Dust blotted out the sky.
In stark contrast to the high spirits with which he had set out, Yan Weichuan, commander of the Tabai Battalion, now wore an expression that was hideous to the extreme. In the end, he could no longer hold back a curse:
"That wretched scribbler Li has ruined me!"
The term *cuoda* was a contemptuous military slur for scholar-officials. For Yan Weichuan to refer to Li Yiran this way showed just how bitter and resentful he felt.
After all, he had staked his entire future on this venture, mobilizing the Tabai Battalion without authorization. Anyone could figure out with half a brain that that old scoundrel Wu Xintai would certainly lodge a complaint against him afterward. Worse yet, Yan was completely in the wrong, and the bigwigs of the Imperial Academy would never step forward to shield him now that both Li Yiran and Xu Bingzheng were dead.
How was he supposed to play this hand now?
At this thought, rage welled from Yan Weichuan's heart, and wicked desperation seized his nerve. He even contemplated throwing caution to the wind and defecting to some rebel king to get it over with.
Yet a moment later, he sighed in helpless despair.
Defect to a rebel king?
Changle Commandery was situated in the Shu region, long celebrated as a land of abundance. Blessed with treacherous terrain that made it easy to defend and difficult to attack, it had always been a haven secluded from the outside world.
Where would one find a rebel king in a place like this?
He had no one to defect to even if he wanted to!
*Am I truly doomed to resign myself to fate?*
Yan Weichuan's face darkened as he racked his brain for an escape route. Seeing his dreadful demeanor, the deputy commander cautiously trailing behind him dared not utter a single word.
Although events had proven his earlier misgivings entirely justified, Yan Weichuan could never tolerate having his authority shaken at this point. The deputy commander knew full well that if he dared say something like "I warned you earlier, Commander," he would probably end up "committing suicide."
*Forget it. Better a fellow daoist perish than poor me.*
The deputy commander shook his head, abandoning any urge to help, and even harbored a glimmer of anticipation: *Once the commander is stripped of his post, might I not get a chance to take a step up?*
Just then—
*Neigh!*
Abruptly, the marching cavalry came to a dead stop. All the warhorses reared up on their front hooves, breaking free of their riders' control as they let out long, terrified whinnies.
"What is going on!?"
Yan Weichuan snapped back to his senses. He swiftly channeled his inner force into the steed beneath him, forcefully spurring it forward, and narrowed his eyes toward the source of the mounts' terror.
A mournful wind howled like a prowling wolf.
Yellow sand churned in the gale, smearing the sky like a pool of thick ink, and directly in the center of that murky expanse stood a figure that had appeared out of nowhere.
Their gender was indistinguishable. They held a horsetail whisk, clad in a Daoist robe densely inscribed with crimson talismanic scripts. Their hands, neck, and every inch of flesh were thoroughly concealed. Over their face rested a bronze ghost mask, yet the eyes revealed beneath were not human pupils, but two balls of emerald-green flame.
Yan Weichuan froze dead in his tracks.
"......"
Not only him, but every soldier of the Tabai Battalion seemed frozen where they stood, turned in an instant into more than five hundred motionless stone statues.
Between heaven and earth, only the howling wind and sand remained.
Who was this!?
Yan Weichuan's thoughts ground to a near halt. Only after a long while did he recover his wits. Taking in the visitor's thoroughly inhuman appearance, he asked with extreme caution, "From where does this thaumaturge hail, and why do you obstruct this general?"
The newcomer did not answer at first, appearing to ponder something. Only after a pause did they speak: "You belong to Cheng Bochun. Since that is so, why are you leaving?"
Cheng Bochun?
Yan Weichuan was taken aback before realizing the speaker meant "Master Cheng" as referenced by Xu Bingzheng and Li Yiran—the premier grand Confucian scholar of the Imperial Academy.
At this realization, he immediately gathered his spirits and replied in a lowered voice, "The two disciples Master Cheng dispatched to Longxing County have both perished in the county seat. This general is isolated and without support, so I can only temporarily withdraw. I plan to send word to Master Cheng first, and await further instructions once Master Cheng sends new disciples..."
Hearing this, the fiery eyes behind the bronze ghost mask flickered slightly.
"Dead?"
The voice carried a bizarre distortion, devoid of any human quality. "Two furnace-tending boys actually managed to get themselves killed. Utterly useless.
"No matter. They were mere mortals anyway."
Hearing those words, Yan Weichuan gathered his courage and ventured softly, "May I boldly ask from which lineage you hail, esteemed master? Are you a superior master of Fangxian Dao?"
The figure paused slightly upon hearing this, then gave a light chuckle.
"You may call me Perfected Youshen.
"Enough. Since I have arrived, there is no need for you to leave. Turn around at once and return to Longxing County. I need you to continue tending the furnace."
"This... please forgive me, Perfected One."
Yan Weichuan looked deeply troubled. "This general has already mobilized troops without imperial orders, committing a grave violation. If I deploy without authorization again, I fear my life will be forfeit."
Perfected Youshen's voice turned icy. "What do you want, then?"
"I implore the Perfected One to vouch for me and send a missive to Master Cheng! So long as Master Cheng sends a reply ordering me to mobilize, I will march the army straight to Longxing County without delay!"
Yan Weichuan was throwing caution to the wind. No matter what, he needed to find someone who could shoulder the blame. Even if it meant doubling down on his wager and tying himself completely to their ship, he would not hesitate. Behind him, the deputy commander opened his mouth to speak, but after studying Yan Weichuan's countenance for a moment, he prudently kept silent.
Meanwhile, Perfected Youshen frowned.
"Wait for Cheng Bochun's reply?
"Too slow!
"Would that not delay the opening of the furnace? No, we must proceed immediately. I can sense that the preparatory work is nearly complete."
Yan Weichuan shook his head. "Then this general is powerless to assist."
He was no fool. When it came to his own life and livelihood, he would never obey purely on the basis of a few words from this thaumaturge without a solid guarantee.
"...Troublesome."
Perfected Youshen seemed exceedingly impatient. The fiery pupils behind the ghost mask flared with mounting intensity. Finally, they reached into their sleeve and drew out two sheets of talisman paper.
"Very well. They are nothing more than two mortals.
"Without cultivation, possessing only mortal souls and lacking primordial spirits... summoning them shouldn't be too difficult." As Perfected Youshen spoke, their hands folded the talisman sheets.
Before long, two paper figures took shape.
Immediately following that, they pointed a finger. The paper figures instantly caught emerald-green flame, twisting amidst the raging fire before manifesting flesh-and-blood forms—
*Boom!*
With a final crack of detonation, green sparks scattered in all directions. Standing dumbly in their place were two corpses with pale blue-gray skin.
Yan Weichuan took one look and cried out in alarm. Behind him, gasps and cries erupted among the soldiers of the Tabai Battalion in an unceasing commotion—all because the two beings transformed from the paper figures were none other than Xu Bingzheng and Li Yiran! Their features were vivid and lifelike, as though they were merely asleep!
*Is this the occult arts of thaumaturges?*
*Unbelievable!*
Yan Weichuan's eyes went wide. Yet what shocked him even more was that in the very next second, both corpses opened their eyes, revealing black pupils.
"Where... am I?"
A cold, stiff voice issued from the paper-made Xu Bingzheng, carrying a trace of bewilderment. His vacant pupils took a few moments to slowly focus.
On the other side, perhaps due to having higher cultivation and stronger divine intent, the paper-made Li Yiran quickly shook off his initial daze, his voice hollow and eerie: "I see. I am dead. But how did I die... Who in Longxing County could kill me? Why can't I remember?"
"Because you are merely residual souls,"
Perfected Youshen said indifferently. "A mortal's soul scatters easily. Your three ethereal souls have already departed for reincarnation, leaving behind only the seven corporeal souls. It is only natural that you have forgotten some things.
"Enough. Speak with him."
Perfected Youshen pointed at Yan Weichuan. "Have him bring everyone here back immediately to prepare for the furnace's opening. I only care to see results."
"...I understand."
After a moment of silence, the paper-made Li Yiran nodded and turned to Yan Weichuan. "Commander Yan, do as the Perfected One commands. I can vouch for you."
Yan Weichuan swallowed hard.
This scene was simply too sinister. Resurrecting paper figures? Was this truly Li Yiran before him? Could it be a charade orchestrated by this thaumaturge?
Yet he soon abandoned such doubts.
The paper-made Li Yiran reached into his pocket and produced an official seal. Yan Weichuan saw it clearly: it was indeed the authentic seal of the capital's Li family, something beyond question.
Heaven only knew how a paper figure could carry an official seal on its person, but the pattern was undeniable.
"There."
After writing a formal letter of pledge and stamping it with the seal, the paper-made Li Yiran handed it to Yan Weichuan, then continued, "Tell me, how did I die?"
"Reporting to Your Excellency,"
Yan Weichuan immediately answered, "I do not know the exact details. I only know that a gold-bearing armed cavalry officer bearing a military tally mobilized the Black Armor Battalion to besiege the county yamen..."
Yan Weichuan held nothing back, and Li Yiran listened intently. Afterward, he murmured thoughtfully:
"The Black Armor Battalion alone could never kill me. Since I was the one who summoned you, my past self must have held absolute confidence in the situation.
"Yet an anomaly occurred.
"That anomaly must lie with that so-called gold-bearing armed cavalry officer. He killed me, and he killed Xu Bingzheng. Both of us were ranked on the Weapon Register.
"If that gold-bearing officer killed us, the Weapon Register must have reacted.
"Check it. Are there any newcomers on the Weapon Register?"
At these words, Yan Weichuan immediately ordered his men to look into it. The Weapon Register was published by the imperial court and circulated across the realm; virtually every faction possessed a copy.
Before long, a soldier returned with the answer.
"Thirty-seventh on the Weapon Register, Dragon Fist Wang Ping?"
Seeing the newly added entry, Li Yiran's brows knit tight. "First on the Mortal Ranking? Rising out of nowhere... barring any surprise, it must be this man."
Though he had previously been killed by a single punch from Wang Ping, Li Yiran was by no means incompetent. In a brief span and with only a few clues, he had deduced Wang Ping's identity despite his amnesia. Turning around, he looked at Perfected Youshen and said solemnly, "Perfected One, I believe this man cannot be allowed to live.
"He is a variable.
"With him around, holding a military tally and backed by the Black Armor Battalion, even if the Tabai Battalion returns, the matter of the furnace will likely face unexpected complications.
"Moreover, his martial strength is formidable.
"The rankings of the Weapon Register are never wrong. As first on the Mortal Ranking, unless the Perfected One personally takes action, he is almost certainly the strongest individual within Longxing County.
"Unless we eliminate him, our great enterprise cannot succeed!"
Beside them, Yan Weichuan could not help gulping. A titled martial master at the head of the Mortal Ranking, to be executed just like that? Were thaumaturges truly this formidable?
In the next instant, Perfected Youshen spoke:
"Then eliminate him."
The tone was serene, devoid of the slightest ripple, as though the target were not a world-renowned titled martial master, but a lamb on the butcher's block.
Immediately following that, the thaumaturge reached into their sleeve once more. After rummaging briefly, they produced an effigy woven from rice straw, followed by a sheet of talisman paper. On it, they wrote the two characters of Wang Ping's name, then replicated the portrait from the Weapon Register onto the talisman paper with exact precision.
Next, they pinched an incantation gesture and gave a light tap.
*Crack!*
Instantly, emerald-green flames burst forth, merging with the talisman paper before pouring over the straw effigy like liquid, gradually altering its appearance.
*Hiss!*
Yan Weichuan sucked in a cold breath. As the flaming talisman merged into the straw effigy, a vivid countenance emerged upon the effigy's head.
It was none other than Wang Ping's face!
"Done."
Perfected Youshen casually tossed the straw effigy into the hands of the paper-made Li Yiran, then pulled seven miniature iron nails wrapped in crimson talisman paper from their sleeve.
"Every two hours, perform three prostrations and nine kowtows before this soul-drooping straw effigy, then drive a soul-quelling nail into one of its seven sensory orifices. After seven two-hour periods, that man will suffer sudden death."
"My thanks to the Perfected One!"
The paper-made Li Yiran bowed hurriedly, a glint of malice flashing in the depths of his eyes.
Though he had lost his memories, once he determined that Wang Ping was the culprit who had slain him, hatred naturally welled from the bottom of his heart.
*Filthy dog-soldier, did you think killing me was the end of it?*
*I wager you wouldn't imagine in your wildest dreams that I could be brought back through the hands of a thaumaturge. Nor was I ever the protagonist of this great drama in Longxing County—the thaumaturges are the crux.*
From the very beginning, the fate of this county seat had already been sealed.
Because this was the will of the thaumaturges.
And in the Dashun Dynasty, the emperor was merely a ruler in name, a Son of Heaven—while the thaumaturges were Heaven itself!
***
"The Lin family residence."
In a sparsely populated alley of Longxing County, Wang Ping frowned as he surveyed a large, classical compound standing at the deepest end of the lane.
Just as Liu Ye had described, the front gates bore two seal strips on the left and right, inscribed with ghostly talismans whose meaning was impossible to decipher. Yet unlike Liu Ye, who had felt only heart palpitations upon seeing them, Wang Ping—having cultivated divine intent—could sense a deeper perturbation.
*Something has entered.*
Some indefinable, formless, and intangible presence was presently invading his body, seemingly channeled through those two ghostly talisman strips.
"...Peculiar."
Wang Ping's brow furrowed slightly as he instantly recalled information gathered from his past conversations with Madam Su: *Thaumaturges—possessors of wondrous occult arts entirely distinct from martial arts.*
Divine intent had no way to deal with them.
Just like now, Wang Ping could perceive that something was wrong and had ways to evade it, but he could not truly see it, able only to sense it through intuition.
A pure martial artist at this moment would be entirely blind.
*Martial artists truly are too crude; immortal cultivation remains the reliable path.*
With this thought, Wang Ping shifted his approach. His spiritual sense as an immortal cultivator erupted outward, roaring violently in a wave centered upon him as it surged toward the Lin family residence.
*Rumble!*
Instantly, beneath the impact of his spiritual sense, Wang Ping finally perceived the true visage of the Lin family residence, its original classical facade erased into nothingness.
His spiritual sense stripped away that outer shell. Revealed beneath was a dilapidated courtyard overgrown with weeds, its wall plaster peeling and its stone steps coated in moss, appearing as though it had been abandoned for decades. Flanking the main gates hung two white lanterns inscribed with the character for mourning.
The candle flames flickered within, casting a sickly, pale glimmer.
His spiritual sense could reveal only this much. Wang Ping frowned, switching back to his divine intent to intuitively sense just how dangerous the manor truly was.
Yet to his utter bewilderment, the divine intent that possessed the uncanny power to sense danger and guide evasion now returned its verdict—
"No danger?"
Chapter 53