Chapter 28: Mountain Rain

After summer arrived, the rain in the mountains gradually increased.

Bai Heng lay at the entrance of the rock cave, gazing at the continuous curtain of rain outside. 

The rain had started in the afternoon and by evening had not only not stopped but grown even heavier.

Rainwater flowed down the rock wall, forming a beaded curtain at the cave entrance.

The distant mountains were hidden in the misty rain, visible only as blurred outlines. 

The village below was also blurred, with only a few points of lamplight diffusing through the downpour—someone had lit a lamp, like fireflies gathered low to the ground.

On such a rainy night, no one would go out.

Bai Heng withdrew her gaze and shifted position on the dry leaves. 

The rock cave was very quiet, filled only with the sound of rain at the entrance—patter, patter, patter—long and even.

She closed her eyes but did not fall asleep.

Over these past days, she had carefully observed everyone in the village who had moved in within the last two years.

She had already figured out the routines of those Qi Condensation spies.

The man surnamed Zhou would head into the mountains every three to five days, claiming to chop firewood, but in reality he would circle around to the forest behind the village and meet with someone.

The village woman would go to town at the beginning of each month to sell her needlework and buy daily necessities, yet every time she returned, the contents of her basket never seemed to have decreased.

Every so often, new items would appear in Liu the peddler’s wares, though it was unclear where he obtained them.

Their actions were cautious, but to Bai Heng they left traces everywhere.

Even so, she had still not identified any spies from Qingxu Sect or the Feng Clan.

The scholar surnamed Chen, the widow surnamed Wang, and the girl named Lin Lan—Bai Heng had observed them for a long time and had yet to detect any trace of a cultivator.

Perhaps they really were ordinary villagers.

Or perhaps their concealment methods were so advanced that even she could not detect them.

Bai Heng opened her eyes and looked out at the curtain of rain.

If it was the latter, then the situation was far more complicated than she had imagined.

The rain fell all night and only gradually eased at dawn.

Bai Heng stepped out of the rock cave and shook the moisture from her fur.

The mountain forest had been washed clean by the rain and smelled especially fresh. 

Water droplets clung to the leaves, sparkling in the morning light, and the birds had begun calling again, rising and falling in a lively chorus.

She followed the familiar mountain path and slowly made her way toward the back of the village.

The path was slippery after the rain, so she walked slowly, pausing now and then to sniff the grass and trees by the roadside or to examine the mushrooms sprouting beneath them. 

If she found any usable medicinal herbs, she quietly stored them in her knowledge sea.

As she rounded a ridge, she suddenly stopped.

Voices were coming from the forest not far ahead.

Bai Heng did not approach.

She lightly leaped onto a moss-covered rock and peered through the gaps in the branches and leaves.

It was Qin Yun.

The boy carried his bow and arrows and was squatting beside a fallen dead tree, examining something. 

Standing next to him was a middle-aged man with thick eyebrows and a square face, a hunting knife at his waist and half a wild goat slung over his shoulder.

That was Qin Shi, Qin Yun’s foster father.

Bai Heng had seen him a few times from afar. 

The hunter was tall and sturdy, a man of few words, but he always took Qin Yun into the mountains with him, personally teaching the boy how to read animal tracks and set snares and traps. 

The villagers privately said that Qin Shi treated Qin Yun like his own son—perhaps even better than his own daughter.

“Dad, these hoofprints are from a wild boar, right?”

Qin Yun’s voice carried over, clear and youthful.

Qin Shi walked over, squatted down to look, and nodded.

“Yes, a wild boar. A sow with piglets.”

He pointed in the direction of the tracks.

“They went that way, down the mountain last night. Sows with young are the fiercest—don’t confront them head-on. Climb a tree and hide.”

Qin Yun listened attentively, nodding repeatedly.

Qin Shi stood up and brushed the mud from his hands.

“Let’s go. First we’ll check those snares we set yesterday. With that rain last night, we might have caught something.”

Father and son walked deeper into the mountains, one ahead of the other.

Bai Heng remained on the rock, watching them move away.

The boy followed behind his foster father with light, quick steps, turning back from time to time to say something. 

Qin Shi would reply with few words, but every one of them was to the point.

Bai Heng had seen this scene several times before.

The little girl named Qin Yu would sometimes come along too. 

A few years younger than Qin Yun, she wore her hair in two adorable buns and was fair and lively. 

Whenever she went into the mountains she would skip along, picking wildflowers or gathering fruit, then run back to stuff them into Qin Yun’s hands.

“Brother, eat this!”

Qin Yun would smile, accept the offering, and ruffle her hair.

Qin Shi’s wife was a gentle, hardworking farm woman. 

The family of four was not wealthy, but their life was stable.

Sometimes, watching them, Bai Heng would think of the past.

Back when she was still trapped inside the amber, she had watched the mountains, forests, and rocks change over time. 

Many memories had blurred, but the clearest ones were from the years she had cloud-raised the foxes—watching Little Red and Little White play beneath the big tree, watching Little White raise her kits alone, watching those two little foxes freeze stiff in the snow…

Those vivid memories felt close, yet they also seemed to belong to a very long time ago.

Even now, whenever she recalled them, an indescribable feeling would stir in her heart.

Bai Heng withdrew her gaze, leaped down from the rock, and continued in another direction.

In the afternoon the sky clouded over again.

Bai Heng was squatting beside a mountain stream drinking water when she suddenly heard hurried footsteps in the distance. 

She lifted her head and looked toward the sound.

A girl was hurrying along the forest path.

It was Lin Lan.

She wore a simple cyan cloth dress today, her hair loosely tied back. 

She was running rather quickly, her skirt hem splattered with mud, yet she paid it no mind. 

In her hand she carried a bamboo basket covered with a blue cloth; its contents were hidden.

Bai Heng watched quietly without moving.

Lin Lan reached a fork in the path and stopped, looking around as if waiting for someone.

A moment later, footsteps came from the other end of the trail.

Qin Yun emerged from the trees carrying his bow and arrows and two wild rabbits. 

When he saw Lin Lan, he paused slightly.

“Sister Lin Lan? What are you doing here?”

Lin Lan hurried forward and pressed the bamboo basket into his hands.

“I brought you something to eat. I steamed some mugwort cakes—eat them while they’re hot.”

Qin Yun accepted the basket and scratched his head, looking a little embarrassed.

“You went to the trouble of bringing them again… I could have come get them myself.”

Lin Lan shook her head, a faint smile on her face.

“I was coming into the mountains to gather some ferns anyway—it was on the way. Try them and see if they suit your taste.”

Qin Yun lifted the blue cloth. 

Inside the basket were seven or eight neatly arranged green mugwort cakes, still steaming and giving off the distinctive fresh scent of mugwort. 

He picked one up, took a bite, and chewed.

“Delicious!”

His eyes brightened. With his mouth still full, he mumbled, “Sister Lin Lan, your cooking keeps getting better.”

Lin Lan watched him eat, the corners of her lips curving upward.

“Eat slowly. Don’t choke.”

She paused, then asked, “What about that girl Qin Yu? Didn’t she come into the mountains with you today?”

Qin Yun swallowed the mouthful of cake and shook his head.

“She got a little wet in the rain yesterday. Mom told her to rest at home.”

Lin Lan nodded. She took a small cloth pouch from her sleeve and handed it to him.

“I made a few sachets for her. They’re filled with mugwort and mint to keep mosquitoes away. Take them back to her.”

Qin Yun accepted the pouch and thanked her earnestly.

Lin Lan waved it off and said nothing more. 

She turned to leave, but after a few steps she looked back at Qin Yun.

“Go home early. It looks like it’s going to rain again.”

Qin Yun agreed. 

He watched her figure disappear down the forest path.

Bai Heng remained in the distance, taking in the entire scene.

The girl’s expression, the tone of her voice, and that final glance as she left—

Bai Heng narrowed her eyes slightly.

The sky really was about to rain again.

Bai Heng did not linger. She followed another path and quietly circled back to the rock cave.

In the evening the rain indeed began to fall once more.

It was heavier than the night before. 

Raindrops hammered against the leaves with a loud patter. 

The mountain streams swelled, their muddy waters carrying dead branches and fallen leaves as they rushed downhill.

Bai Heng lay at the cave entrance, staring absently into the downpour.

She thought back to the scene she had witnessed during the day.

The expression on Lin Lan’s face as she brought food to Qin Yun had been so natural, so ordinary—like any girl being kind to the boy she liked.

Yet the more natural it seemed, the more it drew Bai Heng’s attention.

She recalled how, every time she had probed the girl with her spiritual sense, she had sensed only a blank void. 

No spiritual power, no cultivation, not even the slightest unusual aura.

But that very blankness was itself abnormal.

A criminal official’s daughter rescued by a wandering hero and sent to this remote mountain village for safety—such a background sounded perfectly reasonable. 

Yet why had that hero chosen Qingxi Village in particular? 

And why two years ago?

Two years ago was exactly when Yun Qing and his wife had met with disaster and news of the secret realm had spread.

Bai Heng did not rush to any conclusions.

She simply stored every detail away in her mind.

The rain continued falling without any sign of stopping.

The sky gradually darkened, and lights began to flicker on in the village below. 

Those few points of lamplight swayed in the downpour, as though they could be extinguished at any moment yet somehow kept burning.

Bai Heng gazed at one of them in particular.

It was in the direction of Qin Yun’s house.

The boy’s silhouette could be faintly seen against the window paper. 

He seemed to be moving about, perhaps talking to someone. Beside him was a smaller shadow—most likely his little sister Qin Yu.

A family of four gathered around an oil lamp, sharing their evening meal.

The shadows cast on the window paper were blurred yet warm.

Bai Heng watched for a long time before slowly withdrawing her gaze.

She rested her head on her front paws and half-closed her eyes.

Outside the cave, the sound of rain remained steady.

Patter, patter, patter.

After some time, another sound suddenly mingled with the rain.

It was very soft and very distant, like the footsteps of someone walking through the rain.

Bai Heng’s ears twitched slightly.

She did not open her eyes, but her divine sense extended outward like the gentlest of tendrils, reaching toward the source of the sound.

In the rainy night, a blurred figure was slowly making its way along the mountain path toward the back of the village.