Intelligence

Zhang Yuanqing stole two bottles of fine liquor from Fu Qingyang's liquor cabinet, swiped a high-grade ham from the kitchen, and filched a box of premium Cuban cigars from Lingjun's room. Having pilfered cigars from Fu Qingyang last time, he didn't want to keep fleecing the Money Prince. Returning to his villa, he asked Queen for the car keys and set out alone. What he was about to do next was not suitable for bringing teammates along, not even Guan Ya. Zhang Yuanqing's hometown was located in a rural village in the outer suburbs of Song Prefecture. Back then, Songhai City had not yet become the nation's financial capital and a super-tier metropolis. The pride of the Song Prefecture people had still lingered; whenever the neighboring Songhai was mentioned, they would habitually raise their chins and say: "Back in the day, Songhai was nothing but a desolate fishing village where even birds wouldn't shit, just a countryside area under the jurisdiction of our Song Prefecture." Now, Song Prefecture was merely a district of Songhai, and one far removed from the bustling heart of the city. Driving the white sedan past the bustling streets, Zhang Yuanqing turned onto the outer ring elevated highway. Half an hour later, he left the urban area and entered Sheling Tunnel. Unlike the Sheling Tunnel within the Spirit Realm, the real-world Sheling Tunnel had clean, smooth asphalt, and bright white xenon lights lined its ceiling. Streams of traffic flowed back and forth through it, devoid of any eerie or terrifying atmosphere. Amid the soft hum of tires rolling over the asphalt, Zhang Yuanqing could not help but recall the fear and anxiety he had felt when he first entered the Spirit Realm. For a moment, a multitude of emotions welled up within him. *Time flies like an arrow, and now I've already...* *Bah, it's only been four months. It's way too early for me to be reminiscing about the past.* Zhang Yuanqing grumbled inwardly, cutting off his wandering thoughts to focus on driving. Another twenty minutes later, he arrived at his father's hometown—Ji'an Village. Or rather, it was now called Ji'an Community. Zhang Yuanqing had not been here for many years. The countryside of his memories was gone; rows of brand-new villas and apartment buildings rose from the ground. Shops lined the streets everywhere, presenting a vibrant, bustling scene of prosperity. He remembered that back then, everyone's houses had been south-facing red-brick buildings with a corridor on each floor. During heavy summer rainstorms, the corridors would be soaked with rainwater. After his father passed away, his mother had taken him back to Songhai. Within a few years, Ji'an Village was slated for demolition and redevelopment. His mother had opted not to take replacement housing, choosing compensation money instead. Combining that with the savings from her years of work, she bought a luxury flat in Kangyang District. Although Zhang Yuanqing never got to live the life of a rent-collecting second-generation property heir, that flat was now worth forty million. Examining the village that had transformed beyond recognition, Zhang Yuanqing recalled his family history. His father, Zhang Zizhen, was an only child. Supposedly, the year after his grandmother gave birth to him, she fell gravely ill and was unable to bear more children. Thus, his father became an only son—a rare occurrence in those days. When this only son was ten years old, his grandfather was gored in the chest by a crazed ox while laboring with the production team, dying from a punctured lung. His grandmother shouldered the family's livelihood all on her own. Before his father even came of age, she fell ill from exhaustion and passed away. Because of this, Zhang Yuanqing had no paternal uncles or aunts. His grandfather's generation had a few siblings, but they had either married into distant families and lost touch, or gone abroad during the turmoil of earlier times, virtually cutting off contact. The closest blood relatives Zhang Yuanqing could find were from the lineage of his father Zhang Zizhen's grand-uncle—that is, the younger brother of his own great-grandfather. He pulled the car over to the curb and, following childhood memories, returned to the "village" where he had once lived. On the bustling street, he stopped a leisurely gray-haired auntie and asked in Song Prefecture dialect: "Where does Zhang Guojun live now?" "Zhang Guojun?" The auntie paused for several seconds, failing to place the name at first. "I don't know him." "You're from Ji'an Village, aren't you? How could you not know him? Zhang Guojun—he was from your father's generation." It had been so long, after all, so Zhang Yuanqing gave her a prompt. Only then did the auntie realize there really had been such an elder in the village back then. Surprised, she looked up and down at the young lad before her. "You're looking for him? He's been dead for many years." "I'm his relative. He was my father's grand-uncle," Zhang Yuanqing explained. *Ah, one of our own.* The auntie immediately warmed to him. Pointing behind her, she said, "His son lives in Building 18, Apartment 207. 208 and 209 belong to their family too, but they live in 207, and 208 and 209 are rented out. Sigh, his son died of cancer a few years ago too, so you'll have to look for his grandson." With that, the auntie probed, "Who is your father?" "My father was Zhang Zizhen." The auntie let out a loud "Oh!" and said with gnashing teeth: "You're Zhang Zizhen's son! Let me think... Ah, I remember now! Didn't your mother take you and remarry?" "She didn't remarry. My mother just took me back to her maternal home." Zhang Yuanqing thought to himself that while he didn't remember her, this auntie had lived in the same village back then. It was the perfect opportunity to ask about his dad. He asked: "Do you still remember my father?" "Who could forget that little swindler? He went around claiming to be the reincarnation of the Great Emperor of Ziwei, fortune-telling and conning money all over the village!" The auntie's tone grew furious again. "Back then, he even tricked me by saying our house had terrible feng shui and was afflicted by evil, which was why my old man's toes hurt! Said a ghost was clutching his feet, and that he needed to pour his boy's urine over them for seven times seven—forty-nine days—at two cents a day! "Later, the pain became unbearable, and when we went to the hospital, we found out it was gout! That little bastard! He had my old man smelling of stale piss every single day! Everyone in the village was scammed by him!" *Some people are dead, yet they live on in the hearts of others—infuriating them to no end whenever remembered.* *It's all in the past, all in the past. Let bygones be bygones...* Zhang Yuanqing hurried to say, "Auntie, go on about your day, I won't disturb you any longer." He beat a hasty retreat. Returning to his car, he took out the gifts he had pinched, bought a bag of fruit and two cartons of cigarettes from a street shop, and followed the auntie's directions until he found Apartment 207 in Building 18. *Ding-dong!* He rang the doorbell. A moment later, the security door opened to reveal a middle-aged man in his forties. He was slightly plump, with puffy bags under his eyes. Sizing up the stranger at the door, he asked: "Who are you looking for?" Zhang Yuanqing stared hard at the man, trying to recall this face from memory, but drew a complete blank. "I'm Zhang Zizhen's son, Zhang Yuanqing," he introduced himself. "Zizhen's son?" The middle-aged man froze noticeably. Then, his expression grew visibly emotional, filled with surprise and joy. "You're all grown up? Come in, come in! Sit down, sit down!" Zhang Yuanqing entered the living room carrying his bags of gifts. Sitting down on the sofa, he said, "Uncle, no need to pour water. I'll just sit for a bit and head off." At the same time, he introduced the gifts he had brought one by one—whisky worth over a hundred thousand, a limited-edition Cohiba cigar worth five thousand apiece, a ham worth thirty to forty thousand... "Why bring such expensive gifts? How could I possibly accept all this?" The middle-aged man listened in dazed astonishment. "My mom made some money speculating in real estate and told me to come visit you. I'm heading abroad at the end of the year, so in the future, I'll have to rely on you to look after my father's grave. Just visit him during Qingming Festival so he won't be lonely." Zhang Yuanqing spun lies effortlessly off the cuff. Only then did the man reluctantly accept them, remarking with a sigh, "Going abroad, huh? Going abroad is good. All the wealthy people want to go abroad these days. Sigh, back then your mom took you back to her family, and you were gone for over a decade without ever coming back to visit... Then again, there really wasn't much to visit for; Zizhen had no brothers or sisters here..." After some casual chatting, Zhang Yuanqing learned that this uncle was named Zhang Zitao, a distant cousin of his father. "I heard my mom mention that he stayed in a Taoist temple when he was a kid?" Zhang Yuanqing began inquiring into his father's past. His main reason for returning to his hometown was to investigate two things: first, the truth behind his father's death; second, his enemies. Hearing this, Zhang Zitao drifted into thought and nodded. "He did. Life was tough back then. My uncle passed away early, and Zizhen had a frail constitution as a boy. Your grandma was afraid he wouldn't survive, so she sent him to a Taoist temple. There was a temple near the village back then called Xiaoyao Temple, if I remember correctly. "The few Taoist priests in there specialized in conducting funeral arrangements for the village, and they were barefoot doctors as well." *Xiaoyao Temple? I think I know where the Xiaoyao organization got its name...* Zhang Yuanqing got straight to the point and asked: "My mom told me that after my dad was in a car crash, Grand-Uncle was the one who prepared the body. Where did the accident happen?" Since it was impossible for his father to have died in a car accident, there was no such thing as being hit by a car, and naturally no crash site existed. But as the one who prepared the body, Grand-Uncle must have at least known how Zhang Zizhen truly died. Zhang Zitao shook his head. "I was away working as a migrant laborer at the time, so I'm not too clear on that. I just remember my dad telling me that Grandfather was called over by your mother. After he returned, he notified the family to hold a funeral for Zizhen, saying he had died in a car accident." *Just as I thought. I knew it couldn't have been a car accident. A car capable of running down a peak Dominator would have to be at least demigod-tier...* One of the doubts in Zhang Yuanqing's heart was resolved. Back when he discovered that his father knew the item spirit of the Zoo, he had already suspected his dad hadn't died in a car accident. Over the past few days, as intelligence accumulated and he learned of the Xiaoyao organization's existence, he had believed it even less. Now that Grand-Uncle had passed away, finding out the real cause of his father's death would require contacting his mother abroad. But if everything the Palace Master of Halting Slaughter said was true, perhaps his mother didn't know the true cause either. She might have simply had a premonition of his death and been mentally prepared for it. "On my way here, I ran into an auntie who said my dad used to con people in the village a lot. Did he have a lot of enemies? Where did he work back then?" Zhang Yuanqing asked about the past in a joking tone. This was his second objective for coming today. "Enemies? He was pretty good at tricking people back then, but that was when he was young. Everyone pitied his circumstances, so when he conned us, we just let it go and treated it as putting food in his mouth. What enemies could he possibly have?" Zhang Zitao waved his hand dismissively. "Once he married your mother, he suddenly matured and stopped conning people. As for work, I can't really remember, but he was rarely at home. You couldn't find him half the time. I even advised him to keep a close eye on his wife—how could he leave her alone at home all the time? Your mother was very beautiful when she was young." *My dad was probably busy slaughtering Dominators and clearing dungeons every day...* Zhang Yuanqing asked: "After my dad got married, did he live in the village the whole time? Did he ever take my mom away somewhere?" He wanted to know if his father had ever fled into hiding, and if so, during what timeframe. Zhang Zitao thought for a moment and shook his head. "Doesn't seem like it!" The two chatted for a while longer. Zhang Yuanqing had gained no valuable clues and felt somewhat disappointed, yet he was reluctant to leave empty-handed. *Think again. Think about what else to ask. What small details could be useful to me that Uncle Zitao might know?* His mind raced. *Uncle Zitao is just an ordinary person. Even if Dad had enemies, he wouldn't have told him. And when Dad died, Uncle Zitao wasn't even in the village... Grand-Uncle is gone, and Grand-Uncle's son is gone too. The people from back then have all passed away. It's so hard to investigate...* Zhang Yuanqing sighed inwardly, but put on a curious expression and smiled. "What skills did my dad learn at the Taoist temple? Did he really know any magic?" He planned to first figure out when his dad became a Spirit Realm walker. Given the personality attributed to Zhang Zizhen—having played a fraudulent charlatan for the first half of his life—if he had suddenly become a Night Walker one day and gained supernatural abilities to catch ghosts and exorcise evils, he surely would have scrambled to prove his genuine skills to everyone. Rogue cultivators always lacked vigilance in this regard. Zhang Zitao burst out laughing. "What magic could he possibly know? In the temple, he just did odd jobs, practiced a few phony moves, and followed the priests around doing funerals and seeing patients." *Sigh, this trip was for nothing...* Zhang Yuanqing stood up with a face full of disappointment and said, "Uncle, I'll be heading back then." Zhang Zitao tried to make him stay. "Why not stay for lunch?" "No, I have class this afternoon. If I stay for lunch, I won't make it back in time." Zhang Yuanqing declined. Zhang Zitao didn't press the matter and saw him to the door. Just before leaving, Zhang Yuanqing thought of another question and said: "Why didn't my dad inherit the temple? Being a barefoot doctor and handling funerals could make a living—it beats conning people, at least." "I think it was dismantled during the campaign against feudal superstition. With nowhere left to go, your dad had no choice but to swindle people in the village," Zhang Zitao said. "That temple was a bit mystical and eccentric. He stayed there for over a year, and afterward, he went around every day shouting that he was the successor of the Xiaoyao Sect, claiming that the Xiaoyao Sect was a sect passed down from ancient times. When we played together, he even said he wanted to take me as an errand boy and told me to honor him with my new clothes and new shoes. "Every time he said that, I beat him up." *Passed down from ancient times?* Zhang Yuanqing gave a start and halted abruptly, his tone turning somewhat urgent: "A sect passed down from ancient times? What do you mean? Uncle, please explain clearly." Not understanding why his nephew had suddenly grown so anxious, Zhang Zitao chuckled. "Who can remember that? It's been decades." "Uncle, I'm going abroad at the end of the year and don't know when I'll be back. I won't get to hear stories about my dad anymore. Please think hard." Zhang Zitao furrowed his brows and pondered for quite a while before saying helplessly, "He said he read in an ancient book at Xiaoyao Temple that the end of the world was coming soon. The world had already experienced an apocalypse once in ancient times, and the Xiaoyao Sect was a sect that survived from that era. "He also said he had to find a way to save the world, and if I didn't want to die, I should honor him with my new clothes and shoes... That's about all of it. I really can't recall much else. I just remember that his exact words back then sounded rather literary, like he was reciting directly from a book." *No way...* Zhang Yuanqing fell silent, lost in thought. After a long moment, he asked: "Uncle, did my dad know how to draw talismans?" Zhang Zitao nodded. "Isn't that what Taoist priests do?" "Do you remember what kind of talismans he drew?" "I don't." "...Let's go back inside." The two returned to the apartment. Under Zhang Zitao's bewildered gaze, Zhang Yuanqing found a ballpoint pen and a sheet of blank paper in the living room. His pen flew across the page, drawing a corpse-suppressing talisman. A talisman that possessed only the shape, devoid of spiritual power. Zhang Zitao stared at it for a few seconds, then slapped his thigh: "Yes, yes, yes! That's the one! Strange and bizarre! So he taught you after all!" *** The provincial capital, Wanbao House. A young man wearing oversized shorts, a black T-shirt, and flip-flops walked into a small convenience store that, in the eyes of ordinary people, had been closed for years. Wearing a peaked cap and a face mask, the young man slowly swept his gaze across the cluttered shop before settling on the cashier counter. In the soft armchair behind the counter reclined a charming, languid mature woman. She held a cigar between her fingers, an air of indolence in her eyes and brows, like a carefree wanderer playing among the mortal dust. The young man approached and stared at her. Beneath the peaked cap, a pair of gloomy, crazed eyes were revealed. He said, "I heard this is the largest intelligence distribution hub in the south, home to the biggest black market. Is this all it is?" Lian Sanyue lifted her eyelids and glanced at him. "Buying items, materials, or intelligence?" With madness lurking in his gaze, the young man said in a deep voice, "I want to buy intelligence: the roster and deployment of Taiyi Sect's Night Walkers across all major branches nationwide." Lian Sanyue scoffed. "I have a rule: I don't sell intelligence detrimental to the authorities. That's the very foundation allowing this shop to stay in business. But you can enter the black market and find someone to trade with yourself. Do you have an entry token?" "No!" "One hundred thousand apiece." "I don't have money." "If you don't have money, get lost, you wandering ghost." "Able to see that I possessed this body—as expected of a Dominator," the young man chuckled, his expression still manic, like a madman on the verge of losing control at any second. He reached into his pocket, took out a bead, and placed it on the counter. "Collateral for you. I'll come retrieve it in three days." Light swirled within the bead, displaying dreamlike images one after another. Lian Sanyue picked up the bead, examined it for a few moments, and said, "Saint-tier, dream bead, worth around twenty million. Deal." She opened a cabinet under the counter, took out an entry token, and crushed it. In a blur before the young man's eyes, the small shop transformed into a bustling bazaar. Lian Sanyue waved over a burly man and instructed, "Provide a sign with 'Deployment List of Taiyi Sect Night Walkers Nationwide' written on it, and place it at Booth Six." Once the burly man stepped away to carry out the order, she glanced at the young man, tossed him a mask, and said, "This is merely an intermediary market; I am not responsible for your safety. If you are targeted by official walkers, you'll be fine here. But once you step outside, life and death are up to fate." The young man sneered viciously. "Target me? That's just what I want." Lian Sanyue bit on her cigar, swayed her hips, and walked away. The young man promptly sat down at Booth Six, waiting patiently. Before long, a masked man clad in a black robe approached and said in a hoarse voice: "You want the roster of Taiyi Sect's Night Walkers? Taiyi Sect recently recalled most of their Night Walkers, so not many remain outside. I happen to have a copy. Five million, and it's yours." The young man stayed silent for a few seconds before letting out a sinister cackle. "How do I trust you?" "The master of Wanbao House can authenticate it." "Deal!" The young man nodded. Beneath the mask, his eyes burned with madness as he said, "There are no such convenient coincidences in this world. You came here deliberately to deliver this list to me. To be able to divine my movements—the person behind you is no ordinary figure." The black-robed man chuckled with a hoarse voice: "As expected of the Pure Yang Sect Master—nothing escapes your keen sight!"