The Predestined Chessboard

She was used to his feline ways, and seeing the wounds upon him, she could not bear to push him away. She gently scratched his hair and asked, “How exactly did you get hurt?”

He let out two contented hums from her light touch, then replied, “I went to the Jiao Prefecture government office.”

“What?!” She was so startled she nearly jumped up.

He discontentedly wrapped himself around her, forcing her to lie back down. “Don’t move, I’m exhausted.”

She hurried to feel his wrist and check his pulse. His internal injuries had yet to heal, and he’d spent half the night traveling back and forth between the capital and Jiao Prefecture. She worried it might worsen his condition. Fortunately, after taking his pulse, she determined it was nothing serious—just fatigue. She breathed a sigh of relief and asked, “Why did you go?”

He drew a dossier from his breast and placed it on her chest, then closed his eyes and lazily hugged her waist, unmoving.

She freed a hand to pick it up, and blood rushed to her head.

It was the case file recording the extermination of the Zhou family! Her hand trembled, and the dossier fell with a smack onto his head. He grunted in dissatisfaction.

She steadied herself, calmed her spirit, and asked, “Why did you bring this back?”

“You said the name list had one more name than the victims. This dossier records all the names of the deceased. By comparing them, we can find that person.”

Qingyin held the dossier, her hands trembling slightly. After a long moment, she whispered, “Thank you, Mo Tu.”

“Don’t say thank you to me,” he replied slowly, enunciating each word.

Qingyin wanted to ask why, but did not; she simply responded, “Alright.”

Mo Tu continued, “That government office is unusual. You once said the prefect of Jiao Prefecture was involved in the massacre—there’s truth to that.”

Qingyin’s teeth ground audibly. “Of course—I saw it with my own eyes.”

“Just the library where the dossiers are kept—inside and out—had enchantments and secret mechanisms set up. They were formidable. I got careless and was injured. Anything capable of leaving marks on me isn’t an ordinary security device. Since the array was triggered, they may have found traces of my identity. Just in case, after stealing the file, I set the building ablaze… Something chased after me, but I managed to shake it off…”

His casual account made Qingyin feel the true danger he’d faced, and she was filled with dread.

“Mo Tu…” she said softly, “Don’t go on dangerous missions alone again.”

Mo Tu was so tired he couldn’t keep his eyes open. Whether he heard her or not, he forgot to transform into a cat and simply clung to her as he drifted to sleep, his arms and legs tightly wrapped around her. Qingyin wanted to rush to compare the name list, but couldn’t bring herself to wake him. She could only endure, letting him sleep soundly, and leave all else for tomorrow.

*

Fang Ai.

Qingyin wrote the name on the paper.

She compared the name list to the victims recorded in the case file—this person was missing.

Fang Ai. Qingyin remembered her. A beautiful figure appeared in her memory.

She recalled her because the girl was strikingly lovely—the most beautiful woman she’d seen as a child.

Fang Ai was a maid in the family, seventeen or eighteen at the time. Qingyin had been young and had little interaction with her, so she knew little more. According to the name list, Fang Ai served in her parents’ room, responsible for tea and water—a relatively easy post.

Straining to remember, she vaguely recalled the family mentioning the girl’s decent background; her father had been a capital official, but after committing a crime, the male relatives were exiled to serve in the army, and the women were sold as maids. Some of her father’s friends in the bureaucracy helped covertly, entrusting good families to buy the women as servants, so they would suffer less. Qingyin’s father had been asked and agreed to buy Fang Ai.

So Fang Ai survived that massacre? Was it a lucky escape, or was there more to it? If she was still alive, where was she now?

“The capital is so vast—where do we even begin to look for her?” Mo Tu stood beside Qingyin, watching her write the name, and asked.

“We’ll find her,” Qingyin put the pen down, eyes determined. “Alive or dead, as long as she existed, we can find her. If she survived the massacre, most likely she sought out her family. We can start by investigating her origins, see if she had any relatives.”

Mo Tu was efficient; two days later, he’d uncovered the facts. Fang Ai’s father, once an official, had fallen in a corruption case involving vast sums of gold and silver, and ended up imprisoned. The male relatives were exiled to the border as soldiers, the women sold into servitude. Fang Ai’s mother was among them, but unable to endure the humiliation, died soon after. Several years later, Fang Ai’s father died in prison. By all accounts, Fang Ai had no surviving kin. Neighbors believed she died in a faraway place, never seen to return.

The trail thus broke off. Fang Ai was neither in the victims’ list nor had she returned to her hometown—where had she gone?

Qingyin stared at the name on the paper, her heart adrift. Mo Tu, worn out from his two-day search, retreated behind the screen, transformed back into a cat, and then leapt onto Qingyin’s lap to rest.

Suddenly, the doorway darkened—a refined gentleman entered. He was about twenty-five or six, dressed in plain silk robes, tall and elegant, with warm, spring-like eyes, and a striking air about him.

He said, “I am Dong Zhanchu. I’ve long heard of Immortal Qingyin’s extraordinary abilities and have come specially to pay my respects.”

Qingyin, pleased at a new client, quickly invited him to sit.

Dong Zhanchu said, “My family has recently encountered trouble—very ominous. I hope Immortal Qingyin can advise us, help the Dong family avert disaster.”

Qingyin assumed her immortal airs, about to boast as usual, when she suddenly felt a sharp pain on her knee and gasped, her face contorting. The black cat on her lap was scratching her.

Dong Zhanchu saw her expression turn from bright to gloomy and grew anxious. “Does Immortal Qingyin find this difficult?”

“Mm-hmm,” she muttered, pinching Mo Tu’s tail in retaliation. If he wanted to warn her, there was no need to scratch so hard!

Dong Zhanchu grew more uneasy. “Please, Immortal, enlighten me.”

“Hmm… What your family faces is karmic retribution, a fated calamity. I am but a minor immortal—I cannot change destiny. You’d best seek someone more capable.” This deeply mystical line, she delivered with practiced ease. It was her surefire trick to avoid trouble and stay safe—whenever confronted by powerful monsters, she used it.

His face turned pale at once. He bowed repeatedly, pleading, “Please, Immortal, find a way—save our family’s lineage.”

Family lineage? Was this about a child? Qingyin paused, and the adorable image of Yuni from the past flashed before her eyes, stirring her heart. But she only sighed inwardly. There were many unfortunate souls in the world, but she was no Guanyin, saving all suffering.

“I’m truly sorry. I am powerless. Please, do as you must.” Qingyin put on an inscrutable expression, cold and distant.

Dong Zhanchu, realizing his pleas were futile, stood at the desk, unsure what to do. Suddenly, in astonishment, he read aloud, “Fang Ai?!”

Qingyin snapped her head up. Dong Zhanchu’s gaze was fixed upon the name on the paper, his face ghostly pale and sweat beading on his brow. Qingyin’s heart stirred—could he know Fang Ai?

Dong Zhanchu’s eyes, trembling, shifted to Qingyin’s face, looking at her as though she were a ghost. Qingyin suppressed her excitement, deliberately keeping her expression cold, and turned the paper to face Dong Zhanchu. “Do you have anything to say about this person?”

She tossed out this feint, but Dong Zhanchu reacted as if slapped, shaking his head violently. “I don’t know her, I don’t know her!” He fled as if escaping.

Qingyin watched his disoriented figure leave, her fingers tapping lightly on the name, murmuring, “Truly—a tireless search, only to find her here.”

When Dong Zhanchu was out of sight, Qingyin grabbed the black cat, held it up to her face, and scolded, “Was there any need to scratch so hard? My skirt is torn! Just a gentle scratch and I’d get the message, alright?!”

Mo Tu slapped his paw over her chattering mouth, annoyed. “Put me down.”

She placed him on the table, glanced toward the door, and asked, “Why didn’t you want to take this job—is there some great danger?”

Mo Tu replied, “That man is deeply tainted with evil energy, as though he’s lived long in wicked places. Best not to get involved.”

“But you saw it—he clearly recognized Fang Ai,” Qingyin said.

Mo Tu pondered, “It feels like destiny.”

Suddenly, from the courtyard behind came the sound of rustling leaves, as if a wild wind were blowing. Yet the weather outside was calm, not a breeze stirring. Qingyin and Mo Tu exchanged looks, hurriedly stood, and rushed to the courtyard. There, the magnolia tree trembled violently, its leaves shaking and blossoms falling in great heaps.

Qingyin exclaimed, “Magnolia, why are you shaking? All your flowers are falling!”

The branches finally settled. Moments later, Magnolia floated out from the trunk, tense and excited. “It’s him, it’s him. I finally saw him again.”

Only one person could excite Magnolia so. But…

Qingyin hesitated, asking, “Could Dong Zhanchu be the scholar you mentioned?”

Magnolia nodded vigorously.

“But… you said you met him a hundred years ago. How could he still be alive, and look so young? Has he been reincarnated?”

Magnolia was perplexed, thinking for a long time before shaking her head. “It’s not reincarnation. I’m sure it’s him—his voice and appearance haven’t changed at all. I can’t make sense of it.”

The silent black cat stretched and, transforming into human form, spoke, “Judging by the evil energy on him, he must have used some kind of immortal evil art to live forever.”

Magnolia’s heart sank. She hesitated. “If it’s immortality… isn’t that a good thing?”

Mo Tu’s expression was grim. “Immortal longevity for monsters and immortals is achieved through cultivation. If a human achieves it, it’s likely by stealing others’ life force.”

Magnolia’s face turned pale. Mo Tu’s words sent a chill through their hearts.

Mo Tu’s gaze moved thoughtfully between Magnolia and Qingyin.

The tree spirit and the scholar had lived together a century ago.

The scholar seemed to know Fang Ai.

Fang Ai was the sole survivor among Qingyin’s massacred family.

Scholar, Fang Ai, tree spirit, and Qingyin—by strange fate, all were entangled. It seemed destiny was a chessboard, and the pieces were falling one by one.

Author’s note: Happy New Year, dear readers~ May you grow strong and have incredible luck in the coming year~!

Please shower flowers and water on this story in the new year! Your comments are the fuel for my updates~!!!

Half-Immortal Mark 30_Complete free reading of Half-Immortal Mark_Chapter 30: Fated Chessboard has been updated!