Chapter 3
Chapter 3
Beside the spirit spring in the outer sect of the Qingheng Sect, disciples lay scattered across the ground in disarray.
Some were convulsing with high fevers, while others had lips turned a sickly shade of blue. The medical cultivators standing guard were sweating profusely with anxiety, yet they couldn’t determine the cause of the illness. Feng Fulan crouched down, first examining the youth closest to her. His pupils were dilating rapidly and his fingernails were turning black, but his chest still rose and fell with shallow breaths. It didn’t look like poisoning; it looked more like his spiritual veins were being blocked by something.
She reached out toward the spring water. The moment her fingertips touched the surface, she caught a faint, sickly-sweet scent of decay.
“It’s not a disease. The spring’s source has been contaminated with demonic aura,” she said, standing up abruptly. “Seal the spring immediately and isolate everyone who has drunk from it.”
Someone sneered. “A Condemned Woman thinks she’s fit to give us orders?”
Feng Fulan didn’t waste time on words. She picked up a stone and tossed it into the spring. Within moments of hitting the water, the stone hissed and began emitting black smoke. Everyone’s expression shifted instantly.
Ning Changye immediately ordered the spring to be sealed.
Feng Fulan led several medical cultivators into the herb garden, selecting herbs for clearing the mind, stabilizing the veins, and dispelling malevolence. She had them brew a basic Evil-Dispelling Decoction. Several severely afflicted disciples were already on the brink of death, so she took charge personally, using spirit needles to forcibly clear their meridians. Her movements were steady, her breathing calm; she had performed this dance with death a thousand times before.
They worked until sunset, when the last disciple finally spat out a mouthful of black blood, his life saved.
A round-faced youth nearby looked at her with bright eyes. “Martial Elder, you really can save people.”
Feng Fulan glanced at him and recognized him as Feng Linchuan, an outer sect disciple who was famous for refusing to take sides and for being the best at eavesdropping on drama.
“I always could,” she said, washing the blood from her hands. “It’s just that no one believed me before.”
Ning Changye had been standing not far away the entire time, watching her treat the injured, watching her judge the medicinal dosages, and watching her single-handedly maintain order amidst the chaos. That was not the expression the original, gloomy, and silent Feng Fulan would have worn.
After nightfall, Feng Fulan followed the contaminated spring path downward, eventually finding a piece of charred talisman wood at the bottom of the spring’s source. Only half of the dark engravings remained on the wood, but she could vaguely identify it as the Evil-Sealing Seal commonly used by the Punishment Hall.
She handed the object to Ning Changye. “There was originally something suppressed beneath the spirit spring.”
Ning Changye raised his hand to investigate for a moment, his expression growing colder. “The Abyss-Suppressing Lamp was moved.”
“The culprit didn’t do it to steal it, but to block something else,” Feng Fulan said, turning to look toward the depths of the sect gates. “Someone intentionally let everyone see that the lamp was missing, but no one looked to see where it had been moved to.”
Feng Linchuan asked in a small voice, “Does that mean Martial Elder Feng might not be a bad person?”
As soon as he spoke, the surrounding disciples looked uncomfortable.
Feng Fulan didn’t respond to the comment. Instead, she felt a sudden throb in her temples. It wasn’t a headache; it was her memories turning over. A vision of overgrown grass, an old lamp, and a line of hurriedly written characters flashed before her eyes.
*Southeast corner of the herb garden, under the third withered plum tree.*
She looked up sharply. “Go to my former residence.”
Ning Changye looked at her, finally refraining from asking “why.”
“I will go with you.”