Chapter Fourteen: Layers of Conspiracy

Lin Mao’s heart was gripped with fear; he knew the Demon Child was about to hold him accountable for the incident with the Goddess statue. Yet he was but a humble servant, eager to please, never imagining that his good intentions would lead to such catastrophic misfortune today. Now, with the Demon Child pressing him, he found himself trapped—admitting fault was perilous, but denial would be equally damning. Helpless, he prostrated himself tremblingly and stammered, “I…I…acknowledge my guilt.”

“And what is your crime?” came the cold inquiry.

“I…I…failed to investigate thoroughly, causing disaster and implicating my master,” Lin Mao raised his head, sweat beads as large as beans falling to the floor.

“Hmph, so you have some self-awareness. I thought you bore a grudge against me?”

“I wouldn’t dare, not in the slightest.” Lin Mao knocked his head against the ground repeatedly, hastily justifying, “Offering my daughter was entirely voluntary; even she herself was willing. There’s no resentment, I beg my master to see clearly.”

His thirst for advancement was undeniable, but he was not unfeeling toward his daughter—her willingness made it all the better. Thus, her wish fulfilled and his duty done, both gained from the exchange; what could be wrong with that?

“Let me ask you: do you know the names and origins of these two individuals?”

“Uh…” Lin Mao was stunned; he truly had no idea. Forced to defend himself, he explained, “The scholar was an accidental intruder at the banquet. I saw his pure blood and thought him an ideal supplement, so I ordered him bound for your enjoyment. I…I never imagined it would lead to trouble.”

He cast a furtive glance toward the pavilion, growing increasingly anxious, fearful the Demon Child might lash out.

“And the other one?”

“I…I don’t know.”

“Well, what use do I have for such ignorance?” Abruptly, a terrifying pressure burst forth from the pavilion, crashing toward Lin Mao. He was sent flying, landing hard at the feet of his wife.

“Ugh…” A handful of crimson, as if blossoms of crabapple scattered.

“Husband?” The woman paled, terrified, dropping to her knees and cradling him in her arms, frantically dabbing at him with a handkerchief.

Impatient, Lin Mao shoved her away, snapping, “Move aside.”

He pushed her off and scrambled to the steps beneath the eaves, bowing his head. “Thank you, master, for sparing my life.”

The Demon Child sneered, “Lin Mao, you are bold indeed—on the brink of death and still scheming with me. Do you truly believe I won’t kill you?”

“I wouldn’t dare. My sincerity is as clear as sunlight and moonlight; I beg my master’s mercy.”

“Is that so?” The tone suddenly shifted. “But your wife seems displeased.”

The woman trembled, teeth chattering uncontrollably, unable to utter a word, gazing helplessly at Lin Mao.

He glanced at her, curling his lip disdainfully. “A foolish woman, that’s all. Newly favored by the master and frightened out of her wits. If my master disapproves, I’ll divorce her at once.”

He shot her another glare. “Stupid creature, aren’t you going to thank the master for his concern?”

“Thank…thank you, master.” She had just begun to address her husband, but Lin Mao’s icy stare cut her short, quivering anew, her grievances dissolving into mist.

“Master, you see, she’s just inexperienced; please don’t stoop to her level, lest you demean yourself.” Lin Mao put on a servile smile, cautiously shifting to the side and kneeling.

“If that is so, then it is I who am unreasonable. Since you introduced her, let bygones be bygones—for this time only. There will be no next.” The Demon Child adjusted her robes and, barefoot, drifted behind the gauzy curtain. Lifting a corner, she peered at them.

Lin Mao was overjoyed, quickly signaling his wife to join him in expressing gratitude. “Thank you, master!”

The woman dared not hesitate, clutching her lapels, bowing with tears in her eyes. “Thank you, master!”

The Demon Child’s gaze lowered, releasing the curtain from her fingers. “Lin Mao, step forward.”

“Yes, master.” Hearing this, he knew the crisis had passed; his neck was safe for now.

---

He carefully gathered his robes, tiptoeing to kneel beneath the dripping eaves, fearful that even the slightest sound might offend those within the pavilion.

“Please instruct me, master.”

“Come closer.”

…Lin Mao hesitated, uncertain—was the master inviting him inside to speak?

“Enter, I have matters to entrust you with alone.” The Demon Child glanced out at him before settling gracefully onto her cushion.

“Yes, master.”

Lin Mao stole a glance at his wife, who watched him with concern, discreetly waving her hand from within her sleeve.

Husband, don’t…

But fortune favors the bold; if he were to be killed, it would have happened already. Now, summoned inside, it seemed death was not imminent. With this thought, Lin Mao rose and entered the pavilion with bowed head.

His wife could not stop him, collapsing in despair, her brows drawn in sorrow. Had she known servitude would be so arduous, she would have preferred to be a minor immortal cultivating on a lonely hillside—at least then, she would have been free from fear.

Her heart felt as if it no longer belonged to her, and she found herself longing for the days spent with her daughter. Though the divine realm was unattainable, those days were peaceful, unlike now—her daughter gone, and the path to divinity a mere illusion. Alas…

Inside the pavilion, Lin Mao was greeted by a subtle fragrance that seemed to penetrate his meridians, soothing his entire body. He nearly cried out aloud, quickly covering his mouth, and glimpsed a pair of jade feet beneath yellow robes, quickly averting his gaze. “Greetings, master.”

To his surprise, the Demon Child asked, “Do you find my feet beautiful?”

Lin Mao swallowed nervously. “Yes…very beautiful.”

Realizing what he’d said, he panicked and bowed deeply. “I have sinned; please punish me, master.”

“Rise. You merely voiced a man’s true thoughts; why should I blame you?”

Is that all? Lin Mao was startled, glancing up to find she seemed unconcerned, and he quietly replied, “Yes, master.”

The Demon Child picked up a bamboo tongs and added charcoal to the small red clay stove. Using an iron skewer, she stirred the coals, sparks crackling softly. “My spiritual consciousness has been damaged, and all my plans have come to naught. Not only is my chronic illness unhealed, but I am now injured further.”

Lin Mao’s heart tightened. “I am at fault.”

“Enough. Killing you now would change nothing; there are more urgent matters I need you to handle.” She gently blew on the coals, and when the flame flared, set the skewer aside.

She took a sky-blue porcelain pot, placed it on the stove, and slowly poured morning dew from a bamboo tube into it. Her every motion was graceful.

“What…what do you require?”

“I want you to go to the Lonely Yin Bridge and deliver this jade cicada to the guardian there.” She raised her hand, producing a seven-treasure box, and handed it to Lin Mao.

He grasped the box, heavy as if it weighed a thousand pounds, but dared not open it, glancing at the Demon Child and cautiously asking, “Is this the Lonely Yin Bridge at the Xiaotong Basin, Yin Mountain Lake?”

“Yes, precisely.” She resumed stirring the coals.

“Forgive my ignorance, master. I’ve visited Yin Mountain Lake before—there’s neither inhabitants nor dwellings. How can there be a guardian? I’m afraid I won’t be able to fulfill your task.”

It was a place infested with snakes and insects, foul and stagnant—birds never landed, dead water and barren trees, with not a patch of sunlight. It seemed the sun could never penetrate.

The Demon Child paused, “That’s because you used the wrong approach. You haven’t seen the guardian, but they have seen you clearly. Otherwise, why do you think I chose you?”

Lin Mao recalled his own frustrations during his unsuccessful days at Yin Mountain Lake, where he’d voiced his complaints. He’d wondered why, upon presenting himself, the Demon Child accepted him without question—now he understood.

He raised his gaze. “If that’s so, please guide me further, master.”

“I think your wife would be a suitable candidate.” The Demon Child uncovered the pot, saw the water boiling, wrapped the handle with a cloth, and set it down. She drew a sky-blue tea cup before her, preparing to brew tea, but noticed Lin Mao silent and downcast.

---

“So? Are you reluctant?” she asked.

Lin Mao forced a smile. “We’ve been married for a thousand years; even without love, there’s still affection. I…find it hard to let go.”

The Demon Child regarded him, then smiled slyly, “I thought you had the heart of a eagle, but you’re just a guest beneath a woman’s skirts.”

Lin Mao flushed, embarrassed, knowing she was mocking him but unable to respond.

“Daughters can be born again, and wives can be remarried, can’t they?”

“Well…”

Before he could finish, the Demon Child interrupted, “What do you think of Qingfu?”

Lin Mao’s eyes widened, mouth agape, breathing heavily. In an instant, he began to weigh his options. Qingfu was highly cultivated, beautiful, and close to the Demon Child—far superior to the shrew at home. It might be unfeeling, but he had pleaded and hesitated for his wife, hadn’t he? Thus, he considered himself not wholly heartless; he had done his part.

Seeing the advantages clearly, he rejoiced, “I am unworthy; everything shall be as you command, master.”

The Demon Child’s eyes glimmered, a smile playing on her lips as she drew the tea cup before her. “Excellent, I did not misjudge you. Now I can entrust Qingfu to you in the future.”

With that, she lifted the lid and poured hot water in. In a blink, fragrant steam filled the air.

“Thank you for your guidance, master.”

“Go now; your wife must have been anxious for some time. Do not neglect her, comfort her well.”

“Yes, master. I take my leave.” Lin Mao withdrew to the doorway, then rose and exited the pavilion.

He approached his wife, gently helping her up. “Let’s go, it’s all right. I had no choice earlier; I’m sorry I frightened you.”

His wife was both startled and delighted, shyly glancing at him. “Husband, you exaggerate; as long as you are safe, I would willingly die for you.”

Lin Mao led her along the path they’d come, and Qingfu greeted them. “This way, please.”

“Thank you, Miss Qingfu.” As their eyes met, a subtle undercurrent passed between them.

His wife, oblivious, was simply overjoyed to be escorted away by Lin Mao. Whatever might be, she felt no concern—men love beauty, after all. What harm in a few stolen glances?

After about an hour, Qingfu escorted them to the foot of the mountain. With farewells exchanged, Lin Mao departed with his wife, while Qingfu returned to the pavilion.

She found the Demon Child about to drink the tea she had brewed. Qingfu hurried forward to intercept her. “The tea has cooled; let me brew it fresh for you, master.”

“Are you angry?” The Demon Child lounged lazily by the table, letting Qingfu take the cup.

“I would not dare.”

The Demon Child laughed—it was not a matter of daring, but of feeling. “Rest assured, I merely deceived him; it was nothing serious. How could I bear to part with you, Qingfu, when you are so attentive?”

“Then why say such things to him? What if…”

“There’s no ‘what if.’ Come closer.”

“Yes, master.” Qingfu set aside the tea-making, knelt beside the Demon Child.

The Demon Child leaned in and whispered a few words, and Qingfu’s brow cleared in understanding.

“I will see to it at once,” she said, then vanished without a trace.

Suddenly, the Demon Child stifled a groan, unable to hold back a mouthful of crimson—blood splattered across the table.

“Pff…”