Chapter Twenty-Nine: The Nightmare Returns

It was getting late. Qin Baoxian and Jian Hui accompanied Hong Jian on a brief stroll before escorting her back to her quarters to rest.

Qin Baoxian volunteered, “I’m free these days, so I can help you look for any issues with your cultivation.”

Hong Jian thanked him, feeling relieved inside. It seemed that Yan Changqing, the master, was only nominally so, which was fortunate. She was confident that she could conceal her martial arts training from her two senior brothers without much difficulty; once she advanced to the Foundation Establishment stage, the “All Streams Return to the Source” would be perfectly suited to her cultivation, and everything would fall into place. For reasons she couldn’t explain, she firmly believed that the mysterious person would not deceive her on this matter.

Upon returning to her quarters, there was still no sign of movement from Yao Zhen’s room, nor had Qi Xiuning returned.

Standing in the darkness before her door, Hong Jian felt a pang of melancholy, thinking that from tomorrow onward, she and Yao Zhen and Qi Xiuning would part ways, each pursuing their own path. They would no longer attend classes together, nor quarrel over trivial matters; at least she and Yao Zhen would remain in Dan Cliff Sect, but Qi Xiuning had been accepted by Sect Leader Dai, making future meetings uncertain, perhaps even difficult.

Before moving out, Hong Jian dearly wished to have a proper conversation with them, to say farewell—especially with Yao Zhen. But even as the night deepened toward the third watch, her two companions still had not returned.

Eventually, Hong Jian fell asleep on her bed, fully dressed. Perhaps her posture was uncomfortable, for she began to dream in the latter half of the night.

She was searching for something—what was missing?

She rummaged through the rooms of her neighbors. Hong Jian often entered the rooms of Yao Zhen and Qi Xiuning; she knew their furnishings well. In the dream, the rooms were empty. Awake, she would never intrude, but in a dream, such scruples vanished.

Her anxiety mounted. In the dream, she knew what she sought. She searched every corner in Yao Zhen’s room, inside cabinets, under the bed, and, finally, disappointed, she exited, her heart hollow.

Below the window at the back of Yao Zhen’s room was a dense thicket of bramble flowers. Without knowing why, Hong Jian walked over and parted the foliage. Beneath the thorns, a girl in a pale red dress lay silently—it was Yao Zhen. Her body was already cold and stiff, devoid of all life...

Hong Jian awoke abruptly, gasping for breath. “Thank goodness it was only a dream,” she thought. Only then did she notice her face was wet with tears; she hurriedly wiped them away and sat up. The nightmare had been so vivid that her heart still thudded rapidly.

Composing herself, she rose in the dark and poured herself a glass of water.

Outside was very quiet, with only the chirring of insects in the nearby flowerbeds and distant croaks from the pond.

She slowly set down her cup, sensing something amiss.

She had slept through the night, yet Yao Zhen’s room remained empty.

Though her spiritual awareness couldn’t reach far, as a fifth-layer Qi cultivator, she could reliably sense the situation next door. Yao Zhen had been missing for an entire day, perhaps since the previous evening. She had vanished mysteriously before, but never for so long. Moreover, Yao Zhen cared deeply about today’s event of the Nascent Soul master accepting disciples. Her absence—could it really mean she’d met with misfortune?

The more Hong Jian considered it, the more uneasy she became. Sleep was impossible now. She gazed through the window; though night still lingered, her cultivation allowed her to see clearly. The mountain path was deserted, and the longer she waited, the heavier her heart grew. Scenes from her dream flashed before her eyes. As dawn approached, Hong Jian sorrowfully thought, “Senior Sister Yao must truly have come to harm. She will never return.”

As the sky began to pale, Hong Jian left her room and stood outside Yao Zhen’s door, breathing in the cool morning air. She reached out and pushed the door open.

Cultivators ought not to covet earthly possessions; the rooms of Qi cultivators were simply furnished, and any valuables carried with them. Everyone knew that if someone truly wanted to break in, locks or even iron doors would be useless, so people merely closed the door when leaving. Hong Jian had visited Yao Zhen’s room many times; though Yao Zhen’s small collection was larger than hers or Qi Xiuning’s, it was all ordinary items, nothing she guarded closely. The door, as usual, was only loosely shut and swung open easily.

The room was small, but arranged with much more care than Hong Jian’s own, and there was a faint fragrance in the air.

Hong Jian sniffed and her gaze fell upon the dressing table in the corner, with powders and rouge, and a half-open jewelry box piled with gold and silver ornaments. Hairpins and earrings, if worn outside, would displease the elders, but Hong Jian knew Yao Zhen loved these little trinkets, always trying them on in secret in her room.

A pale green dress was draped across the bed; Hong Jian had seen Yao Zhen wear it just days ago, accentuating her slender waist and snow-white skin. She had complimented it at the time, so it left a deep impression.

A neat row of shoes was lined up under the bed, surprising Hong Jian—she hadn’t realized Yao Zhen owned so many pairs. She paused, then reached between the pillow and bedding, searching, and confirmed nothing was hidden there. Standing back, she surveyed the room; only the cabinet at the head of the bed remained unchecked.

Opening it, she found it stuffed full of clothes. At a glance, she saw the pale red dress from her dream—her heart raced.

Aside from the abundance of clothing, she found nothing unusual. She wondered, “When did Senior Sister acquire so many outfits? Many look brand new—I don’t recall seeing her wear them. Was it in the last month?” Only this past month, she herself had met the mysterious person, and Yao Zhen had admitted to her own “serendipity.” Each had been busy, and without realizing it, they’d grown apart. Now, as Hong Jian investigated, she realized Yao Zhen had become somewhat unfamiliar.

Hong Jian carefully erased all traces of her visit, certain that no one but Yao Zhen herself would notice anyone had entered. With a strange feeling in her heart, she gave the room one last glance—cosmetics, jewelry, so many beautiful clothes. Aside from its small size, the room was almost like the boudoir of a young lady from the mortal world.

Having seen all she needed, Hong Jian left Yao Zhen’s room and couldn’t help but walk around to the back. The bramble thicket beneath the window barely reached her knees and was not particularly dense—it could never conceal a person. Still, she looked closely, and indeed, found nothing unusual.

It truly was a strange dream; she had never paid attention to this rear window before, so how had she known about the brambles in her dream?

Her heart felt heavy. Aside from Fang Zheng, Yao Zhen was the person closest to her in Dan Cliff Sect. Where was she now? What had happened to her? Was she, as in the dream, lying in some unknown earth, cold and lifeless?