Chapter Thirty-Three: The Seeds of the Shadowwood

Thus, a few peaceful days passed in Hangdu. The chaos stirred by the statue had subsided, and the damaged houses were already being rebuilt under the supervision of the authorities. Yet, some citizens had been crushed beneath collapsing buildings, and two constables had perished at the hands of the specters, causing no small disturbance. In the end, the officials stepped in to soothe public sentiment, and few voiced any complaints.

Because of these deaths, the past few days saw many people dressed in mourning attire, and as dusk fell, some cast paper money and carried coffins through the streets, preparing for burials. The city’s nights remained shuttered, doors and windows tightly closed under the shadow of these funerals.

Lin Dayan’s wounds, though severe, healed quickly thanks to elixirs and his unnatural constitution. On a morning when dawn was barely breaking, Zhou Bai rose early and, together with Wen Meng, made his way outside the city walls. Wang Zhen and Lin Dayan each mounted a fine horse, ready to depart for Xuzhou, which was still in turmoil, wasting not a moment.

Wang Zhen, dressed as always in black, her brows furrowed, nodded slightly. “Wen Meng, I leave this place in your care; be vigilant in all matters.”

“Rest assured, Lady Wang. Though I’m getting on in years, my eyes are still sharp,” Wen Meng replied, now in civilian clothing, as he no longer needed to wear the uniform of the Dark Ritual Division while stationed here.

“Old Meng, when I return, we’ll share a drink,” Lin Dayan said with a smile. Compared to so many in the Division who had met tragic ends at the hands of demons and monsters, Wen Meng could count himself fortunate.

Wen Meng waved in response. The two exchanged farewells with Zhou Bai, then spurred their horses and hurried toward Xuzhou.

As he watched them disappear into the distance, Wen Meng collected himself and turned to Zhou Bai. “Brother Zhou, you should have acquired the spiritual materials for your life-bound ghost artifact by now?”

“Yes,” Zhou Bai replied, producing a palm-sized box from his robes. Inside was a black seed, no larger than a fingernail.

The seed exuded a faint, cold aura, and since it was ill-suited for prolonged exposure, he quickly closed the box again.

“A seed from a thousand-year-old shadowwood. Shadowwood itself isn’t rare—there are many in Youzhou—but a tree of a thousand years? There might not be another in all nine provinces,” Wen Meng remarked, deeply curious as to why Zhou Bai would choose a tree seed as the material for his life-bound ghost artifact, though he refrained from asking further.

“Indeed. I owe Lady Wang much for this,” Zhou Bai admitted.

He had intended to use a shadow-aligned spiritual plant, but had not expected Wang Zhen to procure a seed from a millennium-old shadowwood for him. The favor was a weighty one.

In these nine provinces, spiritual plants often ceased to flower or bear fruit after a hundred years due to peculiar circumstances, making such treasures exceedingly rare.

“When you take your first step into cultivation, you’ll need a quiet place. Have you made arrangements?” Wen Meng asked.

“I’ll leave Hangdu tomorrow, find somewhere in the countryside. Too many eyes and ears in the city; it’s not convenient,” Zhou Bai answered. He planned to cultivate in Wang Lei’s cottage at the foot of Mount Yue, where the others would be deep in the mountains for a month or so, leaving it vacant.

“That’s wise. With me here, Hangdu is safe enough, but if there’s trouble in the nearby towns, I’ll use the Division’s token to contact you,” Wen Meng assured him.

Wang Zhen had left for Xuzhou without summoning Zhou Bai or issuing him a mission, so he now answered to Wen Meng.

Zhou Bai nodded. If evil spirits or demons appeared, he had no qualms about intervening—armed with three great divine arts, he was more than capable of handling ordinary threats.

He instinctively reached for the hilt of the butcher’s knife at his waist, then paused. “By the way, does the Dark Ritual Division have any long blades with sheaths?”

His ancestral butcher’s knife, though imbued with some baleful energy, was but a mundane weapon. After the battle with the malignant spirit, its blade bore many nicks.

Moreover, the butcher’s knife lacked a sheath, and being a straightforward executioner’s blade, it wasn’t suited for nurturing blade intent through the Blade Nurturing Divine Art.

He intended to find a sheathed long blade to cultivate his blade intent, gaining another ace up his sleeve.

“Weapons made from spiritual materials must be purchased on Nether Street with merit points—won’t be able to get one quickly. If you’re short on points, I can lend you some,” Wen Meng offered, recalling Wang Zhen’s instructions to look after Zhou Bai.

“No need. I’ll earn enough merit myself and have a blade forged on Nether Street. For now, I only want a sheathed long blade, even if it’s mundane,” Zhou Bai answered, declining the offer. Their acquaintance was not particularly deep, and imposing on Wen Meng felt improper.

“Then try the government storeroom. Over the years, Hangdu has executed many criminals; plenty of weapons should have been collected,” Wen Meng suggested.

Killing pigs didn’t accumulate baleful energy as swiftly as killing men. If Zhou Bai’s butcher’s knife had been used for executions, it might have harmed even malignant spirits.

Just in case, since the trip to Mount Yue would keep him away for several days, he wanted a trusty weapon for the road.

With that in mind, Zhou Bai bade Wen Meng farewell. The latter, now at leisure, headed to a teahouse to listen to performances, his duties finally lightened.

Arriving at the government gate, Zhou Bai happened upon Chief Constable Sun, who was about to patrol the streets. Sun looked much improved after several days, though his hectic schedule left him somewhat gaunt.

“Master Zhou… Lord Zhou, is there something you need?” Sun nearly slipped, catching himself in time.

Now, all the locals who knew Zhou Bai were aware of his official status; even the magistrate need not be greeted so formally, and everyone treated him with utmost respect.

Zhou Bai felt a little helpless. He had tried several times to get them to address him casually, but the constables’ reverence for rank was too ingrained. “Chief Sun, is the government storeroom here?”

Sun was perceptive, instantly grasping Zhou Bai’s intention. He hesitated. “Of course, but the supplies and weapons inside—best to consult Magistrate Zhao first…”

“I only wish to see the weapons seized from executed bandits.”

“That can be arranged.” Sun breathed easier and led him to a rather secluded side building.

“Lord Zhou, please search inside as you wish. Over the years, many things have accumulated, and no one has sorted them, so it’s a bit messy. Please forgive the clutter.”

He opened the storeroom door, releasing a musty, moldy smell.

Inside, there was no light. Several wooden racks stood about, piled with miscellaneous items and a thick layer of dust.

“I’ll fetch an oil lamp for you.”

Sun turned to leave, but Zhou Bai stopped him. “No need. My eyesight is good. Just keep watch outside for me—I won’t be long.”

With that, Zhou Bai entered the storeroom.