Chapter Thirty-Seven: The Bar in the Night Market

What exactly is the Human King Sword? I certainly had no idea, and Wang Sheng looked just as confused as he gazed at Xuan Yinsha. Only Uncle Mao nodded knowingly, a sly grin spreading across his face as he said, “Heh, you guessed right. The Human King Sword was personally forged by the Human King Fuxi himself. Thousands of years ago, he gifted it to the Daoist Ancestor of the Southern Mao Clan, and it has been passed down through generations of the Southern Mao family ever since. Only a true fated one can fully awaken its power. What I unleashed just now was but one ten-millionth of its might!”

Xuan Yinsha fell silent, simply standing at the doorway of the small house, until at last Uncle Mao gave him a swift kick, sending him tumbling inside.

Though Xuan Yinsha was now just a puppet, if the puppet left the ghostly body, the mastermind controlling him from behind the scenes would lose fifty years of his lifespan. Clearly, the one pulling the strings was not willing to give up so easily; those fifty years must mean a great deal to him.

Yet keeping Xuan Yinsha bound to Liu Jing’s ghostly body was no solution either. Uncle Mao paced anxiously around the room. Suddenly, he slapped his forehead and exclaimed, “Damn, there’s still a living person waiting for rescue in the basement. Wang Sheng, go fetch a talisman and seal the ghost fiend into a jar. Let’s hold onto that puppet-master’s fifty years of life for now and see what tricks he tries next.”

Wang Sheng grunted his assent, grabbed a talisman, and with a mischievous grin approached Xuan Yinsha. Realizing what was about to happen, Xuan Yinsha wailed and begged for mercy, even attempting to escape with what little power she still possessed. But with me—the first generation King of Demon Corpses—standing right there, what chance did she have? She was easily lured into the jar by Wang Sheng’s talisman.

When I saw Wang Sheng sealing the jar, the whole scene reminded me of those classic moments in TV shows where Master Lam Ching-ying captured ghosts—the legendary master himself.

Wang Sheng was a little clumsy with his actions, but he managed to seal Xuan Yinsha nonetheless. Watching her howl and cry from inside the jar, both Wang Sheng and I felt a sense of satisfaction.

Down in the basement, Uncle Mao was already performing a ritual for Zhou Runfa. As he worked, he said to Wang Sheng, “Watch carefully, boy. This technique will be useful to you in the future. In this era, being a yin-yang master is no easy task, but remember, our purpose is to slay demons and defend the innocent, to draw our swords when we see injustice.”

Wang Sheng responded with a quiet “Mm,” watching Uncle Mao as he performed the ritual, soon falling into a silent reverie. It was as if Wang Sheng’s entire being was drawn into Uncle Mao’s world of ritual. In this room, it felt as if only Uncle Mao truly existed, his voice chanting incantations as he moved; Wang Sheng and I were like lifeless puppets, standing by, watching him dance and gesture.

To the uninitiated, Uncle Mao’s every movement might have seemed comical, but to my eyes, each gesture shimmered with a golden aura of magic. Perhaps only monsters and spirits could see the true legacy of Maoshan Daoist arts!

I watched as Uncle Mao bit his finger and pressed it to Zhou Runfa’s forehead, intoning, “Great Elder Lord, by urgent decree!” Almost immediately, Zhou Runfa underwent a dramatic transformation.

From his blackened skin oozed a viscous, purplish-black liquid—utterly revolting. In less than half an hour, Zhou Runfa was enveloped in that tar-like substance.

After a whole night’s labor, Zhou Runfa finally drifted into a groggy consciousness as dawn broke. Uncle Mao, utterly exhausted, collapsed onto the bed and immediately fell into a deep sleep.

Yet today, Zhou Runfa was supposed to have classes, but in his condition, there was no way he could return to teach. I had no choice but to ask for his signature on a leave slip to submit to the principal on his behalf.

I told Wang Sheng I was heading out, then caught a bus straight to the academy.

Upon arrival, I handed Zhou Runfa’s leave note to the principal. The principal was a kindly middle-aged man, always dignified and warm, treating students as his own children. He simply nodded and said, “Sigh… it’s all right. With everything that’s happened lately, it’s impossible for classes to go on as usual. Let Professor Zhou rest and recover.”

I had nothing further to say, so I murmured my assent and left the office. As I exited, I noticed a police cordon about a hundred meters ahead—the very spot where I’d battled the Nine Heavens Ghost Fiend yesterday.

Approaching, I saw a deep, human-shaped crater, with large pools of fresh blood staining the scene—an unsettling sight.

Taking it all in, I could more or less piece together what had happened yesterday. Clearly, trouble had found its way here.

There were no classes scheduled for today. After over a decade of schooling, today felt strangely empty and meaningless. My thoughts drifted to A Shuang; Old Ma probably hadn’t returned yet.

But as much as I tried not to, I couldn’t help thinking of her. Even though A Shuang was so annoyed by me and I’d likely be scolded if I showed up, I still couldn’t let her be alone. I decided to secretly follow her home that evening.

So the day passed with me burying myself in my books. At last, I saw A Shuang pass by the classroom window. It was already late afternoon, dusk not far off.

I quickly gathered my things and followed her, keeping a steady ten meters behind. She never once noticed me.

When A Shuang reached home, I didn’t dare follow her inside. Instead, I bought a window seat at the snack shop downstairs and sat there until after eight in the evening.

By then, I was half-numb, my legs and backside no longer my own. I’d never watched over anyone like this before—who knew protecting someone could be so exhausting? Just as I was about to give up and leave, A Shuang emerged from the building.

Once again, at the same time and in the same manner, she went out. I couldn’t help but wonder if she was still meeting with the Duke. My curiosity compelled me to follow once more.

But this time, A Shuang didn’t head to her usual rendezvous with the Duke. Instead, she went to the night market in Z City—a chaotic place, ideal for both commoners and the wealthy to seek amusement.

I followed her into a bar—my first time ever in such a place. I was nervous, worried that a single misstep would make me look ridiculous.

Fortunately, most patrons wore masquerade masks, so no one could truly see anyone’s face.

I picked up a mask, placed it over my face, and, imitating what I’d seen on TV, leaned against the bar and said, “Bartender, give me a cocktail!”

A strikingly alluring female bartender began to mix my drink right in front of me, saying as she worked, “Sir, from your accent it sounds like this is your first time here?”

Her words made me marvel at her memory. With hundreds or even thousands of customers passing through daily, she could still guess that I was new here. I found myself intrigued.

Seeing I didn’t respond, she chuckled and said, “I’m the manager here—call me Aunt Fei, or just Fei Fei. But let me warn you: don’t bother that girl over there. I can sense some subtle connection between the two of you.” As she spoke, she gestured to my side.

I followed her gaze. The girl sitting there without a mask—wasn’t that A Shuang?

I forced a smile and said, “I won’t bother her, but would it be all right if I just spoke with her for a moment?”

Once Aunt Fei gave her approval, I picked up two cocktails and walked over to A Shuang. My stride was nothing short of elegant, and I could hear Aunt Fei chuckling behind me. I had a pretty good idea what she found so amusing.

…