The moment I said that, the Deputy Envoy of West Altar scratched his head awkwardly, glancing first at their second-command, Hua and then at their Sect Leader, Lian.

  Hua snorted, half amused, half exasperated.

  “You think we’re out here chasing pigs? That was years ago. Who actually believes in a pig turning into a seductress?”

  I slapped my forehead.

  “Well, the way you two told it, it sounded like that pig actually pulled off some legendary feat.”

  “Not entirely baseless,” I muttered, frowning as the details clicked into place. “If the story were true, the problem isn’t the pig… it’s the yellow dog. It’s hard to imagine a pig flirting with anyone, but a dog that runs, leads people around, and puts on spooky theatrics? Perfect to manufacture a ‘monster.’ And I did meet a dog demon last night. The old cook even called it ‘Lord Dog.’”

  “That actually makes a bit of sense.”

  Hua gave me a look, his expression sharpening. “If this really ties back to a yellow dog… then what you saw last night wasn’t a hallucination.”

  A chill climbed up my spine. I was about to press further when Lian suddenly cut in:

  “The story isn’t about the pig. Or the dog. It’s about the pigsty.”

  I blinked.

  “You’re joking.”

  “I’m not.” His tone was so serious I almost believed him on the spot.

  “We aren’t investigating a legend,” Lian said quietly. “We’re investigating what used to be real.”

  I froze. “Not a story… then what?”

  Lian unfolded a neatly creased sheet of paper—his own rough map, marked with place names and dates from the rumors. He circled a few with a piece of charcoal.

  “These locations appear too specific. ‘The pigsty at the foot of the mountain.’ The ‘Qingyin Hall’ you mentioned. And the Qingyin Cemetery we visited later.”

  My breath caught.

  “You’re saying these places… weren’t made up?”

  “Whether the rumors are true doesn’t matter.” Lian’s tone was steady, but every word hit like a weight. “If a ridiculous tale names a real location, then someone chose it on purpose. The events may be fiction, but the site rarely is.”

  “You’re implying that whole area—”

  “—was used to cover up an old incident. Or an old base of operations.” He added calmly, “And we still don’t know whose.”

  I clicked my tongue.

  “But I went to Qingyin Hall. Then woke up in Qingyin Cemetery. I didn’t hallucinate the whole thing.”

  Lian nodded.

  “And that’s the most troubling part. Although our records don’t mention Qingyin Hall, the cemetery’s land registry shows something odd. One parcel was listed as barren land until a few years ago, then suddenly labeled ‘Public Cemetery.’ No burial records. No approval files. Not part of the original cemetery plan.”

  Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

  “…So basically… dumped bodies.”

  “If they were simply dumped, someone had to protect it,” Lian replied coldly. “Which makes it even more suspicious.”

  My mouth felt dry.

  “So what do you think was hidden there?”

  “We can’t say yet.” His eyes darkened. “But someone is covering tracks. Renaming land, reclassifying it, inserting rumors—classic misdirection.”

  A pattern snapped suddenly into place in my mind.

  “So you’re not investigating the woman. Or the dog demon. You’re investigating what the so-called ‘romantic pig-demon tale’ was meant to bury?”

  Hua cut in, “Think about it. West Altar rebels were active that entire year. Then suddenly, a spooky ‘Qingyin Hall’ shows up—and just so happens to be near where Shangguan Fengliu disappeared. A bit too convenient, isn’t it?”

  I snorted.

  “If it were me, I wouldn’t choose pig-hoof romance as a cover story. It’s too ridiculous.”

  “Exactly why it works.”

  Lian’s eyes cooled. “Stories aren’t for the clever. They’re for common folk.”

  “What do they care about?” He paused. “A girl running out at night. A pig losing its hoof. A yellow dog beheading people. The more absurd, the more believable.”

  Realization dawned hard.

  “So absurdity dilutes curiosity. The more ridiculous the tale, the fewer people question the truth.”

  Hua clicked his tongue.

  “Finally catching up.”

  “Oh hush.” I rubbed my temples. “But what kind of secret needs a pig-demon romance to cover it up?”

  “That depends on who was hiding what.”

  Lian traced a line along his map. “Shangguan Fengliu may have been debauched, but he was no fool. He could hide things easily, yet chose instead to leave rumors behind.”

  “On purpose?” I echoed.

  “Mm.” Lian nodded. “Consider the timeline. First, the former magistrate dreams of a dog demon cutting off his head. A joke at first—until he’s actually executed for corruption less than a year later.”

  I raised a brow.

  “The dream came true?”

  “Whether he dreamed it doesn’t matter,” Lian said. “What matters is that someone wanted that dream to spread.”

  I narrowed my eyes.

  “You’re saying… it was deliberate?”

  “Look at the sequence.” Lian continued calmly. “The Prefect’s ‘dream,’ then his downfall. Soon after, West Altar fractures. And right then, another rumor appears—Shangguan Fengliu sleeping with a pig-demon and vanishing.”

  I whistled.

  “From dog demon to pig demon. A supernatural relay race.”

  “Which is exactly why it’s suspicious,” Lian said. “Both rumors revolve around real events—an execution, a rebellion, a disappearance. No clear origin. Spread like wildfire.”

  “You suspect it was the same person spreading both?”

  The Deputy Envoy, who had been silent, finally muttered,

  “Back then… the only one who could’ve done that… was our Altar Master, Shangguan Fengliu.”

  I stared at him.

  Realizing he’d said too much, he hunched a little and added awkwardly,

  “I mean… only he had the reach.”

  Lian didn’t deny it.

  “Yes.”

  “Someone who knew the Prefect’s crimes before the trial. Someone who vanished just as the rebellion broke out. Someone skilled in misinformation and public sentiment. That person—”

  “Shangguan Fengliu,” I whispered.

  “He forged documents, understood laws, mastered traps and misdirection,” Lian said quietly. “If he wanted a magistrate removed without acting openly, he would use fear and rumors to steer events.”

  “Like… planting a dream about a dog demon?”

  “For a corrupted official already living in guilt, such a dream spreads easily. It warns those above him and rattles the man himself. Whether the dream was real didn’t matter—it served its purpose.”

  Cold prickles ran down my spine.

  “And the pig-demon love affair…”

  “To bury what he was really doing.”

  Lian nodded. “Compared to the eerie dream, a ‘romantic pig-demon’ is so absurd it overshadows everything. Once people laugh, no one investigates those missing days.”

  “So he created a version of the truth so stupid no one would look past it,” I muttered. “And covered something he needed erased…”

  “Exactly,” Lian’er said.

  “So the pig, the dog, the mysterious woman—they were all smoke screens he released?”

  Hua leaned back, folding his fan with a soft click.

  “Which means… that drink you had last night? Might’ve been his old trick resurfacing. Only this time… he left it for you.”