was as clear as the plucked string of a zither. Outside, the delicate sound of a cicada shedding its skin on the old locust tree was audible—even the movement of a mouse gnawing on a seed in the corner of the wall carried a faint, scorched scent.
"Is this... divine sense?" He rolled off the bed and walked out the door without even putting on his shoes.
The night breeze carried a faint, fishy stench into his nostrils—it was identical to the smell of blood masked by incense ash in Manager Zhang’s back hall.
He followed the scent westward. Gu Qinghuan’s voice suddenly rang out from behind him: "Where are you going?"
"Chasing a scent." Pi Yanlin didn't look back. "Manager Zhang won't get far. He reeks of the Holy Monarch Cult."
Gu Qinghuan drew her iron ruler and followed, the moonlight stretching their shadows long and thin.
The ruined temple in the west of the city grew closer. Only half of the three characters for "Pu-Ji Temple" remained on the broken wall, resembling a toothless, grinning mouth.
"The Red Phoenix Pattern requires a blood sacrifice..."
"On the day the Holy Monarch descends to the world, the Karmic Record must be rewritten..."
Muffled dialogue drifted from within the temple. Pi Yanlin’s footsteps stalled in the tall grass.
He looked back at Gu Qinghuan; under the moonlight, her eyes shone like blades tempered in fire.
"It seems," he whispered, his knuckles turning white, "that we have already stepped into a century-old game of chess."
The night was as thick as ink. The two of them crouched in the wild grass outside the temple, where the candlelight flickered, casting distorted, ghostly shadows against the walls.