22. The Banquet

Old Cat returned to the library.

The scholar at the desk had been replaced.

He twitched his nose, sniffing the air—it smelled as if the student had headed toward the dormitory. Likely, he had gone back early.

“Meow…”

Black Cat Lu Xun quickly covered his mouth. The Five-Tongued Spirit could already mimic human speech; why did Old Cat still have his original voice? It seemed that Mr. White Deer’s enlightenment had only opened the Five-Tongued Spirit’s mind; as for himself, he still retained his old feline form. It wouldn’t be proper to return and trouble Mr. White Deer again—the man was clearly a master.

With no books to read, he might as well go back to sleep.

He hadn’t rested properly these past few days, only managing to nap briefly in the mornings and at noon. From what Sun Shen had hinted, there was something important happening tonight. There was no need to attend martial arts lessons, so he found himself with free time to catch up on sleep.

Arriving at the dormitory.

Lu Xun wandered curiously—why was there not a single soul present? Even Hui Bao wasn’t curled up in his usual spot. The usually proper Lü He wasn’t reading by lamplight, either. Leaping onto the bed, Lu Xun stretched out a paw and found the sheets cool. He sniffed; the scent was still strong, and estimating their departure, they must have left at least an hour ago.

“All four left together—their scents are mixed.”

Lu Xun hopped into his little nest, turned in circles to settle himself, curled up, yawned mightily with his head up, and then, resting his head on his tail, sank into a deep sleep.

Time flowed indistinctly in his dreams. A sudden commotion broke through, then he felt his whiskers yanked painfully. His golden beast eyes snapped open, blazing with feline authority.

Black Cat, brimming with sleep-induced fury, glared fiercely.

He wanted to see which fool dared disturb his sweet dream.

He focused.

Hui Bao?

He flicked Hui Bao aside, intent on resuming his dream.

But Hui Bao squeaked incessantly.

“Lost? What’s gone… temple, painting… what are you babbling about?”

Lu Xun was impatient with Hui Bao’s rambling, but suddenly, as though realizing something, he sat up abruptly and grabbed Hui Bao: “Meow!”

Hui Bao nodded energetically.

Two living souls had vanished?

The last traces of sleep disappeared as if doused with cold water; Lu Xun was instantly alert.

“Lead the way.”

“Never mind, I’ll find them myself.”

Black Cat Lu Xun activated his nose to follow Cheng Yan’s scent, donned his skirted armor, grabbed Hui Bao, leapt onto the beam, and called out.

“Chirp.”

After the long cry, a vast shadow swooped from above. The talons, like steel hooks, seized Black Cat and took to the air.

The hawk, Night Eagle Toothless, enlightened by Mr. White Deer, bore the weight of Black Cat Lu Xun and Hui Bao with ease. What would have taken two or three quarters of an hour on foot was accomplished in the blink of an eye.

Following the scent, they landed before an empty house.

“Head change!”

Mid-air, Lu Xun transformed; clad in indigo-black skirted armor, the Five-Tongued Spirit appeared in the courtyard.

He raised his arm.

Night Eagle Toothless circled overhead, then landed quietly, preening his feathers.

Hui Bao jumped from the eaves and settled on Lu Xun’s shoulder.

Squeaking explanations.

The Five-Tongued Spirit’s gaze fell on a mural nearby.

“Mural?”

Hui Bao was clearly startled before realizing it was the Mountain Lord speaking. Though his voice hadn’t changed, the words were now pure human language—not a mix of beast and demon speech.

Hui Bao nodded, pointing a paw at the mural.

Lu Xun stepped forward, examining the mural but seeing nothing unusual.

Seeing Lu Xun was clueless, Hui Bao jumped down and touched the ancient flying mural with a tiny paw. Ripples spread across the aged wall, and Hui Bao’s paw sank into it. He glanced at Lu Xun, showing a human-like expression, but before he could boast, a great force yanked Hui Bao into the mural.

“Squeak!”

“Hui Bao!”

Lu Xun raised his hand to charge in.

Yet, where the wall had just rippled, it now became as hard as iron when he touched it.

Already brimming with anger, the Five-Tongued Spirit would not be denied.

Golden demon eyes flashed coldly; his arms flexed, muscles knotted like twisted dragons. With terrifying strength, he tore the mural as though it were mere mud.

…

Hui Bao rolled into this strange world.

He kept his mouth shut, making no noise.

As a mouse, he understood one thing well: the more dangerous the moment, the more one must hold their breath—even if it meant suffocating, one must grit their teeth and not make a sound.

He did not sit idly.

Though the air was thick with various scents, he accurately found Cheng Yan’s.

He sped toward it, paws scurrying.

…

Two scholarly-looking men and a beautiful woman in silk stood on the far side of a long bridge.

The wooden bridge was over two fathoms wide, carved with dragons and phoenixes, lacquered red, spanning the central waterway.

On either side, the long streets were lit as if rivers of fire along the banks. Across the bridge, a flower-laden pavilion rose, three stories tall, five wings facing each other, eaves soaring, built by water and nestled against the mountain.

Strange beasts crouched on the ridges, maidservants wandered with candles; it seemed the bustling marketplace owed its prosperity to this very structure.

“Could this be the capital?” Lü He exclaimed in surprise.

He could not fathom how they had been swept into the mural, and after passing the bleak, terrifying ghost market, arrived at this place like a celestial palace.

Cheng Yan kept a hand on his sword, hesitant to step forward. He’d rather return to the ghost market—at least his sword would be somewhat useful there.

The beautiful woman smiled, bowing gracefully: “Gentlemen, please attend the banquet. Don’t keep the master waiting.”

Cheng Yan smiled, remarking, “If only Brother Zhou and Brother Wu were here—they’d love this place.”

Lü He’s legs trembled, his smile worse than a grimace.

The more he looked, the more uneasy he felt. He recalled tales told by village storytellers: great demons would host banquets, guests would cross rivers to wash away their scent, then climb knife mountains to strip away their humanity—fresh flesh was the delicacy.

Attend the banquet?

He feared they’d be served as dishes.

The woman, calling herself Little Butterfly, did not rush them.

Cheng Yan stalled, asking, “May I ask which master is hosting this banquet?”

“The master’s renown is beyond my humble words. Normally you wouldn’t be invited, but the mural’s illusion and the vapor of the mirage sea have intertwined, allowing the palace to temporarily reside here. Thus, you two are blessed with this chance.”

Little Butterfly explained patiently, holding her lantern as she beckoned.

Lü He swallowed hard: “Brother Cheng, what do we do?”

Cheng Yan toyed with his sword, uncertain.

Suddenly—

“Squeak, squeak.”

A familiar sound rang out. Cheng Yan turned to see the big gray rat running toward him. He quickly crouched, welcoming Hui Bao as it leapt onto his shoulder.

“I thought you were lost.”

Hui Bao climbed up Cheng Yan’s arm and settled on his shoulder, completely calm, no longer anxious.

Cheng Yan was delighted. He turned to Lü He, saying, “Brother Lü, since we’ve been so warmly invited, let’s attend the banquet!”

Lü He wasn’t sure how Cheng Yan had suddenly regained his confidence.

Could a rat really have such charm?

But they had no choice. Most importantly, there was no way back.

“Alright!” Lü He gritted his teeth.

Even if the path ahead led through blades and fire, they would charge on.

The two men and one rat, led by the lantern-bearing woman, stepped onto the long bridge, heading toward the flower pavilion.