Chapter Two: Swapping the Beams and Pillars

Jiang Feng gazed at the courtyard he had not seen for ten years, a torrent of complicated emotions welling up from deep within. This place had nurtured him, yet it had also brought him to the brink of death.

After walking for a while, he came upon a small, shadowy room nestled within the walled grove.

Jiang Feng, his eyes still misty with sleep, wore no discernible expression on his face.

He had specifically asked his grandfather, the head of the family, for permission to live here. It was originally a humble woodshed, abandoned after a fire. He’d chosen it to harden his courage, but those who didn’t know the truth assumed he’d been driven out and mocked him endlessly.

“Those twenty-five steps... can they really shatter the Prison of Souls illusion?” Jiang Feng walked to the table, picked up brush and paper, and began sketching out a series of strange postures.

“Shadow Dance, Soul-Shattering Steps. Twenty-five postures—memorize them by heart and apply them in reality, and you can break through any illusion.”

He recalled that in that infernal prison, he had memorized every movement, but no matter how he tried, he couldn’t put them into practice. Before he could find a solution, that mysterious figure had captured him.

At this thought, his heart tightened, and a sinister phrase seemed to echo in his mind.

“Prepare for ten years... begin... capture... more of these souls...”

Could it be that they didn’t seize everyone, only certain people? If so, the so-called ten years of preparation must begin now. After ten years, they will return.

Jiang Feng suddenly looked up. If this was true, he feared he would be targeted again. But there were still ten years left—enough time.

“Though I don’t fully understand what it means to ‘apply in reality,’ perhaps reliving that dream will suffice.”

His gaze hardened as he stared at the paper, then quickly returned to his bed, sitting cross-legged with eyes half-closed.

He knew that what was effortless focus for others was, for him, nearly impossible.

A low moan escaped his lips.

As soon as his eyes closed, a voice from the depths of the underworld resounded in his consciousness. In an instant, the darkness in his mind was washed away by a flood of crimson.

“It comes again,” Jiang Feng’s body began to tremble. He felt utterly powerless, forced to witness the all-too-familiar nightmare that had haunted him for over a decade.

The blood-red sky grew ever deeper, dripping with fresh scarlet.

At the edge of his vision, a figure slowly emerged.

Its face was indistinct, its expression unreadable, but the aura it exuded was unmistakable—like that of a demon king.

The moment the figure appeared, Jiang Feng felt as though a mountain crushed his body. The overwhelming, chilling intent to kill pierced his soul and invaded every fiber of his being. He could only stare blankly as it approached, unable to make a sound, move, or even think—his consciousness had turned to stone.

“Damn...” As the figure drew near, the boy’s pupils widened. Finally, with a barely audible, bitter cry, a streak of bloody light shot out from the figure, striking him head-on.

He had no awareness to dodge. The light split him in two, and in his mind’s eye, he watched his own body cleave apart from the head down, blood spraying everywhere.

“Ah...”

In the real world, Jiang Feng knelt, clutching his head, a low, anguished cry escaping him.

“No, it’s still no use!” Jiang Feng sighed. Whenever that crimson figure appeared, his mind froze—he never had time to enact any of the postures.

“Once more!” he gritted his teeth, enduring the onslaught of the Prison of Souls again and again. But at only fourteen, his soul and body could not match his strength at twenty-four.

He had overestimated himself. After seven repetitions of this hellish trial, his energy drained, Jiang Feng finally drifted into sleep.

Creak—

A sliver of sunlight fell across his face. He woke with a jolt and sat upright at once. No, he was too young to withstand such cultivation just yet.

“Feng’er, are you awake?” came a voice from outside.

It was his father.

Jiang Feng’s heart leapt. He dressed quickly and hurried out.

“I slept last night,” Jiang Feng said, rubbing his eyes, fixing his gaze on the familiar figure with a faint smile. Though his eyes were still heavy with sleep and ringed in dark circles, the weariness in his face had faded noticeably.

“Father, don’t worry. In this life, I will never let you die of exhaustion and worry,” Jiang Feng vowed silently.

“As long as you slept,” Jiang Xian replied, though the worry in his furrowed brow remained. He felt his child had changed somehow, though he couldn’t say exactly how.

“Come with me to the main hall. A distinguished guest arrives today.”

“A guest?” Jiang Feng’s memory flashed back ten years, a hint of anger flickering in his eyes.

He knew precisely who this guest was. It was because of this so-called honored visitor that he had been banished from the Jiang family.

Back then, his father had shamelessly begged his grandfather’s old friend, Han Li, the renowned Death Physician of Jiuya City, to come treat his nightmares.

But Han Li had died a month before. His younger brother, Han Er, a notorious ne’er-do-well, was all that remained. Before dying, Han Li had hidden his fortune to keep it from his wastrel brother, having left no heir. Yet Han Er somehow procured the invitation, and, relying on his resemblance to his brother, came to cheat them.

Jiang Feng’s unsuspecting father believed Han Er’s lies, spending all their money and even diverting some family funds in hopes of a cure.

As a result, the family’s business suffered, and his grandfather Jiang Yuehai scolded them furiously.

Soon after, Jiang Feng was expelled from the family.

“Hmph. If I don’t make him pay dearly this time, I’m not Jiang Feng.”

“Feng’er, why are you grinning like that?” Jiang Xian suddenly asked.

“Ah, was I smiling? I didn’t realize.”

“You rascal, you were definitely smiling.”

“Was I? Ha ha ha—”

Jiang Xian found it odd. His son had always been gloomy and withdrawn; he had never seen him smile before. Perhaps he was happy at the prospect of being cured by the famed physician. That, Jiang Xian thought, must be it.

Father and son crossed the family estate to Jiang Xian’s reception hall.

“Elder Han, sorry to keep you waiting,” Jiang Xian said as he entered, forcing a smile despite his furrowed brow.

“No need for apologies, Young Master Jiang. And this must be your son?”

Jiang Feng looked up at the old man in a blue robe. Their gazes met. Jiang Feng sneered inwardly—Han Er had truly mastered his brother’s appearance and demeanor.

He glanced at the golden character “Scholar” embroidered on the old man’s chest, surrounded by seven black stripes.

Seventh-rank Death Scholar. He’d even stripped his brother’s official robes.

“Yes, this is my son. Elder Han, please do what you can. As for your fee, I will see that it’s paid in full,” Jiang Xian said, pushing Jiang Feng forward, his worry evident on his face.

“You are too polite, Nephew Jiang. If not for Brother Yuehai saving me from the jaws of the Seven-Striped Serpent, I would be long dead, not standing before you now as Han Li the Death Physician.”

“Han Li” seemed to reminisce, then sighed, “Young man, let me see your left hand.”

Jiang Feng obediently extended his left hand, letting the imposter take his pulse. After a moment, “Han Li’s” face grew solemn.

“How odd.”

“What’s odd?” Jiang Xian leaned in anxiously.

“Has the young master always lacked proper sleep?” Han Li asked, releasing Jiang Feng’s wrist.

“That’s right. Feng’er has suffered nightmares since childhood—he can only sleep when utterly exhausted by them. That’s why he looks so frail,” Jiang Xian answered.

“That’s the strange part. On examining him, I find that aside from some fatigue, his body functions are all normal,” Han Li said, stroking his beard.

“For someone deprived of sleep since childhood, the body would normally be in chronic fatigue, even subject to paralysis in some areas. Yet the young master only seems a bit sleepy—his body is otherwise healthy, with some meridians even unusually developed.”

“Then what about Feng’er’s nightmares?” Jiang Xian was even more puzzled.

Listening to this familiar exchange, Jiang Feng felt reassured. So far, everything was unfolding as before. Next, the fox’s tail would show.

“Don’t worry,” Han Li said, placing a finger on Jiang Feng’s crown and closing his eyes.

“This is not good. The young master’s illness is very grave.”

“Can you cure him?” Jiang Xian asked.

“I can, but the medical fee...” Han Li hesitated.

“Money is no object, whatever you ask,” Jiang Xian insisted.

Han Li raised one finger, chin lifted.

“Ten thousand gold coins?” Jiang Xian smiled. “No problem, I’ll arrange it at once—”

“No, no. One hundred thousand,” Han Li shook his head, “To cure your son, I must use our family’s secret technique, the Ghost Needle. These needles are extremely rare and only usable once. Not even fifteen thousand gold can buy them. I’m asking only a hundred thousand out of respect for your father.”

“But I don’t have that much at hand. Give me some time to gather it,” Jiang Xian said, clearly befuddled by Han Li’s scam.

“Very well, I’ll wait here and chat with the young master,” Han Li replied imperiously, fondling the ring on his finger.

“Feng’er, stay here. I’ll be right back,” Jiang Xian said, hurrying away.

As soon as his father was out of sight, Jiang Feng sneered and strolled toward “Han Li.”

“What is it, boy?” Han Li glanced down at him.

Jiang Feng grabbed a corner of the Death Scholar’s robe, rolling the cloth between his fingers. “I wonder what the great Han Li would think, knowing his own brother stole the robes he was so proud of, even in death?”

Han Er, who had been sipping tea, nearly spat it out, coughing violently as he stared in shock. “You—what did you say?”

“Drop the act. I know you’re not Han Li but his brother Han Er. I was aware of your brother’s death long ago. Daring to swindle the Jiang family—how reckless,” Jiang Feng said coolly, raising a cup of tea as he sat.

“You knew already? Then why...?” Han Er looked at him as if he were a monster; was this calm and cunning truly that of a fourteen-year-old?

“I didn’t want to disappoint my father. Or perhaps I wanted an excuse for myself,” Jiang Feng replied, watching as Han Er’s face shifted from shock to malevolence. “I know you’re still a Death Scholar, not as skilled as your brother, but killing me would be easy. But remember: you’ve been here. If I die and you disappear, my father will suspect you. No matter how far you run, the Jiang family will hunt you down.”

Han Er slowly lowered his raised hand, staring intently at this strange boy. “What do you want?”

“To put on a show with me—and, by the way, to rob you,” Jiang Feng’s naked gaze made Han Er shiver. After a moment’s thought, Han Er asked, “How do I know I can trust you?”

Jiang Feng considered, then stood. “Everyone in the Jiang family thinks I’m useless. But do you?”

Han Er sneered; who would think you useless? You’d eat them alive.

“That’s my secret. I don’t want anyone to know the real me—it would be troublesome. And don’t think you can use it against me. Compared to the trouble you’d face if I exposed you, that’s nothing,” Jiang Feng shrugged.

Han Er met Jiang Feng’s gaze and finally gritted his teeth. “Fine, you win. I didn’t expect to meet someone like you in this little town. What’s your plan?”

“It’s simple. Just write a letter.”

...

Shortly after, Jiang Xian returned in a hurry but stopped, dumbfounded, at the door.

Inside, only Jiang Feng remained, looking refreshed and lively, practicing some movements. “Han Li” was nowhere to be seen.

“Feng’er, where’s Elder Han?” Jiang Xian asked anxiously.

“He left. But he left a letter,” Jiang Feng replied, handing it to his father with a smile.

“A letter?” Jiang Xian took it, frowning. “Hey, where did you get that ring on your finger?”

“Found it,” Jiang Feng replied with a grin.

“It looks familiar...” Jiang Xian shook his head and opened the envelope.

“Second Young Master, you need not worry. The young master’s illness has been cured,” Jiang Xian’s hands trembled, nearly tearing the paper.

“I know you’re puzzled. But I can only tell you this: Feng’er’s sincerity moved me, and I finally understood your plight these fifteen years. I regretted asking for money. Ten thousand gold means much to your family, but I am not short of it. As for the illness, he is not yet fully recovered, but I have taught him a technique to strengthen his body. With diligent practice, he will be as healthy as any other boy. Don’t thank me; let this be my repayment for your father’s kindness.”

Jiang Xian, barely believing it, put down the letter and stroked Jiang Feng’s head. At last, the worry faded from his brow.

“Feng’er, you’re truly better?”

“Yes, Father. I’m not afraid of nightmares anymore.”

“Wonderful!” Jiang Xian’s whole body trembled with excitement and joy. “The Death Physician is truly remarkable! I’ll tell the others at once—the whole family must know you’re cured!”

“Not yet,” Jiang Feng grabbed his father quickly, smiling with satisfaction. “I want to surprise them at the final assessment. Besides, I’m not fully cured yet and need some time. Trust me.”

Jiang Xian nodded. “Very well, I understand.”

Jiang Feng rolled his eyes. You understand nothing. If word got out now and they tested me again, I’d be caught for sure.

But there were still two months until the final assessment—plenty of time.