Chapter 37: You Deserve to Die

The cell was silent.

Shen Yi gripped the brush awkwardly; though unskilled in calligraphy, he strained to make each character legible.

When his former self was still a thug, he had once been diligent—studying martial arts, human relations, and even reading and writing—to earn the magistrate’s uniform.

Thanks to muscle memory, his handwriting wasn’t pretty, but it was passable.

The Blood Demon Blade Technique had been deduced from the interface, its every detail implanted in his mind, so transcribing it posed no difficulty.

When the court day ended.

Shen Yi set down his brush, let the ink dry, then reached for the food Chen Ji had brought.

Yellow’s wheat buns from East Street, paired with salted fish sold by the street vendor’s cart—nothing delicious, but practical enough.

After swallowing a few bites, he stood, stretched his body, and stepped out the door.

In the courtyard, Zhang Dahu was drenched in sweat, grimacing as he practiced a warm-up fist form, while the Niu brothers and Chen Ji repeatedly swung their blades; Zhang the Butcher frowned, kicking anyone whose posture slipped.

“With so many demons in Baiyun County, you’re the only ones the magistrate trusts to slay them?”

Zhang the Butcher turned, puzzled: “This is pathetic. Except for that Chen kid, what are the rest even good for?”

Before anyone else could speak, Zhang Dahu blurted: “Who wants to slay demons? It’s that damned clerk targeting our lord—he won’t rest till he drives us to death!”

Hearing this, Zhang the Butcher froze, as if understanding something, then spat on the ground: “Damn bastards.”

He’d only learned of Baiyun County’s demon problem after arriving, from his senior.

Concealing demon outbreaks was common everywhere—not unusual. Last year alone, over a dozen county magistrates had been beheaded for it.

But using demons to eliminate rivals? They’d lost even the pretense of shame.

“Here.”

Shen Yi said nothing, handing over the copied blade technique.

He had to kill demons to gain enough demonic lifespan—directly contradicting the magistrate’s plan.

Whether using rules to suppress him or resorting to underhanded tactics, it was only natural.

“So fast?”

Zhang the Butcher was pleasantly surprised, taking the pages: “What I worked out is merely body cultivation—lowest-tier among Qingzhou’s sects. With enough time, there’s virtually no bottleneck.”

He tucked the technique into his robe: “Don’t be impatient. If anything’s unclear, come ask me.”

“Thank you.”

Shen Yi nodded, took his leave.

He left the cell, carrying the fresh meat and spices Chen Ji had bought.

“He can cook?” Zhang the Butcher scratched his head.

“If you’d seen Lord Shen half a month ago,” Chen Ji sighed, still holding his stance, “you’d realize nothing about a man like him is surprising.”

“Is that so?” Zhang the Butcher didn’t argue, only smiled.

After all, this was just a small county—he’d never been to Qingzhou, so how could he know true genius?

In his eyes, Shen Yi’s temperament and strength were decent—better than his own, but nothing more.

…

The sky burned like fire.

Shen Yi knocked on the door, then pushed it open.

The woman lay slumped over the desk, her black hair cascading like a waterfall, her pale face serene and lovely—only her slightly furrowed brows and trembling eyelashes betrayed unease.

Shen Yi stepped closer, noticing the thick stack of yellow paper pinned under her arm, ink smudged along the edges, some even staining her lips.

He pinched the brush, exasperated, and pulled it from Lin Baiwei’s mouth.

“Mine… don’t take it…”

She bit the brush tightly, opened her eyes, and spat: “Pfft! Pfft!”

Then she glanced at the papers, distressed, and hurried to straighten them: “I’d already copied half…”

Before she finished speaking, Lin Baiwei noticed what Shen Yi held—her face lit up.

“You take over!”

She snatched the meat and vanished into the back courtyard.

“… ”

Shen Yi stared at the scattered pages, carefully gathering and stacking them.

He entered the back courtyard kitchen.

Lin Baiwei had tied her hair, effortlessly washing vegetables, waving him off without turning: “Out, out.”

Feeling useless, Shen Yi sat in the courtyard, picked up the axe, and began chopping wood.

By the time dusk fell, a neat pile of firewood lay on the ground.

The scent of rice and meat mingled and drifted into his nose.

Shen Yi turned to see the woman standing behind him, delicately lifting a piece of half-fat, half-lean stewed meat with chopsticks, blowing on it, her refined face glowing with confidence: “Open up. Taste the salt.”

As a lone wolf through two lifetimes,

he instinctively leaned back, about to speak—when she swiftly shoved the chopsticks into his mouth: “...”

“How is it?” Lin Baiwei waited eagerly.

Not delicious, but surprisingly good—like the big-pot dishes of his past life: coarse, but likely to go well with rice.

“It’s got flavor.”

Shen Yi dropped the axe, stood, and moved to fetch the broth.

“Of course it is,” Lin Baiwei sniffed, hands behind her back like a master chef.

At that moment, a violent pounding on the door erupted.

Bang! Bang! Bang!

“Shen! Get out here!”

Shen Yi paused, frowned, and turned toward the door.

Lin Baiwei looked puzzled but asked nothing, slipping quickly into the kitchen.

The next instant, five or six constables burst through the door.

Two figures stepped in—one ahead, one behind.

The front was an old man with white hair and beard, clad in blue robes, face dark with gloom: Liu Dianli.

Behind him stood a thin monk, hands clasped, watching like a spectator enjoying a show.

Outside, Chen Ji and the other three were pinned against the wall by blades on their shoulders, struggling; Zhang the Butcher stood far off on the street, face grim, fists clenched like bowls.

“The magistrate trusted you, entrusted you with overseeing demon affairs.”

Liu Dianli’s voice trembled with rage: “In two nights, over a dozen children have been abducted from Baiyun County and its three villages and six suburbs—you’ve been lounging at home, your entire station a nest of rats and snakes, knowing but silent… I treated you like my own nephew!”

The old man roared, voice shrill: “You deserve to die!”

“Our station’s gate was wide open—we received no reports!” Chen Ji gasped, shouting.

Who wouldn’t rush to find Lord Shen when someone went missing? His reputation was high—why go to Liu Dianli instead?

His reply was a sharp slap.

Liu Dianli withdrew his hand: “Still dare to lie?”

As he spoke, two dozen strong men marched from the street—each armed with crossbows, dressed differently from constables: they were the city guards.

Liu Dianli turned to Shen Yi: “If you don’t slay the demons today, I’ll take your head!”

(End of Chapter)