Dragon Boat Secret Realm 23: Chen Manor

Despite Xiao’e’s pale, terrified face, Su Qing wasn’t surprised they’d been discovered.

The spiritual energy traces on the dried peachwood confirmed the Second Lady was a cultivator.

Though her purpose in coaxing the wood to sprout was unclear, spotting a nervous, breathing child in the cellar was no challenge for her.

Moreover, Su Qing suspected being found was a necessary step in this event. Meeting the Second Lady was key to uncovering what came next.

After speaking, the Second Lady fell silent, patiently waiting for them to emerge, as if setting a trap.

Xiao’e wiped her face, adopting a resolute expression, her dark eyes signaling Su Qing: I’ll go up alone. Stay and watch.

Su Qing met her stubborn gaze and nodded slightly.

Xiao’e climbed up reluctantly, muttering to herself that, as fellow villagers, the Second Lady wouldn’t beat her too badly.

Su Qing followed quietly, eager to see the Second Lady.

Xiao’e stood before her, head bowed, voice loud. “I’m sorry, it’s my fault. I shouldn’t have entered your house without permission.”

Seeing Su Qing emerge, Xiao’e glanced nervously and added, “It’s all my doing. I dragged her here, picked the lock, found the cellar. Punish me alone.”

Su Qing apologized too, her peripheral vision catching the Second Lady. Her heart tightened. Xiao’e’s description—crazy, mute old woman—had shaped her initial impression, but the exchange with Wang Mazi had changed that.

This woman was restrained yet sharp, like a sheathed blade—others saw only a rusted scabbard, not the glinting edge within.

In truth, the Second Lady matched this image almost perfectly, though her body was far more decayed than her spirit.

By her bone age, she was in her sixties, but she looked eighty. Her white, disheveled hair resembled floating ash, exuding a burned-out aura.

Her frame, like the dried wood below, was wrapped in a filthy, colorless robe. Her hands, protruding from tattered sleeves, were bony and rough, nails long and unkempt, as if untrimmed for years—seemingly confirming the rumors of madness.

Yet, despite her frail, near-death appearance, her eyes burned.

Aged, with furrowed corners and cloudy pupils, they still gleamed with unmasked sharpness.

Most crucially, Su Qing sensed her second-layer Qi Refining cultivation, confirming cultivators existed on this island.

But for a cultivator to live as a supposed madwoman, there must be a story.

“You’re the carpenter’s daughter,” the Second Lady said, her voice rough as sandpaper, gray eyes coldly fixed on Xiao’e. “Instead of working on your boat, who sent you to snoop in my cellar?”

Her rumored madness contrasted with her chilling composure, made scarier by Wang Mazi lying nearby, his face an eerie blue.

Xiao’e stammered, “I… no one sent me. I came myself.”

Su Qing, sensing no demonic aura—ruling out an evil cultivator—thought negotiation was possible.

“Second Lady,” she said calmly, laying out the situation clearly. “With the Flower God Festival nearing, Xiao’e’s sister was chosen as a Flower God. Xiao’e’s making a boat for her to sail to the Flower God’s side for cultivation, but she lacked wood and came to borrow some.”

Su Qing explained how Xiao’e found the cellar and mentioned Wang Mazi. The Second Lady listened impassively, but Su Qing noticed a subtle shift in her demeanor at the mention of the Flower God Festival.

Having concealed her aura with a breath-hiding technique, Su Qing’s higher cultivation went unnoticed by the Second Lady, whose level was lower.

Her fingers tapped the chair’s armrest, producing dull thuds as she pondered. She instructed Su Qing to fetch the gate’s lock, re-lock it, and had Xiao’e demonstrate opening it again.

Despite her fear, Xiao’e wiped sweaty hands on her clothes, pulled a wire from her hair, and deftly unlocked it, treating the lock like a toy. In moments, she disassembled it.

This reinforced Xiao’e’s claim of intuitively spotting the cellar. Had the Second Lady seen Xiao’e’s canoe, she’d recognize the impulsive, raspy-voiced girl’s immense talent.

A talent too big for this fishing village.

The Second Lady fell silent.

The brief pause felt heavy, weighing on Su Qing’s heart.

The Second Lady’s piercing gaze settled on the trembling Xiao’e, taking in her anxiety. Suddenly, she spoke. “Take a piece of the dried wood to finish your boat.”

She sighed faintly, her earlier vigor fading into exhaustion. Slumped in the chair, she no longer seemed imposing but like an old woman, worn by years, needing the rickety seat to hold her crumbling frame.

“Just keep it secret and don’t say the wood came from me.”

“Really?” Xiao’e’s eyes sparkled with gratitude. “Thank you, Second Lady! I won’t tell.”

She pulled out a small sack of grain, spilling some golden wheat in her excitement. “Let me make you wheat porridge! It’s this year’s harvest—delicious if cooked long.”

The Second Lady declined, waving them off. “Save it for your sister. She may not return.”

Xiao’e, realizing the Second Lady wasn’t so frightening, grew bolder. Eyeing Wang Mazi, she asked, “What if he talks?”

“I gave him a memory-loss drug. He’ll recall nothing,” the Second Lady said, squinting at Xiao’e. “But you—break our deal, and…”

“I won’t!” Xiao’e swore, grabbing Su Qing to leave.

Su Qing took two steps, then turned back. “Second Lady, is being a Flower God good? Can I try in three years?”

Her earnest gaze met the Second Lady’s ashen eyes.

“Don’t go,” the Second Lady rasped, voice trembling faintly. “There’s no greater world out there. Don’t go.”

Su Qing nodded thoughtfully, and with Xiao’e, they slipped out of the yard. Seeing no one, Xiao’e hurried her back.

“You’re so brave!” Xiao’e said, still shaken. “My sister calls me a troublemaker, but you’re bolder. Weren’t you scared?”

“I wasn’t,” Su Qing said. “I don’t think she’s bad.”

Xiao’e rubbed her nose, sheepish. “I think so too—she gave me wood. I shouldn’t have spoken ill of her. I should’ve listened to you.”

“She’s likely pretending for a reason,” Su Qing said. “Let’s keep her secret, like before.”

Xiao’e nodded vigorously. Their shared scare had bonded them, like partners in crime. “There is a bigger world out there—I swear, I’ve seen it,” Xiao’e said. “After a rain, I saw a huge, unfamiliar city in the clouds, far bigger than here.”

“It must be an immortal’s projection,” she added, eyes blazing with longing. “One day, I’ll build a mighty, peerless ship, better than any here. With it, I’ll sail to the clouds and see that world.”

She looked to Su Qing. “You believe me, right?”

“I do,” Su Qing said firmly. “I believe in the bigger world and that you’ll build that ship.”

Xiao’e grinned, eyes crinkling.

Su Qing’s faith stemmed not just from Xiao’e’s talent but from her growing suspicion of Xiao’e’s true identity.

Helping Xiao’e with the canoe, Su Qing was soon called home for dinner as dusk fell.

Her character, an obedient, unremarkable girl, blended in easily. The illusion focused on key figures, sparing little detail for her minor role.

She ate seamlessly, no one noticing anything amiss. The meal, typical of a fishing village, was mostly fish, with coarse, bran-mixed wheat rice that scratched the throat. Su Qing listened to the adults discuss the Flower God Festival, chiming in like a curious child to gather information.

Her “parents” hoped for a smooth festival, praying for a good harvest, full stomachs, warm clothes, and their daughter’s health and safety.

After dinner, Su Qing offered to wash dishes, but her “mother” refused, citing the Daughters’ Festival—girls were to rest and enjoy. “You’re a daughter too, Mother. I’ll wash; it’s no trouble,” Su Qing insisted, securing the task.

In the kitchen, she used a straw to write in stove ash, organizing today’s clues. @Infinite Good Reads, Only at Jinjiang Literature City

If this illusion had a protagonist, it was Xiao’e. Sister Kui had asked, “Are you here for Xiao’e?” and Xiao’e confirmed, “She’s here for me!”

Su Qing drew a stick figure with short limbs and wild hair, adding a boat beside it.

Xiao’e: thirteen or fourteen, carpenter’s daughter, clever, skilled with tools and crafting, made a perfect canoe.

These traits confirmed Su Qing’s guess.

Xiao’e was likely Qiu Yange, the Dragon Boat Secret Realm’s master, a seventh-tier Void Refining artificer.

Su Qing sighed. She’d gone under the island to find the giant fish and Tang Yueling but stumbled into the Dragon Boat trial.

The fish must be tied to the trial.

Pushing that aside, she focused on Qiu Yange. This illusion depicted her childhood, before her cultivation path began. The Flower God Festival might be where she gained her immortal fate.

Since Xiao’e was Qiu Yange, one detail needed correction.

Su Qing drew a chubby goose with flapping wings.

Yange, Yange—singing to the sky like a goose. “Little Goose” was likely Qiu Yange’s childhood nickname.

Next, the Second Lady. Su Qing drew a pair of eyes.

A low-level cultivator, likely self-taught, not formally trained. How did she encounter her immortal fate?

Su Qing suspected the Flower God Festival. The Second Lady’s aversion to it—her mood shifting at its mention—hinted at a connection.

Xiao’e said the Flower God Empress would appear. Su Qing planned to see her, though the danger was unknown, requiring more intelligence.

Another figure emerged: Lord Chen Qiang, who knew the Second Lady from some past. A key figure.

One detail nagged Su Qing: why the Second Lady made the dead peach tree sprout. For powerful cultivators, especially wood灵根 ones, this was easy. But for her, with low cultivation and the island’s thin spiritual energy, it was a costly effort.

Perhaps the peachwood held significance. Xiao’e, despite collecting varied woods for her canoe, didn’t recognize peachwood. As a future Void Refining expert, her judgment was reliable. Thus, Falling Spring Island likely had no peach trees.

Only the Second Lady had one, hidden in a well to avoid notice. Yet Lord Chen sent people to snoop before the festival. @Infinite Good Reads, Only at Jinjiang Literature City

Sorting her clues, Su Qing heard her “mother” call.

“The festival’s the day after tomorrow. Have you made your paper cutting?”

“Not yet.”

Su Qing hadn’t registered the custom.

Her “mother” wasn’t upset. “I saw you with the carpenter’s Little Goose today—thought you were making them together. No rush, do it tomorrow. Just be sincere, so the Flower God blesses you when it floats away.”

Su Qing recalled the Daughters’ Festival tradition: paper cuttings, released in the river, carried away misfortune and illness.

“Before bed, offer incense to the Flower God.”

Su Qing complied, approaching the simple altar but not lighting the incense.

She noticed a Flower God talisman on the wall, drawn with mortal ink, lacking spiritual energy.

What caught her eye were the ten Flower God names: Plum, Orchid, Apricot, Chrysanthemum, Peony, Paeony, Pomegranate, Hibiscus, Lotus, Osmanthus.

No Peach Blossom.

At night, confirming her “family” slept by their breathing, Su Qing rose.

She headed to Chen Manor.

Unexpectedly, the manor was bustling at night, unnaturally so.

Chen Qiang admired an old painting of a beauty, her features vivid despite faded colors, exuding charm.

A servant rushed in, panicked. “Bad news, Lord! The young lady’s awake!”

“So what? Keep her locked until she accepts her father’s will and agrees to marry!” Chen scoffed, annoyed his appreciation was interrupted.

“But she’s charging over!” the servant stammered. “With a sword—no one can stop her!”

The delicate young lady, once frail, had woken from a hunger strike with unnatural strength, wielding a sword to attack.

Chen sneered, “She’s learned to threaten with self-harm.”

“No, Lord,” the servant faltered. “She’s not harming herself.”

He didn’t dare say she’d declared she’d take her father’s “dog-thief” life.