Chapter 6: Chapter Six: Yu Feng

“This son of a bitch did it on purpose!” Feng Zhi spat a wad of phlegm onto the ground, his face dark.

Everyone clearly realized this.

The killer could have crushed Lin Lin with a single palm strike—he could have killed him at any moment—but instead, he deliberately let the dying father watch in despair as his daughter was savagely devoured, then left him to this beast.

Pei Ye crouched down to examine closely; the beast’s traces were remarkably sparse—even the clearest path leading to Lin Lin was faint. Fortunately, the rain had lessened at dawn, or even this much might not have remained.

The claw marks were slightly larger than his own footprints, shaped vaguely like a triangle, with four talons extending out—three in front, one behind. But for some reason, Pei Ye kept feeling the shapes of these prints weren’t consistent, as if they were changing. Following them, it seemed… they were growing larger?

Chang Zhiyuan turned his head and asked, “Which way did it go?”

“That’s the strangest part—we can’t find any trace of its arrival or departure.”

“What do you mean?” Chang Zhiyuan frowned tightly.

“The killers’ footprints led straight into the river—they must have fled by boat. The river, after all, only has two directions: in and out of town. We could easily track them. But this beast left no claw marks at all, as if it vanished into thin air after the crime… or never left at all.”

The last sentence sent a chill through both men, but as they scanned the surroundings, daylight was bright, constables bustled about, and nothing lurked with intent.

Feng Zhi pointed with his finger: “Look—south is the county town, west is a vast stretch of riverbank, east and north are dirt roads and farmland. After the heavy rain, everything’s mud. Yet these claw marks appear only here—I simply can’t fathom where this beast went.”

Pei Ye suddenly said, “What if it flew?”

Feng Zhi blinked, stroking his beard. “No—that doesn’t work! Yesterday’s rain was heavy, and farmers were afraid it’d ruin the crops, so this morning many went out to drain the fields. By then, it was already light—if anything had taken flight over the fields, someone would’ve seen it.”

After a moment of silent thought, they set the matter aside for now. Pei Ye crouched again, flipping through the lone long nightgown several times, then frowned. “My lords, something’s off.”

“What’s off?”

Pei Ye pointed: “The other three were only wearing undergarments. The beast’s claws could easily tear clothing off the body, so ‘the person vanished completely, clothing left intact’ isn’t strange. But this victim wore a long robe and trousers—why is he the same?”

Feng Zhi’s pupils contracted—he understood Pei Ye’s implication. A monster that devours people doesn’t peel them like oranges before biting; a creature that swallows flesh and bone whole wouldn’t leave clothing perfectly intact. How could this nightgown bear only bloodstains, not a single shred of meat or bone?

A horrifying image flashed in his mind: the victim’s entire body liquefied into a paste, sucked clean by some shapeless beast like a bee drinking nectar.

The vision was too grotesque. Feng Zhi shifted his bulky frame slightly, saying nothing.

At that moment, hoofbeats halted outside the grove. They turned to see Shen Yanping dismounting, striding over quickly, holding a book in hand.

“Gentlemen, I’ve found the feeling I couldn’t place,” said the Police Inspector, his face slightly pale, voice calm and smooth, even before he reached them. “That mark is indeed an omen of victimhood.”

Chang Zhiyuan asked, “What’s your proof?”

Shen Yanping took a breath and recited softly: “The spirit favors one, marks his brow, divination proclaims it auspicious, in three days he ascends to immortality.”

Chang Zhiyuan narrowed his eyes: “‘Yu Feng: The Spirit Favors One.’”

Feng Zhi’s hand froze mid-stroke, his gaze fixed blankly ahead.

Only Pei Ye looked around, bewildered: “May I ask, my lords—what does this mean?”

Chang Zhiyuan replied gently: “It’s an ancient poem said to originate from the Yu Dynasty of antiquity. It says that when a spirit favors someone, it marks his forehead. Divination declares it auspicious—the chosen one ascends to immortality within three days.”

Pei Ye unconsciously touched his forehead.

A spirit? A spirit that had existed since the Yu Dynasty six thousand years ago?

“Heh…” Feng Zhi sneered through clenched teeth. “The price of this ‘favor’ is truly horrific.”

Shen Yanping murmured, “A parent’s fondness for a child is one thing; a tiger or wolf’s ‘fondness’ for a child is another.”

Chang Zhiyuan frowned in thought, then turned to the other two. “Speaking of this, I recall a Han Dynasty alchemist named Du who wrote a marginal note on this poem. He recorded a ritual. Later, the Jin scholar Hu Ye doubted its authenticity and classified it among strange tales.”

Feng Zhi shook his head, showing no recollection.

But Shen Yanping raised the book. “Exactly! This is Du Wuzhen’s ‘Annotations on the Three Dynasties Poems.’ He says the ritual involved sacrificing twelve lives—on three days, taking one, four, and seven victims respectively—to feed the spirit.”

He lowered his brow. “But for now, that’s all I’ve found. I’ve reviewed all of Du Wuzhen’s writings—others are still being checked.”

Feng Zhi suddenly understood: “Right! Yesterday, one victim. These killers originally targeted four—but this boy escaped, so they went to capture Lin Jue to make up the number, and in doing so, alerted Lin Lin.”

“But there’s a problem. At the time, Young Master Pei had already left the northern gate. Why didn’t the killer go after him, but instead went farther to Lin’s house?”

Pei Ye lifted his head. This was the very question he’d been pondering.

He’d only killed two kidnappers. If they’d found him so easily at first, why didn’t they send someone stronger to capture him?

“Perhaps… once this boy woke up, he was no longer the spirit’s target?”

They looked at the glowing fire mark still shining on Pei Ye’s forehead—and silently abandoned the idea.

Shen Yanping mused: “The target isn’t chosen by the killer, but by the ‘spirit.’ The killer has no say. When Young Master Pei woke, the ‘connection’ to the ritual was severed. The killer requested a new selection—but the spirit, for reasons unknown, chose Lin Jue instead.”

It didn’t choose me again?

Pei Ye stared blankly, the dream of last night suddenly flooding back.

He had no memory of how he’d left his home and exited the city—but the dream of riding the chi in pursuit was crystal clear.

“I will lift tonight’s ‘divine favor’ from you,” the chi’s voice echoed in his ear.

Pei Ye had never considered it seriously—he’d dismissed it as an ordinary dream, thinking perhaps he’d kicked a stone, or his stomach ached, and that’s why he woke.

After all, it clashed utterly with the worldview of a boy from Shancheng.

In all his past imaginings of the outside world, the most magnificent idea had been: “Perhaps there really are sorcerers who command fire and water.”

Yet now he was forced to believe a divine chi had entered his dream. Such an experience would plunge a boy into deep self-doubt—before such power, were his practiced fists and swords truly of any use?

But upon reflection, the divine beast’s details were vivid, as if before his eyes; its words seamlessly merged with the real world.

More importantly, if anything could make him vanish from the spirit’s gaze, it certainly wasn’t his fists killing those two men—but far more likely, the black chi that entered dreams.