Chapter Sixty: The Blade Wind Remains

With his next breath, Zhou Bai lunged toward the zombie, his feet stomping down hard on the ground, sending up a cloud of dust as he unleashed a truly astonishing burst of speed. Wielding his blade with just one hand inevitably affected his power, but even so, as he swung, the wind whistled past the edge, echoing with a mournful wail.

A few scrolls and paintings on the nearby stall were shredded into confetti by the force of his strike, swirling around Zhou Bai as he moved. Most of the zombie’s body had already turned a ghastly white; yet as long as it remained a Purple Zombie, it was not yet a real threat.

As expected, the ghostly creature had no chance to dodge Zhou Bai’s sudden attack. Instinct made it twist its body, but the blade’s wind easily tore through the air. Just as the edge was about to fall, Zhou Bai reached out and covered the little girl’s eyes.

In the very next instant, a chunk of flesh was cleanly sliced from the zombie’s shoulder. Enraged, the creature’s pallor spread even faster, its upper body quickly becoming entirely white, and its aura soaring.

But even as it transformed into a White Zombie, what could it do? Could it possibly withstand the blindingly cold gleam of Zhou Bai’s blade?

Another stroke—this time, Zhou Bai’s hand was merciless. Flesh and bone from the zombie’s knee were severed in one blow, causing it to stagger and nearly collapse to the ground.

“Three.”

Zhou Bai circled around the creature, striking again and again—each time shearing off another chunk of meat.

With the power of his Yin-Yang Eyes, the ghost’s movements seemed slowed severalfold, its counterattacks unable to reach him at all.

But as the zombie endured blow after blow, its body continued to shift, the purple hue fading as white crept up from its feet to its head.

“Five.”

At that moment, hearing the commotion in the street, several constables rushed over, their bodies spattered with blood, ready to lend their aid. These unusual zombies were somewhat different from ordinary Purple Zombies, but had not yet surpassed that level; with weapons in hand, the constables could still hold their own for a time.

Among them was Xiao Wu, whose patrol route was nearby. After the recent undead disaster, his face was ashen with fear, and his legs trembled uncontrollably.

As the constables neared the street, the stench of blood grew thicker, until a mist of blood seemed to hang in the very air.

When they arrived and looked from afar, they saw nothing but severed limbs scattered across the ground, and Zhou Bai’s figure moving like the wind, his blade rising and falling.

Time was up.

In the blink of an eye, countless flashes of the blade lit up the street. Even the stone tiles beneath Zhou Bai’s feet were, at some point, etched with deep cuts.

“Ten.”

Holding the slaughter blade at an angle, Zhou Bai stood before the zombie as the last rays of sunset spilled across the ground. Crimson blood trickled down the blade, dripping onto the earth.

The ghostly corpse stood motionless, its entire body riddled with fine cracks from which blood seeped out, quickly pooling at its feet.

With a flick of his wrist, Zhou Bai shook the blood from his blade.

He glanced up at the full moon, then lowered the brim of his bamboo hat to shield his eyes and strode swiftly toward the constables.

He’d barely taken a few steps when a breeze swept by. Behind him, the cracks in the zombie’s body widened, and with a soft sound, it collapsed into a heap of flesh, each piece exactly the same size.

Hurrying over to the stunned constables, Zhou Bai handed the little girl to Xiao Wu, who accepted her, still in a daze.

The little girl, sensible beyond her years, bit her lip to stifle her sobs. Her eyes fixed on Zhou Bai’s face, as if trying to commit his features to memory.

“Leave the rest to the Bureau of Nether Rites.”

With a nod, Zhou Bai vanished in a few swift steps, disappearing at the end of the street.

Staring after him, Xiao Wu couldn’t help but mutter, “So this is the Bureau of Nether Rites?!”

The night wind was cool upon his face as Zhou Bai moved across the rooftops. Hangdu City was in chaos from the sudden outbreak of zombies.

The number of these bizarre creatures continued to increase, but thanks to the Bureau’s intervention, the situation was just barely under control and the lives of ordinary people were preserved.

Those badly wounded by the zombies were rushed by the constables to the county office.

Even under such pressure, Bai Qiu’en’s supernatural abilities were more than enough to handle the tide of casualties. Countless vines extended from his body like slender snakes, winding around the injured. Each vine was covered in tiny, hair-like wooden barbs that could pierce the skin painlessly.

Next, the Ten-Thousand-Fathom Vine technique came into play, using gentle demonic energy to stimulate rapid self-healing.

Zhou Bai’s movements were ghostlike. Although his supernatural strength to bind chickens was of no use here, his foundation in the Five-Animal Frolics ensured his stamina recovered far faster than any ordinary person.

From the rooftops, he could spot the zombies more easily; coupled with the innate advantage of his Yin-Yang Eyes, he quickly tracked down one ghost after another.

As more fell to his blade, his strikes became simpler and more decisive, though none lacked lethality.

To onlookers, it seemed as if only a dark shadow flashed by, and the next moment, a zombie’s head would fall to the ground.

Again and again, the number of zombies slain by Zhou Bai soon exceeded a dozen.

The situation was tenuously suppressed, yet he knew it was not the time to let down his guard. The real culprit—the cursed silver coins—had not yet been found.

Those coins were the source of this sudden disaster, still producing more ghosts without end.

As he slew zombies, Zhou Bai kept a careful watch for any sign of the coins. When he noticed that newly risen zombies were all converging in one place, he set off for that location without hesitation.

He was very familiar with the area—it was at the very edge of the city’s west side, a chaotic district once crowded with gangs before Hangdu’s strict reforms.

Unlike the bustling districts, here there were only rows of old, low houses; from a few short chimneys, wisps of smoke curled into the night.

But the doors stood open, and the place felt deserted. Occasionally, traces of blood or a severed limb could be seen on the ground.

A few stray dogs, noticing his approach, barked loudly, but soon vanished into the silent night.

The closer Zhou Bai drew to his destination, the fewer people he saw. He encountered a few scattered zombies, but they were only Purple Zombies—one sweep of his slaughter blade was enough to reduce them to pieces.

Suddenly, something caught his attention. He turned his head, looking toward a narrow side alley not far away.

There, Wang Sheng was running toward him, panting heavily from exhaustion. For some reason, Daoist Hou was following behind him, his face twisted as if in discomfort, a black donkey hoof in his left hand and a horsetail whisk in his right, cutting a most comical figure.