Chapter Twelve: The Art of Pursuit and Eavesdropping

“Brother, what’s this? Why haven’t you ever shown it to me before?”

“It’s a tool for finding people. By sensing their aura, it can lock onto someone’s whereabouts,” Shangguan Chuanyun replied, having been interrupted by Shangguan Qingyun.

“Then why didn’t you ever let me see it before?” Shangguan Qingyun asked, his face full of grievance.

“You’re so annoying. If you ask me again, I’ll send you back,” Shangguan Chuanyun said, looking at Shangguan Qingyun, who was excitedly glancing about and pestering him with questions. Instantly, his head began to ache.

“Oh, all right,” Qingyun replied, crestfallen, afraid his brother might really send him home.

Within the city of Shengjing, the streets bustled with carriages and throngs of people. The air was filled with a constant clamor, shops lined the avenues, and from time to time, one could spot a few oddly dressed figures.

Shangguan Chuanyun wandered the streets with Qingyun in tow. Passing by was a steward-like man accompanied by several robust, charcoal-skinned individuals. Qingyun looked on in astonishment and asked, “Brother, what do those very dark-skinned men do?”

Shangguan Chuanyun glanced at them. Such black-skinned men were described in the “Compendium of Rare Creatures”—ten thousand miles west of Kunlun Mountain, there were men whose skin was black as beast-coal, vigorous in build and simple in nature, often purchased for labor and known as ‘Kunlun slaves.’ Yet, not wishing to explain further, Chuanyun simply replied, “They dig beast-coal.”

Qingyun thought it over and found it made sense—beast-coal was shiny and black, used for warmth in winter, its smoke billowing like wild beasts in the sky. If one dug beast-coal long enough, naturally one’s skin would turn black. He nodded repeatedly at the thought.

Indeed, this was Shengjing—the very heart of the empire, prosperous and magnificent. Chuanyun gazed at the bustling scene, quietly marveling.

...

Outside the main camp of the Divine Wind Battalion, Chuanyun and Qingyun looked upon the solemn military encampment.

Shangguan Chuanyun circulated his inner energy, channeling it into his eyes to activate his Aura-Sight.

Overhead, he saw a great mass of black energy surging above the camp, within which the sounds of clashing metal and warhorses rang out, stretching to the horizon, filling the air with a sense of oppressive solemnity. Chuanyun knew this was the military’s killing aura—an ordinary person would feel it as a suffocating presence that inspired fear. This murderous energy took the form of spectral cavalry and weapons in the sky, so much so that even birds avoided flying overhead. If a cultivator flew by, the aura could harm their soul.

Chuanyun considered testing his flying sword against this martial aura, wondering what would happen. But on second thought, if someone from Shengjing discovered him, it would be hard to explain. He was here to find the one who had attacked him the previous night, not to stir up trouble. Reluctantly, he suppressed the idea.

He sensed the person he sought was indeed within the barracks, for the direction matched, but he could not pinpoint their exact location within the vast camp.

The Divine Wind Battalion numbered about ten thousand, the very essence of the Great Liang’s military. Nominally, the Marquis of Wu’an was in charge, but in truth, the emperor controlled most of the force, with several princes assisting. The Marquis himself commanded only the naval contingent.

Blocked by the military’s murderous aura, Chuanyun could not probe further—nor could he divine more. It was as if fate itself was shrouded; all was veiled in mist. He could only send men to investigate directly. Only a true immortal could divine the inner workings of ten thousand soldiers—any ordinary person who tried would suffer a backlash of fate or even lose their life.

He surmised that, like cultivators, those who practiced the Dao would not linger long within the camp unless granted an official post by the court, for the army’s aura, imbued with the nation’s destiny, would naturally repel them. He recalled that although the court did confer titles on some cultivators, they generally stayed outside the city or within the palace to refine pills for the emperor, strictly forbidden from meddling in politics, especially military affairs.

Chuanyun decided to observe for now and respond according to what he discovered.

After a while, he led Qingyun to a restaurant overlooking the road outside the camp, choosing a window seat. From here, he could observe anyone leaving the barracks, though if someone took a special route, there was nothing he could do. Still, he thought it worth a try.

He ordered a few dishes for Qingyun and watched the street. Around them, people chatted about family affairs.

Finding their conversation dull, Chuanyun let his mind wander—until a familiar name caught his ear.

“Did you hear? The eldest son of the Marquis of Wu’an, Shangguan Hongyun, was made a general by the emperor today.”

“With the Marquis’s family already wielding so much power, now that his son’s been made a general, won’t their influence soar even higher?”

“No doubt! The Marquis’s first wife is the daughter of General Zhenyuan, who controls all the northern armies—so much so that even the emperor must show him respect. The second wife’s father is Minister Zhang of Revenue, a high official among the civil ranks. The third wife’s father is Jia Wanqian from Jiangnan, a man of boundless wealth. Now their son has been made a general—the Shangguan family is truly at its zenith.”

So that explains it, Chuanyun thought. He recalled seeing the servants in a flustered hurry that morning—no wonder. It must have been that Shangguan Hongyun, confined by his father, had slipped out. But then he heard news that made him sit up straight.

“They say General Shangguan recommended an expert to the emperor this time—someone who can refine immortal pills. The emperor was so pleased that he granted the general a marriage with the Fifth Princess,” a rotund youth in embroidered robes announced.

“When did you hear this?” asked a sickly-looking youth.

Chuanyun glanced over and recognized the well-dressed boy, clearly from a wealthy family, the others treating him with a respect that bordered on deference.

“My father told me when he returned from court,” the fat boy said proudly.

Chuanyun remembered hearing of such a youth, the son of the Assistant Minister of Revenue, who worked in the same department as the second wife’s father, Minister Zhang—hence the inside knowledge.

“But this morning, the Marquis of Wu’an strongly opposed the emperor’s desire for him to refine pills. Yet the emperor dismissed his objections. Then word came that bandits on the southwestern frontier had rebelled and declared themselves king. The emperor immediately ordered the Marquis to lead his troops to suppress the uprising, setting out at once.” The fat boy relished the audience’s amazement and continued.

Chuanyun felt a gathering storm. No wonder his father had been absent all morning—he’d been dispatched to the southwest, tied up by urgent affairs.

He mused, The emperor is now obsessed with the path to immortality, deaf to all other counsel. If not for my father’s past services, he would not have been let off so lightly for his opposition. The Marquis’s lofty position prevents the emperor from moving against him openly, especially as he still controls the Divine Wind Battalion in Shengjing. Although the emperor now holds seventy percent of the command, he surely resents not having full control. The battalion had been meant as a tool for those vying for the throne, but now the emperor is secure—he wants it entirely in his own hands. Once my father departs, the emperor will take full command. After that, it will be hard for my father to return. That’s the way of the world: when the rabbit dies, the hound is cooked; when all the birds are gone, the bow is stored away. My father has watched the battalion slip from his grasp for years without protest, as if resigned to this fate.

Lost in thought, Chuanyun suddenly noticed a Daoist priest leaving a nearby street. At a glance, he sensed that this man’s aura was nearly identical to that of the one who attacked him the night before. Confirming it with the arrowhead, he saw the auras aligned perfectly—this was undoubtedly his assailant.

He called Qingyun away from his meal, settled the bill, and the two brothers set off after the Daoist.

The fortune-teller felt as if spring had arrived in his heart. He had just been summoned by the Crown Prince himself, who praised his skills and said he would recommend him to the emperor. The thought thrilled him—if he won the emperor’s favor, he would never have to make a living reading fortunes again. Should the emperor appoint him to high office, perhaps even as Imperial Preceptor, he would command respect throughout the Daoist world and enjoy boundless glory.

This wandering cultivator had originally learned his craft by saving a dying Daoist, who taught him the basics before passing away. Since then, he had muddled through on his own, and though his foundation was weak, he had built a small reputation in Shengjing, with many coming to consult him, even as others shunned him.

He never expected the emperor to be so enamored of immortality. Though not especially skilled, he did know how to refine external alchemy. True immortality was impossible, but longevity was certainly attainable. The more he thought, the more elated he became, walking as if on air—unaware that two figures trailed him not far behind: a youth with a black sword case on his back and a ceremonial sword at his waist, and a richly dressed child.

They were, of course, Shangguan Chuanyun and his brother Qingyun, following the fortune-teller from the restaurant.

“Brother, what are we doing?” Qingyun asked, not knowing his brother’s intentions.

Chuanyun, watching the Daoist ahead, replied, “We’re going to have our fortune told.”

“Oh, I’ve heard of this man. They say his divinations are very accurate. Mrs. Wu, who works for the eldest madam, often consults him,” Qingyun recalled.

Hearing this, Chuanyun felt a sudden clarity, as if a veil had been lifted from his mind. Indeed, he thought, cultivators—especially sword immortals—possess heightened senses when something concerns them. Through the web of fate, anything connected to oneself leaves a trace, which can be divined and gradually revealed.

He found it curious that since his reincarnation, though he had yet to construct the Armillary Sphere, his predictive abilities had grown extraordinarily sharp. It had become almost instinctual—before, without having cultivated the Lesser Elixir, he still needed divination tools and calculations; now, with sudden insight, he could perceive the general course of events, and a little investigation would make everything crystal clear.