Chapter 11: The Water Spirit Lanlan (Revised)

After three years of honing his skills, he was now unrivaled in physical strength among his peers, even surpassing his fifth senior brother, Zhao Shanhe, who lay on the ground before him.

“Sixth, oh Sixth, you’re truly cunning. That ‘Hum and Ha’ technique of yours grows fiercer each day,” Zhao Shanhe said.

A year ago, Ling Chi had broken through to the Open Meridian stage and was taken as a personal disciple, ranking sixth among his fellow disciples. Now, he had reached the third level of Open Meridian cultivation. His methods were numerous, his fighting style violent—far more formidable than Zhao Shanhe at the fifth level.

“Fifth brother, I only managed to seize your weakness because you were caught off guard. If we truly fought, I’d hardly be your match,” Ling Chi replied modestly.

“No need for humility. Losing to you, a martial prodigy, is no disgrace,” Zhao Shanhe sighed. “At this rate, only Second Sister at the seventh level and First Brother at the ninth can best you—and you haven’t even drawn your blade yet!”

He glanced at Ling Chi’s waist, where two blades hung: one long, one short; one golden, one black. He had witnessed his junior brother’s swordplay firsthand—cutting down zombies as if a tiger among sheep, slicing through them like chopping vegetables. The memory of that dazzling blade still sent chills down his spine.

As they chatted, Old Hai approached. Of all who had changed in these three years, Old Hai had changed the most. His once gray hair had turned pure white, and his figure grown more stooped.

“Little Ling, the county magistrate’s men have arrived. A squad of constables is trapped in Panshan Bay Village. Your master wants you and Fifth Brother to go, but your safety comes first. If you can’t rescue them, retreat. It’s not a big deal—just keep yourselves safe,” Old Hai rambled.

This was one of the martial school’s sources of income. They relied on rewards from the county office, escorting goods, protecting convoys, and assisting in arrests to support everyone at the school.

Ling Chi and Zhao Shanhe exchanged a glance and cupped their hands in acknowledgment. They gathered their gear, went to the stables, took their horses, and departed at once.

Summer nights fell late. At the ancestral hall of Panshan Bay Village, villagers gathered in a crowd. The village chief’s son, Li Stone, was bound with his arms behind him, his body bent like a bow and tossed to the ground, his mouth stuffed by Zhou Shan. Li Stone writhed like a maggot.

Nearby, several young men knelt, surrounded by tearful old women pleading for mercy. Young wives watched coldly from the sidelines.

“Sir, please spare my son, he’s still ignorant!” one elderly woman wailed from the crowd.

Chen Mang had no intention of listening. If they wanted mercy now, why hadn’t they shown it when the girl pleaded with them? They’d shown none then.

As dusk deepened, he ordered the constables to light torches around the hall, with a bonfire in the center.

The constables sat together, eating their own dry rations, refusing even to touch the food offered by villagers. It wasn’t reluctance, it was fear—who knew if the villagers, desperate to save their sons, would poison them?

Brother Shan had warned: those unafraid of death could try it, but it seemed most still cherished their lives.

Time flowed like a slow river. Night fell; most villagers went home. The aura at the ancestral hall promised a battle tonight.

The men wanted to watch, but their wives dragged them home.

Chen Mang, about thirty, had just entered the Open Meridian stage. He sat cross-legged, regulating his breath, his Yanling blade across his knees. Zhou Shan, wielding a torch and a long spear, patrolled between the fires; his blood was vigorous, and ordinary evil spirits couldn’t come near.

Time passed, minute by minute.

“Baa, baa~”

From a nearby courtyard came the bleating of sheep, followed by a man’s angry shout, the sounds of a woman’s scolding, and a child’s crying—all shattering the village’s silence.

Chen Mang grabbed his Yanling blade, sprang toward the sound.

“Ah Shan, you all stay here. I’ll go investigate first.”

Zhou Shan, carrying his spear, could only obey.

Chen Mang drew his blade, kicked open the courtyard gate. A man lay on the ground, his wife and child huddled together, trembling. From the sheep pen came rustling noises.

He used the scabbard to flip the man over, checked for a pulse—still alive. He signaled the wife to drag the man inside and lock the door.

The water ghost, Lanlan, hadn’t harmed them directly, showing some rationality, or perhaps her vengeance hadn’t yet targeted them.

A torch was thrown in a circle toward the sheep pen. Lanlan, the water ghost, turned abruptly from her meal; her red robe was filthy.

Her knotted hair clung to her forehead. She had just swallowed a sheep; her stomach bulged, its contents unknown.

Her eyes were all whites; through her gaping mouth, sharp fangs gleamed. Her skin, soaked, had turned pale, and decaying flesh kept dropping onto the ground with a sizzling sound.

“Lanlan, I know your grievance. I’ve come specifically to deal with these human traffickers. Believe me,” Chen Mang tried to calm her with words.

But as soon as he spoke, Lanlan suddenly went berserk. Her hair, like steel whips, lashed at him with a howling wind. Red evil aura erupted from Chen Mang as he was forced to engage.

For a short time, he could handle her, but once the water ghost came ashore, her strength was overwhelming. He wouldn’t last long.

Her hair clashed with his blade, making metallic sounds. He could only fight while retreating, preparing to join his brothers in formation to surround and kill Lanlan.

Something he said seemed to enrage the water ghost. She attacked wildly. Seeing no effect, her ghostly body surged forward, intent on devouring his flesh and skin.

Like a red bird taking flight, her fingernails grew long and black, slashing at Chen Mang’s throat. He used his blade to protect himself but was struck, sent flying.

Zhou Shan kept a vigilant eye on the battle. Seeing Chen Mang forced back, he rushed to aid with the constables.

With reinforcements arriving, Chen Mang’s Yanling blade suddenly radiated red light. He shouted, “Blood Fiend Formation! Form up!”

“Blood Fiend Blade Technique! Blood Fiend to the heavens!”

The Blood Fiend Blade was a military technique, relying on group formations to slaughter enemies with murderous energy.

The constables quickly formed up. Instantly, murderous aura soared, red light filling the sky.

Lanlan was trapped in the formation, unable to break free. She inhaled sharply, her chest swelling.

Suddenly, a blast of sonic energy erupted from her mouth. The constables clutched their ears, rolling on the ground—the formation collapsed in an instant.

Zhou Shan’s face turned pale, suffering backlash from the broken formation. He forced down a mouthful of blood.

As the formation’s core, Chen Mang was hit even harder. Blood spurted from his mouth, his face waxen, breath feeble.

“It’s over. With the formation broken, there’s no hope,” Zhou Shan thought bleakly. He had barely escaped the carnage of the southern battlefields; his good days had lasted only a few, and now his life seemed at its end.

Lanlan’s long hair attacked once more. Zhou Shan spat blood from his tongue onto his spearhead and charged.

Military spear techniques were bold and sweeping; the spear shaft fitted with a black iron head. With murderous energy infused, it shone like burning charcoal.

The spear traced a dangerous arc, its tip passing just three inches in front of the water ghost’s throat, but she caught it in her hand.

The chicken and dog blood smeared on the spear meant nothing to her. Her long hair suddenly wrapped around Zhou Shan’s ankle, yanking him off balance and exposing his defenses.

Lanlan’s right hand flashed with dark light, stabbing toward Zhou Shan’s chest. Unable to evade, he shut his eyes in despair, awaiting death.

“Sisters lost in the county, your brother cannot save you. If any colleague ever spends the night, please hang the jade pendant I gave you at the bedside, so I may have a part in your memory,” Zhou Shan thought as his final words.

“Audacious fiend, I will have you aid my cultivation!” A clear, cold voice echoed from afar, drawing near.