Aftermath

At a thought from Qin Sang, Yanwang, who had been hiding outside, flew in. He looked at Qin Sang with fearful eyes before sinking into the Yanluo Banner.

The banner surface shifted, and Yanwang's image reappeared.

Qin Sang ordered him to come out. The banner warped, and Yanwang floated out of the Yanluo Banner once more, standing solemnly before Qin Sang with utmost obedience.

Qin Sang knew Yanwang feared the Jade Buddha, not him, but he did not care. Recalling the words he had just seen, he commanded, "Bring me a Soul Pill."

Yanwang's eyes abruptly turned scarlet, and a vicious expression flashed across his face before vanishing. Reluctantly, he opened his mouth and spat out a mass of black qi. The qi swiftly condensed into a Soul Pill the size of a longan. Qin Sang caught it in his hand; his palm turned ice-cold.

Looking at Yanwang again, Qin Sang saw that after spitting out the Soul Pill, his figure flickered and wavered, as though he had grown weaker.

Suppressing his eagerness, he ordered Yanwang to return. After straightening the disordered bedding, he sat cross-legged and activated his cultivation technique while holding the Yanluo Banner and the Soul Pill.

Just as the text had said, the moment the technique began to circulate, Qin Sang immediately sensed the difference. After one full circulation, the improvement far surpassed what he had achieved before—stronger even than the medicinal baths.

After his delight came worry. The text had made it clear: if he wanted more Soul Pills in the future, he would have to make Yanwang devour human souls or Yin Sha Qi.

How was Qin Sang supposed to know what Yin Sha Qi was? Did he truly have to become a murderous Demon Lord?

A faint glimmer of light came from beyond the window. Qin Sang sighed inwardly and lay down without removing his clothes. He decided not to think about those troubles for now. Turning his awareness inward, he roamed endlessly through his body as though he had acquired a fascinating new toy.

When he finally returned to where his soul resided, the layer of yellow light still remained around it, but the Buddha's shadow was gone.

Too much had happened that night. His emotions had risen and fallen wildly, and it had felt longer than an entire year.

Morning soon arrived. Qin Sang pretended nothing had happened and got up as usual to light the fire, practice martial arts, and perform his morning lessons. Only at noon did he pretend to discover Old Wu's death, calling the old Daoist over with a face full of panic.

As expected, Daoist Master Jixin found no suspicious signs. He could only conclude that Old Wu had spent every day hauling boats, worked himself beyond exhaustion, depleted the vital essence within his body, and died from a convulsion in his sleep.

Among Old Wu's belongings was a dagger for self-defense and several taels of silver. When the old Daoist told Qin Sang to report the matter to the authorities, Qin Sang added some money to buy a thick coffin. He asked the residents of the Daoist temple to help prepare Old Wu's body and belongings, found a burial plot in the back mountain, and buried him that very day.

Old Wu had no living relatives, so the funeral was kept simple. Only the old Daoist recited several scrolls of scripture for him. Qin Sang crouched before the grave and burned a whole basin of paper money. In a low voice, he said, "Old Wu, go down there and live a good life. Someday, I'll find you a boy and adopt him into your line, so he can carry on the Wu family's incense and bloodline. Then you can rest with your eyes closed."

Though the killer had been an evil ghost, it had arisen because of his recklessness. He had luckily retrieved his life beneath the Jade Buddha's protection, yet Old Wu had become the scapegoat who died in his place.

Qin Sang shook his head and sighed without end.

Some relatives still mourned, while others had already begun to sing.

In these times, death was far too common. By that evening, the atmosphere in the Daoist temple had returned to normal.

But for Qin Sang, another troubling matter arose that night. He discovered that after the Netherworld Scripture reached the second layer, the medicinal bath's aid to cultivation had become negligible. His plan to cultivate using Soul Pills together with medicinal baths had completely gone down the drain.

Unfortunately, Daoist Master Jixin had no similar prescription either.

In the blink of an eye, another seven days passed. After being consumed over those days, nearly half of the Soul Pill was gone. By his calculations, one Soul Pill could only last around twenty days.

That afternoon, with nothing happening at the Daoist temple, Qin Sang and Mingyue slipped out again to feast.

The bamboo grove was quiet and secluded. The two crouched beside an earthen stove, tending the fire. Beside them lay four cleaned rabbits and several plump birds.

Qin Sang no longer needed traps to find food. With nothing but wooden sticks and pebbles, he never missed. So long as it moved, not a single creature could escape his grasp, making Mingyue deeply envious.

With wine and meat, the two leaned against a rock and listened to the rustling wind. They were utterly content. Qin Sang suddenly felt that if he had never encountered immortals, spending his whole life here would not have been so bad.

Mingyue tore off a rabbit leg with his teeth, took a swig of wine, then another bite of meat. Since practicing martial arts with Qin Sang, he had not only grown taller, but his appetite and capacity for drink had grown as well.

Mingyue suddenly sat upright, his ears twitching. Perplexed, he asked, "Senior Brother, why do I hear pigeons?"

"I've heard them several times too," Qin Sang said indifferently. "Maybe some temple on the front mountain keeps them. Pigeons are highly nourishing. When I'm in the mood, I'll catch a few and let you taste pigeon soup."

Mingyue shrank his neck and giggled. "Just don't let their owner catch you, or Master will scold us."

Qin Sang said disdainfully, "You still don't trust my skills?"

After eating and drinking their fill, night was approaching. The two senior and junior brothers returned to the Daoist temple together. Once they had finished their evening lessons, each went back to his room.

As usual, once Qin Sang had straightened his bed, he held the Soul Pill and Yanluo Banner in hand. Before cultivating, he touched the Ebony Sword against his chest. Compared to the Yanluo Banner, what interested him more was still the Ebony Sword. Yet whenever the qi within his body entered the Ebony Sword, it was like a stone sinking into the sea, drawing no response whatsoever. Even the Yanluo Banner's incantation was useless against it. There was nothing he could do but sigh.

The moonlit night was still, broken only by the long and short chirps of insects beneath the windowsill.

Qin Sang was cultivating with complete focus when his expression suddenly changed. He opened his eyes and shouted, "Who's there!"

His gaze swept around before locking tightly onto the corner of the wall.

Then the darkness in that corner stirred. A black shadow emerged from it—a person dressed in night clothes!

"Who are you?"

Qin Sang was alarmed. Someone had actually slipped into his room without a sound.

His hearing was exceptionally sharp. Only when that person entered had he caught a trace of unusual wind and been startled awake. Otherwise, the intruder might have approached right beside him without being discovered.

Who was this person? What did he want by sneaking into his room? Could his secret have been exposed?

A hundred thoughts raced through Qin Sang's mind as his hand quietly reached for the Yanluo Banner on the bed.

The black-clad man stood leisurely in the room, showing not the slightest panic at having been discovered. Even in the dim room, his eyes were incomparably sharp. Qin Sang felt as if two blades were scraping across his body, chilling him to the bone.

The man in black examined Qin Sang with some surprise. "Tsk, tsk... I never expected a Daoist in this broken temple to possess the eyesight to see through my movement technique. So Old Wu died by your hand?"

Old Wu's death was Qin Sang's greatest burden. He had believed his arrangements afterward were flawless, yet a stranger had suddenly exposed it. Qin Sang's heart jolted, and his eyes narrowed slightly.

"So it really was you?"

The black-clad man narrowed his eyes. Terrifying killing intent erupted from his gaze in an instant as he said coldly, "Old Wu reported that there were only two young Daoists in this temple who knew a little fist-and-foot martial arts, nothing to worry about. Who would have thought even he would capsize in the gutter! Boy, I'm very curious just who you are. Even a Jiangshan Tower assassin fell into your trap!"

Qin Sang had not expected the black-clad man to be so perceptive. He had revealed only the slightest flaw, yet the man had caught it. At the same time, he found it strange. From this man's words, Old Wu had not been an ordinary person either. Could his identity as a boat hauler have been fake?

Old Wu had lurked in the Daoist temple for half a year. What had been his purpose?

"I don't know what you're talking about!"

Qin Sang lowered his voice and flatly denied it. "Old Wu died from exhaustion after hauling boats at the ferry every day. It had nothing to do with me! There wasn't a single wound on his body. If you don't believe me, go dig up the coffin and examine the corpse!"