Ghost Bat

In Suian City, the bustling streets were crowded with people, filled with a deafening roar of noise. At the end of this long thoroughfare, inside a tavern, several visiting merchants sat drinking tea to rest their feet, listening with great relish to a storyteller.

The storyteller, dressed in a green gown, cleared his throat, slammed his wooden gavel heavily onto the table, and began: "That 'Single Blade Remnant God,' Master Yan the Second, took advantage of his drunken stupor to ascend Four Peaks Mountain. The eighteen bowls of wine in his belly began to take effect, and, swaying unsteadily, he walked to the edge of a tangled forest and lay down upon a large blue boulder, just about to drift off. Suddenly, a wild gale whipped up, and with a 'thwack' from behind the chaotic trees, a one-horned, red-eyed Mountain Demon leaped out."

"Look, this Mountain Demon's eyes were as wide as copper bells. Master Yan the Second let out a cry of 'Ah!', rolled off the boulder, and hurriedly snatched up his eighty-pound Deep Water Cold Beauty Blade."

Perhaps reaching the climax, the storyteller's face was animated and dancing with excitement, his spittle flying everywhere.

"This shock sobered Master Yan the Second, and all the wine he had just consumed turned into cold sweat and broke out on his skin. He hurriedly dragged his blade and dodged, landing right behind the Mountain Demon..."

At this moment, someone in the corner couldn't help but let out a scoff. The man was a middle-aged scholar dressed in a Confucian robe.

"Ping Jinzhi, how is this 'Master Yan the Second Slays the Demon on Four Peaks Mountain'? This is clearly from the book Chronicles of Northern Yan, the chapter about Master Wu the Second, one of the Thirty-Six Great Bandits, titled 'Wu Xiongying Slays the Tiger on Clear Wind Ridge.' The content is just old wine in a new bottle—the same soup with a different name!"

"Bang!"

At a nearby table, a man dressed in military uniform slammed his hand down hard.

"I knew it! Yan the Second of the Long Wind Society isn't made of iron. He's a man of the pugilistic world, not a soldier who needs to ride into battle. Why would he use some nine-foot-five-inch, eighty-pound Deep Water Cold Beauty Blade? Is that something a human can even handle?"

The man, likely having had too much to drink, stood up, his bloodshot eyes glaring fixedly at the storyteller.

"Besides, that horse-chopping saber of Yan the Second isn't a great guandao. It weighs no more than six or seven pounds and is only seven feet long; it requires two hands to wield. In the martial arts world, that's called a long-handled saber... You storytellers, you've never seen a real blade or real skill, you only know how to make things up. It's one thing to spout nonsense to commoners, but you're blowing hot air and bragging in front of your grandfather..."

The soldier reeked of alcohol as he cursed, spewing profanities, and threw his cup.

The storyteller narrowly avoided being hit in the head, his face pale with nerves. He waved his hands at the man, urging him urgently.

"Sir, I'm just trying to earn a living. Why must you hold it against me..."

"It's you scoundrels I'm cursing! Always wagging your tongues, you bastards! I'll teach you to spout nonsense."

The soldier balled his fists, ready to strike, but was immediately held back by his companions, who forced him to drink a few more cups to stop him from causing trouble.

The storyteller, exposed for his fabrication, looked embarrassed and could only cover his face and retreat.

Though he was gone, the others in the tavern remained just as interested. One by one, they leaned in, avoiding the group of soldiers, and lowered their voices to discuss the matter.

"The Long Wind Society may have collapsed, but Yan the Second has certainly made a name for himself..."

"Hasn't he?"

Someone laughed. "The Ren Family put up a ten-thousand-tael bounty. It's common knowledge that Yan the Second walked into the city carrying the head of that Mountain Demon."

"A ten-thousand-tael bounty?"

A man at the next table gave a scornful sneer.

"I just don't know if this Yan the Second will ever see that money."

"What do you mean by that, sir? Who in Suian City doesn't know that the young master of the Ren Family is a man of his word? Yan the Second walked into the city with the Mountain Demon's head; everyone saw it. Could it be fake?"

A round-faced, slightly chubby man looked displeased.

The head of the Ren Family, He Ping, came from the main branch and managed all the family's businesses. After taking control, he began to recruit retainers and treat scholars with courtesy.

Usually, the He Mansion kept its doors wide open. Regardless of whether they were from the three religions or nine schools, street urchins, or petty thieves, anyone short of money or struggling to survive could receive a meal at the He Mansion, and in the end, even receive a sum of silver to help them out.

At first, others laughed at the new head of the Ren Family, calling him a fool with too much money to burn. But as time passed, everyone realized that anyone who sought help from He Ping was supported to the best of his ability. He was truly generous with his wealth, never refusing a request for money or goods. He specialized in resolving disputes, regularly distributing medicine and porridge, relieving the poor, and helping those in distress.

His righteousness and generosity earned him growing fame, and the young master of the Ren Family was generally held in high regard in Suian City. Even those who didn't like his ways wouldn't say so to his face, lest they offend those who had benefited from He Ping's help and spark a conflict.

"Hey, brother, I'm not speaking ill of Young Master He."

The man paused, then quickly corrected himself: "It's just that times have changed. You probably don't know yet, but the young master of the Ren Family went on that trip to Four Peaks Mountain as well, and he is still missing. The person currently in charge of the Ren Family is not the eldest grandson of the main branch, but He Jin from the side branch."

"He Jin?"

The crowd, previously engaged in high-minded discussion, looked at each other in confusion; the name was entirely unfamiliar.

"He Jin is from the side branch, a sort of uncle to the young master. The young master hasn't been found yet, and while the Ren Family is keeping the news quiet and sending people into the mountains to search, the side branch somehow found out and is now trying to seize power... If the young master were still in charge, Yan the Second would certainly get his money. But now? The new 'head' of the Ren Family might not be willing to pay."

The man sighed slightly.

"I heard that Yan the Second got into a dispute with people from the He Mansion, injured a few in the chaos, and fled. There are people in the mansion even now clamoring to have the authorities arrest him."

Hearing this, everyone present was dumbfounded, never expecting such a turn of events within the Ren Family.

Just then, a scholar in white at a nearby table, wearing gloves and holding a black fan, walked out of the tavern.

He looked plain and unremarkable, with no distinct features. He slowly left the tavern and glanced at a rice shop nearby.

This had been a shop belonging to the Ren Family, but it had changed its appearance, and even the banners had been replaced with new ones.

"It seems the plan is going smoothly."

He Ping, who had used disguise techniques to change his face, toyed with the black fan in his hand, knowing that his "retreat to advance" strategy had been the right move.

After the battle at Four Peaks Mountain, the Long Wind Society was finished, and the Thirteen Flying Cloud Riders had been wiped out. Once Sheng Qingzhi received this news, he would surely be furious, pacing back and forth in a rage. When that fire of anger needed to be vented, he would definitely look for a scapegoat.

When that time came, regardless of whether he was actually a suspect, Sheng Qingzhi would launch a full-scale attack on the Ren Family. After all, the government held all the cards; finding trouble for him and the Ren Family was as easy as lifting a finger for the Prefect.

Before, Sheng Qingzhi might have only wanted to intimidate the Ren Family and him, but now, knowing the Thirteen Flying Cloud Riders had been annihilated, he probably wanted to skin them alive.

The common people could not fight the officials. As long as He Ping remained the young master of the Ren Family and the helmsman of this great merchant clan, he could not defeat the Prefect in Suian City.

Therefore, He Ping decided to "retreat to advance." He played the trick of disappearing, completely pushing the situation onto He Jin.

He had long since discovered that He Jin had secretly joined forces with Sheng Qingzhi, effectively becoming part of his faction.

Once He Ping went missing, He Jin would seize the chaos to take the stage and grasp the financial lifeline of the He family. Would Sheng Qingzhi really dare to draw his blade against his own subordinates?

In this way, Sheng Qingzhi would lose a clear target and would no longer be able to launch a fatal strike against the He family.

Of course, this "retreating to advance" strategy required careful planning; it was not an idea conjured up on a whim.

In reality, before He Ping placed this piece on the board, he had spent over a year laying out his schemes.

During this period, He Ping had long ago ordered his steward, He Fusheng, to spend nearly a year destroying or removing all of the He family's important account books.

Aside from the bad debts, uncollectible accounts, and fixed assets that could not be moved, any liquid cash that could be shifted privately was quietly transferred away by his most trusted core group of men under various clever pretexts.

Although that old fool He Jin had ascended to power, he would soon discover that the He family he had obtained was nothing more than an empty shell.

"Suian City may no longer be a suitable place to stay. Once I have eliminated Sheng Qingzhi and seized that Life-Stealing Bowl, I can seek out another place..."

He Ping had already made up his mind. He walked a stretch along the street until he reached a secluded fortune-telling stall beneath the city wall.

A long bamboo pole stood in front of the stall, from which hung a white cloth inscribed with two vertical lines of text: on the left, "Eight Trigrams and Six Lines, Principles Permeate Heaven and Earth," and on the right, "Two Modes and Four Symbols, Mechanisms Measure Ghosts and Gods."

Sitting on a chair behind the stall was a fortune teller. The man was over fifty, with a five-strand long beard, wearing a cloth robe and straw sandals. Sensing someone's approach, the old physiognomist raised his eyebrows and smiled, "Is this guest here for a reading?"

Although the Great You Dynasty strictly regulated the practice of divination among the common folk, seeking immortals and asking for fortunes was a deeply ingrained habit of the people. Even many court officials and Confucian scholars enjoyed secretly studying the I Ching, claiming they were emulating the Confucian sages, and the imperial court tended to turn a blind eye... It was no surprise to find a fortune teller hidden in a street corner where government runners rarely patrolled.

In Suian City, the bustling streets were filled with the clamor of crowds. At the end of this long street, inside a tavern, several visiting merchants sat resting, listening with great interest to a storyteller.

The storyteller, dressed in a green gown, cleared his throat, slammed his wooden clapper down heavily, and began: "That 'Single Blade Remnant God,' Master Yan the Second, emboldened by the wine, climbed Four Peaks Mountain. The eighteen bowls of wine in his belly began to take effect, and he staggered to the edge of a tangled forest, lying down on a large blue rock, just about to sleep. Suddenly, a wild wind rose, and with a 'thump' from behind the trees, a one-horned, red-eyed mountain demon leaped out.

"Behold, this Mountain Demon's eyes were as large as copper bells. Master Yan the Second cried out, 'Ah!', rolled off the blue rock, and hurriedly grabbed his eighty-pound Deep Water Cold Beauty Blade."

Perhaps reaching the climax, the storyteller's face became animated, his spittle flying.

"Startled, Master Yan the Second felt all the wine he had just consumed turn into cold sweat. He hurriedly dragged his blade and dodged, landing right behind the Mountain Demon..."

At this moment, someone in the corner couldn't help but snort with laughter. It was a middle-aged scholar in a Confucian robe.

"Ping Jinzhi, how is this 'Master Yan the Second Slays the Demon on Four Peaks Mountain'? This is clearly from the storybook Chronicles of Northern Yan, the chapter about Master Wu the Second, one of the Thirty-Six Great Bandits, titled 'Wu Xiongying Kills the Tiger at Clear Wind Ridge.' The content is just the same old wine in a new bottle!"

"Bang!"

At a nearby table, a man in military uniform slammed his hand down hard.

"I said as much! Yan the Second of the Long Wind Society isn't made of iron. He's a man of the pugilistic world, not a soldier who needs to ride into battle. Why would he use a nine-foot-five-inch, eighty-pound Deep Water Cold Beauty Blade? Is that something a human can do?"

The man, likely drunk, stood up, his bloodshot eyes glaring fixedly at the storyteller.

"Besides, that saber of Yan the Second isn't a great guandao; it weighs less than seven pounds and is only seven feet long, requiring two hands to wield. In the martial arts world, we call that a long-handled saber... You storytellers, you've never seen a real blade or real skill, you only know how to fabricate nonsense. It's one thing to spout gibberish to ordinary folk, but to blow such hot air in front of your grandfather..."

The man of military background spewed wine-scented breath, cursing and swearing, and even threw his cup.

The storyteller was nearly struck in the head and looked nervous. He hurriedly waved his hands at the man, pleading, "Sir, I'm just trying to earn a living, why must you hold it against me..."

"It's you scoundrels I'm cursing! Always wagging your tongues, you bastards! I'll show you for spouting such nonsense."

The soldier clenched his fists, ready to strike, but was immediately held back by his companions, who forced a few more drinks on him to stop the commotion.

The storyteller, having been exposed for his fabrications, looked embarrassed and could only cover his face and leave.

Though he was gone, the others in the tavern remained just as interested, leaning in and lowering their voices to discuss the matter, avoiding the group of soldiers.

"The Long Wind Society may have collapsed, but Yan the Second has certainly made a name for himself..."

"Hasn't he?"

Someone laughed, "The He family put up a ten-thousand-tael bounty. It's common knowledge that Yan the Second brought the head of that Mountain Demon into the city."

"A ten-thousand-tael bounty?"

A man at the next table gave a contemptuous sneer.

"I just wonder if this Yan the Second will actually be able to collect that money."

"What do you mean by that, sir? Who in Suian City doesn't know that the young master of the He family is a man of his word? Yan the Second brought the Mountain Demon's head into the city; everyone saw it. Could it be fake?"

A slightly plump man with a round face looked displeased.

He Ping, the head of the He family, came from the eldest branch and managed the family's various businesses. After taking charge, he began to recruit retainers and treat scholars with courtesy.

Usually, the He Mansion kept its doors wide open. Whether it was people from all walks of life, street urchins, or petty thieves—anyone who was short on money or struggling to survive could receive a meal at the He family's expense, and even walk away with a sum of money for relief.

At first, others mocked the new head of the He family, saying he had too much money to burn and was playing the fool. But as time passed, everyone realized that anyone who sought help from He Ping was supported to the best of his ability. He was generous with gold and silver, never refusing a request for money or goods. He specialized in resolving disputes, regularly distributing medicine and porridge, helping the poor, and assisting those in distress.

His righteousness and generosity earned him a growing reputation. The young master of the He family was naturally praised more than criticized in Suian City. Even those who disliked his ways would not say so to his face, lest they offend those who had benefited from his help and spark a conflict.

"Hey, brother, I'm not speaking ill of Young Master He."

The man paused, then quickly corrected himself: "It's just that times have changed. You probably don't know yet, but the young master of the He family went on that trip to Four Peaks Mountain as well, and he is still missing. The person currently in charge of the He family is not from the eldest grandson's line, but He Jin from a collateral branch."

"He Jin?"

The crowd, previously engaged in high-minded discussion, looked at each other, quite unfamiliar with the name.

"He Jin is from a collateral branch, a paternal uncle of the young master. The young master hasn't been found yet, and while the He family is keeping the news quiet and sending people into the mountains to search, the collateral branch somehow found out and is now trying to seize power... If the young master were still in charge, Yan the Second would certainly get his money. But as for now, the new 'head' of the He family might not be willing to pay."

The man sighed slightly.

"I heard that Yan the Second had a dispute with people from the He Mansion, injured a few in the chaos, and fled. There are even people in the He Mansion calling for the authorities to arrest him."

Hearing this, everyone present was left dumbstruck, never having imagined that such a catastrophe had befallen the He Family.

Just then, a scholar in white robes emerged from the tavern, wearing gloves and holding a black fan.

The man's appearance was utterly unremarkable, devoid of any distinct features. He walked slowly away from the tavern, casting a glance at a rice shop nearby.

This had once been a He Family rice shop, but it had since been completely rebranded, even the He Family's cloth banners replaced with fresh ones.

"It seems the plan is proceeding smoothly."

He Ping, who had altered his face using the art of disguise, toyed with the black fan in his hand, knowing that his strategy of "advancing by retreating" had been the right move.

After the battle at Four Peaks Mountain concluded, the Long Wind Society was finished, and the Thirteen Flying Cloud Riders had been wiped out to the last man. Once Sheng Qingzhi received this news, wouldn't he be so infuriated he'd be tearing at his hair in desperation? If he wanted to vent that ball of rage, he would certainly need a scapegoat.

When that time came, regardless of whether he himself was a suspect, Sheng Qingzhi would launch a full-scale assault on the He Family. After all, the government held all the cards; finding ways to cause trouble for him and the He Family was nothing more than a flick of the finger for the Prefect.

Previously, Sheng Qingzhi might have only wanted to knock the He Family and him down a peg, but now, knowing the Thirteen Flying Cloud Riders had been annihilated, the man likely had the urge to skin them alive or subject them to death by a thousand cuts.

The common folk do not fight the officials. As long as He Ping remained the young master of the He Family and the helmsman of this massive merchant clan, he could never defeat this Prefect within Suian City.

Therefore, He Ping decided to "advance by retreating." He played the trick of disappearing, pushing the entire situation onto He Jin.

He had long since investigated and confirmed that He Jin had secretly joined forces with Sheng Qingzhi, effectively becoming a member of his faction.

Once He Ping vanished, He Jin would seize the chaos to take the stage and seize control of the He Family's financial lifelines. Would Sheng Qingzhi really turn his blade against his own man?

In this way, Sheng Qingzhi would lose a clear target and would no longer launch a fatal strike against the He Family.

Of course, this "advancing by retreating" was a calculated move, not some whim thought up on the spur of the moment.

In reality, before He Ping placed this piece on the board, he had been laying the groundwork for over a year.

During this period, He Ping had long ago ordered the steward, He Fusheng, to spend nearly a year destroying or removing all of the He Family's important account books.

Aside from the bad debts, unrecoverable losses, and fixed assets that could not be moved, all the liquid cash that could be shifted privately had been funneled away under various pretexts, ordered by him to be silently transferred by his most core group of subordinates.

Although the old fool He Jin had ascended to power, he would soon discover that the He Family he held in his hands was nothing more than an empty shell.

"Suian City may no longer be a suitable place to stay. Once I have helped eliminate Sheng Qingzhi and seized that Life-Stealing Bowl, I can seek out another place..."

He Ping had already made up his mind. He walked a stretch down the street and arrived at a secluded stall beneath the city wall.

This was a stall specializing in couplets and calligraphy. Because the Great You Dynasty maintained overly strict regulations on books and literature, few among the common folk were literate. Some impoverished scholars would set up a table on the street, spread a red felt cloth, place brushes, ink, paper, and inkstones, and put up a red paper sign reading "Spring Couplets," "Ghostwriting," or "Letter Writing."

The stall owner was an old man over fifty with a five-strand beard, wearing a cloth robe and straw sandals; his appearance gave the impression of a learned scholar.

Noticing someone approaching, the old man raised his eyebrows and smiled. "Does this guest have any needs? Are you looking for spring couplets, calligraphy, ghostwriting, or perhaps help reading and writing letters?"

"Senior Brother Chixinzi, you didn't ask me here just to play these little games, did you?!"

He Ping sat down and snapped his folding fan open with a swish.

"What exactly is this 'heaven-toppling disaster' you spoke of? I, your Junior Brother, would like to hear a proper explanation from you."

When they exchanged messages through the Clay Voice-Transmitting Puppet, Chixinzi had clearly been playing coy, and He Ping was very displeased with his riddle-like behavior.

Yet Chixinzi had been unwilling to discuss it in detail, insisting on meeting him in person instead. Even though he didn't know what kind of medicine Chixinzi was selling in his gourd, his cold tone already made He Ping's attitude clear.

Facing such a cold and pressing demeanor, Chixinzi didn't seem to mind. He raised a hand, signaling for his Junior Brother He Ping to calm down.

"This is a long story... By the way, Junior Brother, look toward the city gate. Someone is coming."

Amidst the sound of hooves, a large group of patrol soldiers escorted a figure riding a tall steed, traveling from the direction of the city gate. He Ping was surprised to discover that the few people surrounded by the soldiers were all wearing bamboo hats draped with black veils, clad entirely in black, and armed with swords at their waists. As they rode, they kicked up a cloud of dust.

"Tsk tsk... The 'Ghost Bats' of the Evil-Slaying Bureau have arrived as well. Suian City is about to get lively."

Chixinzi seemed to have seen something amusing and couldn't help but laugh.

"'Ghost Bats'?"

He Ping looked at the old man in front of the calligraphy stall with some confusion.

"Since the founding of the Great You Dynasty, they have burned books on divination, prophecy, and occult arts, while also ruthlessly cracking down on folk cults and secret societies. The first Emperor of You personally established the Mysterious Night, Blood Law, and Evil-Slaying Bureaus. Among them, the Evil-Slaying Bureau is tasked specifically with investigating supernatural disturbances among the populace; it is the hunting dog and tool used by the Great You Dynasty to confront the cultivation world..."

The old man grinned.

"Over the centuries, the Evil-Slaying Bureau has razed countless cultivation sects and secret cults to the ground. These hounds and lackeys use the iron 'Night Bat Token' at their waists as their mark. In the cultivation world, we collectively refer to these lackeys as 'Ghost Bats.' These 'Ghost Bats' are also the most common threat to us, the Nine Evils of Longevity!"