Chapter 11: Imminent Danger

Thump—

Thump—

The rising sun spilled light over the sprawling city stretching to the horizon; tens of thousands of residents emerged one by one. The dawn revelry inside Wuwu Tower had just faded, and the streets and alleys buzzed anew with market clamor.

In Qingquan Alley, morning light fell across the two-court courtyard; a few chrysanthemums bloomed quietly outside the study, their fine petal patterns converging toward the center, colors deepening from pale to rich, forming tiny holes the size of a peanut, fresh and dewy, breathtakingly beautiful.

Xie Jinhuan stepped out the door in a plain white robe, drew a deep breath of crisp air, glanced around his new residence, then set off with Meiqiu on his shoulder.

Qingquan Alley had many tenants, mostly wealthy merchants from Taoxian Fang or instructors from Danyang Academy; all arrived with carriages and servants, dressed in fine silks and brocades, and they were quite curious about this new renter.

Xie Jinhuan had studied everything since childhood, paid attention to posture and speech, and indeed carried himself with grace—but he now had only twenty-odd taels of silver left, all stolen, making him truly “wealth beyond his station.”

Mei Qiu was right: every problem stemmed from insufficient strength.

To increase strength, he needed elixirs; elixirs cost silver.

Xie Jinhuan had always relied entirely on his father; he’d forgotten how to make a living these past three years. He turned to Meiqiu, thinking:

“Ball, what did I do these past three years to earn silver?”

“Gujii?”

Meiqiu crouched on his shoulder, recalled something, raised a wing, and wiped across Xie Jinhuan’s neck—clearly meaning: murder and plunder!

Huh?

Xie Jinhuan felt he was a righteous hero, perhaps a bit fond of beauty, but surely not capable of such moral decay. Yet Meiqiu’s expression seemed genuine. He asked:

“Is there a legitimate way? Without killing?”

Meiqiu thought a moment, then flapped its wing across Xie Jinhuan’s face, then extended a tiny claw.

“Gujii!”

Tone fierce—clearly extortion through violence!

Xie Jinhuan opened his mouth, thinking: Holy shit, have I spent the last three years as a hidden bandit lord?

No wonder yesterday’s bandits moved so smoothly when snatching my purse…

He wanted to ask more, but dizziness surged in his mind—then a red-robed ghost appeared behind him, holding a small umbrella, giggling teasingly:

“Oh~ You’d better not ask. You might spill all your past misdeeds and ruin your Dao heart. Like me, forget the past and start anew—it’s better.”

Xie Jinhuan realized the red-robed ghost had appeared, yet ambient sounds hadn’t vanished—he could still see pedestrians walking down the alley. His heart leapt.

Only when he confirmed no one else could see this hallucination did he quietly exhale:

“Meiqiu doesn’t understand. I’ve definitely been upholding justice, confiscating ill-gotten gains.”

He turned again to Meiqiu, now fluffed up in fright:

“Has Dad been around these past few years?”

Meiqiu sensed something foul nearby, but upon hearing the question, it paused to think—then its eyes went blank.

Don’t know?

Xie Jinhuan saw he wouldn’t get specifics, so he didn’t press the food-obsessed servant girl. He made the ghost vanish and stepped out of the alley.

At the alley’s mouth lay a side street, convenient for meals; one shop served mutton soup, its banner faded yellow, illegible. Outside, a giant iron pot steamed fiercely, every seat under the eaves filled—patrons mostly minor clerks and government office runners in official robes.

Yang Dabiao, who had just come on duty, and County Commandant Yang Ting sat together at a small table outside, six empty bowls before them, a basket holding three white flour buns; they devoured hungrily while speaking:

“The corpse was examined all night—none of the Danwang Pavilion elders could discern anything. The trail’s gone cold again…”

“If demon bandits were that easy to find, why do we need officers like us?”

“Hey? Jinhuan, you’re up?”

“Yes. Good morning, Uncle Yang.”

Xie Jinhuan approached, bowed to Yang Ting, then sat at the empty seat beside them:

“Brother Yang, when did you get back last night? I waited half the night to greet you, but you didn’t return, so I went to sleep.”

“Ugh, don’t mention it.”

Yang Dabiao peeled garlic cloves to cut the greasiness, his face grim:

“Last night, staring at that rotting corpse… forget it. Don’t talk about this over meals. After working till late, I finally headed home—only to get another message from the Wang Fu.”

Xie Jinhuan held Meiqiu down, preventing it from darting into their pot, and asked curiously:

“What message?”

“Still about Zihui Mountain.”

“?”

Xie Jinhuan’s heart froze—he suspected it wasn’t good news.

And indeed, Yang Ting pulled a sheet of paper from his sleeve: it bore half a footprint.

“Patrols found a suspicious footprint in the mountains—each step over a zhang long, indicating considerable martial skill. But the rain was too heavy to follow. From the general direction, we deduce the person came to Danzhou, alone…”

Xie Jinhuan saw his own footprint—his world half-collapsed.

The night before, terrified of demons, he’d fled for his life without bothering to hide his trail—and now they’d found his footprints…

“Based on the footprint, the person is male—or a demon that took human male form—approximately six chi one cun tall…”

As Yang Dabiao spoke, he handed the paper to Xie Jinhuan:

“Given the gravity, the Prince himself is overseeing operations at the Wang Fu. All counties, townships, villages, and wards are ordered to prioritize this case: register every man who appeared yesterday or vanished the day before, matching the height, and investigate each one.”

According to Daqian’s measurement, the height was just over 1.8 meters—a wide range—but combined with “appeared yesterday or vanished the day before, and of considerable strength,” it became easy to narrow down.

Xie Jinhuan stared at the footprint on the paper, sweat breaking out—he subtly pulled his feet under his robe.

“Danzhou has nine prefectures and fifty-seven counties—countless people. Hard to find.”

County Commandant Yang Ting set down his soup bowl, wiped his mouth:

“This concerns the empire’s survival. Hard to find? Still must find. According to the Wang Fu, if we don’t locate the trail in three days, we report to Luojing—let the Crimson Lin Guard and the Imperial Astronomical Bureau take over.”

“….”

Hearing this, Xie Jinhuan’s last hope died.

The Crimson Lin Guard were the Emperor’s hounds, equivalent to the Embroidered Uniform Guard; the Imperial Astronomical Bureau was the supreme violent agency dedicated to suppressing demons and heresies. Its Director, Lu Wu, had been granted the title of State Tutor—the foremost of Daqian’s three Grand Masters. His cultivation was such that he could crush the Zihui Mountain Sect Master with one hand and smash Grand Sacrificer Mu Yunling of Danyang Academy with two.

When these two institutions joined forces, it was Daqian deploying a nuclear weapon. If even that failed to resolve the matter, it wasn’t a problem anymore—it meant Daqian’s Mandate of Heaven had ended.

Was he doomed?

Facing the divine punishment about to descend, Xie Jinhuan had no appetite left.

But he couldn’t show any abnormality. Seeing Yang Dabiao eat seven bowls, he assumed the food wasn’t filling, so he casually ordered seven bowls of soup and seven buns.

And nearly choked himself to death.

Yang Dabiao finished eating, saw Xie Jinhuan’s face green as he gripped his chopsticks, and patted his shoulder:

“You’re young—eat well to fight well. Take your time. I’m off to the government office.”

“Alright, I paid for the meal.”

“Ah, nephew Xie, you’re too courteous.”

Yang Ting, smoking his pipe, also patted Xie Jinhuan’s shoulder, then left with his son.

Left alone: one man, one bird, facing seven bowls of mutton and seven giant buns…

——

Moments later, by Chongming River.

Xie Jinhuan rubbed his swollen belly—like a woman three months pregnant—as he walked along the riverbank, his feet now in new shoes.

Meiqiu, unusually full, crouched on his shoulder with vacant eyes, clearly in “wise bird” mode, pondering the meaning of avian existence.

For a fleeting moment, Xie Jinhuan had seriously considered betraying his word and fleeing.

But fleeing now was meaningless.

Danwang’s mobilization was clearly Buxidaijia —alive, they wanted the demon; dead, they wanted the corpse.

If he vanished now, he’d be instantly flagged as prime suspect, then hunted by every faction. His appearance, background, martial skill—all transparent. He’d be caught before leaving Danzhou.

Even if he escaped Danzhou, secretly digging into the Demon-Sealing Tomb was a “crime against humanity.” He might even trigger a “Holy Sects Annihilation Decree”—Confucian, Buddhist, Daoist, Mohist, Legalist, and Military masters would all rise. Could he really fight through five passes and six generals to escape Daqian?

He didn’t even have time to return to the mountains and erase traces—all searchers were swarming the hills. A round trip would take a full day and night; as a suspect, he’d be exposed the moment a high cultivator spotted him.

His only path now: gamble that darkness hides his deeds, then find a way out as fast as possible.

As he pondered, man and bird soon reached Ning’an Street.

At dawn, the white stone pavement held few carriages; osmanthus trees lined both sides, their fragrance heavy in the air. A three-story medical clinic stood at the street’s edge, its main building bearing a gilded sign: “Skillful Hands, Benevolent Heart.”

Xie Jinhuan didn’t want to deal with the witch girl—but without increasing his strength, he couldn’t even think of resealing the Demon-Sealing Tomb. If exposed, could he even escape? He’d have to swallow the poison, nostrils pinched shut.

Still, for safety, he’d inquired about the Lin family clinic on the way.

The Lin family were imperial physicians, their main branch in Luojing; the patriarch was Left Deputy Director of the Taiyi Academy. This was merely a branch in Danyang, normally managed by a collateral branch.

But Lin Zisu had exceptional elixir talent, so the Lin household adopted her from a relative’s family. She entered Danyang Academy young, and Lin Wanyi, as her guardian, followed to oversee her and manage family affairs.

From street gossip, Lin Wanyi was a great benefactor: her medical skill was superb, she frequently gave free clinics to the poor, funded apprentices studying at Danyang Academy and Zihui Mountain, and her social circle was vast—she knew nearly every lady of the nobility.

Such a female physician? Impossible to link with corpse-worshiping, poison-breeding witches.

But demons and heretics disguise themselves—perhaps the more virtuous they appear, the more cruel they are beneath.

After hesitating outside the clinic, Xie Jinhuan suppressed his doubts and walked toward the door—when faintly, from a second-floor window, he caught women’s voices:

“Little Lin, you’ve got to help me—my Qingzhi hasn’t touched me lately. He’s been staying out all night…”

“In marriage, reduced intimacy over time is common. Perhaps County Magistrate Liu is just busy with duties…”

“He’s not busy at home. Help your sister, please? I heard you gave Song Lady from Wencheng Street a ‘Yanghe Elixir’—seven times a night, and she didn’t leave her room for days, without harming her body…”

“Ah, Song Lady wanted a child. Seven times a night only works because Song Lord is strong…”

“My husband’s as strong as an ox, healthy too—but he’s grown tired of me. Last time I kindly blew him to completion, he fell asleep…”

“….”

……

Xie Jinhuan blinked, looked up at the second-floor room, and confirmed that the “Lin family girl” inside was indeed Lin Wanyi, whom he had met at the dock yesterday.

Playing the jade flute, huh…

If Xie Jinhuan remembered correctly, this method truly was healing.

When he saw Lin Wanyi yesterday, he thought she was a virtuous, refined, conservative beauty—never expected she’d chat so freely in private…

No wonder she’s a witch cult demon girl…

Xie Jinhuan had already witnessed the madness of the princess’s ladies yesterday, so he wasn’t surprised now; he entered the clinic and found the two female apprentices behind the herb drawers whispering:

“The coachman says that young Master Xie has sword-like brows and starlit eyes, extraordinary martial skill, and an air of nobility—he even carried the proprietor and Zisu down from the carriage…”

“But neither the proprietor nor Zisu are married—if they both took a fancy to him…”

“Don’t worry—Zisu’s got nothing but wild ideas in her head; she’s got no time to think about marriage. Last time she brewed that ‘Full-Belly-Induced Pill,’ it made the academy’s senior alchemist burp for three days straight—he nearly came here to scold the proprietor for poor discipline. If young Master Xie dares show up, I bet he’ll be scared off within three days…”

……

Hearing “Full-Belly-Induced Pill,” Xie Jinhuan realized the Lin family, big and small, were no ordinary folks.

But since he’d come this far, he didn’t turn back; he stepped up to the counter and tapped lightly.

Thump thump~

The female apprentice turned her head, saw a young gentleman outside the counter with eyes like cold stars, and paused in surprise:

“Uh… sir, what’s your ailment?”

“Grr~”

From yesterday until now, Meiqiu had noticed Xie Huan’s mind was off; she tilted her head and nudged Xie Jinhuan’s skull, indicating he was the one with the problem.

Xie Jinhuan knew he suffered from amnesia, but this clinic probably couldn’t cure it; he replied calmly:

“No illness—I’m here to find someone. Is Lin Wanyi, the physician, here?”

“Oh, the proprietor’s seeing patients upstairs—wait a moment.”

……

(End of Chapter)