The Pinnacle of the Cultivation World's Saps

What Shen Hui hadn't expected was that even a small county like Qu County had city walls.

Though they were rammed earth, with some sections collapsed into gaps, they were still walls after all.

But recalling that Yongchang Commandery sat on the frontier, Shen Hui quickly let it go.

The city gate was open—two thick wooden planks nailed with iron sheeting. In the gate tunnel sat two yamen runners with crooked hats. When they spotted Chen Shou, they scrambled to their feet, bowing and scraping.

The street wasn't wide. Shops lined up one after another: cloth sellers, blacksmiths, pastry vendors, and a tavern with red lanterns hanging out front.

"First, to Zhou's Tailor Shop," the old Daoist said.

Chen Shou immediately led them into an alley, twisting and turning until they stopped before a shop.

An old plaque hung above the door. Pushing it open, the smell of paste and fabric hit them square in the face.

A gaunt old man was bent over a table cutting cloth. He looked up, saw Chen Shou, and quickly set down his shears. His gaze landed on the old Daoist beside him, and his eyes lit up.

"Aiyo, Daoist Ji Chen..."

The old Daoist nodded, a trace of a smile on his face. He raised a hand and pointed at Shen Hui.

"Take his measurements. Make him a Daoist robe and a pair of Cloud Shoes."

The old man nodded in acknowledgment, deftly grabbed a measuring tape, and came over.

"And this Daoist is..."

"My disciple," the old Daoist said, then added, "my final disciple."

Old Zhou looked a bit puzzled—he felt he'd heard those words many years ago.

But he had the sense not to pry. He just nodded, circled Shen Hui twice, and measured him from head to toe.

When he finished, the old man pulled out several bolts of cloth from a cabinet, laid them on the table, and introduced each one.

"This is fine linen—cheaper, two hundred coppers. This is cotton damask, four hundred coppers. This is high-grade plain silk, one tael of silver. And this is Tonghua Cloth and brocade satin..."

The old Daoist pointed at the bolt of Tonghua Cloth. "Use this."

Shen Hui leaned in for a look. The fabric was tightly woven, its color warm and luster soft. When he touched it, it felt smooth and slippery—far superior to the coarse cloths beside it.

Old Zhou nodded in agreement, then asked, "What pattern should the robe have? Cloud-and-thunder? Eight Trigrams? Mountains-and-seas? Flowers-and-grass?"

The old Daoist looked at Shen Hui. Shen Hui had no knowledge in this area, so he answered casually.

"Cloud-and-thunder."

"Right away!"

The old Daoist pulled a silver ingot from his sleeve and set it on the table.

Old Zhou quickly waved his hands. "Too much, too much. It doesn't need this much."

The old Daoist didn't respond to that. He only said, "Use the rest to make the robe well."

Then he pulled out a Small Gold Bar, weighed it in his hand, snapped off a piece, and placed it on the table.

"Weave some gold thread into the cuffs—flat thread, not round. The rest is your fee."

Shen Hui stared in astonishment. He clearly hadn't expected his own master to be such a spendthrift, putting so much money into a single robe.

If this were among those dandy young men who prized finery, it would probably count as top-tier extravagance.

Old Zhou, however, was all smiles. He expertly offered a thousand thanks, patted his chest, and promised to finish it within ten days.

Seeing this, Shen Hui couldn't help but ask in a low voice, "Master, this Old Zhou is..."

"He used to be a weaver in the Daoist Registry."

Shen Hui understood.

The Daoist Registry was the office that managed the registers of all Daoists and the names of temples nationwide. A weaver who worked there naturally had skills no ordinary tailor could match.

But still, this was too expensive...

When they left the tailor shop, the sky was already darkening. Chen Shou was about to lead them toward the county yamen when a commotion suddenly broke out at the alley mouth.

A few people had gathered on the street, arguing noisily.

Shen Hui craned his neck to look. It was two ruffian types squatting on the ground, throwing dice, with a broken wine jar lying beside them.

A young man in short clothes was arguing with them, his face red and his neck bulging.

One of the ruffians stood up and shoved the young man. Then he turned and spotted Shen Hui watching, assuming he was about to meddle.

He was about to bark at him when his eyes landed on the old Daoist beside Shen Hui, the county magistrate, and the two yamen runners in black uniforms.

The two ruffians froze for a moment, then fear crept onto their faces.

County Magistrate Chen Shou stared at them expressionlessly, his tone icy. "Blind fools. Get lost."

The ruffians' faces went pale, and they scrambled away on all fours.

The county yamen was in the north of the city—gray tiles, white walls, and two stone lions in front. One was missing an ear, the other had no tail.

When they reached it, the two yamen runners stopped.

The tall, thin one adjusted his waist knife and took his place to the left of the gate. The short, stocky one planted his spear on the ground and stood to the right.

One on the left, one on the right, each planted there like a pair of door gods.

Only, these two door gods had somewhat shabby clothes and rather casual stances.

One half-leaned against the doorframe, swaying as if about to collapse.

The other rested all his weight on his spear, looking like he might slide down at any moment.

Shen Hui couldn't hold it in this time and finally laughed out loud.

Entering the yamen, several people stood inside.

At the head was a forty-something official, wearing a green silk official robe, a silver belt around his waist, and a flared-foot hat. His face was pale and slightly plump—this was Magistrate Wang Jin.

Behind him stood two men in blue robes, one a Chief Clerk and the other a Magistrate Secretary, both in their fifties, faces creased with smiles.

Wang Jin stepped forward, cupped his hands, and said, "Daoist Ji Chen, we've finally been blessed with your arrival."

The Old Taoist returned the greeting, and Wang Jin turned to Shen Hui: "And this is..."

"My disciple, Qingxuan."

Shen Hui performed a bow.

Wang Jin looked him up and down, nodded with a smile, and led them inside.

Entering the second hall, two people were already seated.

Shen Hui swept his gaze over them without changing expression.

By the window sat a middle-aged scholar, wearing a gray cloth long gown, a folding fan in his hand that he kept waving, his expression arrogant.

One had to remember that it was barely past the first month of the year, the spring chill still biting, and the man's lips were already turning purple—yet he kept fanning himself without pause.

Shen Hui silently pasted a mental yellow paper on the man, inscribed with two large characters: Poseur.

He looked at the other person.

That was a fat, large monk, wearing a gray monastic robe, a string of fist-sized prayer beads around his neck, sitting with his eyes closed in meditation.

Wang Jin introduced them: "This is Scholar Li, well-versed in yin-yang arts and numerology; this is Monk Faming, from Wan'an Temple."

Then he turned to the two of them: "And this is Daoist Ji Chen from Clear Wind Temple—no need for me to introduce him further."

The Old Taoist cupped his hands to everyone, then found a chair and sat down.

Wang Jin personally poured tea for them all, then cleared his throat: "Gentlemen, over the past half year, many matters have piled up in the county. This official is incompetent, so I must ask you all for help."

Scholar Li, waving his fan, spoke first: "Magistrate, no need to be so polite. Speak freely."

Wang Jin sighed, pulled a sheet of paper from his sleeve, and unfolded it: "The first matter is the Liu Family Old Residence east of the city. That house has been empty for seven or eight years. Starting last August, crying could be heard at night. Several neighboring families were so frightened they moved away. Some say it's the ghost of Old Madam Liu, others say it's fox spirits causing trouble."

"The second matter is Widow Wang's grave south of the city. Three days after burial, scratching sounds came from inside the coffin. When they opened it, the corpse had turned over, its fingernails all ground down to the quick, and scratch marks were on the coffin lid. The coroner said it was a reanimated corpse, but the body didn't look like one."

"The third matter is three missing children from Xu Family Village to the north. All disappeared at night. Some say they saw a dark shadow, some say they heard a child crying, but no one saw clearly what it was."

"The fourth matter..."

He paused, lowering his voice: "At the White Water River ferry, before the new year, a water ghost appeared. A boatman ferrying at midnight saw a woman in white standing in the middle of the river. She vanished in the blink of an eye. The next day, the boatman went mad. He's still lying in bed at home."

"The fifth matter is the one this official finds most troubling. The bandits on Cat Ridge robbed a group of merchants on Bonan Road before the new year, killed three people, and stole two hundred taels of silver. The county doesn't have enough men. We begged the prefecture, and they said they'd send people when spring came. But now spring is almost here—if we don't act, something else is bound to happen."

Magistrate Wang sighed heavily and continued:

"The sixth matter is the theft of corpses from the Righteous Mortuary. The mortuary is west of the city, next to the mass grave. It held some unclaimed bodies and travelers who died far from home. Then one day..."

"The seventh matter is something digging up corpses at the mass grave outside the city—this is connected to the mortuary theft. On the twenty-third of the twelfth month last year, a woodcutter got up early to chop firewood. Passing the mass grave, he saw a fresh grave dug open, the coffin lid tossed aside..."

He finished speaking, his gaze sweeping across everyone's faces.

Scholar Li waved his fan and spoke slowly: "As for the Liu Family Old Residence, This Humble One has been to see it. There is indeed some yin qi. But the house has poor feng shui and has been neglected for years. Some strange noises are only natural. This Humble One suggests inviting Monk Faming to perform a ritual there first—suppress it, and it should be fine."

Monk Faming opened his eyes: "Amitabha. This humble monk would rather go see Widow Wang's grave. The corpse turning over, the nails ground down—this is an omen of great misfortune. If not handled properly, it might truly reanimate."

Everyone spoke in turn, but the Old Taoist remained silent the whole time.

Wang Jin waited a moment, then couldn't help asking: "What does the Daoist think?"

The Old Taoist set down his tea cup: "One at a time. Let's go see the Liu Family Old Residence first."

Scholar Li's expression shifted slightly, and the hand waving his fan paused.

Wang Jin probed: "Daoist, you must be tired from the journey. Why not rest for a night and go tomorrow?"

"Tonight will do."

"Then... would you like to have a meal first?"

"I'll eat when I get back."

Wang Jin nodded and stood up: "I'll have someone prepare lanterns right away."

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