Hua Xianle

Chapter 98:

As per Wei Qing’s orders, Hua Ying took time to heal and recover from his months of being away. He was eating better, to the relief of his family, though he seemed to be avoiding meat. He was training with Suibian again, his sword humming in his hand as if happy to be back where it belonged. But today, he did not have the energy to train with his weapons yet, so he decided to make a mask for himself. 

Hua Ying knew he would inevitably join the war once he was deemed well enough by his Qing-jie. And he also knew that if they wanted to defeat Wen Ruohan, they would need everything he had to offer, including his demonic cultivation. Hence, the mask. Hua Xianle would join his fellow cultivators on the battlefield by day, and Black Mist Death Song would bring down his righteous vengeance upon the Wens come nightfall.

Sadly, Hua Ying could not claim credit for the idea of fighting as both. That honor belonged to none other than Nie Huaisang. Not long into the Prince’s recovery, his friend had managed to fly to Hua Manor, giving him a rundown of the plan.

“Nobody knows that Hua Xianle and Black Mist Death Song are the same person,” Huaisang reported, scattering various reports and scribbles across the massive war room desk. “So far, what they do know is that Black Mist Death Song is a vengeful spirit targeting the Wens.”

“Considering I had my ghosts raiding Supervisory offices and attacking Wen contingents, that makes sense,” Hua Ying mused.

“The fact that no one ever saw your face works to our advantage as well,” Huaisang chirped, grinning from ear to ear. “So, if we want to keep using the Black Mist persona, we can. You’ll just need to take a page out of Lord Wuxiang’s playbook.”

“You mean a mask.”

Huaisang nodded. “Right. Now, let me tell you the full myth of Black Mist Death Song. The one I’ve been carefully cultivating.”

According to Huaisang’s myth, Black Mist Death Song was the culmination of all the resentment from the Burial Mounds taking shape. Wen Mao had been the one to erect the barrier around the Burial Mounds, trapping the souls of all the dead unfortunate enough to have perished there. It was also no secret (anymore) that the Wens would take those they wished to erase and dump them in the Mounds. With the war, the resentment of those wronged by the Wens had grown and grown until not even Wen Mao’s barrier could hold it back.

The barrier shattered and the resentment coalesced into a singular entity, a being of pure resentment with the single goal of wiping out the cruel Wens responsible for creating it. The loss of Mo Village had been a result of Black Mist Death Song’s descent from the mountain and the Mo Family’s ties to the Wens as part of their territory.

“The rumors are already spreading like wildfire,” Huaisang happily reported. “Including the one about Black Mist being strong enough to even enslave his fellow Ghost Kings.”

Hua Ying groaned at that reminder, burying his face in his hands from utter embarrassment and shame. Huaisang gave him a pat on the back, smirking the entire time.

“Trust me, Hua-Xiong, when you return to the battlefield and when Black Mist rises once again, both of you will be in for a grand reception.”

And thus, Hua Ying had thrown himself into mask carving. The one for Black Mist Death Song was made of metal, unlike the wooden ones he had carved for his servants. It covered the entire top half of his face and was made of silver, reminiscent of a similar silver mask his Baba once wore. 

He needed to make sure no one would ever know of his identity, Hua Ying put great value on the peace of his life and home, and if those cultivators found out what had become of him, they would not hesitate to turn their backs on him. Worse, they might drag his Lan Zhan into that trouble and he did not want that. It was better to be safe than sorry.