Chapter 28: The Dissolution of Wood

Night had fallen completely. Within the Ballad Chamber, candlelight flickered and the scent of incense lingered as before.

Beigong Qiyi lay on the bed in the Ballad Chamber. Turning his head, he could see the pillow where Beigong Juechen used to rest. He gently stroked the dark crimson brocade, leaned closer, and took a deep breath; a faint trace of masculine fragrance seemed to linger around his nose. Beigong Qiyi let out a low sigh and stared into the darkness until dawn.

The next morning, Beigong Qiyi instructed his servants to see the guests off. Chu Muji, before leaving, made a point of visiting him. Beigong Qiyi smiled, clapping Chu Muji on the back, his expression mild and betraying nothing.

Chu Muji frowned slightly, unconsciously tapping his fan against his palm. “Beigong, I’m leaving now. Take care of yourself.” Before coming to offer birthday wishes, Chu Muji had planned to drag Beigong Qiyi out for a night of revelry after the banquet, but things had taken an unexpected turn.

Beigong Qiyi, naturally aware of his friend’s intentions, smiled faintly. “Once my elder brother returns, I’ll come find you.” Seeing that Beigong Qiyi appeared completely at ease, Chu Muji finally relaxed, nodding with a smile. “In that case, you owe me a drink.” After seeing Chu Muji off, Beigong Qiyi watched the golden sunlight, let out a cold laugh, and turned to walk slowly back to Leisure Abode.

“Young Master,” Ximo greeted him with a smile, offering a cup of tea. Beigong Qiyi took it and sipped lightly. “Ximo, what do you think of yesterday’s incident?” Ximo’s hands paused in their work; he lowered his eyes and smiled gently. “The manor lord will be fine.”

“Oh?” Beigong Qiyi set the cup on the table, raising an eyebrow. “Why is that?” Ximo stopped what he was doing, turned to look at him and replied with certainty, “Because he is the master of Li Manor, he is Beigong Juechen, a man of unmatched strength and cunning.” Beigong Qiyi regarded him steadily for a moment, then suddenly burst into laughter. He clapped Ximo on the shoulder and said in a deep voice, “You’re right.”

It was the heart of cool autumn, and the cotton rosemallow bloomed in profusion—white as snow, pink as clouds at dusk. Beigong Qiyi gazed at them idly, picked a pristine blossom and toyed with it in his hand. The cotton rosemallow, also known as the wooden lotus, bore a resemblance to the lotus flower. He idly brushed its petals, half smiling. “How goes the matter I asked you to investigate?”

Behind him stood a man dressed in brown, his expression cold and severe. At the question, the man drew a sheet of paper from his sleeve and handed it over. “This is all I’ve uncovered so far.” Beigong Qiyi slipped the flower into his sleeve, took the paper and read it closely. After a while, he crushed it in his hand; when he opened his palm again, it was a heap of powder.

He scattered the powder carelessly over the blossom, then turned to face the man. “Mu Min, how many years have you served me now?” Mu Min looked at him and answered gravely, “Five years.” He was an assassin. When he first met Beigong Qiyi, he had been only sixteen, fleeing for his life after a failed mission, death closing in. At that desperate moment, the youth appeared before him.

The youth’s pale yellow robes were spotless, his face strikingly handsome and utterly impassive. He had spoken only one sentence: “Will you come with me, or will you die?” His voice, smooth and clear, seemed almost ethereal in that filthy, muddy alley. Mu Min stared at him for a long time before replying with indifference, “I’ll go with you.” He did not wish to die—nor could he refuse the boy before him.

The youth’s perfectly shaped lips curved upwards, as if in a smile. He crouched down and extended his hand.

That hand was fair and smooth, unmarred by a single callus, the nails seemingly cared for with meticulous attention. Mu Min looked at his own hands, caked with blood and mud, filthy beyond measure, and hesitated to take it. He was afraid—afraid of soiling the pure, immaculate youth before him.

But he was mistaken. He saw with his own eyes as the youth, with that seemingly pampered hand, tore apart the men who had come to kill him. Blood splattered the youth’s face, pale as frost, making him appear both ghostly and breathtakingly beautiful. From that moment, Mu Min knew: this was the one he would follow for the rest of his life.

The youth wiped the blood from his face without a care. His pale yellow robe remained as spotless as ever. He walked over, seized Mu Min with his blood-stained hand, and pulled him upright. The youth scrutinized him, his long brows drawing together in a frown.

At that moment, Mu Min felt his very breath falter. He had never feared death, but now he was terrified the youth might abandon him. He tried desperately to stand straight, but too many wounds left him limp against the youth. He saw that his own filth had stained the youth’s robes, and in panic tried to wipe it clean—only to realize his hands were even filthier.

Seeming to understand, the youth smiled unconcernedly, pulled him closer, and said, “My name is Beigong Qiyi.”

Mu Min stared in a daze at the youth’s smile. Suddenly, it was as if a beam of light pierced the darkness of his heart. He lowered his head and murmured, “I have no name. They all call me Wei Qi.” The youth gave him a sidelong glance, raised an eyebrow, and said, “Then I’ll call you Mu Min.”

Thus, the past was erased. From that day forward, he was no longer the assassin Wei Qi, but Mu Min—Mu Min, who belonged to Beigong Qiyi.

“Five years…” Beigong Qiyi slowly stroked the edge of his sleeve, murmuring, “These five years you’ve always remained in the shadows, never stepping into the light. That’s because of me. Do you resent me?”

Mu Min looked at him and shook his head resolutely. “It was you, Master, who gave me hope to live again. I was born in darkness; I was never meant for the light.” Besides, within my heart there is a light—a light brighter and warmer than any sun.

Beigong Qiyi nodded, bent to pick another cotton rosemallow. Its pink petals were like rouge brushed on a maiden’s cheeks. He gazed at the blossom in his hand and said softly, “You needn’t investigate that matter any further. I have a good idea who it was.” With that, he tossed the flower away and stepped on it as he passed.

He sank into a dark brown armchair, reclining casually, and asked with downcast eyes, “Has the whereabouts of Qi Yong been discovered yet?” Mu Min pressed his lips together and knelt on one knee. “This subordinate is incapable.” Beigong Qiyi frowned slightly, his slender fingers tapping the wooden armrest. “Forget it, rise.” Mu Min obeyed and stood. Beigong Qiyi let his body relax completely against the chair, closed his eyes, and said, “No need to look for him. If he wishes to hide, no one will find him.”

Mu Min lowered his head. “Understood.” Beigong Qiyi nodded slightly, his body finally surrendering to exhaustion. He had not slept all night and was now somewhat weary. Mu Min stood silently by his side, tense and vigilant.

After about the time it takes to drink a cup of tea, Beigong Qiyi opened his eyes—his gaze was bright and clear, with no sign of drowsiness. He turned to Mu Min and asked quietly, “How has the chamber fared in my absence?”

Seeing him awake, Mu Min stepped back unobtrusively and considered before replying, “All is well in the chamber—for now.” For now… Beigong Qiyi curled his lips in a cold smile and said indifferently, “If anyone grows restless—kill them.” Mu Min’s hand twitched at his side, and he nodded solemnly. “Understood.”