Chapter Twenty-Three: The Taoist of Heavenly Secrets

“Senior Sister Wan’er, you’re finally back! You have no idea how much Master has missed you these past few days. He speaks of you constantly, so much so that the rest of us—senior brothers, junior brothers, senior sisters, and junior sisters—are invisible in his eyes. Master is so partial toward you, it makes us all terribly jealous!” Before the old man could speak, a voice rang out. The speaker was likely a boy of fifteen or sixteen. Though he was much taller than Qiu Wan’er, his face was still quite youthful, betraying his true age. Of course, his words were merely jest. The gathering disciples circled around, their gazes resting on the two, and, amused by his remark, laughter broke out among them. The atmosphere instantly became relaxed and cheerful, easing some of the tension that had weighed on Qiu Wan’er’s heart.

“Why didn’t Tan Yi return with you?” The laughter faded, but the Daoist Tianji was no fool. The situation was clear, and he didn’t need to glance around to notice what was missing. His question carried a faint furrow of his brow, and though he was merely inquiring, a hint of annoyance colored his tone: “That boy must have run off to the back mountain valley again. He’s far too unruly—coming back and not returning to the sect first, but instead rushing off to see that little demoness. Just wait until he returns, I’ll see how I deal with him.”

It was little more than an expression of irritation; no one present took the words seriously. Tan Yi’s visits to the back mountain valley were hardly a rare occurrence. As his master, Tianji Daoist was well aware of it, and in the end, he never truly punished him—at most a few stern words. Perhaps at that moment, everyone harbored a lingering doubt: who, exactly, was the “little demoness” their master so disliked? If he truly found her so objectionable, why did he permit her to live in the valley? And why, at the start and middle of each month, during the sect’s large purchases, did he prepare a share for her as well?

Such questions remained only in their hearts; none dared seek clarification. To ask their master directly was unthinkable. Since he treated the matter with such secrecy, the disciples all resolved not to get involved. Yet there was always someone who defied convention—Tan Yi was exactly such a person.

Most paid little heed to Tianji Daoist’s harsh words, accustomed to them by now, but Qiu Wan’er was an exception. Watching the old man and hearing his words, anxiety flickered across her face. This arose from two causes: first, her master’s words confirmed that her senior brother truly had not returned, nor gone to the back mountain valley, leaving her uncertain of his whereabouts. Second, she feared a misunderstanding—if her master wrongly blamed Tan Yi, what could she do?

“Master, Senior Brother hasn’t gone to the valley—you mustn’t accuse him wrongly!” Whether out of concern or simply to defend him, Qiu Wan’er blinked her large eyes and tried her best to explain. Her earnestness, though sincere, struck the mature onlookers as somewhat childish. Tianji Daoist’s gaze suggested he wasn’t wholly convinced, his brows tightening slightly as he fell silent, apparently pondering something. This only fueled Wan’er’s anxiety; afraid her master wouldn’t believe her, she gritted her teeth as if steeling herself, then continued, “Master, I just went to the valley to look for Senior Brother, and he wasn’t there!”

As she spoke, Wan’er lowered her head. The Qilian Sect had a strict rule forbidding unauthorized entry to the back mountain valley. Though Tan Yi had broken it many times and Tianji Daoist had never made much of it, the exception applied only to Tan Yi. No one else dared cross that line. So, today, having entered the valley herself, Wan’er felt a mix of fear and guilt, her heart pounding faster.

At that moment, nearly everyone chose silence, watching their master for his reaction. Many among them were curious about the back mountain valley, wishing to see it for themselves, but all were wary. Wan’er’s admission was a challenge to a boundary. If the old man failed to punish her, or even refrained from scolding her, perhaps they too could risk it, and at worst suffer a few harsh words.

“Wan’er, have you forgotten your master’s words, or did you never take them to heart? I told you not to enter the valley without permission, yet you insisted. If I don’t punish you, there’ll be no precedent. Since it’s your first offense and you had reason, I’ll show you some leniency: you are to reflect in the Penitent Abyss for three days—not to leave during that time. In future, any disciple who trespasses in the valley will face severe punishment!” The girl’s apprehension was clear to Tianji Daoist. He knew he could not bend the rules; if loopholes were found, it would be impossible to maintain order. Thus, despite his reluctance, he had to be strict.

The impact was immediate: the disciples’ hopeful schemes were quickly abandoned, heads bowed as if acknowledging their own faults, even their murmured conversations faded. Seeing this, the old man knew he’d achieved his aim. His gaze shifted back to Sha Wan’er—this little girl showed no dissatisfaction, only a lingering worry on her face: “Master, what about Senior Brother? Where could he have gone?”

“Wan’er, how did you and Tan Yi become separated? Why did you part ways?” Her question pulled the old man’s thoughts back, filling him with perplexity. He had only sent them to Xinyang to attend a wedding; the martial world had been peaceful of late, and these two were mere novices. Who could they possibly offend? More importantly, why had Wan’er returned alone, unaware of her brother’s whereabouts? Sha Wan’er hurriedly recalled the events—it was a simple matter, just a few hours. She recounted everything clearly, from their separation in Jinjiang City to the teahouse at the foot of the mountain.

“So you mean your Senior Brother disappeared at the Qilian Inn, along with that old Su from the inn?” Though Sha Wan’er’s account was somewhat rambling, covering nearly every scene, the old man quickly grasped the key point. Yet it seemed of little help—all he could deduce was that the incident was closely tied to Old Su, and Tan Yi had merely been implicated. Sha Wan’er frowned thoughtfully, searching her memory for anything she might have overlooked. Suddenly, something came to her: “Master, there’s one thing that struck me as odd—when I went to the inn, I saw a large water jar in the main hall, and inside it floated a blue lotus flower. Isn’t it strange for an inn to display such a thing?”

If Sha Wan’er was merely puzzled, Tianji Daoist’s expression changed drastically, becoming grave. His eyes fixed intently on Sha Wan’er. The disciples were baffled and even a little frightened, especially Sha Wan’er herself, whose demeanor grew increasingly anxious and subdued: “Master, did I say something wrong?”

“Child, it’s not your fault. If it truly was a blue lotus flower, then this matter is very serious. I recently received news that the Night Pearl, treasured by Mingyue Manor in Xinyang, was stolen by someone called Golden Leaf. I was still wondering what kind of person the Shen family was, and who in the martial world would dare attempt such a thing. I’d planned to ask you both upon your return. But now it seems there’s a clue—it must be connected to the Blue Lotus Sect, which vanished from the martial world years ago. Only they could accomplish such a feat!” Seeing Sha Wan’er’s troubled face, the old man would have comforted her under ordinary circumstances, but now he forced himself to speak calmly. Yet anyone could see the complexity of his thoughts, even a slight quiver in his manner. Clearly, the words “Blue Lotus Sect” filled him with a kind of oppressed terror. At that moment, the disciples were at a loss for words, their gaze fixed on Tianji Daoist. Only Sha Wan’er lowered her head further, her expression growing ever more grave.