Chapter 5: Sparrow Demon

The Nine Spirits Platform towered like a small mountain, with thousands of stone steps winding their way up. At its summit, a bronze statue of a soaring giant bird could be faintly discerned.

It was the sacred site for the Zhao Kingdom's imperial family and nobility, used for their ancestral worship and the annual grand ceremony to honor Heaven.

At the base of the Nine Spirits Platform, eight enormous bronze cauldrons stood in a circle. In one of them, a fierce fire already raged, its surging flames spitting out waves of heat, with sparks dancing wildly within.

Even covered by a white cloth, Ning Qinshui's corpse still revealed a gruesome sight: rotting flesh and bone decay.

Song Ce glanced at the young boy and girl behind him. The girl's brows were tightly furrowed, clearly indicating immense pain. As for the young man who had dared to speak so wildly moments ago, surely witnessing this grim reality would deter him from entertaining any more absurd notions?

However, Song Ce carefully observed Ning Changjiu for a moment, surprised to find little emotion discernible on his face.

Hmph, merely feigning composure.

Just as Song Ce was about to speak, Ning Changjiu walked over and bowed slightly towards the corpse, performing a respectful gesture.

Ning Xiaoling watched him with nervous apprehension, then steeled herself and followed. With her eyes closed, she offered a hypocritical bow to the old man she utterly despised.

Song Ce stood with his hands clasped before his abdomen, his wide sleeves hanging low.

With frequent wars, both minor and major, erupting between the Zhao and Jin Kingdoms, the suffering of the populace was no fleeting matter. Consequently, observing the two siblings, Song Ce felt no pity, only a strong desire to hasten their departure.

Lost in thought, Song Ce was startled when Ning Changjiu stepped before him and said, "Let's go."

Song Ce breathed a sigh of relief, assuming the young man had finally given up. Naturally, he refrained from any sarcastic remarks, simply stating, "Someone will escort you later."

Ning Changjiu shook his head. "Lord Song, I meant to go to the Young General's Manor."

Song Ce's expression changed dramatically. "What did you say?"

Ning Changjiu replied, "Last night was troubled. There was unusual activity at the Young General's Manor, and the deceased should be General Wang Yangyu's son."

"Who told you this?" Song Ce asked.

Ning Changjiu answered, "Through deduction and calculation."

Song Ce remained silent, but his gaze upon the young man before him had already shifted. "Quite interesting," he murmured.

Ning Changjiu calmly held his gaze.

After a moment, Song Ce took a deep breath and said in a grave tone, "Come with me."

At the Young General's Manor, a line of servants and house staff stood outside. Several guards, hands resting on their swords, stood with tightly furrowed brows, a hint of fear discernible in their expressions.

"Ever since General Wang Yangyu's death, the Young General had filled his home with Buddha statues. Today, as was his custom, he offered incense. After three bows, his head hit the ground with a thud and he didn't get back up. His maid, sensing something amiss, went to check on him and immediately smelled blood. His neck was slit, and though his chest had no significant wounds, blood profusely seeped from it, faintly forming the shape of a monstrous bird through his clothes."

"Sparrow Demon?"

"Precisely! This is the fifth victim. All the deceased bore this bloodstain on their chests, including the Taoist priest summoned for rituals."

"Has anything like this occurred previously?"

"Never."

"What happened twenty days ago?"

Song Ce regarded the youthful, refined boy, his expression showing a hint of displeasure. "Young man," he said, "you may have acquired some skills studying under your master, but no one can save you if you become overconfident."

As he spoke, Song Ce had already led him across the threshold and into the Young General's Manor. Ning Xiaoling followed them, her head bowed, not daring to speak.

Upon entering the main gate, a pungent scent of blood assaulted them. Thick, black blood snaked across the floor like a long serpent. At the end of the trail, before a solemn and majestic golden Buddha statue, a robust young man knelt stiffly, long since deceased. From behind, the skin on his neck appeared to be rotting as if it had been scalded.

Ning Xiaoling covered her mouth and nose, instinctively recoiling two steps.

Ning Changjiu approached the body, squatted down, and without a change in his expression, tore open the man's tunic. The eerie, monstrous bird pattern on his chest was composed of countless tiny red dots, appearing as if thousands of needles had pricked the skin.

After observing for a moment, Ning Changjiu looked at the deeply frowning Song Ce and asked, "Lord Song, what exactly transpired twenty days ago?"

Song Ce's face also clouded with anger. "You Taoist priests are only concerned with exorcising evil," he retorted. "If you can, then do it; if not, let someone capable handle it. Why all these questions?"

Ning Changjiu replied, "Until the Sparrow Demon is eradicated, people will continue to die. If we can identify the root cause, this matter will become much simpler."

Song Ce gave him a look, contemplating anger, but finally sighed. "Return," he said. "In a few days, I presume the cultivators from beyond this world will arrive at the imperial palace, and all matters will be settled then."

Ning Changjiu asked, "What if tomorrow, Lord Song, it's you?"

Ning Xiaoling gasped, looking at her senior brother in horror. *How dare you speak like that within the imperial palace?* she thought.

Song Ce glared at him. "You are so concerned about this matter," he demanded, "what exactly do you hope to gain?"

Ning Changjiu offered no reply. The tense atmosphere, almost palpable, was suddenly broken by a voice from beyond the door.

"His Majesty, the Emperor, has arrived!"

Song Ce's expression subtly shifted, while the other accompanying officials beside him had already rushed out to kneel in welcome.

From the luxurious imperial carriage at the entrance descended a man in bright yellow robes. Though young, his every gesture exuded a regal and dignified bearing.

He stood at the entrance, gesturing for the officials and guards to rise, then cast a distant glance towards the hall within.

His personal guard, bowing low, was whispering something to him.

The young emperor listened, a hint of sorrow on his face. He spoke magnanimously for a few moments, generally praising the father and son's past achievements and expressing lament over their peculiar deaths.

Next, he lifted his robe front, making a gesture as if to step over the threshold. The surrounding officials quickly dissuaded him, their faces filled with sorrow. They argued that although His Majesty was of noble lineage, the Zhao Kingdom's state was perilous, and he ought to preserve his imperial health; how could he expose himself to such danger?

The young emperor halted his steps only after persistent dissuasion from his officials.

As he spoke, the young emperor vaguely noticed the young man and woman standing in the hall. A hint of displeasure crossed his face, but seeing their Taoist robes, he refrained from acting on it. He then gave a few sorrowful instructions to the surrounding officials, and only then, seemingly relieved, boarded his imperial carriage and returned to the palace.

Ning Xiaoling slowly withdrew her gaze and whispered, "Such hypocrisy... can he truly be a monarch?"

Ning Changjiu smiled and asked, "If you were the emperor, would you have entered?"

Ning Xiaoling whispered, "Women don't become emperors, do they?"

The young emperor returned to the palace, and the officials dispersed. When Song Ce returned and saw the two siblings still standing there, his displeasure intensified.

His Majesty himself came here just now, and you failed to kneel in homage. The Emperor, being benevolent, didn't punish you, but what are you still lingering here for now?

He couldn't be bothered to argue further with the young man who feigned such profoundness. Turning to the nearby guards, he commanded, "Arrange for a coroner to examine the body, and then send someone to escort these two young Taoists out of the city."

Ning Changjiu, however, seemed not to have heard him. He remained rooted to the spot, his gaze now fixed on the depths of the main hall.

"Who's there?" Ning Changjiu inquired.

From the depths of the main hall, an old, aged voice, tinged with surprise, responded.

"Young man, your discernment is keen. Who is your master?"

In the depths of the dim hall, a staff of dark, heavily-grained wood tapped gently against the floor. Following the staff, an image seemed to coalesce like fine sand, and a stooped, elderly man slowly materialized. Yet, a mist appeared to separate him from the others, obscuring his true features.

Ning Changjiu watched him silently, offering no reply.

Song Ce started, then composed himself, his expression shifting to one of profound respect and reverence. "Lord Wuzhu," he exclaimed, "why have you emerged from seclusion?"

The old man, known as Wuzhu, chuckled with a dry voice. "I grew weary of my studies, so I decided to step out for a while."

Song Ce had vaguely heard whispers about the book the Wuzhu was studying, and his expression grew even more respectful. "Congratulations, Lord, on reaching a higher plane," he said. "I presume you are now but a step away from the Heavenly Dao."

The old man waved a dismissive hand, offering no reply. Instead, he gazed at the corpse kneeling before the divine statue. Slowly, he raised his hand, and the surrounding air seemed to grow still, as if frozen by his movement.

Song Ce seemed to take heart, a smile gracing his lips. "Now that Lord Wuzhu has emerged from seclusion," he chuckled, "where would such wickedness find refuge?"

The old man's robe sleeves billowed, and the shadowy figure, veiled by a faint mist, began to sway. From within the ancient, gray sleeves, a finger, withered like charred wood, slowly extended through the mist and pointed towards the corpse.

No one uttered a word; all held their breath in anticipation.

Ning Changjiu's expression subtly shifted.

Before the old man's finger even touched the corpse, an intensely foul burning smell suddenly permeated the air. Immediately after, someone shrieked as an unknown fire spontaneously ignited beneath the body. The flames, their origin obscure, instantly spread, engulfing the entire corpse. And that fire, seemingly risen from hell, cast a pervasive, bone-chilling cold throughout the area.

As the flames erupted, the enigmatic Wuzhu instantly recoiled his hand. Behind the faint mist, his aura diminished, and his voice carried a hint of wrath:

"Bloodfeather Monarch?"

After uttering these three words, the mist dissipated like wind-blown sand, and the Wuzhu vanished without a trace.

On a cliff north of the imperial city, amidst a skeletal, gray-white forest of withered and cracked tree trunks, stood an ancient, towering spire.

That ancient, bronze-cast platform was anchored by several enormous iron chains, deeply embedded within the lifeless woods. Beneath the massive, altar-shaped disc, a spire-like ancient tower emerged. It was a place untouched by light; descending along its sloping sides, every window was pitch black, allowing no hint of light to penetrate.

Within the ancient tower, connected to the altar, a white-haired old man sat cross-legged. His forehead was narrow, yet his jaw was wide and pointed. His skin was the color of deadwood from the forest, and the pupils hidden beneath his wrinkled eyelids resembled the lifeless eyes of dead fish in murky water.

The old man's frail body was wrapped in a snow-white linen robe. The surroundings were dim, with only a single beam of light descending from the central spire, landing precisely on his stooped, turtle-shell-like back.

The old man suddenly opened his eyes, and the ancient scroll in his hand snapped shut.

"It's made a comeback... and at this precise moment. It seeks death!"

He ran his fingers over the jagged, fractured pages, his expression unreadable, showing neither joy nor sorrow. The pages themselves seemed to lick at his fingers like flames.

They were somewhat hot to the touch.

Lord Wuzhu, who had been in seclusion, had mysteriously appeared only to vanish silently, leaving behind only a charred, wood-like corpse on the ground.

After their initial shock, the onlookers finally reacted, remembering the word the Wuzhu had spoken before vanishing. Overwhelmed by even greater fear, they began to whisper amongst themselves.

Ning Xiaoling quietly asked, "Bloodfeather Monarch... what is that?"

Ning Changjiu explained, "It's a legendary demonic sparrow, said to be a red-feathered falcon from the mountains that transformed after being tainted by the blood of the Vermilion Bird God. It is half-demon, half-god, immensely powerful, and concealed from the world, yet it rarely appears. Records concerning it are exceedingly sparse."

Ning Xiaoling's eyes widened. Though brimming with questions, she refrained from speaking further.

Song Ce stood numbly to the side, his hand, concealed within his official robes, trembling uncontrollably. His eyes darted about, his expression shifting, as he murmured softly, "Bloodfeather Monarch? How can this be... shouldn't it be her...?"

Ning Changjiu asked, "Who is she?"

Song Ce's expression had grown somewhat frantic; he ignored the question. However, the person beside him sighed deeply and began, "She is..."

But before he could continue, a voice from beyond the hall doors interrupted his words.

A young servant in blue robes knelt at the entrance, his face etched with a hint of terror:

"His Royal Highness... His Royal Highness has arrived!"

In the misty autumn rain, before the hall doors of the Young General's Manor, delicate umbrella ribs supported an antique, dark red umbrella, silently blooming.