Chapter 5: A Night of Unveiled Evil

Leaning against the wall, Qíngyǔ gently turned the pages of “Miscellaneous Records of the Four Journeys,” a book left by Wang Weimo, one by one.

This small booklet compiled several travel essays of unknown origin.

Most of its content depicted the supposed scenic beauty of various regions within the “Great Qian Sacred Dynasty,” with flattering remarks far outweighing factual descriptions of places and events.

Nevertheless, if one merely sought to understand the different places, objects, and people found across this dynasty’s vast expanse, it served its purpose well enough.

Yet, even within such a book, Qíngyǔ managed to unearth a complaint.

“The Northern Ridge has been bitter and cold since ancient times… It seems my birthplace isn’t particularly auspicious.”

The text recounted that a thousand years prior, the Northern Ridge had been a fertile land of fish and rice, until immortals, engaged in a magical duel, altered its waterways and severed its geomantic ley lines, leading to a century-long drought, after which immigrants from the Sacred Dynasty settled there.

Perhaps the compiler of this booklet also found this account unsettling, for they added a line thereafter—

“Zhongwen Tang states: Tales of spirits and anomalies, mere rumors are difficult to discern.

Yet, mindful of the virtues of our Sacred Dynasty, I have chosen to record this passage, preserving its original form for future generations to ponder.”

Zhongwen Tang was indeed an unusual character; despite the entire text being filled with praises, they ultimately chose to include this particular passage.

Was it merely that this was the sole record concerning the Northern Ridge, or did they truly, as stated in the preface, “only seek to genuinely record local customs and worldly affairs”?

There was no need to pursue an answer to such a question; Qíngyǔ set the booklet aside, closed her eyes, and once again immersed herself in that “ink-wash vision,” beginning to perceive the true essence of all things around her.

This, however, was destined not to be a night conducive to peaceful cultivation.

***

Beyond the small courtyard, moonlight bathed the four directions, the night wind swayed the dwarf trees, and the entire town lay hushed in the embrace of slumber.

Yet, amidst this profound tranquility, a figure cloaked in dark red abruptly shattered the peace.

Within the Yang Manor, home to the town’s wealthiest family, a figure burst through the main gate, piercing the deep night; it should have been a tremendous commotion, yet the sound failed to carry far.

“They didn’t catch up… they didn’t catch up…”

The Servant, who had earlier sought to purchase white orchids from Qíngyǔ, was now covered in blood, their usually neat robes marred by horrifying wounds.

He swiftly leapt onto the alley’s eaves, then lightly stepped across the green tiles, clutching something tightly in his hand, his destination unmistakably Qíngyǔ’s small courtyard.

Behind him, two dark figures from the Yang Manor gave chase, but were gently halted by a shimmering, translucent film, forcing them to retreat reluctantly, only able to distantly shadow the Servant’s movements.

Just as Qíngyǔ had surmised, the Servant indeed possessed considerable martial skill; a distance of a thousand meters vanished beneath his feet in mere moments, and the small courtyard finally appeared before him.

“Young Lady, save me!”

A glimmer of hope burst forth in his despairing eyes, and his form, moving with such speed it was almost a blur, reached out to knock on the courtyard gate.

“Quiet.”

Before the words could fully escape his lips, Qíngyǔ, dressed in coarse cloth and rubbing her eyes while stifling a yawn, had already silently pushed open the courtyard gate.

Her clear, cool voice, though soft as a breeze, carried an undeniable authority.

“May I ask, guest, what brings you here tonight? Please do not disturb my Little Girl’s peaceful slumber.”

Qíngyǔ appeared oblivious to the gruesome sight before her, simply closing the door and securing the padlock.

The Servant noticed something hidden in her sleeve, yet her expression remained perfectly calm. His heart settled with certainty, and ignoring his wounds, he made to kneel on the street.

“There is no need for such ceremony. If it is within this humble Daoist’s power, I shall naturally assist.”

Frowning slightly, Qíngyǔ helped him to his feet, then turned back to lightly trace a warning symbol upon the courtyard gate.

“Explain further as we walk.”

“This humble one is Jí Yào,” the Servant said, the tension in his chest releasing, causing him to cough up a mouthful of blood.

Wiping it away casually, he cupped his hands in a respectful salute to Qíngyǔ. “My skills are lacking; I hope the Immortal will not take offense.”

“Do not flatter me so. Tell me instead, whom or what did you encounter, and why did you think to seek me out here?”

Though Qíngyǔ was plainly dressed in patched cloth, her every movement, her every word, now appeared truly ethereal to Jí Yào, like that of an immortal.

“The Young Lady, on her way home, took shelter for the night at Temple, where she inadvertently disturbed an evil spirit. Even entreating the City God and Earth God proved ineffective in averting disaster.”

Guiding Qíngyǔ, he recounted the tale in a hushed, measured tone.

“A few days ago, I was fortunate enough to obtain an immortal flower from the Immortal… from the Young Lady. After the Young Lady took it, her illness greatly improved, and the evil spirit was actually forced out of her body.”

As he spoke, he unclenched his tightly clasped hand, revealing a pair of withered white orchids.

“I had thought the matter concluded, so I called upon the Young Lady early this morning to purchase more flowers, never imagining it would enrage the demon.”

“So that’s how it is.”

To her surprise, evil spirits truly existed in this world. Qíngyǔ pondered, wondering how she measured up against such a malevolent entity.

Watching the white orchids in Jí Yào’s hand, Qíngyǔ closed her eyes, and in her ink-wash vision, the distant Yang Manor revealed a faint, dreadful crimson hue.

After a long moment of contemplation, Qíngyǔ finally spoke, “I dare not presumptuously claim to subdue demons, but I will accompany the guest to observe.”

“Thank you, Young Lady, for your aid!”

Upon hearing her words, the Servant’s face lit up with surprise, yet he lowered his voice, still fearful of disturbing some Little Girl’s peaceful dream, even though they were already a hundred meters away.

Even after a hundred years, he dared not forget his sect’s teachings.

Shaking her head, Qíngyǔ felt a rare sense of comfort blossom within her as she walked along the night road, despite the clear difficulty and potential danger of the situation.

The livelihood she had been worrying about suddenly seemed to have found a solution.

In her previous life, when she was at the Daoist temple, her large family’s income came from helping people subdue demons and dispel evil, sometimes for the government, but mostly for common clients.

They never set a price, always accepting “whatever was offered,” a practice her master had always taught as “mutual willingness.”

Subduing demons honed their skills, and after acquiring demon cores or other such items, they would return to the temple for secluded cultivation, conducting their affairs purely based on karmic affinity, never discussing profit.

Initially, she hadn’t understood; clearly, they risked their lives for these tasks, so how could their compensation depend on the client’s mood?

Only after doing it many times did she realize that those who sought their help in the deep mountains were usually either wealthy individuals facing insurmountable problems, who would certainly offer substantial rewards.

The other type were the poor, unable to afford demon-exorcists with fixed prices, who would then trek over mountains and ridges to seek their aid.

From such people, even if they demanded payment, they would receive no more than a hundred coins or a torn piece of silk; it was better to cultivate a magnanimous mindset instead.

“Our sect cultivates karmic affinity; what we seek is the true Dao.”

Her master would explain this to them whenever he was in good spirits from drinking, sometimes even pointing to their second senior brother, who specialized in the Hundred Affinities.

“Karmic affinity bought with fame and profit is undesirable, if you accept it, you will face calamity.”

He spoke of karma; taking money to avert disaster for others had been the way since ancient times, but for a Daoist cultivator, such calamities would naturally not be simple.

“If you deem this humble Daoist worthy, then from now on, please address me as Cangxuan.”

Snapping out of her contemplation, Qíngyǔ saw the grand Yang Manor appear before them.

Qíngyǔ stopped, and by the bright moonlight, she looked at Jí Yào beside her.

“This is my Daoist name.”

Her master had given it to her when he pulled her, a transmigrator, from the mire.

“Thank you, Young Lady Cangxuan.”

Upon hearing the words “Young Lady,” the corner of Qíngyǔ’s mouth twitched, though just moments before she had been filled with a sense of solitary solemnity.

Back then, some devotees called her “Little Friend Cangxuan,” and later others called her “Daoist Priest Cangxuan” or “True Person Cangxuan,” but “Young Lady Cangxuan” was a first.

“Ah, well, let it be. Consider it this humble Daoist’s first intervention in this life.”

Qíngyǔ mumbled a few words, which Jí Yào couldn’t quite catch. Just as he was about to inquire further, he was startled to see Qíngyǔ already standing before the Yang Manor’s gate.

“Mr. Jí, you may follow if you wish, but if your injuries are too severe, just observe from here; simply make sure the evil spirit doesn’t escape.”

Having spoken, and without waiting to see if he would follow, Qíngyǔ stepped into the manor, facing the pervasive evil aura.