Chapter Fifty-Nine: Let Me Slay the Ghost

The nearest place to them, only a few minutes’ walk away, was a marketplace. By now, dusk was falling, and it was the busiest time of day, packed with people. Zhou Bai swiftly unstrapped the butcher’s blade from his back, gripping the hilt with both hands.

“Chaos has broken out—I’ll go ahead,” he declared.

With a powerful step onto the eaves, he darted toward the marketplace at breakneck speed. Yu Jun’s eyes narrowed slightly. As darkness descended, so did the monsters—there was clearly more to Hangdu’s troubles than met the eye.

“Wang Sheng, go assist Zhou Bai,” Yu Jun ordered.

“Understood.” Wang Sheng prepared to leave at once, but Wen Meng shook his head to stop him. “Zhou Bai may not have reached his true form, but his strength is considerable. With so many spirits plaguing Hangdu tonight, we’d be more effective if we each fight separately.”

Yu Jun’s expression grew subtly thoughtful. If Wen Meng said as much, then she had truly underestimated Zhou Bai. In such a short span, he had grown strong enough to stand alone—a truly remarkable talent.

“Very well. Wang Sheng, Hou Bocheng, each of you take a different location.” She pointed out two distant places. Without delay, Wang Sheng and his companion set off toward their respective destinations.

In just those few minutes, two more ghosts had appeared in Hangdu, both in the densest crowds.

“Senior Wen Meng, I know something of your hidden injuries. If you’re unfit to fight, then stay here at the county yamen with Bai Qi’en,” Yu Jun said. Without waiting for a reply, she began to sprout yellow beast fur all over her body, and within seconds revealed her true form—a three-meter-long leopard—bounding away toward the source of the disturbance.

The crisis was urgent, and though Wen Meng was stationed in Hangdu as an official of the Underworld Registry, he had no wish to sit idly by. Just as he was about to move, Bai Qi’en grabbed his arm.

The boy, though young, possessed extraordinary composure. He pointed to the county yamen. “Right now, it’s most important to inform Magistrate Zhao and deploy the city constables. Only by quelling the chaos swiftly can we save more lives.”

Wen Meng took a deep breath. How easily concern could cloud one’s judgment—he, a grown man, was outdone by a ten-year-old child.

“Qi’en, can your true form heal others?” he asked.

Bai Qi’en nodded, extending an arm as pale as white jade.

A faint demonic aura gathered around him, and then, from every pore, fine green vines began to sprout, growing thicker and longer, quickly spreading out for more than ten meters.

“Demonic art: Ten-Thousand-Fathom Green Vines,” he intoned.

Wen Meng’s pupils contracted—he recognized the boy’s identity. This was a child raised for years in the endless forest, living on fruit and nuts, cultivating to the half-step true form without ever practicing demonic arts. His only flaw was that his supernatural ability was too ordinary. Still, he was a prodigy.

“I’ll notify the yamen at once. Soon the wounded will be brought here in droves. You must do everything you can to heal them,” Wen Meng said.

Bai Qi’en’s face was expressionless. He nodded and leapt off the eaves. When his feet touched the ground, countless roots sprouted from his body, burrowing into the earth to draw sustenance—a sight bizarre to any onlooker.

“Just bring the wounded to me,” he said.

Knowing there was no time to lose, Wen Meng hurried away toward Magistrate Zhao, who, for his part, had already noticed the abnormal events in Hangdu and was preparing to call for Wen Meng as well.

…

The marketplace was a seething mass of chaos—children crying, women screaming—a scene straight from the depths of hell. After supper, the people of Hangdu had a habit of strolling outside, so as dusk fell, hundreds gathered in the street, their stalls lining both sides.

Now, they bitterly regretted their evening outing, especially after encountering something beyond the imagination of ordinary folk. It began with one man, wandering the street in a daze, reeking of filth. The people around him pinched their noses in disgust, some cursing him outright.

Suddenly, the man collapsed, shuddered a few times, and lay still. Before the bystanders could alert the patrolling constables, the body jerked back to life. He made strange guttural sounds, his eyes rolled white, the stench gone but his skin turned a pale purple, as if freshly drowned.

No one realized he had become a zombie. After a few curses, they dismissed him as a dying beggar.

The zombie was jostled into a corner by the crowd, its blank, white eyes fixed unblinkingly on the passersby. As the last rays of sun dipped below the horizon, the creature sprang into action, letting out a guttural snarl as it lunged at the nearest man.

Anyone discerning would have noticed: an ordinary purple zombie could never move so fast, nor could it act while half the sun still hung above the horizon—a deadly taboo for such creatures.

The zombie seized the man’s shoulder, razor-sharp nails slicing into flesh. With a wrench, it tore away a great chunk of meat. Before the agonized victim could scream, the zombie sank its teeth into his neck, not to suck blood but to rip away half his throat.

For a moment, the crowd froze in shock, then scattered like startled birds. Yet in those brief seconds, the zombie’s skin grew paler, its speed increasing—no ordinary person could possibly escape its pursuit.

The street was soon littered with mangled limbs and scattered body parts, the stench of blood choking the air.

Having torn apart one victim, the zombie lunged at another, this time a man whose legs had given way beneath him.

It killed not to feed, but purely to satisfy its lust for slaughter. With every life taken, the hollowness in its monstrous heart eased a little.

When there were no more living souls in sight, the zombie moved to leave, but the sound of quiet sobbing caught its attention.

A little girl, hiding behind a stall, pressed her hands over her mouth. Her parents’ bodies lay not far away. She could restrain herself no longer and let out a whimper.

The moment the zombie sensed a living being, it howled and charged toward the girl, its hideous face twisted in bloodlust, the stench of death upon the wind.

At that instant, a man dropped from the eaves, butcher’s blade in hand, eyes blazing with murderous intent.

The zombie instinctively sensed the threat and halted, fixing its dead, white gaze on the newcomer.

Zhou Bai ignored the creature’s menacing stance and walked toward the little girl. She clung to his leg as though he were the only lifeboat in a storm-tossed sea.

He patted her head, lifted her up, and shielded her with his left arm.

“Close your eyes and count to ten. When you open them… the monster will be slain.”