The Risen Ghost: Master of the Chaotic Origin

Chapter 9 (The pavilion of truth) Chen’s POV

Dawn broke over the capital like nothing had happened.

That was the strangest part.

I expected the city to be locked down —proclamations, arrests, and cultivators swarming the streets under imperial command, clan leaders assembling at the imperial palace.

But none happened— and that piqued my curiosity.

Wei Jue was never rash, but this quiet…. It was unsettling.

It was as if he had anticipated the night’s event.

Even after the final trial for the emperor guards selection, everyone seemed to have forgotten that Xiao Feng was part of it. It was as if I was erased from their memory, or—

The moment the mask fell off that night, everything about Xiao Feng fell with it.

I left the imperial palace blending with dictators that had come to watch the trial. The guards at the capital gate barely looked at me.

Nobody spoke about the prince’s absence till noon — when the official story spread—

The crown prince has fallen ill from a cultivation backlash.

That was it.

I wasn’t the only one who had changed. Wei Jue had also. Ten years on the throne had honed him to think several moves ahead.

Announcing an infiltration— and the return of a ghost— would have thrown the empire into panic.

Wei Jue saw this and chose control instead.

But that didn’t help much. By sunset, whispers of the water prison incident had begun to spread.

“They weren’t dead, that’s the worst part. Their cores were gone. Clean as if someone scooped them out. They said a ghost from the Long clan did it.” The news filtered through the capital like wildfire searing Wei Jue’s calm.

The next morning Wei Jue didn’t search for me, but I felt his movements. He wasn’t gathering cultivators. He already knew they were useless.

He was searching for someone else.

Wei Jue, desperate and smelling his own mortality, reached for a blade. He sent word for The Bone-Seer, an ancient mercenary rumored to have survived the forbidden wastes by sensing the bloodlines of his enemies and using tricks and talismans to annihilate them.

He was known as the Master of dark magic.

A rumor spread that morning — An old mercenary had entered the capital at dawn. Blind in one eye. Scarred down to the bone, known for sensing bloodlines and hunting things that should not exist.

But the Bone-Seer never made it to the palace gates.

I encountered him that evening, on his way to the imperial palace. He didn't sense me—until I touched his back.

He twisted sharply, fingers snapping as a talisman flared to life between them. He struck it on my chest but its power was already consumed.

The script in my soul stirred— hungry and offended.

As my powers touched him, his eyes widened.

“V-Void—?”

He leapt back, hands already weaving another seal, blood spurting from his palm as he forced a second talisman to awaken.

But I didn’t give him the chance. I seized his neck, slipping the void in between his pulses.

His consciousness folded inward like damp paper, I caught him as he fell, wearing his body the way one wears a cloak.

By the time I reached the gate, I had taken full control of his body. When the gate opened I was already limping.

I entered the Imperial Palace leaning on a staff of blackwood. I appeared as a hunched, ragged figure.

A servant was taking me to a waiting room when Lin Xuer‘er found me. Her aura sharper than ever, her breathing controlled. When I felt her I subdued my core more.

She dismissed the servant and studied me, likely measuring my core strength and breathing technique.

“You don’t bow like a common mercenary.” She said at last.

I inclined my head —just enough to be slightly disrespectful.

“My spine doesn’t bend easily anymore.” I replied

Her lips curved. “So I’ve heard.”

She circled me slowly, steps unhurried. Her sleeve brushed past my arm—too deliberately.

I didn't turn. I kept my head tilted, playing the part of the frail seer, till her scent pressed on me.

I felt it the instant she stepped closer—her presence carefully measured. Lin Xuer didn’t extend her Qi. She leaned in instead, close enough for her faint sweetness to brush my senses.

Her sleeve grazed my wrist.

Her shoulder pressed lightly against my chest.

For half a breath, my disguise wavered.

Her pupils constricted.

“Interesting,” She whispered, her breath brushing against my face.

She didn’t pull back. Instead, she tilted her head, lips close enough that anyone watching would mistake it for flirtation.

“Tell me,” she murmured, her voice soft, almost indulgent.

“When a relic recognizes blood that should be extinct… does it scream, or does it hum?”

The scent in the air sharpened.

My senses fluttered.

This was her greatest charm. She can have anyone wrapped around her fingers within a few moments.

“It hums,” I said.

The word left my mouth before caution could catch it.

The question wasn't asked out of curiosity. It was confirmation.

Her breath stilled.

She straightened slowly, and her smile returned.

“Come,” she said after a pause, as if nothing had happened.

“His Majesty will be joining us soon.”

She led me to her private pavilion.

The pavilion overlooked a koi lake dusted with evening frost. Lantern light shimmered across the water, rippled by slow movement beneath the surface.

At the center stood a table for two, with a pair of wine gourds resting at its side.

Lin Xuer’er gestured. “Sit.”

I did and she served me.

“I heard you favor dragon-tear liquor.” She said with a faint smile. “Drink your fill.”

"You are... generous," I replied.

The moment my fingers touched the porcelain cup, I sensed something amiss.

To avoid arousing suspicion, I titled it back and swallowed the content in a single motion.

Fire seared through my mouth, scorching every inch of my throat as it flowed downward.

She poured herself a different wine.

“I don’t favor dragon-tear liquor,” she murmured.

That was when I realized she had already uncovered my true identity.

As the liquid met her cup, I wove the flow of truth into it—a truth-binding spell I had mastered during my second year in the Mist Valley.

She poisoned me to test her suspicion; I bound her wine to extract the truth. At that moment, we were both hunters.

She lifted the cup deliberately.

“So,” she said lightly, “do you truly see bloodlines?”

She drank, her eyes never leaving mine.

By then, the poison had already taken hold. Pain erupted across my torso, sharp and spreading, my vision blurring at the edges.

“I see what people attempt to hide,” I replied hoarsely.

Her gaze sharpened, narrowing slightly.

She leaned closer. “Then tell me… what do you see in me?”

“You’re tired,” I murmured. “Of serving men who consider you clever, but not dangerous.”

Her breath caught —just slightly.

She drank again.

This time, something shifted within her.

“Chen… you won’t survive this time. Midnight hemlock is deadlier than Soul-Withering Venom,” she murmured, lifting the gourd once more.

“Even if you uncover the truth, you can do nothing about it. You should have fled far from Yan… at least then, you might have survived.”

I assumed she underestimated me, but I was wrong.

Wei Jue wasn't the source; he was merely a puppet.