The Purple Plume Tower, rumored to have been founded in the early years of the Spring and Autumn chaos, was established by the seventh prince of the former Great Qian Dynasty to revive his fallen kingdom.
It dedicated itself to gathering secrets from both the martial world and the imperial court, recruiting wanted criminals from various states, quietly amassing strength, and biding time to seize the divine artifact.
But in the centuries that followed, the Jiang royal bloodline of Great Qian seemed cursed, dwindling until it vanished.
Two cycles of sixty years ago, the last Jiang-surnamed Tower Master died of illness, severing the Great Qian royal line entirely.
After deliberations among its elders, the Purple Plume Tower transformed from a secret restoration organization into a full-fledged assassin and intelligence network.
With its deep foundations, it swiftly became the undisputed titan of the Central Plains’ dark underbelly.
In Yanxia’s court, many high-ranking officials had ties to the Purple Plume Tower. They could summon its elite Heaven-tier assassins, scattered across the land, using a pale purple peacock feather personally bestowed by the Tower Master as a token.
At this moment, the Bone Demon, hidden behind the koi screen, ranked fourth among the Purple Plume Tower’s twenty-eight Heaven-tier assassins, his strength unfathomable.
“Your Highness, who do you want killed?” the Bone Demon asked.
“Cui Yu, a Martial College student at the Imperial Academy,” Ji Yanqing replied coldly.
Though hypnotizing Cui Yu for information was viable, sneaking into the Cui residence alone at midnight was far too risky.
Professional tasks were best left to professionals. Ji Yanqing didn’t expect Cui Yu to stay silent under torture. The Bone Demon could send him to his grave afterward, fulfilling both the mission and the demon’s need to collect human bones.
“Who?! Your Highness, don’t you know he’s from the Langya Cui clan, a prestigious noble family…”
“…and his father’s the deputy commander of the Imperial Guard,” the Bone Demon said, feigning shock, his voice laced with a hint of panic.
“You’ve assassinated governors. You care about this?” Ji Yanqing retorted.
“Your Highness misunderstands. I mean… it’ll cost extra,” the Bone Demon clarified.
“How much?”
“Thirteen thousand taels of silver, guaranteed untraceable to you,” the Bone Demon said, hiking the price with a serious tone.
“I’ll give you fourteen thousand taels, and you’ll look into something else for me,” Ji Yanqing countered.
“Your Highness is truly generous,” the Bone Demon rasped, his eerie chuckle like a crow pecking at carrion.
“Three tasks: First, find out who ordered Cui Yu to provoke the Wei King’s Heir and why. Second, ensure Cui Yu stays silent forever. Third, investigate who the deputy commander of the Imperial Guard has been contacting lately,” Ji Yanqing instructed, tossing a stack of banknotes to the shadow.
After verifying the notes, the Bone Demon grinned, “As you command, Your Highness.”
The osmanthus moon rose, its sparse shadows dancing in the freshly washed night.
Ji Yanqing sat at his desk, his sword-like brows sharp, his peach-blossom eyes soft yet striking, his features refined—a true young beauty.
He felt compelled to do something for the late Head Su, his would-be father-in-law. After pondering, Ji Yanqing decided to visit Hongfu Temple after morning roll call to hold a feng shui ritual for Su Yuanshan.
Hongde Year Four, Late First Month.
Under rare winter sunshine, Chang’an’s streets buzzed with life. Commoners flooded the roads, while peddlers hawked their wares:
“Sweet tofu pudding for sale!”
“Salty tofu pudding here!”
“Salty tofu pudding counts as tofu pudding? Is that even edible?”
“Looks like you’re begging for a beating—take this fist!”
“Ouch… easy, not the face!”
Amid the noisy bickering, the Wei King’s Heir, clad in an inky-gold noble robe, rode through on his horse. Perhaps due to the warming weather, the Night-Shining Jade Lion’s hooves clacked crisply against the ground.
“Wow, look at that handsome young man over there!” a young girl squealed.
“Shh, don’t shout! Have some shame!” an older, charming young woman scolded, glancing in the direction her friend pointed. “Such… such beautiful eyes.”
Ignoring the admiring chatter of infatuated girls and women, Ji Yanqing kept his gaze forward, galloping toward Chang’an’s city gate. His delicate peach-blossom eyes betrayed a thoughtful expression.
Earlier, at the Imperial Academy’s White Deer Hall for morning roll call, Chu Yingao, unusually, didn’t scorn him.
Instead, she insisted he join her at the Start of Spring Poetry Gathering to compete in literary talent, her competitive streak bafflingly intense.
She even promised that if he bested her in poetry, she’d grant any request. If he lost, he’d owe nothing.
Such a drastic change in demeanor in just one day made Ji Yanqing wonder if Chu Yingao had been possessed last night.
Faced with the challenge from the Duke of Yan’s noble daughter, Ji Yanqing initially considered slacking off to brush it aside. But on second thought, this could be a chance to tweak his wastrel persona.
Moreover, under such generous terms, outright refusal might raise suspicions of him biding his time too obviously. Instead, boldly accepting Chu Yingao’s challenge with an air of arrogant confidence seemed wiser.
On the day of the Start of Spring Poetry Gathering, he could compose a “masterpiece” like “One flower, two flowers, three or four, five flowers, six flowers, seven or eight more”—a surefire way to invite ridicule from Hanlin editors and students alike.
This would bolster his chances of leaving Chang’an alive.
Exiting through Jingyao Gate, his snow-white steed, swift as a silver meteor, leaped dozens of zhang in a single bound. In a flash, the Wei King’s Heir reached Hongfu Temple in Chang’an’s suburbs.
Its jade tiles and vermilion eaves gleamed under the sunlight, incense smoke swirling as Buddhist chants rose.
Hongfu Temple sprawled vast, roughly four times the size of the Wei King’s Mansion, adorned with ornate carvings. Pilgrims streamed in endlessly, and two refined monks stood at the entrance, greeting visitors.
Entering alone, Ji Yanqing had hoped to admire this millennium-old temple, renowned through the ages.
But the throng of pilgrims was overwhelming, shoulders brushing in the crowd, leaving him disoriented and unable to tell east from west.
Struggling free from the masses, Ji Yanqing regretted not hypnotizing the gatekeeping eunuchs to report to Wang Zhu that he was acting suspiciously, as if planning to flee.
That would’ve prompted the Spy Agency superintendent to clear a path with shadow guards—a perfect display of his wastrel arrogance while burdening Wang with extra work.
A win-win.
What a pity to miss such an opportunity.
Suddenly, Ji Yanqing’s peach-blossom eyes caught sight of a heavy wooden door in a corner, covered in creeping vines.
The door, covered in dust and untouched for ages, hadn’t been opened in a long time.
Barging into an unfamiliar courtyard would be impolite, especially in a millennium-old temple like this, where something impure might be sealed within.
In Canglan Goddess Chronicles, demons and ghosts existed, though rare. Ghosts were barely noticeable, mostly appearing in early mundane quests—stealing trinkets or startling people.
With Ji Yanqing’s modest Taoist skills, he could handle most ghosts, let alone the supreme Nine Heavens Thunder Law of Dragon-Tiger Mountain’s Celestial Master.
But demons, once they reached human form, rivaled top Transformation Realm experts.
Any one of the creatures sealed beneath Dragon-Tiger Mountain could effortlessly slaughter thousands of Ji Yanqings.
As he prepared to turn away, a seductive whisper echoed in his mind:
[The heavy door seems to hold a peculiar allure, enticing you to push it open. Surely, something intriguing lies beyond—perhaps an enchanting, unfulfilled young woman awaiting your favor…]
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