Chapter Thirty-One: The Origin of the Haunting

An unusual light flickered in Wang Zhen's eyes as she looked at Zhou Bai, who now stood with his blade sheathed. That slash just now was by no means simple—it was a human-path divine art, likely his second supernatural ability.

Wen Meng put away his compass, stepped forward, and clapped Zhou Bai on the back, saying, “Little brother Zhou, your swordsmanship is truly extraordinary.”

“It’s a human-path divine art,” Zhou Bai replied, making no attempt to conceal it, though he offered no further explanation.

Wen Meng inwardly thought, as expected, no wonder Wang Zhen valued him so highly.

“I don’t understand, I just don’t…” Daoist Hou shook his head. That slash had given him the illusion that escape was impossible, and even now he felt a thorn pricking at his back.

Zhou Bai glanced instinctively at the butcher’s knife in his hand. After this fierce battle, several small nicks had appeared along the blade. Though it was still usable, he feared it would not last much longer.

“The immediate danger is passed, but the troubles to come will not be small,” Wang Zhen murmured, her forefinger twitching slightly as the blood on her body dripped to the ground.

She surveyed the ravaged surroundings and continued, “Let the authorities handle things from here. Who knows how many lives have been lost in Hangdu tonight.”

Zhou Bai nodded gravely. The rampaging statues had toppled countless houses; in the darkness, he could hear children crying and women cursing.

“Don’t blame yourself too much. Monsters and demons roam this world unchecked. We of the Dead Registry Division can only do our best to fulfill our duty,” Wen Meng said, noticing Zhou Bai’s heavy mood, and recalling his own early days after joining the division.

Zhou Bai soon composed himself. He wasn’t truly wracked with guilt, just troubled to see people he knew harmed or killed.

“Let’s go. Lin Dayan is wounded, not fatally, but he’ll need time to recover. Let’s return to the county office.”

With that, Wang Zhen tossed the unconscious Lin Dayan onto Zhou Bai’s back and strode off. Zhou Bai and Wen Meng hurried after her.

Under cover of night, many people were busy. Prefect Zhao’s ability to organize was impressive; upon learning the demons had been destroyed, he immediately ordered the yamen runners to rally the townsfolk and begin clearing the ruins. Some were already making their way in this direction.

Daoist Hou glanced at his butcher shop, now half-ruined by the rampaging statue. Gritting his teeth, he chased after them.

It was destined to be a sleepless night. The moon hung high, the demonic threat had vanished, but most of the city’s residents would not sleep at all.

The county office had over a dozen guest rooms. Though rather plain, given their temporary use, Wang Zhen was not particular and settled them in for the night.

After such a harrowing battle, no one felt much like sleeping. The group sat in the courtyard, eating the simple fare prepared by the authorities.

Lin Dayan had been arranged to convalesce, and Zhou Bai, filled with questions, was about to speak.

“Aren’t you lot from the Dead Registry Division going to help? With your divine arts and sorcery, clearing the ruins would be much faster than with mere manpower,” Daoist Hou said, his mouth stuffed with steamed bun.

Wen Meng, not knowing Hou was a wandering Daoist and assuming him to be a fellow sect brother, explained, “The Dead Registry Division and the official authorities are independent; neither may interfere in the other’s affairs. Moreover, much of the damage is our responsibility. If we tried to help, it would only bring more curses upon us.”

“So that’s how it is.” In Xuzhou, the Dead Registry Division was famous, but its members rarely appeared openly. Perhaps this was why.

He probed further, “So what’s the story with those demons? They looked like statues, but were less intelligent than ordinary evil spirits.”

At this, Wen Meng fell silent, and all three turned to look at Daoist Hou, who was wolfing down his food.

“What?” He paused, mid-bite.

Wang Zhen’s expression was calm as she said, “If you’d like to join the Dead Registry Division, you’d be very welcome…”

Daoist Hou stiffened, realizing they wouldn’t share such secrets with him. He chuckled awkwardly and made to leave, but after a few steps, shamelessly turned back to scoop up a few bowls of food and returned to his room.

Once he was gone, Wen Meng took out his compass, sending out a wave of spiritual light that enveloped the area, cutting off any chance of eavesdropping.

“This ghostly calamity in Hangdu was orchestrated by someone—perhaps just a pawn in a larger scheme.”

Wang Zhen explained to Zhou Bai that Yangzhou was a relatively peaceful area. Even when disasters occurred, the Dead Registry Division rarely needed to mobilize many of its forces.

But Xuzhou, suffering from famine, had been in chaos for years. The division had decided to concentrate its power there to sweep away the monsters and demons. Yet Yangzhou bordered Xuzhou, and any trouble would inevitably affect the division. Coincidentally, the old caretaker of Hangdu had retired, leaving a vacancy—a perfect opportunity to test for any abnormalities.

Sure enough, at some point, Hangdu had been ensnared in this plot: the Five Sons’ Calamity and the Anu God. Disaster had nearly erupted.

“Anu God?” Zhou Bai asked, puzzled. Wen Meng had mentioned the name earlier, and from his manner, it was clearly no simple matter.

“It’s an evil spirit born from a living sacrifice ritual—at least a thousand lives must be taken. Over the years, many vagrants and beggars in Hangdu must have vanished mysteriously. For such a scheme to go undetected, it must have been going on for over a decade.” Wang Zhen’s tone was casual, but the thought of a thousand dead sent chills down Zhou Bai’s spine.

“The deeper truths are not for you to know. The more you learn, the greater the danger,” she added.

Zhou Bai nodded, not pressing further. He was just a humble member of the Dead Registry Division; truly troublesome matters would never fall to him.

Wang Zhen then turned to Wen Meng and instructed, “Once Lin Dayan has recovered, we’ll return to Xuzhou. You’ll have to be careful here in Hangdu on your own.”

Wen Meng agreed, a wry smile appearing on his face. Seeing Zhou Bai looking at him, he explained, “From now on, I’ll be the Dead Registry Division’s resident in Hangdu. At my age, I’m about ready to retire—life on the front lines isn’t suited to these old bones.”

Wang Zhen said nothing, but Wen Meng continued, “Little brother Zhou, I hear you plan to cultivate your life-bound ghost artifact by refining external objects. As your senior in the division, may I offer you some advice?”

“Please, Senior Wen, I’m listening.”

“This path—refining a life-bound ghost artifact from an external object—is the most perilous among all ghostly arts. I am living proof of that.”

Wen Meng handed Zhou Bai his compass. Upon inspection, Zhou Bai noticed a barely perceptible scar, as if the artifact had nearly been split in two.

“Because my life-bound artifact was damaged, I lost nearly eighty percent of my cultivation. Only by fortune did I avoid total destruction—and keep my life.”

Zhou Bai understood now. No wonder Wen Meng’s strength lagged so far behind Lin Dayan’s, despite his decades of service.

“Lord Wang, is the life-bound artifact path truly so dangerous?” he asked.

Wang Zhen neither confirmed nor denied it. She turned her right hand palm-up, and suddenly a book appeared there.