Chapter 60: The Willow Demon (Revised)

The townsfolk had not seen the sun for more than ten days, yet, cloaked in unending clouds, they felt no panic in their hearts. The Peacekeeping Bureau had already dispatched officers to post notices, announcing that the town constable was devoting himself to the cultivation of thunder magic, and the citizens need not worry.

In the dazzling arena of thunder, Blackie stood indoors, watching with silent resolve that one day, he too would become as powerful as the constable. In chaotic times, human life was worth less than a dog’s; even here in this remote corner of the Northwest, far from battle and disaster, the rule still applied.

Willow Town had taken in and settled seven or eight hundred refugee households, numbering three to four thousand people in total. The authorities distributed homes and land, and life gradually found its calm. With a formidable figure like Ling Chi presiding over the town, even the smallest demons and spirits dared not approach.

Once people are fed, other desires arise. The Peacekeeping Bureau and the town office patrolled daily, maintaining the order amongst neighbors.

“Sir Ling, your subordinate requests an audience.” Pei Shinan’s voice came from outside, waking Ling Chi from his nap.

Pei Shinan had observed the clouds dispersing and the thunder quieting above the town, guessing that Ling Chi had finished his cultivation.

Ling Chi rose to open the door, allowing Pei Shinan inside.

“Old Pei, what’s happened?” Ling Chi asked lazily, half-reclining.

“Sir, someone has come to report that a child heard the great willow at the town entrance speaking to her,” Pei Shinan explained.

“What, the willow’s become a spirit?” Ling Chi’s eyes lit up.

“The child, while playing, heard the willow ask her to bring chickens, ducks, or geese as offerings, promising in return an endless supply of candied hawthorn,” Pei Shinan elaborated.

“I investigated but found nothing unusual.”

“Deceiving children, perhaps it’s a newly formed spirit. I’ll go take a look; I’ve never seen a plant become a spirit before. Go on ahead, I’ll be right behind.” Ling Chi’s interest was piqued.

He flipped out of the large wooden tub in a single bound, not so much as a droplet of water left on him—his body dry by the time he landed. Dressed in black brocade, he smoothed his hair, set a coronet atop his head, fixed a hairpin he’d crafted himself, then tied his ponytail high—a strikingly handsome youth indeed.

Ling Chi slung his horse-cutting saber over his shoulder and stepped outside.

The Peacekeeping Bureau had already cordoned off the town’s entrance, with curious townsfolk watching from not far off. Ling Chi exhaled a puff of smoke and walked through the crowd amid greetings from his subordinates. Many citizens were seeing Ling Chi for the first time and, surprised to find their constable was a dashing young man with formidable strength, found themselves growing fond of him.

Ling Chi rested his hand on the saber hilt, tilting his head to size up the willow spirit before him, even reaching out to poke it with a finger.

“There’s nothing odd here, Old Pei. Have some men dig up the soil at its roots, see if it’s eaten anything,” Ling Chi said casually.

No sooner had he spoken than the willow branches above, whipping like steel whips, came lashing at him with a howl.

Ling Chi’s lips quirked into a smile.

“Blackie, you missed a chicken’s foot.”

His saber flashed from its sheath, sharp arcs slicing the air, and willow branches rained to the ground, some oozing with blood.

In the time it takes to drink a cup of tea, the willow was whittled down to a single stick, standing rigidly rooted in the earth.

“Old Pei, dig,” Ling Chi commanded with a wave.

Several prepared officers, shovels and hoes in hand, set to work. As the willow spirit trembled, they dug up a three-yard radius around its base.

The loose earth was soon cleared, revealing piles of bleached bones, both human and animal.

Ling Chi’s eyebrows drew together in a frown, and the atmosphere instantly tensed. Anyone with sense knew: when Sir Ling was angry, trouble was close at hand.

“Old Pei, so many dead—no one reported it? The town office didn’t hand over any cases?”

Pei Shinan stiffened. “Sir Ling, your subordinate received no missing persons reports, and the town office has handed over nothing.”

Ling Chi, too, was puzzled. He’d come and gone from this place and never sensed any demonic aura.

“Hey, can you speak? Let’s have a talk.”

The willow spirit shuddered. It could feel the sharp pressure pressing down from Ling Chi’s saber. Slowly, a pair of eyes appeared on its trunk. It looked down at the blade resting on it, and a mouth gradually formed.

“Sir, this little demon hasn’t eaten blood food in months. Since you arrived, I haven’t taken a life. A few days ago, I couldn’t bear the hunger and tried to trick a child into bringing some poultry to satisfy my craving,” the willow spirit’s voice was young and ambiguous in gender.

“Don’t try to argue. When did you eat these people and animals?” Ling Chi pressed the saber’s tip, drawing blood from the willow spirit.

“Mercy, sir! All of these were before you came—on the night when the corpse fiend slaughtered the town, the blood scent drove me mad, and I ate a dozen or so... But I don’t usually eat people. Please, sir, consider how hard it is for a spirit to cultivate, have mercy and spare me,” the willow spirit pleaded, sobbing.

“Mercy? Did you spare those you ate? Taking lives demands repayment in kind—for murder, you pay with your life. I sentence you to death, to be carried out immediately.”

Ling Chi’s cold verdict thundered in the willow spirit’s heart, sending waves of fear through it.

In Ling Chi’s palm, purple-gold lightning crackled. He laid his hand lightly on the trunk, and in an instant, the spirit was blasted black and charred, shrieking in agony as thunderbolts raced down through the roots into the earth.

A rumble echoed from underground—the willow’s roots spread far. Dozens of heartbeats later, Ling Chi received feedback from his Thunder Pearl: dozens of threads of thunderous energy returned.

“This isn’t your fault. Dig up these bones and find them a proper burial—leaving them at the town entrance won’t do,” Ling Chi said offhandedly.

Pei Shinan breathed a sigh of relief and hurried to arrange the burial.

The townsfolk, watching Ling Chi deal with the willow spirit cleanly and decisively, couldn’t help but admire him.

The morning fog of winter slowly dispersed. On the way back, he passed a stall selling glutinous rice chicken, perfectly steamed and wrapped in lotus leaves—three copper coins apiece, the aroma making his mouth water.

He tossed a silver coin to the elderly vendor, bought seven or eight rice chickens, called his officers to join him, and told them to take the rest home to eat. The old vendor, nervous, wrapped each one in oiled paper and handed them over with both hands.

Seeing the man’s hands trembling with age, Ling Chi took the parcels himself and strolled leisurely home, chickens in hand.

Since the reconstruction of Willow Town, Ling Chi hadn’t truly explored it. The street now boasted more shops and stalls, and many people came and went. With the official road leading to neighboring Shengzhou, merchants, security escorts, and martial artists often stopped to rest.

As he walked, the street grew lively—the cries of vendors, the haggling of old women over vegetables, the laughter and shouts of children weaving through the crowd—all combined to give him a headache. He turned to head home.

As he turned, he bumped into the rice chicken vendor, greeted him with a nod. The old man shrank back with a bow, but Ling Chi paid him no further mind and continued on his way.

Yet the old man followed him all the way to his courtyard gate. Ling Chi called for Blackie to come fetch the rice chickens inside, warning him not to eat his share.

“Elder, I see you’ve followed me all this way. You don’t look like someone up to no good. If you have something to say, just say it,” Ling Chi said, turning to him with resignation.

Though his clothes were not quite rags, they were not far from it. The old man’s wrinkled face was so deeply lined that a mosquito landing there might be crushed.

“Sir, I beg you to seek justice for a humble commoner. Let me kowtow to you,” the old man said, dropping to his knees, about to bow.

Ling Chi dodged quickly, avoiding the gesture, and hurried forward to pull the old man up. He was short and light, and as Ling Chi helped him, the man nearly hung from his arm.