Chapter 80: The Nine-Tailed Spirit Fox (Part Three)

On the following morning, Lingmei, Xiaomei, Music, Wu Ming, and Baolong all changed into the attire of Qingqiu—flowing robes and wide sleeves for the men, elegant gowns with layered skirts for the women.

“What?? You’re expelling us from the sect?” Baolong, just awakened, stared in utter bewilderment at Wu Ming, who stood beside him, head hanging low, silent, his gaze fixed vacantly on the floorboards.

Baolong, now frantic, pinned all his hopes on the sect leader speaking up. “Master, won’t you say something?” he pleaded.

But Wu Ming remained mute.

Lingmei’s face had turned grim. “Since the sect leader agrees, then let Baolong be expelled from the Dao of Unity!”

Hardly had her words fallen when Baolong dropped to his knees with a thud, wailing, “Spare me this once! I remember nothing! I know I was wrong!” Seeing Lingmei unmoved, he crawled and sobbed his way to Xiaomei and Music, clinging to them as he cried, “Xiaomei, Music, I was wrong, I was wrong, please don’t expel me! After so many years, I finally found a home—I don’t want to wander as a lonely ghost…” Snot and tears streamed down his face, pooling on the floor—disgusting, yet oddly pitiable.

“Ahem, ahem!” Wu Ming, watching Baolong’s pitiful display, felt nothing but contempt. He spoke up: “Sister Lingmei, you are wrong to expel Baolong! It was I who wished to drink, Baolong had no choice in the matter. If anyone is to blame for breaking the rules and drinking, it should be me—the sect leader. Baolong only obeyed my order. The fault is mine alone.”

Lingmei, Xiaomei, and Music all nodded, finding Wu Ming’s words reasonable—indeed, Baolong was not to blame.

Yet Wu Ming had shouldered all the guilt himself. If he were to lose his position as sect leader, he’d have to pay dearly. Wu Ming continued, “Look at the state of my body—can it really be saved? The medicine from Long San, the ghost doctor’s treatment—none of it has worked. With or without the nine-tailed spirit fox, how could I bear to drink its blood? Yesterday, I only wished for a drink to dull my pain, to spare you all from worrying about me. I’m truly weary, and I’ve troubled you all enough these past days.” He wiped away a tear, paused, and went on, “If you ever meet that time hunter, tell her: ‘Falling flowers drift with the current, but the current is indifferent to the fallen flowers.’ Let her abandon her thoughts of me. I do not wish to delay anyone with this frail body. Let me remain forever in this earthly paradise of Qingqiu, all alone. Will you grant me this, Acting Sect Leader Lingmei?” With that, Wu Ming bowed to Lingmei, Xiaomei, and Music, handed Lingmei the Shanhai Mirror from his breast, turned with a sweep of his sleeve, and walked away—a graceful exit, taking his sorrow with him, leaving only the solitary silhouette of a man behind.

Lingmei wanted to speak but could not find the words. Xiaomei and Music stood rooted, lost in thought.

Baolong, ever loyal, hurried after Wu Ming. “Master… don’t go!” When he caught up, Wu Ming tilted his head back, blinking away his tears, then cast a mysterious look at Baolong.

In that moment, Baolong was awed—truly, the master was worthy of his title. What a performance! Such pathos, such sadness—clearly a masterstroke of feigned retreat. Brilliant! The word “Best Actor” flashed through Baolong’s mind. He slowly released his grip, wiped away a tear, and let Wu Ming leave.

Lingmei, Xiaomei, and Music exchanged glances. Baolong wandered back to his room, dejected, and as soon as the door closed, loud sobbing erupted. Had Wu Ming been there, they could have put on quite the double act.

Lingmei, too, was in low spirits. She slumped onto a stool, silent, clutching Wu Ming’s Shanhai Mirror, torn with inner conflict. “The sect leader is so stubborn—not a word in his own defense, just leaves and hands me the mirror. How am I supposed to wield it? But he did break the rules! What should I do? Do we go after him, or return home?” Lingmei was at a loss.

Music glanced at Xiaomei, who likewise kept silent. The events of the previous day were forgiven—after all, they’d faced life and death together more than once, as close as siblings now.

The group lapsed into silence within the room.

Suddenly, Music exclaimed, “Sister Sect Leader, what if former leader Wu Ming ends up fancied by that nine-tailed fox? Don’t be fooled by his scholarly looks—just look at the story of Nie Xiaoqian, she liked that pale scholar. That could turn out well, but if she eats him, there won’t even be a bone left!” Music switched titles with surprising speed.

“Oh, please! Leave me be, I’ll just wait here!” Lingmei burst out, tears rolling down her face. “Do you think it’s easy for me, leading you all with neither magic nor skill to speak of? I’ve had enough! Wu Ming will come back by nightfall!” She began to cry, too—after all, she was a woman, and she’d come to Qingqiu long ago with her betrothed, Yinglong. But tragedy struck, Yinglong vanished, and she had waited two centuries since. Now she’d driven Wu Ming away and didn’t know what to do. Perhaps heaven was right not to make her sect leader—outwardly strong, inside she was the frailest of them all.

Seeing this, Xiaomei quietly drew Music away, leaving Lingmei to compose herself.

Meanwhile, Wu Ming, having made a great show of leaving the Dao of Unity, now strolled the streets with a light heart. “What a mess at the crack of dawn! Good thing I have high emotional intelligence, or those sisters and that pig-headed brother would’ve sold me out,” he mused, playing with the jade pendant Baolong had given him.

Suddenly, a man snatched it from his hand. “Hey! Give that back!” Wu Ming shouted, instinctively chasing after the thief, reaching for the mirror in his breast—only to remember he’d given it to Lingmei. “Damn, I’m out of luck,” he thought, relying now on his legs. “Stop, thief! Someone help!”

A man in a white cloak appeared, his belt tied with a white brocade sash, long black hair streaming in the wind, a handsome face with eyes like icy springs, tall and carrying a sword with a jade hilt and gold-threaded cypress scabbard—the very image of a legendary hero.

“Who dares commit theft in Qingqiu?” the man called out, turning a somersault and setting off in pursuit.

Wu Ming watched in amazement. “Is… is this really a hero?”

The ragged thief, seeing an expert on his heels, was quickly subdued by the white-clad hero, who retrieved Wu Ming’s jade pendant.

Wu Ming, panting from his run but relieved, bowed deeply to the hero. “Thank you, sir! If not for you, my jade pendant…”

But before he could finish, the hero’s sword was at his throat—a blade so white it seemed carved from jade.

The thief scrambled up and ran off.

“Wait, what?” Wu Ming was bewildered. “Aren’t you a hero? If you want the pendant, we can negotiate—no need to kill me, brother…”

The white-robed man narrowed his eyes. “Where did you get this pendant?”

“It’s mine—I’ve always had it!” Wu Ming lied, suspecting he was being framed.

“What’s your name?” the man demanded.

“Me? Wu Ming!” Wu Ming replied, indignant. He might have had a sword at his neck, but he’d faced monstrous foes and sealed sacred trees before—he would not cower now.

“Well, well! Not afraid to die, are you? Calling yourself Wu Ming! Do you know who I am?” the man sneered.

Wu Ming couldn’t care less. “Just give my pendant back! Is this outright robbery? This is Qingqiu—be careful!” He remembered Lingmei’s warning: Qingqiu was the domain of the nine-tailed foxes; only the suicidal dared break the rules here.

As he pondered, a sedan chair was carried over.

“Big sister, look what we have here.” The white-robed man handed the pendant to the woman in the sedan. “This fellow claims it as his own. How should we deal with him?”

Wu Ming fumed. “So what if you’re rich? The pendant was my brother’s gift!”

A moment later, a woman’s voice sounded from inside, “Take him back with us! Who would’ve thought—searching high and low, only to find him by chance!”

“What? What are you doing? In broad daylight—” Wu Ming shouted, realizing he was being kidnapped. He cried out for help, but the bystanders only looked on, some pointing at him curiously.

Just then, the sedan’s curtain lifted, revealing a stunning beauty. She wore a white, pink-embroidered lotus dress under a long white robe, her hair elegantly coiffed, adorned with a gold and jade phoenix hairpin—her bearing surpassed that of any woman Wu Ming had ever seen. She was Lingxuan; the white-robed man was her fifth brother, Yuanfeng.

Lingxuan’s eyes flashed with surprise, then hatred. “So it’s you? Song Shao?”

Wu Ming was baffled. “Who’s Song Shao? I’m not him! You’ve got the wrong person!”

Lingxuan merely smiled. “Sharp-tongued, aren’t you? Perhaps even ‘Song Shao’ is a fake name. No matter—you needn’t deny it. Let’s see your performance soon enough. Take him!”

Regardless of Wu Ming’s protests, her men bound him and hauled him away.

Qingqiu’s Fox Immortal Valley…

Wu Ming was taken to the heart of Qingqiu—the lotus pond and the palatial gardens he’d glimpsed before. Up close, the buildings surpassed even the Forbidden City, more magnificent than any scenery he’d seen on TV. But Wu Ming was in no mood to admire them, still clueless as to what was happening.

Bound hand and foot, he was carried like a slaughtered pig by four servants, with Lingxuan and Yuanfeng leading the way. They passed through gate after gate, courtyard after courtyard, each heavily guarded. Wu Ming felt as if he’d entered an imperial palace—like something out of a classic rogue’s tale.

“Hey! What are you going to do with me?” he demanded.

But Lingxuan responded with a spell, and a white cloth was stuffed in Wu Ming’s mouth. He could only glare at the two siblings ahead as he was led through corridors, over thresholds, and around corners until he was dizzy.

“Put him down! Untie his ropes,” Lingxuan ordered.

“Leave his hands bound,” Yuanfeng added. Then, turning to the woman in white beside him, “Sister, are you sure? I fear second sister will be upset—perhaps it’s best not.”

Lingxuan shook her head. “It’s all right. I know what I’m doing. The ghost doctor said only the heart can cure the heart—sometimes poison must be fought with poison.”