Chapter 8: The Lone Man and the Solitary Ghost

The moonlight was serene; a lone man and a solitary ghost lay side by side on the bed, their eyes meeting.

Xie Jinhuan turned his head and suddenly spotted a hanged ghost—he jolted upright, scrambling to grab his weapon, but after a closer look, he felt a strange sense of familiarity, and his shock turned to anger:

“What are you doing?!”

Ye Hongshang leaned against the inner side of the bed, shedding the hanged ghost’s appearance, instead propping her cheek with her hand.

“I saw you couldn’t sleep—I’m helping you.”

Xie Jinhuan had been unable to sleep just now, but could he sleep now that he was hugging a female ghost?

Still, the current silence was far more comfortable than before…

Xie Jinhuan calmed his racing heart, paused briefly, then lowered his weapon and asked:

“What exactly is your origin? I’ve read countless books—if you were a legendary titan from history, I’d surely know of you.”

Ye Hongshang lay on her side, twirling a strand of blue-black hair between her fingers.

“I’ve lost my memory—how would I know? Perhaps too many died during the Witch Cult’s chaos, and since I wasn’t top-tier, they just forgot me.”

A century ago, the Witch Cult plunged the realm into chaos, halving the population; even the previous dynasty was wiped out. Many humans and demons vanished into the annals of history.

But anyone or anything granted the honor of being buried alive in the Demon-Subduing Mausoleum—and still able to wander freely after a hundred years—could never be an unknown.

Every demon in history who received such treatment had left behind corpses numbering in the millions; even a thousand years later, their names still echoed like thunder.

Xie Jinhuan strongly suspected Ye Hongshang had misremembered her name, but he had no way to verify it now, so he asked:

“You truly can’t help me with anything? I’m being hunted across the entire city and can’t leave—can’t you at least offer some advice?”

Ye Hongshang pulled out a red round fan from nowhere, waving it gently before her chest, her posture like that of a wealthy, bosomy lady.

“All problems stem from insufficient strength. Your cultivation technique is too thin, your foundation still has room to solidify. If you can find some divine pills to cleanse your marrow, strengthen your bones, and nourish your sinews and meridians, you could instantly reach the third rank of martial cultivation. Though you still couldn’t seal the Demon-Subduing Mausoleum, at least you’d have more chance to defend yourself if the imperial court catches you.”

Pills could enhance strength, but body-strengthening medicines were exorbitantly priced—those suitable for third- and fourth-rank martial cultivators were astronomically expensive.

Ye Hongshang was a ghost—she certainly had none. Xie Jinhuan had no silver either, so he asked:

“Can you teach me how to refine pills?”

Ye Hongshang shook her head. “I’ve forgotten how. But that female physician today? She’s a Witch Cult demoness, and her technique seems flawed—her yin-cold energy is crushing her lungs and organs. If you apply a little pressure, offer incentives, and help her resolve this issue, you won’t just get a few pills—she might even offer herself to you.”

Xie Jinhuan had already stirred up enough trouble—he dared not threaten a Witch Cult demoness who could cast curses. But mutual aid was acceptable:

“How do I fix her technique’s problem?”

“Bring me her technique—I should be able to spot the flaw. As for the yin-cold energy, you need a man of extreme yang vitality. Use the method of yin-yang harmony to treat her—spray a hundred times or so, and the yin-cold energy will naturally drain out…”

“Huh?!”

Xie Jinhuan, hearing this outrageous claim, could hardly believe it:

“Spray? A hundred times?! Are you sure you’re not a succubus trying to seduce me into defiling innocent women?”

Ye Hongshang looked baffled. “Don’t flatter yourself. I’m just telling you the method—who told you to do it yourself? What if she has a lover? Even if you don’t find a man, carve a peachwood rod and use it yourself—it works too.”

Use it yourself?

Xie Jinhuan didn’t know how to respond. He flopped back onto the pillow.

“Witch Cult demonesses are ruthless—when the time comes, who’s going to be the one doing the poking is anyone’s guess. Any other way to get pills?”

Ye Hongshang blinked, leaned close, and studied him carefully.

“Your physique? You could earn a fortune as a male concubine. There are plenty of wealthy ladies nearby. If you’re willing to sacrifice your soft, delicate skin, swapping it for a few pills would be effortless.”

Xie Jinhuan was a seven-foot man—he couldn’t bring himself to sell his body; seeing Ye the Great Succubus’s every suggestion was pure nonsense, he fell silent, silently pondering how to rapidly reach the first rank.

Perhaps he was distracted—his gaze unconsciously settled on the nearby collar of her robe.

Though it was an illusion, Ye Hongshang’s appearance and figure were rendered with startling detail—she looked like a real person right before him.

Her form wasn’t as massive as in the courtyard, yet her collar still rose high, heavy, obeying gravity—visible as it slightly spread open…

Ye Hongshang noticed Xie Jinhuan’s gaze was off. She sat up, dragging a finger across his cheek.

“Young Master~ Would Sister help you cultivate?”

“?!”

Xie Jinhuan startled, but since he was cornered and couldn’t shake her off, he gritted his teeth and reached out to grab her arm!

Too bad—he passed right through. No physical sensation at all.

?

Xie Jinhuan’s interest vanished instantly. He closed his eyes.

“You’re just an illusion—visible but untouchable. Even if your true form is a man-woman, I won’t fall for it. Disappear.”

“Who said you can’t touch me?”

Ye Hongshang raised her slender fingers and lightly scraped his cheek.

To his shock, his skin actually felt smooth, even warm.

Wait, what?

Xie Jinhuan froze, then quickly reached for her wrist—again, he passed through.

“Huh?”

Xie Jinhuan refused to believe it, tried a few more times—but each time, he was merely teased. He gave up.

“Fine, fine—you win. Disappear now. I need to train.”

“Hehe~”

Ye Hongshang smiled like a blooming flower, her form silently fading away.

Xie Jinhuan exhaled softly, about to rise from the bed—when he suddenly noticed Meiqiu, wings spread, cowering in the corner, fur standing on end, eyes wide with terror as she stared at him.

?

Xie Jinhuan was baffled.

“What’s wrong with you?”

“Gūjī?”

Meiqiu wanted to ask him what the hell he was doing.

Lying there, flailing his arms, muttering to himself like he was possessed.

Now that Xie Jinhuan seemed normal again, Meiqiu flew over and flapped her wings frantically—as if trying to exorcise him.

Slap! Slap! Slap!

—

On the other side.

Night deepened, yet the County Warden’s office remained brightly lit. Constables and coroners gathered in the morgue; nearby, sealed wooden chests and ledgers sat in the guard room.

County Warden Yang Ting smoked his pipe, standing beside Chen Yuan’s corpse, watching the coroner dissect the wounds, his expression grim.

“A single sword thrust struck from over three zhang away, pierced his heart-meridian—but he didn’t die. Then a mace shattered a monk who practiced ‘Immovable Vajra Zen.’ This martial foundation? Must be fourth or fifth rank at least. He’s under twenty—how is this possible? Are you certain he has no hidden background?”

Yang Dabiao had served in the capital for nearly three years—he knew Xie Jinhuan well. He patted his chest confidently.

“Xie Jinhuan matured early. Back in the capital, he trained relentlessly, day and night. It’s no surprise he’s talented. He told me he spent the last few years studying at ‘Wind Spirit Valley,’ claiming to follow the Hidden Immortal lineage. Have you heard of them?”

Yang Ting had spent his entire life in service—he was well-traveled. He sucked on his pipe, thinking.

“Among today’s Daoist sects, the prominent branches are the Elixir, Divination, and Hidden Immortal schools. The Elixir sect thrives in the south; the Divination sect is favored by Northern Zhou. The Hidden Immortal sect is the most mysterious—secluded, never emerging except in times of chaos. Their last appearance was a century ago, during the Witch Cult’s rebellion. Now Xie Jinhuan has surfaced…”

Yang Dabiao pondered. “Perhaps the dynasty’s fall is near, chaos imminent—some transcendent master sent him out…”

*Smack!*

Before he finished, Yang Ting tapped him on the head with his pipe.

“You’re a grown man—don’t speak recklessly! The Great Gan is in the midst of a glorious age—where did you get this ‘dynasty’s fall’ nonsense?!”

Yang Dabiao rubbed his head, glancing at the room full of corpses.

“Then what about these…?”

“These are just ordinary demon bandits—not celestial demons that threaten the state.”

“Then what about that one on Purple Banner Mountain…?”

“If you know it’s a celestial demon, why aren’t you out searching for it?!”

“With my skills? How could I find a transcendent demon? Even if it came to me, I might not even recognize it…”

…

As the father and son spoke, footsteps and urgent voices suddenly rang out outside the office.

“Lord Linghu, you must rest properly. I didn’t dare report this to Princess Changning—if she finds out…”

“I know my limits.”

…

Yang Dabiao’s heart leapt—he knew the ever-compassionate “female bodhisattva” had arrived. He dropped his tinder and rushed out.

In the front courtyard of the warden’s office, three Wu Zu soldiers carried lanterns, running behind her; his deputy Liu Qing urged her to slow down.

Linghu Qingmo strode ahead, sword in hand. Her armor was shattered; she wore plain robes—a snow-white skirt fluttering in the night wind, radiating an ethereal aura.

As the direct disciple of the Purple Banner Mountain Sect Master and sworn sister to Princess Changning, Linghu Qingmo’s status was clearly high. Ordinary constables didn’t dare approach her—even catching a glimpse was considered an honor.

Yet Linghu Qingmo, as a Daoist, had no airs. During her training at the Wang Fu, she refused to sit in an office—she charged to the front lines, treated Wu Zu and constables as comrades, took the dirtiest, hardest tasks upon herself, and even took the blame for others.

For this, every officer in the office regarded her as the “female bodhisattva.” Now that she’d arrived, they all rushed forward to offer greetings and concern.

But Linghu Qingmo, though righteous, was not one for pleasantries. She walked straight into the back courtyard, saw Yang Dabiao running over, and cut straight to the point:

“What’s the situation? Any leads?”

Yang Dabiao had nearly died today—now that he saw Linghu’s limbs were intact, he finally relaxed.

“So far, we can confirm the three men from East Granary Alley were involved in the recent demon disturbances. But the mastermind is cautious—left no trace in the warehouse…”

“Where is Xie Jinhuan now?”

“Uh...”

Yang Dabiao knew this question was coming; he bowed his waist and beamed a nervous smile.

“Commander Linghu—it’s all a misunderstanding. Xie Jin is the son of the former Wanan County Commandant, Xie Wen; we’ve been close brothers since childhood, very well-behaved. Today he came specially to visit me, and by chance ran into bandits. It must have been sudden, and he accidentally injured you...”

Linghu Qingmo wasn’t stupid—someone who could knock out the direct disciple of the Purple Banner Mountain Sect Master with a single blow couldn’t possibly be ordinary.

“You killed three people in the blink of an eye—and you call him well-behaved?”

“One mustn’t be soft with bandits; Master Xie himself taught me that...”

“Which cell is he in?”

“Uh...”

As Linghu Qingmo turned to head toward the cells, she noticed Yang Dabiao’s forced, apologetic grin and her eyebrows snapped down in irritation.

“You let such a key witness go?!”

“No, I’d never dare release him.”

Yang Dabiao smiled apologetically: “He’s under house arrest—in the sixth courtyard on Qingquan Alley, just a few steps from my home. I stake my head on it: Xie Jin is completely trustworthy. If you wish to interrogate him, I’ll fetch him right away...”

Linghu Qingmo had already learned the general details of the case while treating her wounds; seeing Yang Dabiao stake his life on it, she set aside her doubts.

But someone who had knocked her unconscious with a single blow—she couldn’t possibly not know what he looked like. She turned and walked out.

“I’ll go see him myself.”

Yang Dabiao feared this female bodhisattva would cause trouble for his brother and hurried after her.

“Let me show you the way.”

“No need. Quickly resolve this case and report any leads immediately.”

“Uh... alright.”

Yang Dabiao stood still, dejected, watching Linghu Qingmo walk away alone...

——

Recommend a novel: “Who Falls in Love When Surviving the Underworld?” A wuxia harem story—interested masters, take a look!

Everyone, feel free to check it out~

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(End of Chapter)