Chapter Fifty-Six: The Case of the Bloodstained Silver

Daoist Hou was running ahead, with the zombie relentlessly pursuing him. If not for the old man's agility, he would have been caught several times.

Seeing this, Zhou Bai did not rush to attack the ghostly creature. Instead, he glanced up at the surrounding walls and, with a burst of strength, leaped onto the beam.

"Zhou Bai, are you planning to set me up again?!!"

Daoist Hou cried out in panic, the zombie closing in dangerously, his life hanging by a thread.

Just then, a sharp clang rang out.

A hole about a meter wide appeared in one of the walls, sunlight streaming through and flooding most of the room.

Naturally, Zhou Bai had sliced the hole open with his butcher’s blade. The cramped space was unsuitable for battle, so he adapted, letting the sunlight in.

The zombie was exposed to the sunlight, and with Wen Meng’s Sunfire Array in place, the creature’s flesh melted like butter on a hot pan, dissolving visibly.

Zhou Bai wouldn't let such an opportunity slip by. He leaped from the beam, his butcher’s blade flashing coldly in midair.

This time, the blade met no resistance—a large head soared through the air, rolling several times on the ground before coming to a stop. The zombie stared wide-eyed, dying without peace.

Zhou Bai was satisfied; his goal for this trip was achieved. Though only one point was credited to his account, every bit counted. He believed he would soon amass enough points for the demon path techniques.

Daoist Hou, having escaped death, was terrified. He collapsed to the ground, gasping for air—the zombie’s saliva had nearly dripped onto him, illustrating how close he had been to death.

After putting away his butcher’s blade, Zhou Bai suddenly recalled the ghost’s whispered words. Though the voice was faint, he had heard it clearly.

"Daoist Hou, you must have heard it—the zombie spoke just now."

Daoist Hou regained his composure and replied with a blank look, "It seemed to be saying something?"

The two exchanged glances. At that moment, sensing the room was quiet, Wen Meng walked in.

Seeing the odd expressions on Zhou Bai and Daoist Hou’s faces, Wen Meng couldn’t help but ask, "What’s wrong? Did you discover something?"

"I heard the zombie whispering. Do these ghost creatures possess intelligence?" Zhou Bai asked in a grave tone.

"Impossible—even the green zombies are like wild beasts," Daoist Hou shook his head, though his voice lacked conviction. His brief time at Panshan Temple had upended everything he thought he knew about ghosts.

"Are you sure you heard the zombie speak?"

---

"It mentioned silver coins," Zhou Bai recalled carefully. The zombie’s voice had been indistinct, but he caught the gist of it.

Wen Meng fell into thought, then said, "This zombie is already unnatural. The transition from life to death, then to ghostly creature, happened too quickly. Perhaps it was influenced by memories from its former life."

"Let’s not worry about all that. The ghost is dealt with. The mess at Panshan Temple should be left to the authorities," Daoist Hou urged. He felt uneasy staying there—if they lingered until nightfall, would they have to spend the night in the temple?

"Yes, let’s check the feng shui of the backyard and then leave," Wen Meng nodded, leading the two toward the rear courtyard of Panshan Temple.

After winding through several paths, they quickly arrived at a clearing surrounded on three sides by cliffs. The scenery was beautiful, though Panshan Temple had chosen to use it as a cemetery.

Looking around, Zhou Bai saw no trace of dark energy.

Even as an outsider, he could tell the place was open, with no trees blocking sunlight, making it unlikely for any negative energy to accumulate.

Daoist Hou uttered a soft "hmm," examined the area thoroughly, then shook his head, "There's nothing here. No chance for a dark vein. Winter faces the mountain, west faces the water—excellent feng shui. Whoever chose this spot for the temple was skilled."

Panshan Temple had been rebuilt by Monk Sanhuo, whose prowess needed no elaboration. He had slain the Southern Mountain King with ease—among the Ghost Bureau, he would be considered a True Form at least.

It was uncertain, though, how he would react upon returning to Hangzhou from Xuzhou to find the temple he established ruined in a single night.

With no anomaly in the feng shui, the group decided not to linger. They burned the zombie’s remains to ash and made their way down the mountain.

The other monks' bodies would be handled by the authorities. If they had family, they would be claimed; otherwise, to prevent plague, they would be burned in the coming days.

Walking briskly, they arrived at the county office in Hangzhou just as the sun set.

Constable Sun had been waiting for some time, flanked by two officers holding a dazed young monk.

The monk was not old, his body filthy, eyes bloodshot as if he hadn’t slept in days. He chuckled nervously and muttered nonsense.

"Heh heh... hmm... heh... don’t kill... me..."

Zhou Bai’s heart stirred. He hurried forward, laid the monk flat, and seeing his mind was stretched to the limit, struck his neck with a hand chop to knock him out.

Wen Meng took out a bottle of medicine, using his water to help the young monk swallow it.

"Where did this monk come from?"

"He was found near the county office, already half-crazed, muttering gibberish," Constable Sun replied. He had been dealing with Panshan Temple’s affairs for days, dispatching many men to find surviving monks.

Wen Meng nodded slightly, "Take him to the guest room first."

"Yes."

The officers quickly carried the monk away, careful not to move too fast.

The group already felt the Panshan Temple incident was strange; now that they had clues, they didn’t want to let them slip away.

...

On the busy street, a decrepit old beggar covered in sores died in the middle of the road, attracting a few onlookers who soon dispersed.

Life and death were commonplace; the local residents had grown accustomed to such sights—this happened every few days.

Cheng Hu was tending his stall nearby. Though he hustled small goods, life was far less comfortable than before.

Most people in Hangzhou knew these troublemakers, so business was bleak. After several days, his purse was empty, and so was his stomach.

Feeling frustrated, Cheng Hu walked over to the beggar’s corpse and gave it a hard kick, "Blocking the way, ruining my business..."

The beggar’s body shuddered violently, and his tightly clenched hand loosened, letting a bloodstained silver coin fall to the ground.

Cheng Hu froze, then immediately snatched up the coin. Such ill-gotten wealth sparked greed in his heart.

He abandoned his stall, intent on finding a secluded spot to examine the silver coin.

Several stall owners nearby had already noticed Cheng Hu’s strange behavior—they were fellow petty crooks.

These men were burly and rough, exchanging glances and swallowing hard, then chasing after Cheng Hu.