Chapter 189: A Minor Interlude

Noon.

Xie Jinhuan rode a chestnut stallion, a long spear slung at its side, walking through the crowded dock amid a throng of travelers from all walks of life, his gaze sweeping over the multitude heading north.

Six days remained until the Sanjiangkou Hero Gathering; such a grand martial event drew countless heroes from north and south, and most independent cultivators had set out early to secure good positions—water and land routes alike now teemed with more martial folk.

But not all martial folk were righteous heroes; among them, dragons and snakes mingled, and wherever large numbers gathered, crimes like theft, ambushes, and gang fights inevitably arose.

To prevent chaos, the government office stationed government office runners at every dock entrance and checkpoint, and inns and brothels began inspecting rooms; within just a few days, they had arrested numerous unlucky souls, detaining them for fifteen days and fining them five thousand copper coins!

So when traveling, be cautious about overnight stays—don’t provoke trouble at the heart of the storm…

Linghu Qingmo was a workaholic; whenever idle, she’d head to the government office. Hearing of a missing persons case outside the city, she volunteered to investigate.

Xie Jinhuan had returned from Fengyi River that morning, originally planning to visit Fanyun Temple, but Zihui Mountain had summoned Fanyun Temple to Jingcheng for talks tomorrow, so he first went to the Lin household to ask Zi Su the Immortal to refine the Fire-on-Oil Pill, then followed Mo Mo out to take a look.

Now the two walked along the riverbank, Linghu Qingmo carrying Meiqiu on her shoulder; seeing so many heading for Sanjiangkou, she asked:

“Will you take the water route or the land route?”

Xie Jinhuan blinked, looking at the coldly beautiful female constable.

“Water’s comfortable, land’s more interesting—which do you prefer?”

?

Linghu Qingmo had asked seriously, but realized her boyfriend was flirting—her brow immediately furrowed.

“You’re the one who travels the martial world—why ask me?”

She turned and walked ahead.

Xie Jinhuan chuckled softly, passed through the dock market, and bought a grilled fish strip from a street stall, feeding it to Meiqiu, who was ready to take it herself.

The two walked side by side, and in moments arrived at a small inn.

The inn was filled mostly with martial folk; in the hall sat a young boy beside a set of talismans and Daoist robes—not of the Dan Ding Sect’s style, but clearly from a southern minor Daoist sect—the Yin Yang Sect.

The myriad schools and sects were far more numerous than the obvious few; for instance, the Fomen included not just Chan and Ascetic sects, but also the Joyful Sect and other heretical branches, though these had long been purged.

The Yin Yang Sect were the so-called Yin Yang Masters of the streets, descended from Daoism, primarily handling funerary rites, with side jobs in feng shui, fortune-telling, and exorcism—passed down through generations, mostly active among common folk.

At that moment, a constable was already in the hall, interrogating:

“When did the man go missing?”

“Last night. My master is a feng shui master who travels the martial world and knows a few family secrets. Last night he said he was going downstairs to buy wine—and then vanished…”

…

Xie Jinhuan heard this and entered the inn, turning to the shopkeeper behind the counter:

“The missing man went downstairs to buy wine last night?”

The shopkeeper, fearing trouble, quickly replied:

“He came down, but didn’t go back up—just looked out the door, then disappeared…”

Xie Jinhuan frowned slightly, walked to the door, and scanned left and right; his gaze settled on an inconspicuous corner of a building several zhang away—perfect for an ambush, nearly impossible to spot from here.

Xie Jinhuan returned to the table, picked up the talisman bell, and attempted to activate it.

The qi of the Five Elements—metal, wood, water, fire, earth—shifted and rebalanced; when the balance leaned toward yin, the talisman emitted a sound:

Ding ling~

The tone was ethereal, as if capable of summoning souls and guiding spirits.

Linghu Qingmo stood nearby, frowning slightly:

“Is this a soul-summoning bell?”

The boy hurriedly explained: “My master is a Yin Yang Master—he often performs rites to exorcise haunted houses and has never done anything evil.”

Xie Jinhuan set the bell down and turned to the constable:

“Take this boy back to the county government office and stay there a few days. Post notices at all city gates and checkpoints: all cultivators whose techniques lean toward yin must not travel alone in the coming days—this may again be the Mingshenjiao abducting people.”

“Yes.”

The constable quickly led the Daoist boy away.

Linghu Qingmo stood there, brow tightly furrowed:

“You wiped out one wave of the Mingshenjiao —they still dare to strike? There must be major moves afoot. What are they planning?”

“Sorcerers abduct people to sacrifice them as human offerings—their goal still needs investigation.”

As Xie Jinhuan spoke, he pondered whether to continue his “fishing enforcement”—go deep into the tiger’s den!

Then he noticed some martial folk at the dock rushing from downstream, glancing back in panic, as if they’d encountered something terrifying…

—

Earlier, Luoxi Port.

Autumn sun blazed overhead; martial folk arrived from all directions, leading horses onto ships bound directly for Sanjiangkou.

A small merchant vessel lay moored by the river; two laborer-dressed cultists placed a stunned hostage inside the cargo hold, sealing his qi points and binding him.

On deck, Blood Old Three dressed as a martial cultivator, peered through a telescope, scanning passing martial folk for viable targets.

A cultist stood beside him, frowning:

“Blood Old, abducting people in broad daylight—isn’t that too risky?”

Blood Old Three knew the risk was high, but after witnessing Xie Jinhuan’s uncanny abilities, he dared not let his men sneak off to Xiaoyao Cave at night—another misstep, another encounter with Xie Jinhuan or his informant, and he might not survive a second time.

Elsewhere, nights were too empty; to complete his superiors’ orders swiftly, Blood Old Three had no choice but to personally patrol the docks, intercepting travelers from all sects.

And surprisingly, because of the Sanjiangkou gathering, so many people were rushing to watch the spectacle—including numerous cultivators whose techniques leaned toward yin.

After scanning for a moment, Blood Old Three fixed his gaze on a window of a ferry moored by the river:

“Could that person possibly be Xie Jinhuan?”

The cultist immediately raised his telescope; in the window of a large ship bound for Sanjiangkou, a woman was barely visible.

She wore a black cloak, her hood removed to reveal a refined, elegant coiffure, adorned with a purple orchid butterfly hairpin, her face veiled in black gauze—mysterious in appearance.

At that moment, she casually traced her fingers along the window frame—clearly setting a trap. Hmm… a female master of the Poison Cult!

The cultist glanced again, then pulled out Xie Jinhuan’s portrait for comparison:

Probably not—no matter how skilled Xie Jinhuan is at disguise, he’d never impersonate a woman in public; if word got out, he’d be mocked for life. But men are yang, women are yin—female cultivators of the Poison Cult naturally complement their techniques, each more venomous than the last; one bold enough to travel alone must be no ordinary cultivator…

Blood Old Three knew the danger of combining “Poison Cult,” “beautiful woman,” and “alone”—in the southern frontier, just showing up could scare half a street away.

But this was Jingcheng—surely no supreme witch would appear here.

Besides, the woman was boarding a large ship to Sanjiangkou to watch the spectacle—clearly a wandering martial folk, a renowned elder would never do such trivial things.

His superiors demanded quick results; this woman fit perfectly—and witch women were supreme furnace vessels for absorbing yin to replenish yang, beneficial for restoring physical strength…

With this thought, Blood Old Three lowered his telescope:

“I’ll handle this one myself. You keep watch over the captives.”

“Yes.”

The cultist nodded, watched Blood Old Three glide away, then raised his telescope again to observe the window.

But after scanning left and right, he realized the woman in the window had vanished—whether she entered the cabin or gone elsewhere, he couldn’t tell…

—

The riverbank was packed; countless martial folk clustered around tea stalls, listening to a storyteller: “Such a flower of worldly wealth—how could a witch cult witch compare? Filled with envy, she cast the ‘Love Worm’ upon Lady Nangong…”

“But isn’t the Love Worm only effective on men?”

“Ah, it works on woman-to-woman, man-to-man too—and as for the cure… heh…”

“Understood…”

…

Blood Old Three dressed as an ordinary martial folk, pushed through the dense crowd, following the riverbank toward the ferry; before reaching it, he heard a voice behind him:

“Great hero, you dropped something.”

The soft, mature, gentle feminine voice sounded like a dignified, serene Sect Master’s lady…

Blood Old Three turned instinctively—and found, just a few chi behind him, a new figure had appeared.

He couldn’t make out the figure’s appearance, only the eyes beneath the hood.

The eyes glowed red, radiating intense demonic energy—like a mountain-top fox demon gazing down at the ants below; merely locking eyes for an instant, all surrounding noise and scenery vanished, leaving only endless darkness.

Xin Yue Hu Tong…

Blood Old Three’s mind flashed only that one thought—before fear could even rise, his thoughts were fully trapped in the illusion; around him, grasses grew, birds sang, magic treasures littered the ground, gold and silver rained from the sky—all his deepest desires materialized before him, impossible to resist…

People bustled past on the street; Blood Old Three stood frozen, turning his head—many passersby glanced curiously, yet showed no reaction.

Bu Yuehua’s hands rested gently at her waist, her skirt rippling like water as she brushed past; inwardly puzzled, she thought:

“The martial sects of the Central Plains have grown too complacent—they dare target a lone witch woman, and even turn back to look…”

No—ghost cultivator?

Noticing the man’s spiritual essence was unnaturally strong, still struggling to break free, Bu Yuehua slowed her pace, considered briefly—then Youlv flames emerged beneath her cloak, instantly engulfing the figure.

Hu~

The Moonfire of Queyue Manor was an extreme yin flame—it burned only the spiritual essence, never the body; even Xie Jinhuan, burned by Wanyi, had worn a mask of agony—how much worse for this man under Bu Yuehua’s touch?

In the instant the flames wrapped him, grotesque ghostly shadows erupted from his body, trying to flee—but recoiled from the heat, forced to cling to their flesh as shelter, while a piercing scream escaped his lips:

“Ah—!”

The surrounding martial folk, hearing the shriek, nearly all drew their weapons at once, turning back in chaos:

“What’s going on?”

“Scared the hell out of me…”

“How’d he catch fire?”

“This guy’s a demon! A demon…”

……

Upon spotting the demonic traces, more than half the pedestrians on the street fled instantly, while a few bold cultivators surrounded the target and slashed with their blades in unison.

Swish—

Bu Yuehua had long since left; her right hand quietly opened, revealing a greasy green flame flickering in her palm.

In the instant the ghost cultivator’s body was torn apart, Bu Yuehua followed the direction of the drifting flame and tracked it to a thicket half a li away, where a dagger shaped like a snake’s fang shot out from her sleeve.

Swish—

A mountain sparrow had just taken flight when it was struck by the dagger and pinned to the tree trunk.

Thereafter, Bu Yuehua became the “Flower Brand Flame Thrower,” spewing You green flames from her palm at the grotesque ghostly shadows, and within moments, the spiritual essence was utterly incinerated, leaving the surroundings silent.

“So-called demonic Daoist isn’t much to speak of…”

Bu Yuehua lightly curled her fingers, recalling the dagger, wiped the bloodstains with a silk handkerchief, and calmly returned to the riverside ferry…

……

——

Not long after.

Xie Jin carried his long spear and stood on the blood-splattered street, first staring at several chunks of ruined flesh, then at the unidentifiable meat fragments scattered on rooftops; suddenly, he understood how helpless the coroner must have felt receiving his “works,” and he slowly opened his hands:

“How many demonic bandits were these?”

A group of righteous martial artists, upon seeing the recently famed Marquis of Danyang arrive, gazed at him with admiration and bowed in greeting:

“One! This man first stood frozen on the street, then his whole body burst into flame, radiating heavenly demonic energy! Fortunately, we were bold enough to rush in and chop him to pieces…”

“Fine martial skill. Collect your reward at the government office later. But next time you strike, uh… leave a bit of a human shape—otherwise, it’s hard to identify the sect’s style…”

“Ah, we’re just martial folk, afraid the demon might rise again, so we even smashed him with hammers—fingers turned to pulp…”

……

Linghu Qingmo, seeing Xie Jin’s hesitant expression, recalled past complaints from Yang Dabiao and Liu Qing, and glanced at him oddly:

“What? Did you notice anything?”

Xie Jin wasn’t a true immortal—this was all minced meat. What could he possibly discern?

Yet from the eyewitness accounts, he could still deduce some clues:

“This man stood frozen—he must have been affected by an illusion spell. The sudden burst of cold green flame suggests he was struck by ghostfire. Many saw shadowy figures nearby—he was likely a ghost cultivator, though we don’t know if he’s the one we missed at Songhe Bay.”

Upon hearing of the flame that burned spiritual essence, Linghu Qingmo immediately thought of the Crescent Moon Manor, whose practitioners had pushed their yin-based arts to the extreme:

“Someone who can induce illusions in a ghost cultivator—whether or not they’re beyond the supreme realm, they’re close. Could this be the master of Crescent Moon Manor?”

Xie Jin felt it couldn’t be anyone else.

The Poison Sect as a whole had been exiled; Bu Yuehua had entered the pass illegally and was on the imperial wanted list.

But Xie Jin couldn’t possibly drag his mother-in-law back for torture and interrogation—he merely said:

“Not certain yet. Eliminating a ghost cultivator counts as righteous service to the people. We’ll investigate this person later—first, focus on the Cult of the Ming God.”

Linghu Qingmo nodded, noted the matter, and began cleaning up the aftermath…

——

Afternoon.

Lin Wanyi personally stir-fried a few small dishes and prepared a bottle of fine wine, placing them on a small round table in her boudoir.

Xie Jin returned home from work, slurping from a large bowl of rice while happily eating, yet Buwang to serve his wife dishes:

“Why would Master Bu appear at Luoxi Port? Did she go to Sanjiangkou to watch the spectacle too?”

Lin Wanyi poured wine for her husband, her eyes also filled with puzzlement:

“I don’t know. Do you really want to meet my master?”

“Oh, no.”

Xie Jin knew the title “Immortal Bu,” but the real demoness was beyond his reach—he picked up his wine cup and clinked it with his little wife’s:

“The capital’s atmosphere is tense lately. Even though Master Bu’s cultivation is profound, if she truly encounters the heads of Dao or Buddhist sects, I won’t be able to rescue her easily…”

“Witch cult demonesses aren’t that easy to catch—on the martial world, it’s always them bullying others…”

“True. My Wanyi is so powerful—I’ve got connections upstairs now…”

“?”

Lin Wanyi, hearing the lewd remark, pinched Xie Jin’s waist:

“You’ve got a match tomorrow. Eat quickly and go prepare—otherwise, you’ll be too weak to stand on the arena, and Linghu girl will come scold me again…”

“How could that be? I’ve got too much energy—I need to burn it off a bit, or I’ll get reckless tomorrow…”

“Oh, just eat your meal first…”

“Hehe…”

……

——

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(End of Chapter)