The First Legendary Demonic Scholar

Chapter 108: Chapter 108: The Visitors

Nine hundred fifty. Nine hundred eighty.

One thousand.

〈Ding!〉

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[Mission Complete: Cultivation Circulation]

[Reward: 5,000 Qi Strands Awarded.]

[Bonus Reward: Technique Insight Unlocked.]

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Shen Yuan’s eyes opened slowly, silver irises catching the dim light of his shed as a second notification unfolded quietly behind the first.

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[Insight Gained: Flow Reversal Principle]

[Your cultivation technique’s efficiency during circulation has increased by 3%.]

[Note: Continued repetition of this mission may yield further insights.]

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Shen Yuan blinked once, genuine interest flickering behind his usual composure.

Shen Yuan’s qi settled quietly back into its dormant state as the meditation cycle came to an end, his breathing slow and even in the dim light of his shed.

To anyone bothering to check, his cultivation would register as nothing more than Third Stage Qi Gathering Realm—a careful illusion maintained through subtle suppression, layered over his actual foundation like a mask worn so consistently it had become second nature. In truth, he now stood at the Seventh Stage, the gap between appearance and reality quietly widening with each passing day.

Better to seem harmless than invite curiosity.

By the time he finished his circulation, the sun had already begun sinking low over the estate walls, painting the courtyard in long amber shadows. Shen Yuan closed his eyes once more, though not for cultivation this time.

He called upon his perfect memory instead, replaying the scene from the murdered servant’s room in exacting detail—the position of the cup that hadn’t actually been overturned, the untouched furniture, the eerie stillness that suggested a victim who’d had no chance to resist. He turned the memory over slowly, searching every corner of it for some detail he might have missed the first time.

Stacks of documents had lined the far wall, he recalled. Ledgers, scrolls, papers bound in twine—not unlike the piles Shen Yuan himself worked through every night in his own small hut.

What was he transcribing?

The thought nagged at him, persistent enough that Shen Yuan decided it warranted a second look, once the estate’s surveillance technique faded again for its nightly lull.

He didn’t have to wait long.

That same familiar sensation of being watched thinned into nothing sometime after the dinner bell, and Shen Yuan slipped quietly from his shed, the Flowing Mist Step carrying him across the courtyard without so much as a whisper of sound.

The murdered servant’s room stood empty and dark, the scorched floorboards from Bang Fo’s flame still visible in the dim moonlight filtering through the window. Shen Yuan stepped inside, silver eyes sweeping across the space.

The documents were gone.

Every scroll, every ledger, every scrap of parchment that had lined the far wall in his memory had vanished entirely, leaving only bare, dust-outlined shelves behind.

Shen Yuan crouched near the empty shelving, expression unreadable in the darkness.

Someone came back for them. His mind ran through the possibilities methodically. Bang Fo, cleaning up after himself. Lin Xia, erasing evidence of her own involvement. Or someone else entirely, someone I haven’t accounted for yet.

Whoever it was, they’d been thorough—not a single page left behind, nothing for Shen Yuan to salvage or study. Another dead end, at least for tonight.

He rose, brushing the dust from his knees, and made his way back to his shed just as the surveillance technique’s oppressive weight began settling back over the estate.

Whatever those documents were, they mattered enough to someone that removing them was worth the risk of a second visit to a crime scene. Shen Yuan filed the thought away alongside everything else, settling onto his cot for what remained of the night. I’ll find out what. Eventually.

He spent the rest of the night cultivating, letting the hours pass in quiet, disciplined circulation, patient in the way only someone who had already lived one lifetime through to its end could be.

—

Morning arrived with the usual clang of the estate’s bell, servants stumbling from their quarters into the pale grey light of dawn.

Shen Yuan rose, went through his usual motions, and had barely finished his first round of morning chores when the atmosphere of the entire estate shifted.

It started as a murmur among the servants near the front gate, spreading quickly into hushed, nervous whispers.

"His master is here."

"Bang Fo’s master? The one from the Hall of Secret Affairs?"

"I don’t know, but the steward’s already lining everyone up—"

Within minutes, every servant in the household had gathered along the courtyard path in two neat rows, heads bowed, the usual morning chatter replaced by tense, expectant silence.

Shen Yuan took his place among them, silver eyes lowered just enough to appear properly deferential while still tracking every detail unfolding before him.

The gates opened, and the guest stepped through.

He was tall, though not imposingly so—closer to elegant than intimidating at first glance, his frame lean beneath robes of deep violet silk, embroidered along the collar and sleeves with silver thread woven into patterns of coiling clouds.

His hair, sleek black and neatly combed, fell just past his shoulders, held back from his face by a simple jade pin. His features were composed, almost gentle, the kind of face one might expect from a scholar or a retired court official rather than a cultivator of considerable standing.

Yet his eyes told a different story—pale, nearly colorless grey, like fog settled over still water, carrying a depth of calculation that no amount of gentle bearing could soften.

"Such lovely weather for a visit," the elder remarked, his voice smooth and cultured, carrying the unhurried cadence of a man entirely unbothered by his own strength.

He clasped his hands behind his back as he walked, gaze drifting appreciatively over the courtyard’s modest garden as though touring a friend’s estate rather than inspecting a subordinate’s household. "Did you have a good time while I was in seclusion?"

Shen Yuan kept his head lowered, though his senses stretched carefully outward, cataloguing every detail permitted to him.

Recognition flickered, cold and sudden, somewhere deep in Shen Yuan’s chest.

I know that face.

He had seen him once before.