My Head

The two men were not wandering Daoists, as they had claimed. They were also members of the Voidsoar Sword Sect—the sect master's third and fourth personal disciples.

Li Yunxin had no mind to weigh whether the sect master's personal disciples were too weak or the formation his parents had left behind was too strong. He only knew that what he had thought was a matter with neither beginning nor end had now sprouted fresh complications.

Their junior brother was still alive, and he sounded quite capable. Once that man noticed his two senior brothers had vanished, if he set his mind to investigating, would he truly trace it back to him?

He did not yet fully understand the methods of those "immortals," and he did not dare make wild guesses. But he was already wondering whether the reason that man had not come here tonight to kill people and "cross his tribulation" was because he had gone to investigate that matter.

What a pity. He had originally planned to flee once he understood the details. But now that he knew these things—perhaps the master behind these six swordsmen, "Huainanzi," would notice something amiss.

His life was at stake... no amount of caution was excessive.

Then...

These six people could not be allowed to live.

The Night Journey in Splendid Robes had already reached the height of its effect. As Liu Laodao guided the spiritual energy of heaven and earth, he grew increasingly alarmed—he could also be considered an expert capable of painting works with artistic conception, but compared to this thing before him...

His own works were like trash.

The six people within the formation had already completely lost themselves, controlled by some overwhelming emotion.

But Li Yunxin still felt it was not enough. After all, he had thrown this together in haste. According to his father, once the Night Journey in Splendid Robes formation was complete, those inside should lose their true selves. Even if someone stabbed them, they would remain immersed in illusory glory, unable to pull free—nothing like this current state.

So he needed to think of another way.

If he wanted to kill them.

Qiao Duanhong pushed aside the people surrounding him and walked over to Li Yunxin and Liu Laodao.

He first gave Liu Laodao a deep bow, then solemnly nodded to Li Yunxin before saying, "I failed to recognize Mount Tai before my eyes. I slighted you along the way, Immortal Master. Please do not blame me."

He did not even glance at the six people over there, who were brimming with inspiration and pouring forth a torrent of words. His expression was calm and composed, as though he had already entrusted his life and fortune to these two "experts."

The escort agency men looked at one another, but even the dullest among them soon realized why their chief escort had acted this way—the old man and young boy they had previously scorned and mocked were truly people who hid their light beneath the surface, and everything they did carried deep meaning.

"May I ask, Immortal Master, what should we do now? Have those six men been subdued?" Qiao Duanhong was speaking to Liu Laodao.

Naturally, Liu Laodao could not answer that question. Fortunately, his acting was superb. He merely raised his eyes slightly, stroked his beard, and said, "This poor Daoist is casting a spell and cannot speak at length. Ask my disciple. I have already explained every crucial point of this formation to him."

"Not really," Li Yunxin said.

He spoke quickly, his brows faintly furrowed as though considering something. In truth, he simply did not want to give Qiao Duanhong a chance to pry into things—such as why a boy encountered by chance on the road could now assist an "Immortal Master" in casting a spell.

"Do not make any rash moves for now. You may talk and move about a little, but do not think about running. If you make too much commotion and provoke those six, they may wake up again. Right now, they think everything is under their control, so they're putting on airs." Li Yunxin turned to Qiao Duanhong, then looked at the people behind him. "So, Mister Qiao, if you people launch a surprise attack the instant they regain consciousness, how likely are you to kill all six?"

Qiao Duanhong was slightly stunned. This boy's tone felt strangely familiar.

Not because it resembled any particular person's, but because it carried that sort of... tone of someone accustomed to giving orders and directing others in their work.

He realized that his earlier speculation about the boy's identity had been completely wrong. This probably... was not the child of some ordinary merchant household.

Perhaps he was a young master from some great and influential family. But what was his relationship with Liu Laodao? Judging from the present situation... the two seemed to have long shared an unspoken understanding.

He hurriedly cupped his hands. "I dare not accept such a title. I am a rough man and do not deserve to be called Mister. As for a surprise attack..."

Qiao Duanhong's face reddened slightly. "I fear... we could not take down even one. We might perhaps injure two or three. But perhaps Young Master does not understand such matters—these six are all Second-Class Experts of the martial world. They are also figures picked from a thousand. Though we people..."

"Mm, I understand." Li Yunxin cut him off. "Then we'll have to think of another way."

There was little emotional change on his face, and that wounded Qiao Duanhong deeply. Of course, he had not expected such a young master to understand what a "Second-Class Expert" meant.

The wandering heroes in legends and strange tales were forever soaring high and low, leaping over eaves and walls. Even a First-Class Expert was merely a supporting character in stories passed around the streets and alleys. As for Second-Class Experts, outsiders regarded the term as a genuine insult.

But in reality, an ordinary person might begin training in martial arts from childhood, with specialists attending to their medicines and meals, studying under a famous master and learning excellent methods. Yet by the prime of life, he might only barely touch the threshold of a Third-Class Expert.

To become a Second-Class Expert, one needed not only a privileged environment and fortunate opportunities, but talent as well.

As for First-Class Experts... they were truly dragons and phoenixes, one in ten thousand.

Qiao Duanhong considered his own aptitude decent. He had worked hard in childhood, and his family had been fairly well-off—at his age, he had barely touched the threshold of a Second-Class Expert, and was already quite pleased with himself.

At the very least, among the several escort agencies in Luo City, his martial skill ranked among the best.

But he felt that this boy probably did not understand such things. Perhaps the boy came from a noble background and had studied spells and such from childhood, with no interest in martial arts.

Most great households in the city were like that—they admired immortals and sought the Dao, delighted in imitating cultivators by "meditating and regulating their breath." Though they lacked the proper method and merely followed fashion with refined airs, they had never cared much for techniques that tempered strength.

So he could only cup his hands again, watching Liu Laodao's reaction from the corner of his eye as he probed, "Then... is there anything else we can help with?"

Liu Laodao remained silent with an unfathomable air. Li Yunxin thought for a moment. "I do have a way—"

He had only said half the sentence.

The wind in the forest suddenly rose.

There had been wind already. Spring winds were strong, and even in such a dense forest, there was still a faint breeze.

But this wind arrived strangely—it carried a chilling cold.

The wind practically swept along the ground, circling once around every person. Both bonfires dimmed at once, and the leaves rustled violently.

Liu Laodao's beard was blown upward, curling back over itself, but he had no mind to care about that. For at the very instant the wind rose, he suddenly discovered that the flow of spiritual energy within the formation had become chaotic.

The six swordsmen, who had still been speaking without pause, hesitantly slowed their speech. Then they looked at one another and awkwardly shut their mouths.

The next moment, these six murderous stars, freed from the formation's control, finally realized something was wrong. The swordsman with high cheekbones and narrow eyes frowned. "There's an expert here—kill them first!"

Almost at the same time, a shrill, mournful, and barely discernible voice sounded beside everyone's ears along with that sinister wind—

"I died so horribly—"

The swordsmen's impending attack stalled once more at that voice.

Liu Laodao's eyes widened, and his lips trembled faintly.

Qiao Duanhong and the escort agency men looked around blankly, trying to determine whether they had heard wrong.

Li Yunxin sighed.

A classic opening to a ghost story.

Then the next line was probably...

"Give me back my head..."

When that second cry rang through the night and dense forest, even the blade in the hand of the coldest swordsman began to tremble faintly.

In a world like this, even those who had seen much and knew much—excluding, of course, true cultivators—could not be bombarded with information as people had been in Li Yunxin's era. Li Yunxin knew the first, second, and third steps of a female ghost's appearance; he knew that legends spoke of water monsters in rivers, dragon kings in the seas, kings of the underworld beneath the earth, and golden immortals in the heavens. He knew what an emperor's life was like, what a high official's life was like, and what the life of a wealthy household was like.

He could even suffer from aesthetic fatigue. After hearing the female ghost's two lines, he thought—

Oh, this routine again.

So even though he was startled by the thought, I'm finally going to see a real ghost for the first time in this world, the fear in his heart was far less than that of everyone else.

Then...

The female ghost appeared in an utterly classic fashion—

A woman in white emerged from behind a clump of low bushes, her arms held before her as she walked with floating steps. Great swathes of blood stained her body, dripping continuously onto the ground. But her head was not on her body—a bowl-sized wound gaped at her neck, exposing broken bone, windpipe, and blood vessels.

Her head was on the ground, rolling four or five steps ahead of her. Its eyes remained open, staring crookedly back at the body behind it.

Thus, the body followed the rolling head, swaying as it walked forward and letting out a shrill, resentful cry—

"Give me back my head..."