Chapter Seventy: Descendants Through the Ages Must Not Take Concubines

When the flames had been subdued to a manageable extent, Magistrate Bai finally led his constables up the mountain.

Magistrate Bai was just past forty, with three sons and a daughter, all born of his lawful wife; their family was harmonious and content. In truth, Magistrate Bai had never taken a concubine. Only his wife resided in the inner chambers, a circumstance owed not only to the genuine affection between husband and wife but also to the ancestral precepts of the Bai family.

The Bai clan’s fate had long been intertwined with the Cloud family of Jade Creek. Though Yun Ruoyi and Bai Shuzhen addressed each other as cousins, there was no blood relation between them. The Bai family served as one of the Cloud family's eyes and ears beyond the secluded Spirit Mountain, gathering and relaying information.

After all, the Cloud family was a reclusive lineage; for ten millennia, none of their kin had strayed even half a step beyond Spirit Mountain. Yet, changes and news from the outside world could not go unheeded, so families such as the Bai’s were appointed for this very purpose. There existed secret methods by which messages could be transmitted to the Cloud family across a thousand miles, and these families were bound by absolute loyalty—betrayal was both unthinkable and impossible.

Of all these agents, the Bai family was the weakest in strength, which was why they had been stationed in such a modest place as Qingyang County. For this reason, Magistrate Bai was overjoyed at the great honor of the Cloud family’s young master, Yun Ruoyi, gracing their home with his presence. He considered it the highest distinction: though the Bai family was not adept at martial cultivation, surely they were the most blessed, for the young master’s first visit upon leaving the mountain was to their household!

Yet this was an understatement. In a small place like Qiuhe Prefecture, to have reached the minor perfection stage of innate martial cultivation was enough to reign supreme, though Magistrate Bai concealed his true abilities, feigning the persona of a mere scholar who spent his days tending flowers, teasing birds, and composing poetry.

The ancestral rule forbidding the Bai descendants from taking concubines was another mark of their allegiance to the Cloud family of Jade Creek. As a reclusive clan, the Clouds prized purity of blood above all. They believed that indulgence in women was a grave hindrance to cultivation, and too many offspring would lead to uneven talent and aptitude among descendants.

All members of the Cloud family, whether direct or collateral, were forbidden from taking concubines; only one lawful wife was allowed in the household. The requirements for such a wife were therefore extraordinarily strict; both parties had to be of equal standing. Moreover, outsiders were not allowed into the secluded Spirit Mountain, so to prevent the extinction of the line, every Cloud family woman, upon coming of age, had to undergo a physical examination. If she was found incapable of bearing children, she was disqualified from marriage and destined for a solitary life.

For ten thousand years, this had led to many resentful couples and lovers forcibly separated—an undeniable inhumanity. Even the current head of the Cloud family, Yun Ting, did not marry the one he loved. The only person he ever cared for took her own life on the day of his wedding.

On Tianmen Peak, Magistrate Bai stroked his black beard and said with a genial smile, “Master Xiang, it has been some time since we last met, yet you are as spirited as ever—time seems to leave no mark on you!”

Xiang Ao smiled in return. “Magistrate Bai, you yourself are in fine fettle—has some happy event graced your household?”

“Haha! Your words are true, Master Xiang—there is indeed a matter of great joy at home. An honored guest has arrived from afar, and I consider myself most fortunate!”

As he spoke, something else seemed to cross his mind, and his smile grew even more radiant, his pride impossible to conceal.

Though Xiang Ao was somewhat puzzled, he knew better than to probe into another’s family affairs. Beside him, Luo Changning understood perfectly well: the arrival of someone from the Cloud family of Jade Creek at the county office was indeed a momentous event.

With this in mind, Luo Changning could not help but recall those narrow, elongated eyes filled with a seductive, shimmering light—and their owner, Yun Ruoyi. That person was truly intriguing: outwardly mature beyond his years, yet inwardly shy and reserved.

Seeing his friend’s lovestruck expression, Xiang Yinglong shuddered, goosebumps prickling his skin—it was simply unnerving!

After exchanging a few more pleasantries, Xiang Ao explained the situation to Magistrate Bai.

Upon hearing it all, Magistrate Bai first thanked Xiang Ao for his service in eradicating the bandits, then assured him that the constables would inventory the remaining assets of Tianmen Stronghold, all of which would be confiscated and used to aid the county’s poor.

Most of those harmed by the bandits were not locals, so compensating the families of their victims was a nearly impossible task—just finding them would be time-consuming and laborious.

Seeing that the fire was nearly out and knowing there was nothing more for them to do, Luo Changning and his companions descended the mountain.

At the foot, they found Peng Qinghua trussed up like a zongzi by five constables, sitting on the ground with his head drooping, utterly spiritless.

The group paid him little heed, merely greeting the constables before departing.

It was only after they had walked several hundred meters that Peng Qinghua finally lifted his head. The once-clear and simple look in his eyes had been replaced by a searing hatred, fixed unwaveringly on Luo Changning in the departing crowd.

Sensing something, Luo Changning glanced back, only to find Peng Qinghua hunched and listless once more.

Thus, the matter of Tianmen Stronghold came to a close. The return to the inn was far more relaxed than their journey out, laughter and chatter accompanying them along the way.

From afar, they could see two figures waiting at the inn’s entrance: Uncle Zhong and Chen Lin, no doubt stationed there in anticipation of their return. As for Qing Gu, she was in Room Two with Su Meng, the young mistress she had nursed since infancy; after such an ordeal, she was even more anxious to keep her charge safe at all times.

Chen Lin, who was far less reserved than Uncle Zhong, spotted them at once and rushed forward.

“You’re finally back safe! Young Master Luo, next time there’s any heavy lifting to be done, don’t forget to bring me along,” he said, scratching his head in embarrassment, “though I only know a few basic moves, and probably wouldn’t be much help…”

Luo Changning smiled warmly. “It’s enough that you’re willing, Chen Lin.”

After a busy day, everyone was somewhat hungry, but after all the killing, none had much appetite. They ate a simple bowl of noodles before returning to their rooms to wash, change, and rest.

When he’d had his fill of sleep, Chen Lin came to Luo Changning’s room and, without reservation, told him everything about his background and past.

“Though I long to follow you, Young Master Luo, if you find me too much trouble…” Chen Lin began, head bowed.

He was interrupted before he could finish. Luo Changning withdrew a human-skin mask from his robe and handed it to him.

“Killing a man is no small matter, but a day and more has passed with no constables investigating, so there must be more to it. Better go in disguise and find out what’s really happening.”

Chen Lin’s eyes lit up at the suggestion, and he hurried off.

In truth, the investigation was not difficult. Donning the mask, Chen Lin visited Boss Wang’s shop. It was open as usual, with no hint that its owner had died.

Feigning an interest in buying spices, Chen Lin struck up a friendly conversation with one of the shop assistants and subtly steered the topic to the boss’s private life.

As luck would have it, the attendant was a gossip and eagerly spilled all the sordid details.

It turned out Boss Wang had grown rich overnight and become addicted to women, taking one concubine after another, neglecting his original wife and abusing the children she bore him. With a father so unkind and children so unfilial, the wife was no saint herself; unable to endure loneliness, she had an affair with the shop steward.

When one of the concubines became pregnant, the wife grew anxious, but before she could act, officials arrived with news that her husband had been killed in a brothel, his skull smashed in.

This suited her perfectly; she told the constables there was no need to seek the killer.

In the land of Yaohua, deaths in martial duels were not uncommon, and the laws against killing were not severe—indeed, it was customary that “if the people do not report it, the officials will not investigate.”

In other words, unless the victim’s family reported the crime, the authorities would not pursue the killer.

Boss Wang had already been hastily buried by his wife the previous day, and all the concubines were driven out with nothing but the clothes on their backs.

The pregnant concubine had been forcibly made to drink an abortifacient by the steward and tossed into the street.

Thus, the adulterous pair brazenly seized everything Boss Wang had left behind: his wealth, property, land, and business.