In the carriage, Li Ang’s face was solemn.
Situ Zhi, who ca from the Extre West and was a mber of the Zhao Ming Organization like Ya Jiu, had created a Water Poison epidemic in Suzhou that had nearly led Jiangnan to fall. Finally, under Li Ang’s report, he was arrested by the garrison and brought back to Chang’an to be locked up in prison.
The garrison was tightly guarded. Li Ang had no idea in which cell Situ Zhi was held, nor did he know if Situ Zhi had divulged anything about Zhao Ming in prison. But one thing was certain—he probably hadn’t died yet. Every Candle Cloud Cultivator was a precious existence, especially Situ Zhi, a rare Gu Master from the Extre West. Even if the garrison wanted to kill him, it would be after squeezing out all his utility and extracting all information.
The garrison had not made a move yet, clearly not extending the clues from Situ Zhi to Ya Jiu. Consequently, Li Ang had to investigate on his own. He used Mo Si to parasitically control many insects, monitoring every movent in Golden City Square, looking for possible Ya Jiu Puppets. Up until now, the Ink Silk Clone hadn’t detected anything unusual. Until just now, when it sensed an extrely weak Spiritual Energy fluctuation.
RUMBLE.
The carriage wheels rolled over the ground, heading towards West City. Li Ang closed his eyes, sensing the distant Ink Silk Clone.
BUZZ.
A green-headed fly leisurely flew over the streets of Golden City Square, slowly landing on a branch of a tree, lazily rubbing its legs as it looked down.
The source of the Spiritual Energy fluctuation ca from an old shed. Inside, an elderly man lay on a plank bed. His chest was motionless; he had stopped breathing. Judging from his worn gown shirt, and the bamboo basket, carrying pole, and miscellaneous goods in the shed, he appeared to be a peddler.
Dead?!
The fly stopped rubbing its legs, flapped its wings, flew through the window, and landed on the plank bed.
The old peddler’s body still retained so warmth, obviously having died not long ago. At the back of his scalp, there remained a small round hole oozing with beads of blood.
Li Ang imdiately thought of the Puppet Needles Ya Jiu used to control others. This old peddler must have been one of Ya Jiu’s Puppets, allowing Ya Jiu to roam throughout Chang’an City freely without raising suspicions.
Now that he was dead, could Ya Jiu have killed him to silence him? No, that seed unlikely.
The fly moved forward, its mouthparts piercing the peddler’s skin, releasing Mo Si to investigate.
The peddler was old and frail; his organs were already decaying before the Puppet Needle was even removed. It was very likely that Ya Jiu had withdrawn the Puppet Needle after the peddler’s death, erasing the traces.
Had he arrived too late...
The fly retracted Mo Si, rubbing its legs sowhat irritably.
Wait, this might be an opportunity. The old peddler was poor and didn’t seem to have a wife or children. After his death, no one would inquire about him. At most, a Governnt Official would briefly inspect before sending him to the public cetery outside the city to be buried. But if sothing were created at the scene of death to catch the garrison’s attention, they might discover the Puppet Needle, thus leading the clues back to Ya Jiu.
The fly crawled toward the back of the peddler’s neck and used its mouthparts to expand the originally imperceptible wound, causing fresh blood to gush down, staining the entire pillow red.
Soon after, the fly left the hut.
Another cicada, controlled by Mo Si, flew over and landed on the tree trunk, singing loudly.
The shrill cries of the cicada were especially noisy, quickly drawing several snot-nosed children out of the neighboring huts. Disturbed from their naps, the irate children, ard with slender bamboo sticks and nets, aid to knock the cicada down. However, the cicada moved agilely, dodging all the nets, and flew into the window of the hut.
The children chased after it. Peering through the window, they saw the corpse on the plank bed.
Screams ensued.
***
In East Chang’an, at the Dark River Ghost Market, passersby wearing different masks and disguised outfits hurried along the humid streets, not daring to linger in one place for long. The small stalls on both sides of the street were sparse. The few remaining stall owners, all clad in armor, vigilantly clutched their weapons.
Lately, there had been continuous disappearances in the Ghost Market. Initially, nobody took it seriously, as the Ghost Market was inherently chaotic, with people coming and going, living and dying. A few disappearances were nothing unusual. But as ti passed, more and more people vanished. These included rchants traveling from other regions, local cultivators in the Ghost Market, and even the patrolling street guards. Even a few mbers of the leading families that governed the Ghost Market had inexplicably disappeared.
Residents of the Ghost Market were panic-stricken. So said they heard beastly roars and dragon’s howls echoing faintly from deep within Dark River, suggesting that exotic beasts might be devouring people. Others speculated the Kou Family had returned seeking vengeance, while still others believed it was the garrison secretly rounding up criminals.
A haunted Ghost Market was sowhat absurd.
A puppet wearing a raven mask slowly walked down the street, ignoring the uneasy murmurs in the alleys, and took a winding path to a house deep within the Ghost Market.
In the courtyard of the house, two n sat behind a table, drinking and feasting on at.
The middle-aged man, sitting with his back to the main entrance, was husky. His face was full of puffy flesh, and he had curly, untidy muttonchops. He wore a blood-stained butcher’s coat and had a rusty chopper hanging by his waist.
Sitting opposite him was a skinny, sharp-faced old man, resembling a monkey. He wore a turban and a gown shirt, with a wooden sword scabbard across his knees.
CREAK—
The butcher picked up a large chunk of at from the plate, chewed it carelessly, then spat a pale bone onto the ground.
The monkey-like old man was much more elegant in his actions. He lifted the at with his left hand while his right hand, holding a longsword, was raised high. Accompanied by rapid vibrations of his palm, the tip of the sword deftly danced up and down, shaving snowflake-like translucent slices of at from the bone, which then landed on the plate.
SSS.
The old man bowed his head towards the plate, took a deep breath in, and sighed with satisfaction. He then picked up the soy sauce, Cornelian cherry, and other seasonings prepared on the table and ticulously poured them into a porcelain dish. Then, he placed his longsword on a white cloth and, using chopsticks to dip the at into the sauce, brought it to his mouth. His monkey-like face was instantly overtaken by joyful satisfaction, his deep wrinkles unfolding as if a flower were blooming.
The two n took turns, a sip of wine, a bite of at, occasionally comnting on the at’s tenderness and fat content, much like the gourt patrons commonly found in a Chang’an Restaurant—if one ignored the pile of blood-stained, ownerless clothes beneath the table.
A fleeting look of disgust flashed through the eyes of the Ya Jiu Puppet, and it slowly began to speak, "Gentlen, I have discovered the location of Situ Zhi. He’s being held in the Stone Coffin Forest by the garrison."
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