Futile Devices Scans

Yingqing’s expression became somewhat awkward, and he repeatedly thanked Helan Zhenjia. Just then, Nayan Kun reported from outside, “Reporting to the Sect Leader, the Guidance Chamber and the true spirit are prepared. Please invite the Sect Leader and the young master to proceed to the side hall of the Chiming Courtyard.”

Helan Zhenjia nodded. “Understood.” Yingqing gave Qingtie a push and scolded softly, “Hurry and follow!”

Qingtie shuffled reluctantly toward Helan Zhenjia, turning back every step, still unwilling to give up, casting hopeful looks at Baitie and the Ganyang Prince, as if wishing one of them would save him.

Yingqing turned his head away, ignoring him completely. Baitie glanced back and forth between his father, puffed up with anger like a blowfish, and his younger brother, trembling like a quail. In the end, he stood up and said, “I’ll go with you and at least see you to the door. That’s fine, right?”

Qingtie nodded frantically. “Good brother, you’re truly my dear elder brother—this is what it means to be like a father—mmph—!”

Baitie rushed over to cover his loose mouth, shoved him out the door, then turned back to Yingqing. “Father, don’t you still have a banquet at the Marquis of Ningcheng’s place at noon? Qingtie will take a while here. You should take the others down the mountain first. I’ll return with him later.”

Yingqing had been fawning over the Ten Aspects Sect with offerings and money, yet at the critical moment his own son turned out to be the biggest embarrassment. He had no face to remain at the main altar any longer and waved impatiently. “Got it. Go on.” Then, after a moment’s thought, he added resentfully, “Keep an eye on that brat—don’t let him embarrass me in front of the Sect Leader!”

“Yes, yes, I understand,” Baitie reassured him. “Don’t worry, Father. With me there, nothing will go wrong.”

The reception steward chimed in, “Your Highness visits the Palace of Dispelling Calamities often—you know the place well. Please go down the mountain at ease. We will certainly treat the two young masters with utmost care.”

With the steps laid out for him so neatly, the Ganyang Prince could hardly refuse and follow along. He cupped his hands toward Helan Zhenjia. “I will take my leave for today. I trouble the Sect Leader to look after my two troublesome sons. When I have time, I will come again to express my thanks.”

Each of his visits was accompanied by generous offerings of wealth, and no one ever complained about having too much money. Naturally, Helan Zhenjia accepted the courtesy and returned the gesture. “It is but a small matter, not worth mentioning. Your Highness is too kind.” He then instructed the steward to escort the prince down the mountain before gesturing toward the door. “Young masters, please.”

The group left the Pavilion of Supreme Excellence and followed winding stone paths, turning left and right until they arrived at the Chiming Courtyard, north of the Guanyin Hall.

The main hall of the Chiming Courtyard enshrined the Wisdom King Bodhisattva. The quiet chamber for the guidance ritual was a smaller side hall on the western side. The courtyard was sealed shut, surrounded by dense trees—so silent and secluded that not even birds or insects could be heard.

Baitie and Nayan Kun, along with their attendants, remained outside in the corridor. Qingtie, both nervous and curious, followed closely behind Helan Zhenjia into the hall.

The moment he stepped inside, the light dimmed. A heavy scent of sandalwood and musk struck straight into his head. Layers of light red curtains draped to the floor, and the doors and windows were covered with opaque cloth. Only lamps and candles illuminated the room, casting a hazy, flickering glow that, after a while, made one feel inexplicably dizzy and disoriented.

Qingtie looked around. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed that the lampstands were shaped unusually, unlike those at home. When he leaned closer, he realized they were all sculpted in graceful human forms, their faces and expressions almost lifelike. His heart skipped, and he quickly averted his gaze—only to meet the sight of the Joyful Buddha statues on the altar table, vivid and explicit. Lifting his head again, he saw that the walls were painted with bright murals depicting all kinds of intertwined figures, rendered in meticulous detail.

Like a scholar who had fallen into a fox spirit’s den, he flushed red with embarrassment. Unable to bear it any longer, he forced himself to look away and fixed his gaze on a wide stone platform in the center of the room. Its base was carved in the shape of a lotus, with yellow tassels hanging along the edges.

Then Helan Zhenjia lifted the curtain, revealing the most important—and most dangerous—“item” in the room.

Qingtie: “……”

On the lotus platform lay a motionless figure, about the same build as him… a person.

Deep red sleeves and long black hair spread across the dark blue bedding, making the exposed limbs appear pale as paper. A headband set with red agate and turquoise adorned the person’s forehead. Their face was painted with strange patterns in oil colors and gold powder, obscuring their original features and even their gender, yet they were undeniably beautiful—possessing an otherworldly, almost demonic allure.

Helan Zhenjia said calmly, “This is the true spirit who will undergo dual cultivation with you. His name is A’Lin. He was born mute, a pure ‘innate true spirit,’ greatly beneficial to cultivation.”

Qingtie stared unblinkingly at the pale “true spirit,” his gaze dazed—as if captivated, or as if he had discovered something entirely new.

Gold-threaded curtains and luxurious garments filled the room with dazzling splendor, yet only those beautiful eyes held an emptiness as lifeless as ashes.

Qingtie’s astonishment and wavering were clearly visible to Helan Zhenjia, who knew the matter was already half accomplished. He prompted at the right moment, “Please remove your clothing, sit upon the lotus platform, and follow me in reciting the incantation, regulating your breath and entering meditation, visualizing the image of the Buddha.”

The heavy fragrance made one drowsy. Qingtie clutched his collar and leaned closer to look at A’Lin. The moment their eyes met, he suddenly jumped back in shock, retreating several steps and hiding behind Helan Zhenjia, pointing tremblingly at the platform. “H-he—he—!”

Startled by his sudden outburst, even A’Lin blinked. Helan Zhenjia suppressed his anger. “What is it now?”

Qingtie cried out in despair, “I saw an Adam’s apple! He’s a man!”

Helan Zhenjia: “……”

If he hadn’t been born into such a powerful family, Helan Zhenjia would have twisted his head off long ago and used it as a ladle. Gathering all his patience, he resisted the urge to kick him and coaxed gently, “Didn’t I just say? The physical form is illusion, and so is the distinction between male and female—”

As he spoke, he lightly pushed Qingtie’s arm. The moment his hand touched the boy’s clothing, his wrist was suddenly seized. The rest of his words died in his throat.

Helan Zhenjia had martial skills and thus dared to dismiss his attendants, but Qingtie moved far too quickly. In a flash, he struck several acupoints on Helan Zhenjia’s chest, then followed with a chop to the side of his neck. Helan Zhenjia didn’t even have time to react—he collapsed silently to the ground.

A’Lin, lying on the platform, witnessed the entire swift and silent scene. Shock surged through him. If he could move or speak, he might have screamed and fled already.

This was no useless young master—most likely an assassin in disguise who had infiltrated to kill Helan Zhenjia. Yet judging by his age, he was about the same as A’Lin—far too young. No wonder Helan Zhenjia had let his guard down; who would have expected such a youth to strike with lethal intent?

The young “assassin” turned around, shedding the earlier awkward, naive demeanor as if peeling off a false skin, revealing the fangs beneath.

From the doorway came faint sounds—muffled groans and bodies hitting the ground. A’Lin saw the young assassin glance over. Moments later, another youth, slightly older and dressed in fine robes, dragged the unconscious Nayan Kun and two guards into the hall.

A’Lin’s heart began to race—there was another accomplice?

The second man met his fixed gaze and raised an eyebrow in surprise. “This one?”

Compared to the younger assassin, this man seemed more restrained, his killing intent less obvious. Yet perhaps by instinct, A’Lin felt a chill the moment he saw him, his whole body tensing as if every hair stood on end.

That question, though seemingly abrupt and without context, carried an unmistakable implication—he was the only witness to this assassination. If they didn’t kill him now, were they going to keep him alive for the New Year?

“An innocent, pitiful person.” Qingtie understood, but had no intention of complying. “He’s mute—he can’t say anything. There’s no need to kill him.”

Baitie said, “If you don’t kill him and leave him here, once the Ten Aspects Sect finds him, he’ll die anyway—perhaps even more miserably.”

At last, a trace of hesitation appeared on the young assassin’s face. He glanced at A’Lin without speaking or moving, as though weighing the consequences. He did not want to harm an innocent person, yet if he did not kill him, the man might still die because of him—the outcome would be no different.

But that was enough.

They had killed Helan Zhenjia; that alone was already a kind of vengeance for him. What the older youth said made sense. They could not risk rescuing a burden. Since he could not escape this fate, it would be better to die swiftly at the hands of this assassin than to remain trapped in the Ten Aspects Sect, suffering inhuman torment. At least this way, both sides could have peace of mind, and he would hold no resentment.

In recent days, A’Lin had tried to end his life several times; his will to live had grown extremely faint. Now, faced with such a clean and dignified chance to die, he actually felt a sense of relief. Unable to express himself directly, he met the young assassin’s gaze and calmly closed his eyes.

Darkness embraced him like still, deep water.

They said that before death, one sees their life flash before their eyes—but his mind was blank. Looking back on his life, there seemed to be nothing he could not let go of, nothing he clung to so desperately that he could not die.

So be it. Let it end here.

But the expected hand that would crush his throat never came. Instead, he felt someone fumbling clumsily at him. The sash that had already been loosely tied was pulled apart.

A’Lin’s eyes snapped open in shock, glaring at the youth. The other showed no restraint—he tugged open his robe, flipped him over, quickly stripped off the blood-red garment, then turned and peeled a full set of clothing off a guard, dressing him in it with somewhat unpracticed hands.

A’Lin: …

Baitie raised an eyebrow from the side, kindly voicing the question that was on the verge of bursting out: “What are you doing?”

“He seems to have been drugged. Can this be undone?”

Qingtie didn’t even look up, busy tying the belt. A’Lin didn’t even have the strength to sit; his whole body slumped in Qingtie’s arms like a large doll, letting himself be handled. “I’ll take him out. Once the main altar is thrown into chaos, no one will notice—he can find a way to escape on his own.”

Baitie reached out, his warm, dry fingers resting lightly on A’Lin’s wrist pulse. He crouched to search Nayan Kun and pulled a jade-colored medicine bottle from his pouch, tossing it to Qingtie.

Qingtie’s hands were cooler and more slender. He opened the bottle, pinched A’Lin’s cheeks to force his mouth open, and fed him some powdered medicine. Then he took a bowl of water—who knew where Baitie had found it—and helped him swallow it.

Baitie pressed a few points on A’Lin’s back. A warm current flowed through his limbs, easing the earlier numbness, though his body still felt sluggish and unresponsive.

“The Ten Aspects Sect’s secret drug ‘Mirror Platform’ has a stronger effect on ordinary people. With the antidote, you should recover in about an hour,” Baitie said. He removed Nayan Kun’s dagger, shaved the beard off an unconscious guard, cut his hair tie, and spread his hair loose, roughly disguising him as A’Lin before tossing him onto the stone platform. “I’ll deal with Helan Zhenjia. You take him out. If you’re going to hide him, hide him well—don’t let him be found easily.”

Seeing how calm and decisive Baitie was, clearly someone accustomed to taking charge, A’Lin had expected him to insist on killing him to eliminate future trouble. Instead, he chose to save him. Startled, A’Lin tried to lift his head for a better look—but before he could, Qingtie hoisted him over his shoulder like a sack.

Caught off guard, A’Lin’s stomach was jammed against the youth’s bony shoulder, nearly making him vomit the medicine he had just swallowed. Baitie said sympathetically, “Young friend, staying alive is what matters—bear with it for now.”

Qingtie glanced at him, adjusted A’Lin’s position on his shoulder, and said to Baitie, “I still need to retrieve something from the Spirit Tower. Take his head and leave first—don’t wait for me. After you escape, give a signal. I’ll wrap things up. See you at Bihan City.”

The dagger spun lightly in Baitie’s hand as he walked toward the unconscious Helan Zhenjia, his tone as calm as if he were cutting tofu. “See you at Bihan City.”

Qingtie leapt out the back window with A’Lin on his back. With light footwork, he moved swiftly across rooftops and courtyards, silent as a wildcat, and slipped through a half-open side window into the Medicine Master Buddha Hall.

Inside, three deities were enshrined: the Medicine Master Buddha at the center, Sunlight Bodhisattva on the left, and Moonlight Bodhisattva on the right. The statues stood over ten feet tall, surrounded by yellow drapes and prayer banners, with a circular gilded halo behind them. The space between the wall and the statues was more than enough to hide a person.

Qingtie bent down and set A’Lin carefully behind the Medicine Buddha statue, letting him lean against it. He stuffed the dagger taken from a guard into A’Lin’s arms and said quietly, “I still have matters to attend to. This is as far as I can take you. Soon there will be chaos outside. Once you regain your strength, find a way to escape.”

A’Lin, still dizzy, nodded with effort. He looked up at him silently, wanting to ask his name—or at least see his true face—but his limbs remained weak and his voice would not come. Qingtie, having done what he could, saw no reason for them to meet again. He stepped back, leapt down from the platform, and vanished soundlessly into the darkness of the hall.

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