The next morning, five or six people sat in Zhao Qi's living room, all wearing Taoist robes. Zhao Qi huddled in a corner, her eyes swollen after a sleepless night. Her father sat beside her, his face waxy yellow, clutching a cup of tea he hadn't touched.
Shi Dajian stood in the middle of the living room and recounted what had happened the night before.
He told them how his first Lightning Thunderclap Fist had injured Zhao Feng, how the House-Guarding Talisman had been broken, how his later Lightning Thunderclap Fist had barely tickled his opponent, and how Zhao Qi's mother had finally been killed right in front of him.
When he finished, the living room fell silent.
A middle-aged Taoist sitting on the sofa stirred.
He had a pair of straight, thick eyebrows stretching above his eyes, as though someone had painted them on with an ink brush.
His name was Lin Ba, Shi Dajian's second junior fellow disciple. Among their generation at Maoshan, his Taoist arts were second only to Shi Dajian's.
"Senior brother, that's impossible."
Disbelief filled his voice as he spoke.
"The Thunder Arts specifically counter evil beings. There's no way they had no effect."
Shi Dajian looked at him and nodded.
"I injured him the first time, but the second time, it didn't work."
Lin Ba furrowed his straight brows until they nearly twisted together.
"What was his background when he was alive? Is someone helping him behind the scenes?"
"An ordinary man. He worked at a factory. He's only been dead a few days."
"Only a few days?"
Lin Ba found that even harder to believe.
"A newly dead ghost's spirit body is insubstantial. Forget the Thunder Arts-even a draft could scatter it. You're saying he became solid enough to withstand the Thunder Arts