ATEG Chapter 91.1

“The Mingdeng Sect?” Ding Qin asked.

Through her eyes, the gaze of the deity had already turned their attention here.

This was a very peculiar “dark chamber.” Nine lamps burned in the room, illuminating it as bright as daylight. But the place where they sat was surrounded by screens, with curtains draped over them, almost completely isolating this small space from the outside. Yet inside here, not a single lamp was lit, making it quite dim.

In such dimness, it had no effect on Ding Qin, nor on Bai Hong who had manifested in human form beside her. But for the room’s owner sitting across from them, discerning things in this dimness was quite difficult.

This was someone dressed in coarse clothing as a porter, their build hidden beneath loose robes, only appearing somewhat thin and small. Their eyebrows were sparse, their complexion sallow and dull, their face seemingly expressionless, yet every subtle muscle movement spoke of exhaustion.

This appeared to be an utterly unremarkable ordinary person. Yet even sitting in such a dim cubicle, forced to open their eyes wide, this person tried desperately to shrink into the deepest shadows, afraid of touching even a bit of light seeping through the cracks.

“I overheard it, should be this name… do you, do you know what this sect does?” This was a low, hoarse female voice, like a snake sliding past one’s ear—slightly cool, smooth, with distinct scales, carrying a kind of spine-tingling horror, yet also containing a strange, alluring charm. This person dressed as a porter was actually a disguised young woman.

“Have you heard of this sect’s name?” Ding Qin looked toward Bai Hong.

Bai Hong shook her head, then added, “Or perhaps I heard of it but forgot.”

Though she had traveled widely for a long time, that was all over a thousand years ago.

Ding Qin sighed. “I haven’t heard of it either.”

The young woman across from them nodded in disappointment, her gaze returning to the floor. She seemed to be reorganizing her thoughts, temporarily falling silent.

Ding Qin quietly waited for her to gather her thoughts. The young woman across from her was named Liu Yetao. They had met her by chance during their travels down the mountain. As for why they were in this situation now, it went back to yesterday evening.

Yesterday evening, Liu Yetao had found them and hesitantly asked if they understood anything about the supernatural. Could they stay with her for a few days?

Seeing she had something on her mind, Ding Qin agreed to come here with her.

This was a somewhat remote but fairly spacious estate. Most rooms were locked, with only a few in regular use. The estate’s owner was not Liu Yetao—the original owners had all perished in the great calamity. This was truly a tragic matter, but during the great calamity, it was also truly a common occurrence.

Even in normal times, few would willingly live in an estate where all the previous owners had died unjustly, let alone in these times when karma was chaotic and demons and ghosts ran rampant. But for one type of person, whether the estate was inauspicious no longer mattered, because they truly had nowhere else to go, no place to shelter.

Liu Yetao was such a person.

At first, Ding Qin thought there was something wrong with this estate. But after coming here with Liu Yetao to look, she discovered the estate was actually very clean—even excessively so.

The mortal world churned with dust, and demons and ghosts were numerous. Many people believed they had never encountered supernatural or paranormal matters in their lives, but in fact they often walked and lived alongside demons and ghosts, simply without knowing it.

Bai Hong had once told Ding Qin such a story:

There was an arrogant scholar drinking with others who, in his drunken madness, boasted that he had never seen demons or ghosts—perhaps they didn’t exist at all in this world.

Others argued with him, but he grew even more frenzied, saying that if they truly existed, why had he never seen them? Perhaps they feared him and only dared frighten the timid.

Now everyone at the table had been insulted by him. Just as they were about to angrily retort, another scholar asked: “You don’t believe in anything you haven’t personally seen?”

The arrogant scholar said yes.

The other scholar suddenly leaned close and asked: “Then look at me—who am I?”

The others saw nothing unusual, but saw the arrogant scholar’s eyes suddenly bulge as sweat poured out like rain. He screamed and fainted.

The scholar laughed and left the gathering. The others, not knowing what had happened, looked at each other in confusion and pinched the man’s philtrum to revive him.

When the arrogant scholar woke and they asked what happened, he said that when the other scholar leaned close, he had suddenly transformed into a terrifying demon he’d never seen before. A pungent, bitter stench assaulted him, jaws gaping as if to devour him. But the others had only seen the scholar, no terrifying demon.

The arrogant scholar went home and ran a fever for a day, never daring to speak so arrogantly again.

When Bai Hong told this story, Ding Qin was still young. Following what she’d heard from adults, she guessed quite knowingly, “He must have been struck by ghost qi, that’s why he got a fever.”

Bai Hong laughed heartily. “The scholar who frightened him was a demon—where would ghost qi come from?”

The demon who had idly teased mortals was Bai Hong’s friend. The so-called evil demon was just an illusion created by magic. If the arrogant scholar had been a bit braver, he wouldn’t have been frightened into a day-long fever. Strictly speaking, he was hurt more by the philtrum-pinching—the person who did it was quite strong, and it reportedly pained him for four days.

All this was told to Bai Hong as a joke by her friend, who had transformed and gone to watch the aftermath—utterly bored with nothing better to do.

Returning to the point: the mortal world churned with dust and all manner of mixed energies. Even without spirits dwelling within, there would be various stray energies—resentment, malevolence, miasma… These were not uncommon. Humans themselves were sources of these stray energies. When such energies accumulated, combined with dark corners in houses that weren’t normally accessed, these corners would inevitably gather some gloom.

But in the estate where Liu Yetao resided, there were no gloomy things.

If one sought reasons, it wasn’t impossible to find them. Perhaps after the previous owners’ incident, the local authorities had someone come deal with it to prevent accidents, and Liu Yetao had moved in too recently for new gloom to develop. But this was only speculation.

According to Liu Yetao, she didn’t live here alone—her elder sister accompanied her, but had other matters these past days and temporarily wouldn’t return.

When requesting Ding Qin and Bai Hong to come, she hadn’t hidden the estate’s origins, and as soon as it grew dark, she’d lit lamps that had remained burning ever since.

After discovering nothing wrong with the estate, Ding Qin thought Liu Yetao was simply afraid to stay here alone these few days without her sister. But near dawn, they suddenly heard an extremely suppressed, terrified sob from Liu Yetao’s room.

Then they went to knock on Liu Yetao’s door.

Liu Yetao opened the door herself. Though she was extremely afraid of lamplight, she still seemed able to control herself—these lamps had been lit by her own hand. But unless necessary, she would shrink back into that dark chamber created by screens and curtains, unwilling to touch even a bit of lamplight.

Liu Yetao hung her head, seemingly completely lost in thought. Only her short, rapid breathing showed how tense she truly was.

The flames of the nine lamps swayed gently outside the screens. The wicks occasionally crackled.

This most ordinary of sounds startled Liu Yetao into a shudder. Ding Qin quietly formed a hand seal, transforming divine power into a calming, soothing force that silently entered Liu Yetao’s body. Her breathing calmed considerably before she began to speak:

“I… I don’t think I’ve told you about my past.”

“I’m an orphan, with no parents, no surname. After Master found me, I took his surname. I also have an elder sister named Liu Chuanyu—Master’s niece, whose parents are also gone.” When speaking of being an orphan, she showed little grief, seemingly not particularly longing for parents. But when mentioning her master, her voice suddenly became so mournful that even the strange charm in her tone was suppressed.

“Master had no children of his own. Sister and I should have cared for him in old age and seen to his burial, but later… after that bitter rain fell…” Liu Yetao closed her eyes, silent for a long while.

Ding Qin didn’t press her. Her eyes showed compassion. Since coming down the mountain, she had seen far too many such matters.

Liu Yetao’s master had died in this great calamity. She and her sister had buried their master and from then on depended on each other. They had no wealth. Both were orphans, and the master who adopted them made his living by performing with snakes and street tricks.

This was not a lucrative trade, especially during the great calamity—how many would still have the leisure to tip street performers?

For two people to survive, they needed to find shelter. They had helped collect and bury the estate owners’ remains and, with the authorities turning a blind eye, temporarily took residence here.

“With Master gone, Sister and I depended on each other. Though it was hard, we endured. Now, everything should be getting better, but… but…”

When mentioning Liu Chuanyu, Liu Yetao’s expression had initially shown some reliance, but now that reliance had turned to unease and timidity.

“She suddenly changed. First she grew cold toward me, avoiding me, looking at me with eyes that made me panic and afraid. At that time I thought I’d done something wrong, or perhaps she found me burdensome and wanted to abandon me. But soon after, she suddenly watched me very closely, asking about everything I did. At this point her gaze changed again, but it still frightened me.” Liu Yetao bit her lip, curling up tighter, tears seeming to gather in her eyes.

Though disguised, a person’s eyes are very difficult to completely conceal. Liu Yetao had very distinctive eyes: her black pupils were larger than normal, and her iris color much lighter than usual, appearing tea-colored in the light. When these eyes looked at someone, they gave a strange cold feeling, yet also enticed one to draw closer, to see more clearly—just like her voice.

If the sallow coloring on her face were removed and her deliberately shaved eyebrows allowed to grow back, one would see she was truly an extremely beautiful, extremely charming young woman.

She had no choice but to disguise herself as a man. In such times, a beautiful young woman without power or influence could only be somewhat safer this way.

“Later, she demanded I must light lamps. Whenever there was no sunlight, I absolutely had to keep nine lamps burning. That lamplight… that lamplight…” Liu Yetao curled herself tightly in the shadows, eyes fixed on a sliver of candlelight seeping through the gaps as if looking at a vicious, many-legged centipede, terrified. “I’m not afraid of oil lamps or candles. But as long as they’re these nine lamps lit according to her demands, I become very frightened—the kind of fear I can’t control. I don’t know why.”

“She’s not here now, so why must you still obey her?” Bai Hong suddenly asked.

“She’ll be very angry.” Liu Yetao shrank back. “She’ll know. No matter where she is, even if I light one lamp less, she knows, and then she’ll be very angry.”

“It seems that wherever these lamps’ light reaches, she knows everything that happens.”

Bai Hong raised an eyebrow.

If what Liu Yetao said was true, then her sister was likely no longer an ordinary person.

Just as Bai Hong was about to inquire further, Liu Yetao suddenly asked, “Is dawn approaching?”

Ding Qin startled. The yin energy between heaven and earth was indeed declining, approaching the moment when yang energy would rise—a sign dawn was near. Cultivators could easily judge this. The morning star hung high outside the window, a sign mortals could see. In less than half a tea-time, the first rays of eastern sunlight would fall.

But how did Liu Yetao know? She was just an ordinary person, and in such a sealed environment, she couldn’t see the morning star in the sky.

Ding Qin nodded. “Dawn is near.”

Joy and relief appeared on Liu Yetao’s face.

Most people rejoice at daybreak because human bodies prefer daylight’s warmth and brightness. Night’s cold drains physical strength; night’s darkness obscures vision, bringing danger. But Liu Yetao’s joy wasn’t because of daybreak, but because after dawn, those lamps could be extinguished.

She feared neither day nor night, but feared those lamps like poisonous insects.

A thread of harmonious yang energy was born. The eastern horizon showed its first rays of sunlight.

Liu Yetao drew a small breath. “Can I extinguish the lamps now?”

Ding Qin said, “We’ll do it. You sleep a while.”

Looking at Liu Yetao’s mental state, she probably hadn’t slept all night. Even if she could light and extinguish the lamps herself, each movement would surely torment her.

Ding Qin opened one panel of the screen, instantly letting in a flood of lamplight. This warm brightness didn’t fall on Liu Yetao, but she still tensed up sharply.

Outside the screens, nine lamps burned—both candles and oil lamps. The oil was the most ordinary, crude rapeseed oil, quite murky. The candles were also the most ordinary insect wax, nothing special. The arrangement of these nine lamps also had no particular design—they simply formed a circle, perfectly enclosing the small dark chamber Liu Yetao had created for herself.

Ding Qin extinguished these lamps one by one. Only then did Liu Yetao truly relax. She smiled at Ding Qin, and with her taut spirit released, could no longer resist drowsiness and exhaustion.

“How did you know dawn was approaching?” Ding Qin suddenly asked.

Liu Yetao paused, seemingly not having noticed or considered this question herself. After thinking, she answered, “Perhaps… I felt the night wasn’t so cold anymore?”

This was wrong. The temperature before sunrise only continued to drop.

But Ding Qin only nodded without further questioning, saying instead, “Sleep well. We’ll be next door.”

Liu Yetao could hold on no longer. After a mumbled response, she slumped onto the couch, her breathing soon becoming light and long.

She hadn’t just missed this one night’s sleep. The matter of lighting nine lamps had continued for quite some time. She had already gone many nights without closing her eyes, but during the day there were other things to do—she couldn’t sleep all day.

Ding Qin and Bai Hong quietly left the room.

The sun hadn’t yet risen above the horizon, only showing a line of white light in the east. Though not yet strong, this single line had already rendered the entire dark night sky into a hazy gray-blue.

Ding Qin faced east, inhaling slowly and deeply, drawing a thread of harmonious yang energy into her belly. She didn’t sink into cultivation. After this initial harmonious yang energy dispersed, she stopped.

Upon returning to her own room, she closed her eyes in prayer. The divine seal on her forehead remained hidden, yet a clear, gentle power rippled softly. Praying to the deity she served at each sunrise and sunset had long been Ding Qin’s habit, never ceasing even after descending the mountain. In prayer, she recounted to the deity each day’s experiences, offering all she had witnessed and felt—all joyful and beautiful thoughts as offerings—and through the divine seal, also sent to the deity the seven emotions she occasionally collected on this journey.

Bai Hong didn’t disturb her. Only after Ding Qin reopened her eyes did she ask, “Did you see anything unusual in those lamps?”