In that instant, a storm of thoughts raged through Qilin’s mind:
According to the laws of Dong Xia, any foreigner who discovers our kingdom’s existence must either be killed immediately or turned into a Mi Luo Tu puppet. As the Zhang family’s clan leader, Zhang Qi Ling, I have the authority to enforce this law… but how could I possibly kill the man who just saved my life? My conscience won’t allow it.""This ‘Wan Bao’ claims to be nothing more than an accountant for a merchant, yet how does he know the secrets of Dong Xia? He possesses extraordinary abilities—capable of slipping into this Ba Nai Zhang family’s hidden base undetected. His martial arts are formidable, he understands exorcism incantations, and his adaptability far exceeds that of an ordinary man. There is no way this person is just a simple bookkeeper. His origins must have another hidden truth.""Right now, we are both trapped in this perilous situation—banshees lurking behind us, Mi Luo Tu closing in ahead. This is not the time for unnecessary conflict. If I press him too hard, it may provoke an unwanted confrontation. I should wait until we escape first, then carefully investigate him. If he truly harbors intentions of prying into Dong Xia’s secrets, I will have no choice but to carry out my duty and kill him. If he has accomplices… I will have to eliminate them all as well.
With this decision made, Qilin’s heartbeat steadied, and the sharpness in his gaze softened slightly.
Wang Cang Hai, on the other hand, had been watching him in silence, observing every flicker of emotion on his face—first the ferocity, then the unease. He remained calm and composed, waiting until Qilin’s expression finally settled before speaking in an even, measured tone:
“When I was thirteen, I traveled with my mother to Hang City. Near West Lake, we became separated.
I wandered alone and eventually reached the entrance of Jing Yin Monastery.
At that moment, I heard three chimes from the monastery’s bell.
As I stepped forward, I tripped on the stairs—and when I fell, my hand brushed against a small purple-gold box, engraved with the pattern of a Qilin.”
Qilin’s breath caught in his throat.
“The lid was sealed with a fire-lacquered imperial dragon-phoenix sigil.
Sensing its importance, I knocked on the monastery’s gate and requested an audience with the abbot, hoping they could help me find the owner—as well as my mother.
When Master Lian Ji, the abbot, saw the purple-gold box, his expression turned grave.
He pricked my index and ring fingers, pressing my blood onto both the Qilin engraving and the dragon-phoenix seal.
Immediately, the box unlocked.
Inside, there was an ancient parchment scroll—made of sheepskin.
When my blood dripped onto the scroll, characters emerged from the empty parchment.
The title read:
‘Records of Strange Tales from Dong Xia’
The five characters in the title were written in Han script, but the rest—countless rows of fine text—were in a script neither I nor Master Lian Ji recognized.
Yet, when my blood dried, the text vanished again.”
Qilin’s heartbeat quickened.
The "Records of Strange Tales from Dong Xia"…
This name alone was enough to strike terror into the hearts of any Dong Xia citizen.
If Mu Wang ever discovered such a text existed, he would never allow it to circulate.
How many people had seen this sheepskin scroll?
Would they all have to be eliminated?
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