Chapter 56: Stop Complaining Already!

I have to say, the occult practitioners of Lu Cheng County are indeed reliable; barely ten minutes after Mo Ying sought help, over a dozen practitioners—including the priest and Master Yijing—had rushed over in force, only to find a charred, headless corpse, a ruined two-story villa, and lingering traces of thunder magic that were still clearly perceptible.

"Such powerful thunder magic!" said the young-looking Taoist in his robes, sniffing the ozone's acrid stench and raising an eyebrow. There are only a few Taoists in Lu Cheng County who have entered the path, and he knew all four on night duty—paper-cutter, two shaman-priests, and his own apprentice—none of whom could possibly possess such mastery of thunder magic.

At this thought, his gaze immediately fixed on the young man wearing an awkward expression.

He had heard rumors about this youth—he was said to be a wandering scholar who had just entered the county, and who had once been a prime suspect after reporting possible zombie incursion.

But seeing the lingering aura of thunder still clinging to him, along with the elegant female ghost beside him and the woman dressed in a Western-style maid outfit…

"Huh!"

The Taoist, who had been about to comment on how rich people indulge in extravagant hobbies, suddenly sucked in a sharp breath—what he'd thought was a maid was, in fact, a transformed spirit demon!

Though her aura was weak, even a spirit demon who had achieved transformation through oral cultivation must have trained for at least a hundred years to awaken consciousness and master the form-shifting technique; what's more remarkable was the purity of her Yin energy—simply standing beneath the moonlight, tiny beams of lunar essence spontaneously flowed into her body.

Such cultivation could not possibly be weak; her current frail state must be due to heavy depletion from the prior battle.

He realized that such a pure spirit demon must have been guided since childhood by a master to avoid even the slightest taint, and the ghost beside her also had a solid, refined spiritual form, free of resentment or blood curses—only through a century of orthodox veneration could such purity be achieved.

"She's surely a direct disciple cultivated by a prestigious sect—and even accompanied by a guardian! Such mastery of thunder magic… could it be the Shenshao Sect, whose lineage vanished since the Yuan-Ming era?"

Master Chen made this judgment in his mind, yet he still walked over with the other practitioners who had arrived.

But while the Taoist recognized true power, others did not; a man clad in garish, colorful robes, upon seeing the fatal wound on the zombie's neck, grinned and said:

"Brother Zhang, your spirit-invoking incantation has improved tremendously!"

"No, no, I couldn't!" replied Brother Zhang, turning pale at the compliment, terrified of stealing the spotlight from a true master, and hastened to say:

"When we arrived, the mutated soul-binding zombie puppet had already been severely wounded—I merely delivered the final strike; I dare not claim any credit!"

Upon hearing this, the other three practitioners nodded vigorously. Master Chen, however, was startled—he lunged forward, pushing through the crowd to reach the corpse, and asked:

"Mutated soul-binding zombie puppet? Le Shui! Tell me in detail!"

The practitioner who had been slow to react earlier hurried over and vividly recounted how the soul-binding zombie puppet had withstood Feng Xue's devastating Five Thunder orthodox technique, effortlessly torn apart the paper-manipulator's paper figures, and was finally beheaded by Brother Zhang, who had been possessed by the spirit of Master Lü.

Feng Xue, listening nearby, wanted to crawl into a crack in the ground—but the arriving practitioners all nodded in agreement. The soul-binding zombie puppet was notoriously dangerous: zombies have corporeal essence but no soul; bound ghosts have soul but no corporeal essence; when combined, they formed a unique complementary duality. If fed enough blood and fully fused, they became legendary zombie demons—impervious to the Five Elements, beyond Yin and Yang, absorbing impure desires and dark curses, self-contained entities—only a high-ranking underworld ghost king could possibly subdue them.

But…

"The corpse is fine—just an ordinary hundred-year-old zombie. The problem must lie with the bound ghost… That makes sense. Normally, a newly bound ghost suppresses the zombie corpse, making the zombie dominant and the ghost secondary. But if reversed—if an ancient resentful ghost was already imprisoned underground, then a regular corpse buried there would naturally transform. Too bad—even if this zombie is from the previous dynasty, tracing the ghost's origin is impossible."

Several senior practitioners were examining the unremarkable hundred-year-old corpse, offering opinions. Feng Xue wanted to say it was just an ordinary zombie plus a malevolent ghost, and his thunder magic was all show—but before he could speak, everyone was already nodding in awe, as if to say, "Master, you're incredible! Such powerful thunder magic—we could feel it from miles away!"—leaving Feng Xue deeply embarrassed.

Fortunately, Master Yijing was perceptive; noticing Feng Xue's discomfort, he assumed the young man was just shy, and said:

"Regardless, the soul-binding zombie puppet has been slain, and we can all breathe easier. Let's secure the corpse for now, and report the full incident to the magistrate tomorrow. It's late, and Master Feng has just endured a fierce battle—he needs rest. Let's return!"

"Ah, yes, yes! Master Feng hasn't even entered the path—using such techniques must have drained him terribly! We shouldn't disturb his rest!" As if awakened by this remark, many others suddenly realized their mistake and respectfully began securing the remains and restoring the local qi—even the isolated priests pulled out holy water and began sprinkling it.

Feng Xue finally relaxed, bowed farewell to the practitioners, and headed back to his newly rented villa—which had suffered disaster just days after he moved in. Fortunately, he wasn't short on money; he thought he might as well buy it outright from the real estate agent.

Some had noticed the state of Feng Xue's residence and offered him temporary lodging elsewhere, but Feng Xue knew his own limitations—he was half-illiterate in occult matters; how could he risk exposing himself by speaking?

Even though everyone was being polite now, who knew what schemes might arise if his deception were revealed?

After Feng Xue declined, the offerer didn't press further, assuming the master didn't wish to incur unnecessary karmic debts. Soon, the cleared battlefield saw the practitioners disperse one by one, leaving only the original night patrol officers to resume their posts. Yes, though the zombie puppet had been destroyed, no one dared assume it was the only supernatural entity—tomorrow's sunlight would be needed to reset the town's protective talismans before true safety could be confirmed.

……

After his apprentice finished his shift, Master Chen grabbed him and hurried toward his temple, whispering as they walked:

"Le Shui, did you see that great demon in action?"

"Great demon?" Hearing the term, Le Shui's face paled:

"Master, you must be mistaken—she's a transformed spirit demon, but her cultivation feels like only three or four years!"

"Idiot!" Master Chen slapped the back of his apprentice's head and rolled his eyes:

"If she had three or forty years of cultivation, I'd assume she'd consumed the Emperor's Dew. But three or four? Could you have run around town at three or four years old?"

"… " Le Shui wanted to retort, "When I was three or four, you already had me washing rice, cooking porridge, and buying soy sauce!" But having just been slapped, he stayed silent and merely shook his head.

Master Chen nodded approvingly:

"She draws lunar essence merely by standing under the moon—clearly she's reached an advanced stage in cultivating the Yin Body. Such a great demon should exert immense suppression over ghosts. Combined with that terrifying thunder magic, even a formidable ghost shouldn't have resisted!"

"But earlier, we saw that the spirit… uh, great demon was already injured—she was carried out by Master Feng… Oh! Master, why did you hit me again?!"

"'Master Feng'? How disrespectful! From now on, address her as Master Feng—do you understand?" Master Chen glared at his apprentice, then frowned:

"Only someone who injured a great demon could have done this… a hundred-year-old zombie couldn't possibly manage it. Could the ghost be a cultivator? Of course! If it's a demonic cultivator's lingering soul, that could explain why neither thunder magic nor demonic energy could suppress it. But even if wounded, it shouldn't have been beheaded by a single sword strike… This is bad!"

Master Chen's expression darkened, and he snapped:

"If it's a demonic cultivator's lingering soul, it must have used a substitution spell—no good. Le Shui, go back and fetch the Earthly Fiend Needles!"

"And what about you, Master?"

"I'm going to find that stinking monk! What are you staring at? Do you want me to die alone?"

I wanted to mention this earlier, but the chapter was full, so I delayed it for two chapters—it's about firearms.

Please, don't imagine black markets are all-powerful just because you read some cheap pulp novels!

Whether modern or ancient, entering a black market has requirements—it's not like you just wander down an alley and find one. Even if you know where it is, they likely won't deal with you; without a trusted referral, no one will sell you firearms. Not only might you be an informant, but if you're an idiot who leaves evidence behind and the cops come knocking, you'll be in deep trouble.

In modern times, he's just a foolish college student who played mahjong for a few days and thinks he can just stroll into a black market? Where does he get the confidence he won't get double-crossed?

After reincarnation, it's even more absurd—he just had a conflict with a gang, and he's already forgotten? Buy a gun? Laughable. You've been in town for days—do you think anyone would dare sell you one? If you shoot the magistrate or a wealthy landlord, steal the money, and run, how could the black market possibly survive the investigation?

The underworld operates on boundaries. Weapons are for deterrence. Without connections or backing, no one will sell you a gun—and no one dares to.

"Be cautious?" The very act of buying a gun is the height of recklessness!

It's not a fire poker—it's a killing tool! No one notices you if you don't buy one. But if you even hint you want to acquire a weapon, everyone will be watching you—do you understand?

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(End of chapter)