Chapter 19: Don’t Eat Too Much, Shen Ersan

Shen Ersan actually admitted that he killed those people!

Everyone present was shocked as they stared at Shen Weimu.

“Don’t think that just because my body is weak and I always cough and gasp for air, it means I’m useless. My soul is extraordinary, from another world—I am a mighty World-Ending Demon Lord.”

“From the moment I was born, I was condemned as the source of all evil, the King of All Demons. If I’m not exterminated, I will bring ruin to heaven and earth. As long as I breathe, the Three Realms fear me. That’s why, when I was still a crying infant, the Three Realms hunted me down and threw me into the Red Lotus Karma Fire, where I was burned for thirty thousand years.”

“If I don’t die, no one can sleep well, but if I die so everyone can sleep well, should I just go die?”

“The world fears me, hates me, wants to destroy me. I will, in turn, destroy the world. I won’t let the world down.”

In the narrow alley, the boy’s slender figure stood alone.

His delicate profile, cast in the interplay of shadows and light, looked even more three-dimensional—purely beautiful, making it impossible to look away.

After his speech, the scene fell into complete silence.

Song Qiyun and Yuchi Feng exchanged a glance.

Bai Kaiji immediately reached out to check Shen Weimu’s forehead.

“So hot, you’ve got a fever! No wonder you were talking nonsense!”

“It’s not nonsense.”

Shen Weimu spat out a mouthful of blood, then suddenly fainted.

Yuchi Feng hurried over to support him and, while checking his pulse, explained to Song Qiyun and the others,

“His body has always been weak. Overexertion, combined with long-term indigestion, makes it easy for him to run a fever and say strange things.”

Lu Yang dramatically patted his chest and breathed a sigh of relief.

“Good thing it’s just nonsense. If it were true, judging by how rude I’ve been to him before, wouldn’t that World-Ending Demon Lord have reduced me to ashes by now?”

“Is this really the time for smart remarks?”

Song Qiyun scolded him.

He then told Bai Kaiji to find a nearby inn so they could settle Shen Weimu in early and take good care of him.

Dali Temple, morgue.

Yuchi Feng was examining the bodies while sighing to Song Qiyun,

“Honestly, there was a moment when I actually believed what Shen Ersan said. He sounded so sincere when he spoke.”

Song Qiyun admitted he felt the same for a brief instant.

“He was probably hallucinating from the fever. Who hasn’t had dreams in their youth? To truly believe a dream, even just once, isn’t so bad.”

“My youthful dreams were similar to Shen’s. He wanted to be a World-Ending Demon Lord, and I wanted to be a carefree immortal, able to summon various powers with a snap of my fingers.”

Yuchi Feng asked Song Qiyun,

“What about you? What was your dream when you were young?”

Song Qiyun blushed and coughed lightly.

“None.”

“Doesn’t seem like none. Was it something to do with love?”

Yuchi Feng teased.

Song Qiyun’s face darkened as he urged Yuchi Feng to focus on the autopsies.

“There’s nothing much to investigate. These are all professional assassins. Their bodies are always clean when they go on missions, making it hard to find clues. Only Sun Feiyun is an exception.”

Yuchi Feng placed a silk handkerchief embroidered with orchids on the tray for Song Qiyun to inspect.

Song Qiyun smelled it and caught a faint scent of gardenia.

“A woman’s handkerchief.

“Top-quality brocade and embroidery threads, even silver threads—definitely from a wealthy household.”

“There’s no shortage of wealthy families in the capital, and this clue may not even be from the capital. It’s basically useless.”

“Why would Sun Feiyun deliberately set up a roasted chicken stall as a trap for murder? Could it be that the target of their assassination loves roasted chicken?”

Yuchi Feng asked.

Song Qiyun sighed.

“What’s wrong?”

“Now, whenever someone mentions food, I can’t help but think of Shen Ersan. I owe him a few meals. I have to repay them soon, or I’m afraid he’ll never rest in peace.”

“Shen’s an interesting kid. It wouldn’t be bad to keep him working at the Dali Temple.”

Yuchi Feng understood Song Qiyun’s purpose in keeping Shen Ersan and was curious about the boy himself, hoping to learn more through him.

That evening, Song Qiyun brought a meal box to visit Shen Weimu at the Fulai Inn.

Shen Weimu was already awake, leaning against the bed eating a roasted sweet potato.

“You’re sick—why are you eating that?”

Song Qiyun offered pigeon soup to Shen Weimu.

Shen Weimu was immediately drawn to the fresh aroma and took a big sip.

“Slow down, be careful not to burn yourself.”

Watching the boy gulp the soup so eagerly reminded Song Qiyun of his prematurely deceased younger brother, prompting a rare gentle tone from the usually stern young master.

Shen Weimu looked at Song Qiyun suspiciously.

“You’re not acting normal. What’s gotten into you?”

Song Qiyun coldly shot back,

“That’s what I was about to ask you.”

“I’m perfectly normal.”

“So am I.”

Knowing the boy’s pride, Song Qiyun kindly refrained from mentioning Shen Weimu’s earlier delirium before asking where he lived.

He planned to escort him home later and properly advise his family on how to care for his health.

“Try to control your appetite. Don’t eat so much—you get indigestion and then fall sick like this.”

“Mind your own business and solve your case.”

Shen Weimu popped a pigeon leg into his mouth, then spat out a clean bone.

“You eat my food and still complain.”

“You owe me meals.”

“Oh, does this count?”

Song Qiyun didn’t expect that pigeon soup to be considered a delicacy in Shen Weimu’s eyes.

“Nope.”

Song Qiyun smiled—he really was just a boy after all.

“Sun Feiyun has a lover in the capital—Consort Xu from the Grand Tutor’s residence. Xu’s younger brother is the steward at the Zheng family estate; you’ve all met him. If you want to know Sun Feiyun’s purpose for coming to the capital and his assassination target, you might try asking them.”

Song Qiyun’s smile faded in surprise.

“How do you know these details?”

Realizing Shen Weimu wouldn’t reveal his information sources, Song Qiyun switched questions.

“Your intel network is pretty reliable?”

“Yeah, I’m a little informant in the martial world,”

Shen Weimu said casually.

Song Qiyun thought for a moment.

“I don’t think I’ve heard that title before.”

“Then you must be hard of hearing. I just said it—you didn’t hear?”

Deciding not to argue with a sick boy, Song Qiyun figured as long as the information was useful and helped the Dali Temple solve the case, a bit of teasing was no big deal.

That night, Shen Weimu’s information was confirmed.

The steward at Zheng Chengliang’s mansion was indeed the younger brother of Consort Xu, the late Grand Tutor’s concubine.

Unfortunately, neither knew Sun Feiyun’s target in this visit to the capital.

According to Consort Xu, Sun Feiyun came to the capital seeking revenge for the number one assassin.

“The Shadow Pavilion’s top assassin was killed recently, and I hadn’t heard a thing. Who did it?”

Lu Yang felt invisible in the martial world—how could he have missed such major news?

He resolved to scold his informants for being so careless.

“Now Sun Feiyun is dead, and no one knows who killed him,” Yuchi Feng paused, feeling something odd. “But it’s interesting that the Shadow Pavilion sent their third-ranked assassin after their number one died. How can they expect revenge this way?”

Song Qiyun said,

“That suggests the top assassin wasn’t killed purely by force—likely ambushed or accidentally killed.”

Yuchi Feng nodded.

“We’ll need Brother Bai and Brother Lu to dig into this further.”

Bai Kaiji and Lu Yang took the assignment.

Song Qiyun tapped his slender fingers on Consort Xu’s file.

“Get a midwife to examine her.”

Lu Yang was surprised.

“Boss, do you suspect Consort Xu is pregnant with Sun Feiyun’s child?”

Song Qiyun didn’t respond, just shot Lu Yang a glare.

Soon after, the midwife reported,

“I found a mushroom-shaped tattoo on Consort Xu’s chest.”

She drew the tattoo, which matched exactly the ones on Sun Nan and Wu Qi.

“That’s right! How could I not have thought of this? The Grand Tutor’s suicide in the palace was probably related to Consort Xu!”

Bai Kaiji sighed, realizing his deductive skills still needed improvement.

In the prison cell.

Consort Xu admitted she gave the fatal neck poison to the Grand Tutor because she hated his fickleness and betrayal.

“The Mushroom Cult is easy to join. I was introduced by Sun Feiyun. If you plainly say you want to kill or seek revenge, you can join by passing the mushroom-growing test.”

Consort Xu also had a silk pouch containing mushroom soil.

“‘Mushroom-growing test’? What mushroom?”

Song Qiyun asked.

Consort Xu smiled,

“Song Young Master, you’re so innocent. It’s not the kind you think—it’s mushrooms used to kill people.”

“What’s Sun Feiyun’s relationship with the Mushroom Cult?”

“Not sure. But the person who introduced me was close to him—not very high status, maybe a servant of some noble. I remember his name—Wu Qi.”

Wu Qi—the servant beside Shen Weimu—was also a member of the Mushroom Cult and acquainted with Sun Feiyun, the Shadow Pavilion’s third-ranked assassin.

Before he died, Sun Feiyun even gave Shen Weimu a chicken.

What a coincidence.

Does Shen Weimu really know Sun Feiyun?

If he does, and Sun Feiyun’s death is related to him, how did Shen Weimu escape the silver needle and sword trap, defeat Sun Feiyun, and then reveal Consort Xu’s information, risking suspicion?

If he doesn’t know him, these strange coincidences make Song Qiyun all the more suspicious.

In any case, no matter what kind of case it is, Shen Ersan is always a special presence, involved somehow.

Song Qiyun felt there was no point overthinking it—he might as well ask Shen Weimu directly if he knew Sun Feiyun.

“No.”

Shen Weimu answered plainly, expression calm and without any doubt.

“Do you remember saying earlier when you had a fever that you killed Sun Feiyun and the others?”

Shen Weimu nodded.

“Of course I remember.”

“How did you kill them? What technique did you use?”

Shen Weimu said,

“No technique. I just stood still and used my spiritual power to reflect all their silver needles and arrows back at them. It’s called ‘using their own methods against them.’”

Song Qiyun studied Shen Weimu for a long moment, then reached out and tapped his forehead.

“Don’t joke about this anymore. It’s not funny.”

Shen Weimu smiled wryly, knowing that even if he told the truth, no one would believe him.

At noon today, Shen Weimu finally got to taste the delicacies Song Qiyun had brought.

The main dish was a strange mushroom the size of an arm, said to be a rare gift from Song Qiyun’s friend—an exquisite and extremely expensive delicacy.

The mushroom was sliced, accompanied by ham, winter bamboo shoots, pork bones, and dried scallops.

A layer of winter bamboo shoot, a slice of ham, and a piece of mushroom were alternated, wrapped in scallions and ginger with gauze, placed in a small bamboo basket, and then cooked in a pot with pork tripe and whole chicken to enhance the flavor.

It was simmered for a full six hours before serving.

When the dish arrived, the air filled with a rich aroma so delicious it was almost hallucinatory—saliva seemed to drip from everyone’s mouths.

No one could resist such temptation.

Shen Weimu especially couldn’t.

He ate most of the pot, along with red bean rice, and just as he was about to continue, Song Qiyun stopped him.

“Don’t eat so much. No one’s competing for the leftovers. Save some for the next meal; too much will give you indigestion and hurt your health.”

“All right, all right, got it. You go ahead.”

After sending Song Qiyun off, Shen Weimu was about to finish it all—only for Song Qiyun to return suddenly and catch him in the act.