Chapter 77: Killing with a Borrowed Knife

“Fellow Daoist, since there’s nothing else, I’ll take my leave and descend the mountain. I’ll return another day.” Liu Ruyi smiled sweetly, then with Long’er at her side, transformed into a dark shadow and vanished on the horizon.

Within a grand and resplendent hall, Liu Ruyi wandered the corridor, her hard-soled boots striking the flagstones with a crisp “click-clack.” The Taoists lining either side bowed their heads respectfully as she passed. Long’er followed closely behind.

“What are your plans?” Liu Ruyi’s voice drifted forward without turning her head. “Lu Qian is gentle on the outside but resolute within. With your strength, I fear he won’t be easy to subdue.”

“That’s precisely why he’s the perfect whetstone for me.” Long’er smiled confidently. “His life will pave the way for my path of cultivating the spirit.”

“Of course, people like him won’t yield easily. I won’t interfere. You’ll need overwhelming power to shatter his will. Do you remember Li Mingyou?”

“Li Mingyou? The night patrol steward?” Liu Ruyi recalled the name.

“Yes. He was wounded by an enemy some days ago, and now, having emerged from seclusion, he’s scouring the world for the culprit skilled in Yin Kui True Water.”

“Are you saying Lu Qian is the culprit?”

“Nine times out of ten. I questioned those present at the time — they were ambushed while searching for Lu Qian. The assailant fled swiftly; the only clue was the use of Yin Kui True Water.”

Among Li Lin’s adversaries in the sect, only Lu Qian was known to wield Yin Kui True Water. Moreover, the ambush occurred as they were searching for Lu Qian. Now, Li Mingyou, freshly out of seclusion, had fixed his sight on Lu Qian but hadn’t yet found him.

Long’er was shrewd, never placing herself in unnecessary danger. Li Mingyou, at the early stage of cultivating the spirit, was more than enough to deal with Lu Qian. When Lu Qian reached his most desperate and vulnerable moment, when his flaws were laid bare, Long’er would appear and, through the seeds of Daoist heart-devil, plant the lotus.

Long’er had a fair idea where Lu Qian might be, thanks to her connections in the Hall of Enforcement. Yet she couldn’t directly tell Li Mingyou his location. At this level, people were cunning; a direct disclosure would arouse suspicion, making him reluctant to go. He had to discover it himself.

…

In the mountain range behind the sect, ancient trees towered, blotting out the sun. Through the gaps in the canopy, a gloomy sky was visible, with a crescent moon tinged blue. A sinister wind howled, chilling to the bone, as if vengeful spirits shrieked beside one’s ear, causing shivers of dread.

Within the eerie gusts, a figure emerged — horned and rugged, with indigo skin, a fierce visage, and sharp fangs, standing nearly twice the height of a man: a blue-skinned Yasha. Half-human, half-ghost, the Yasha wore a string of human heads around its neck, a terrifying sight. Yellow divine light circled its body — this was the Filthy Divine Light of the Yellow Springs, a protective aura.

Within the temple, those who cultivated the Filthy Divine Light of the Yellow Springs and possessed the ghostly Yasha Dao foundation were few; among them was Chihai, also known as Minghai, mid-stage Dao foundation and head of the Hall of Enforcement.

When the temple was first founded, there were ten original members. Only three survived: the Chief Steward, the Chief Lecturer, and the Chief Cook. The Chief Steward, Huan’an, was the eldest brother, shrouded in mystery. The Chief Cook, Mingyou, ranked second, mid-stage Dao foundation. Chihai was third, at the initial stage of Dao foundation. Of the remaining four, two were at the initial stage, one newly promoted Quiet Master at the peak of cultivating the spirit, and Liu Ruyi, whose cultivation was the weakest.

(The temple had existed for two centuries; the first generation preceded the second by only a decade or two, so their cultivation levels weren’t vastly different.)

Before Chihai sat a shadowy, humanoid figure, also surrounded by a dazzling protective aura. If Lu Qian were present, he would instantly recognize this as Fang Su, the Steward of Crafts.

“They’ve gone too far. Senior Brother Li shouldn’t have been treated this way,” Fang Su sighed deeply.

Chihai let out a cold laugh. “Our lives are at his mercy. To him, we and Junior Brother Li are hardly different.”

“We’re left to grumble, unable to help,” Fang Su said helplessly. Once Li Du’s lackey, Fang Su had reached the late stage of cultivating the spirit, while Li Du was still at the late stage of Qi refinement.

“If Junior Brother Li wishes to leave, I can turn a blind eye. The rest is up to fate.”

Chihai oversaw the Hall of Enforcement; all patrol and night watch departments were under his control. He could only slow them down a little; the rest depended on Li Du’s own resourcefulness.

…

In a dim secret chamber, cold winds howled, and green candle flames flickered. The eerie glow cast shifting shadows across faces. At the seat of honor sat a pale-faced middle-aged man, with a shadow crow perched on his shoulder, its feathers jade-green, eyes sharp and glinting.

Behind the chair stood a row of large urns for ashes. Each had incense and candles burning before it; yellow paper marked each with birth date and name.

A gust of wind blew in, and a dark, spectral figure knelt before Li Mingyou, murmuring something indistinct.

Li Mingyou’s face darkened after listening. “You’re saying you haven’t found any trace of Lu Qian?”

“Yes, sir! But I’ve discovered his frequent associates. Perhaps we can get information from them.”

The shadow handed over a slip of paper, listing names and portraits, along with backgrounds.

“What about Lu Qian’s master?” Li Mingyou asked.

“I was knocked down before I could get close — nearly lost my soul. An officer warned me against going up.”

Li Mingyou frowned, then a glimmer of spirit flashed from his head into the shadow crow’s body.

The crow turned its head, a hint of human expression in its gaze. “Wang Ming… Yu Ci… Tang Bing… Let’s go to Wang Ming first.”

With a rush, the crow soared skyward, trailing a ghostly green flame.

The Spirit Garden. Despite its name, it was vast, spanning dozens of mountain peaks. Earth energy surged and mist drifted through the air. Countless rare flowers and herbs grew across the hills. Among the woods, hundreds of golden monkeys leapt and played. Their eyes were blood-red, fangs bared, their tempers wild, and mushrooms of various sizes sprouted atop their heads. When these mushroom heads matured, the monkeys would be cracked open for harvest. Some peaks bore only a single medicinal plant; unable to coexist with other weeds, nothing else grew within miles.

Wang Ming was tending to one such peak when a flame streaked across the sky. The enormous shadow crow’s talons seized Wang Ming, jade-green eyes locking onto him.

“You are Wang Ming?” the crow rumbled.

“I am Wang Ming, sir. What can I do for you?” Wang Ming inwardly cursed his luck; the visitor’s aggressive aura spelled trouble. In this remote wilderness, no one would know if he were killed.

“I am Li Mingyou, the night patrol steward. I have a question. If you don’t answer properly—hmph!”

The crow opened its beak, spewing ghostly fire that melted the ground ten yards ahead.

“Speak, sir. I’ll tell everything I know, holding nothing back.” The familiar name made Wang Ming’s heart clench. Rumor had it Li Lin had died in the underworld—was this man here for that? But Wang Ming himself knew nothing.

“Do you know where Lu Qian is hiding?”

The crow’s talons were razor-sharp, slicing Wang Ming’s neck, blood seeping out.