The rain had stopped at some point.
High in the night sky, the full moon spilled silver brilliance across the lake's surface.
...
The return journey went smoothly, without so much as an ankle-twisting pothole along the road, and He Lingchuan brought Third Master Gan safely back to the county seat.
The night was deep and deathly still. Not only was there not a single soul on the road, but not even a dog barked.
He Lingchuan hauled Third Master Gan off the horse and pulled the tattered rag from his mouth. "A deal's a deal. I'll let you go. But if you come looking for trouble later..."
He had promised earlier that as long as Third Master Gan led him to the Spirit Medium, his life would be spared.
Having had his mouth stuffed with cloth the entire way, Third Master Gan's mouth was parched, and he could barely speak straight: "N-no, I wouldn't dare again!"
Only then did He Lingchuan let go. "Scram!"
Third Master Gan stumbled. Terrified the boy might change his mind, he endured his injuries and limped frantically toward home.
With a flick of He Lingchuan's finger, another little spider leapt onto Third Master Gan's back, letting the man carry it away.
Sparing his life did not mean dropping his guard.
He Lingchuan still wanted to monitor what happened next and see whether the punk would hatch any more wicked schemes.
The reason he hadn't slain him was that he still couldn't understand why the Spirit Medium had promised Third Master Gan three requests. She had managed to subdue even high-ranking officers and private soldiers from the Beijia Kingdom; dealing with a county dandy would have been child's play, so why bother doing three things for him first?
What made Third Master Gan so different from everyone else?
Recalling the fight inside and outside the stilted building, He Lingchuan still felt unsettled.
Had the Spirit Medium really died just like that? It seemed a bit too easy.
Yet if asked what was wrong, he couldn't put his finger on it for the moment.
Could an old country demon hag really be so simple to deal with? After all, he couldn't expect to run into top-tier opponents every single time.
In the martial world, stomping weaklings was the true norm.
Oh well. He would head back to rest first and deal with anything else tomorrow.
He Lingchuan went straight to Purple Bamboo Court, where he was staying. The gatekeeper was nowhere to be seen, and the front hall was empty, with only the oil lamps still burning. Familiar with the layout, he returned to his private bath chamber, soaked in the tub, and lay down fully clothed.
With both hands pillowed behind his head, He Lingchuan seemed to be staring blankly at the ceiling, but he was secretly tapping into the eyeball spider's vision to monitor Third Master Gan.
However, that spineless coward was walking slower and slower. Just as he was about to reach the Gan residence, he suddenly collapsed by the roadside, unable to take another step.
Then he broke down, burying his face in his hands and bawling his eyes out.
To Third Master Gan, who had always sailed through smooth waters, the events of the past two days were nothing short of a nightmare.
A nightmare he couldn't wake from.
The pillar of the family was gone, the transit pass that could have saved the Gan Merchant Guild from ruin was lost, and tonight he had endured a hair-raising ordeal that had left him with who knew how many broken ribs.
His entire life had completely collapsed from this point onward.
Watching this, He Lingchuan was speechless, muttering to himself that the man was utterly useless.
Let Third Master Gan sit in that dusty street corner and slowly swallow his bitter medicine. He Lingchuan withdrew his gaze and sat cross-legged to regulate his breath.
Tonight was not fit for sleep, so he did not enter full meditation, merely guiding his true qi through a few minor heavenly cycles.
Before long, faint footsteps seemed to approach from outside, very light.
He Lingchuan opened his eyes.
Someone tapped gently on the door, speaking in a soft, gentle voice: "Young Master He, are you asleep?"
"Who is it?"
"It's Baitan."
He Lingchuan recognized the voice—it was indeed Baitan, the maidservant who attended the bath chamber. "What is it?"
"I thought I saw you return just now," Baitan said brightly. "I brought you a late-night snack: shiitake mushroom and fish fillet porridge."
"Come in."
Baitan pushed the door open, beaming. In her hands was indeed a tray bearing a steaming large bowl, the aroma of porridge greeting his nose.
He Lingchuan seemed taken aback, looking from Baitan to the red lacquer tray she carried.
The shiitake mushrooms were thick and plump, the fish slices tender and white, and the grains of rice had bloomed open, clearly simmered over a low flame with great care.
"Just porridge?"
Baitan asked in surprise, "Did you need something else, Young Master?"
"How can anyone eat savory porridge without fried crullers?" He Lingchuan frowned. "Go fetch me two!"
Fried crullers were simply fried dough twists; in the past, no matter how simple or lavish his savory porridge was, he would always buy a fried cruller to soak in it.
"Ah, right away." Baitan blinked in surprise, but quickly set the tray down and slipped out.
She was gone for roughly a quarter of an hour.
When Baitan returned, she held an oiled paper packet containing two golden fried crullers, their fragrant scent detectable from afar.
"Please enjoy, Young Master."
Just as He Lingchuan was about to pick up the porridge bowl, Baitan trimmed the oil lamp. Along with the one she had brought in, the room grew noticeably brighter.
He lifted the bowl with his left hand, sniffed it, and suddenly asked, "Where was this porridge brought from?"
"The kitchen."
"Did you cook it?"
Baitan looked a little bashful. "Indeed. Please taste this humble servant's cooking."
"Of course." He Lingchuan smiled faintly. Just as he lowered his head to drink, the long saber at his waist suddenly flashed from its scabbard.
The blade glinted like flowing water, striking and sheathing in a single breath.
Baitan's expression froze, and only after a long moment did her head tumble from her neck.
Her eyes went wide with disbelief, her lips twitching as if asking:
*Why?*
He Lingchuan looked at her coldly. "You dare flaunt petty demon tricks before me?"
When Baitan had first walked through the door, she appeared under the lamplight as a plump beauty, but in He Lingchuan's eyes, she was an evil ghost shrouded in black smoke, clinging to a white paper figurine!
Every move "Baitan" made had been nothing more than the performance of a marionette.
Sure enough, the severed maidservant bled not a drop, dissolving into paper ash in the blink of an eye. The evil ghost behind her vanished instantly without a trace.
It seemed the Spirit Medium wasn't dead after all.
He Lingchuan let out a soft breath. It really wasn't that simple.
Naturally, food brought by an evil ghost could not be eaten. Just as he was about to stand, a strange detail in the corner of his eye caught his attention.
The red lacquer tray was remarkably smooth and glossy, polished bright enough to reflect a face.
Just now, the reflection in the tray had moved.
With two oil lamps burning before him, the lighting was ample. He Lingchuan focused his gaze: the tray held only his own reflection.
When his eyes shifted, the reflection's eyes shifted too. The scene behind him was hazy, since it was not as bright as daytime.
Had he seen wrong? Had it just been the flickering firelight?
Just as he was about to look away, the reflection suddenly peeled back its lips and grinned at him.
He Lingchuan was seventeen, handsome and spirited, often turning the heads of maidens and young wives on the street. Naturally, this reflection was equally handsome, sharp, and dashing.
Yet this grin was horrifying—it revealed a mouth full of sharp, wolf-like fangs!
The eyes turned sinister and savage, as if a vile scheme had succeeded.
*Damn it!*
His scalp went numb. Acting on instinct, he moved to slap it away, but the reflection in the mirror suddenly lunged outward, clamping firmly onto his head and face!
His vision went dark, and severe dizziness washed over his mind.
He couldn't muster even an ounce of strength. The real trap had been set here, in the serving tray, while "Baitan" was merely a diversion.
Despite all his vigilance, how had he still fallen into the enemy's trap?
Right at that moment, the treasured saber at his waist quivered, releasing a sharp, resonant clang filled with the clangor of slaughter.
He Lingchuan shuddered, his wits snapping back into place, and he drew his blade to cleave the red lacquer tray in two.
Blade in hand, he looked down at the tray. Embedded in its base was a square bronze mirror, placed so that anyone lowering their head to take the porridge would gaze directly into it.
Several cracks now ran across the mirror's surface. The shadow trapped inside thrashed frantically back and forth, unable to escape, baring its fangs and snarling at him in fury.
Had this thing nearly reaped his soul just now?
He Lingchuan suddenly understood how Wu Jinsong and the others had lost their souls. As long as one used eyes to see, it was virtually impossible to guard against.
He strode out of the bath chamber and looked around, finding the area just as quiet as before. When he first returned, he hadn't noticed anything amiss, but listening closely now, Purple Bamboo Court was filled with plums, orchids, bamboo, and many other plants, with two shallow ponds out front. In early summer like this, how could there not be a single sound of insects or frogs?
Where were the people? Where had everyone gone?
He kicked open the wooden door of the opposite bath chamber. With a loud crash, the door collapsed.
If there had been guests inside, nine times out of ten they would have erupted in curses, and perhaps a startled maidservant would have shrieked and fled.
Yet there was nothing. The quiet room was deserted.
He kicked open eight bath chambers in a row, all of them empty. The last room, however, held two figures.
Strictly speaking, calling them people was inaccurate. They were two paper figurines controlled by evil ghosts, tangled together in intimate pleasure.
Of the two paper figurines, one was painted as a burly man, the other as a slender beauty.
From their postures, they seemed completely unaware that they were merely paper.
Yet when He Lingchuan barged in, both turned their heads simultaneously and sprang to their feet to attack.
The burly man even knocked over a folding screen along the way, his speed and power indistinguishable from a living man's.
He Lingchuan showed no mercy, slashing straight for his neck.
Unexpectedly, as the brute rushed past the screen, he snatched up a candlestick and thrust it violently at He Lingchuan's face, his technique disciplined and brimming with force.
When He Lingchuan sheared through the candlestick, the man grabbed a heavy bronze club from beside the bed with his other hand, swinging it down in a vicious arc.
The strike carried immense weight.
Metal clashed more than a dozen times as they traded blows.
As soon as they engaged, He Lingchuan realized this paper figurine was using military staff techniques, its momentum somewhat reminiscent of Meng Shan.
Yet even the real Meng Shan had fallen to him; how long could a fake paper figurine hold out?
In the end, He Lingchuan pinned it to a pillar with his blade. Both the paper figurine and the evil ghost clinging to it seemed overwhelmed by agonizing pain.
He Lingchuan said in a low voice, "Who are you?"
Even the evil ghost possessing the tusked boar had been able to follow Third Master Gan's orders, so he assumed these creatures could understand human speech and decided to attempt communication.
Sure enough, after a few stern demands, the paper figurine sneered viciously: "Your grandfather is Centurion Qi Ming under General You of the Xiaolin Army! Kill me or carve me up, I fear nothing!"
The Xiaolin Army? That name sounded familiar.
Right then, rustling footsteps sounded outside—a rapid patter.
The paper figurine heard it too and bellowed, "Over here! The enemy is here!"
He Lingchuan slashed it to shreds, tapped his toes against the ground, and leapt atop the bathhouse wall. With two more bounds, he ascended into the canopy of a massive golden acacia.
The tree stood sixty feet tall. From here, he could not only look down upon the entirety of Purple Bamboo Court, but also gaze across half the county seat.
The night wind howled. Standing upon the swaying branches, he couldn't see a single flicker of light below.
Meanwhile, more paper figurines were already flooding into the chamber where the burly man had been.
Controlled by evil ghosts, they looked left and right, hunting for He Lingchuan's trail.
Examining the paintings on them closely, they all appeared to wear military uniforms, though the cut and design were unfamiliar, leaving him unsure which kingdom they belonged to.
By the moonlight pouring from the heavens, he also saw paper figurines beginning to spill into the streets and alleys of Wuze County. Some strolled leisurely, some sat by the road as if drunk, and others marched in formation toward Purple Bamboo Court, resembling the local constables.
Chapter 354