Mischief in Gusu

Chapter 21: The Ripples of Smoke

Far from the Burial Mounds, nestled among crimson-touched cliffs and cascading waterfalls, the Jin Sect’s golden halls shimmered under the rising sun. But despite its polished grandeur, a dark undercurrent had begun to seep beneath its walls—one that no one had noticed… until now.

It began in the children’s quarters.

Jin Ling, prideful and sharp-tongued as always, had been training early that morning with a group of junior disciples when something odd caught his attention. Two younger boys—barely seven years old—had begun arguing. That in itself wasn’t strange. But it was how they argued that raised alarms.

“Give me the sword! I’m stronger than you!” one shouted.

“No! You’re always acting like a Lan—go meditate if you care so much!” the other spat.

Jin Ling, annoyed, turned toward them—only to freeze.

The boys weren’t just fighting. They were glowing faintly. A smoky, silvery light curled around their shoulders, wrapping like vines of incense smoke. Their spiritual energies fluctuated erratically—one moment low and weak like toddlers, the next sharp and strong like trained cultivators.

“Stop that right now!” he barked, stepping forward.

The boys didn’t listen. In fact, they couldn’t. Their eyes glazed over, like they weren’t entirely present.

It wasn’t until one of them suddenly shrieked, clutching his head, that the alarm bells truly rang.

Jin Ling acted fast, knocking the boy out with a pressure point tap while calling the inner sect disciples. “Get the healers,” he ordered, “and summon Uncle Jiang Cheng immediately!”

---

That evening, in Jin Guangyao’s old study, Jiang Cheng stood at the window, purple robes rustling slightly as he glared at the reports in his hand. He turned as Jin Ling entered.

“What happened this time?” Jiang Cheng asked.

“They’re both stable now,” Jin Ling reported, though the tightness around his mouth showed concern. “But something’s wrong with their golden cores. It’s like they’re being… split? Reversed? Their ages flickered, their voices too. One of them even babbled nonsense for five minutes like a baby.”

Jiang Cheng narrowed his eyes. “This sounds like…”

Jin Ling hesitated. “Like what happened to… them, right?”

Jiang Cheng turned away, jaw tight. “Damn that Wei Wuxian,” he muttered. “Playing with forbidden incense burners. What did he awaken?”

Jin Ling stepped closer. “But Uncle, if it’s not just them anymore…”

“I know.” Jiang Cheng's voice was low and cold. “This curse—if that’s what it is—is spreading beyond the Burial Mounds.”

He looked down at the boys’ charts again. Spiritual regression. Memory flashes. Temporal dissonance. And worst of all—residual incense energy.

“It’s the same signature,” he muttered. “Same smoke. Same pattern.”

---

Far to the north, in a lonely sect perched in the cold mountains, an elder cultivator lay paralyzed in bed. His beard had turned black again overnight. His body was young—but his mind was lost, whispering spells from a hundred years ago.

The healer beside him could only shiver. “It’s spreading,” she whispered.

---

Even within the Lan Sect, things were shifting.