Chapter Eighteen: The Search

The flames formed by the true energy surged like a wildfire, burning away every strand of hair without a trace. Fang Mu emerged slowly from the smoke, holding the Ghostbane Dagger in his hand.

"Die, die, die..."

Once more, black hair sprouted from the crown of the woman in the blue dress, growing rapidly and lashing toward Fang Mu. The only difference was that the previously scorched portions of her scalp remained bald.

A thread of true energy erupted within Fang Mu, and the Ghostbane Dagger swept out again and again, endless bursts of firelight igniting in the air, weaving a dense, radiant net. The moment the black hair touched the firelight, it dissolved into drifting smoke.

After consuming the strange potion, the black hair no longer grew quickly enough to keep up with Fang Mu’s relentless cutting. He advanced steadily, the Ghostbane Dagger flashing as he walked slowly toward the corpse in blue. Though his pace was unhurried, nothing could hinder him now. The hair could no longer threaten him. Closer and closer he came, and as he reached the corpse’s side, the Ghostbane Dagger split into five afterimages, stabbing with precision at the woman’s five vital points.

A wretched, piercing wail burst from her lips as a pale mist rose from her body. All that remained was a single lock of hair, which crumbled to ash.

"Trying to escape? You can’t run."

Last time, after obtaining true energy, he had seen a faint shadow fleeing; this time, it was a thread of true energy, and Fang Mu saw clearly the path the blue-clad corpse took in her attempt to escape. From his perspective, only a lock of hair remained, while the rest of the black tresses tried to surge through the doorway.

Supernatural in hair, haunted by hair!

Fang Mu gathered true energy at his feet, reached the temple’s entrance in a flash, and blocked the way. The Ghostbane Dagger, ablaze with red light, lashed out five times in quick succession, cleanly severing every strand before him.

The corpse’s anguished screams echoed from the hair; as it dwindled, the cries grew weaker, until finally all fell silent.

The ancestral hall was still.

"It’s over," Fang Mu whispered.

The cold, despairing gaze was now gone. Retrieving the Ghostbane Dagger, he cast a glance inside. The other villagers were all dead, save for a single infant in swaddling clothes, still alive.

Fang Mu approached, reaching down to pick up the child. The baby was wailing, unsure whether from hunger or from the chill of death that had filled the hall.

"Time to go," Fang Mu thought.

Everything was done. It was time to return to the county office—and as for the infant in his arms, he’d leave that to the officials.

Leaving the ancestral hall, Fang Mu did not immediately depart. Instead, his gaze fell on a tree not far away.

Several strange birds perched on the crooked-neck tree, their eerie eyes fixed on Fang Mu, blue light flickering within their gaze.

Fang Mu walked to the tree and looked up. He’d seen these birds before at the mass grave, where they had stared unblinkingly at the blue-dressed corpse; but at the time, he’d paid them little heed.

Now, it seemed, they were not ordinary birds.

"A peddler, is it?" Fang Mu suddenly spoke. "Are you behind all this?"

The mysterious peddler had appeared several times, providing the blue-clad corpse with that strange potion; the information he’d gathered suggested the peddler had already come to Jinglong County.

The blue light vanished from the birds’ eyes. Their bodies stiffened, and one by one, they fell lifeless from the crooked tree.

Fang Mu checked them but found nothing unusual—their bodies were already stiff and cold.

"Most likely the work of the peddler..."

After searching around and finding nothing else, Fang Mu left Brook Village behind.

...

At Jinglong County Office.

Fang Mu handed the baby to Magistrate Yu and recounted what had occurred in Brook Village. Of course, he altered some details—by the time he arrived, the massacre had already taken place. How the matter would proceed was now up to the county authorities.

Returning home, Fang Mu sat on his bed, studying the thread of true energy within him. It now flowed naturally, stronger than ever before. As Qing Ruo Wu had said, when the critical moment came, the way forward would reveal itself.

Fang Mu wondered if the next breakthrough required reversing the flow of this energy—but for now, he lacked the means. He could circulate the energy as he wished, but could not make it flow backward.

After some time, Fang Mu set the matter aside. Night had grown deep, and with important business on the morrow, he spread the true energy throughout his body to remain alert, then drifted into a deep sleep.

...

The next morning, after breakfast outside, Fang Mu made his way to the county office.

At the gate, two constables stood guard, yawning. When they saw Fang Mu, they greeted him.

"Here," Fang Mu said, handing them a pouch of buns. "You haven’t eaten yet, have you? Help yourselves."

The constables thanked him, accepting the food. They were old acquaintances, and Fang Mu was fairly well known in the county office—being the only coroner in Jinglong County.

Fang Mu approached one of the constables, asking casually, "How did things go yesterday?"

"You mean the Brook Village case?" The man looked blank for a moment, then remembered. "The magistrate sent constables there overnight, but they found nothing."

At this, the other constable chimed in, "These are troubled times. I suspect something unclean was behind it. The villagers were strangled by black hair, without a sign of struggle."

"Let’s not talk about it," the first constable said, shivering as though recalling a taboo. "The magistrate’s already read your autopsy report—matches what the constables found exactly."

Fang Mu grunted in acknowledgment. There was little more they could uncover; after all, it was no human crime, but something unnatural. The ghost was already slain—it would remain an unsolved case.

He glanced back at them. "Have any peddlers come to Jinglong County lately? I hear there’s all sorts of curious things from outside—I’d like to have a look."

This, in truth, was the main reason for his visit. He’d heard at the mass grave that the constables had gone there because of a peddler’s report.

"You mean the peddler? What bad luck," the constable replied sourly.

"Why? Was his merchandise no good?"

"Oh, it was good—just useless for the living."

"Useless for the living?"

"Exactly!" the constable said mysteriously. "Everything he sold was for the dead—incense, candles, paper effigies. I went to have a look myself, out of curiosity, and had to wash my hands afterwards."

Fang Mu stroked his chin. Goods for the dead—it certainly sounded odd, and so brazen at that. What was this fellow really up to in Jinglong County?

"Where is this peddler now?" Fang Mu asked.

"No idea," the constable shrugged. "He also said some very strange things at the time..."