With a single thought, Qin Sang summoned King Yan, who was hiding outside. The spirit flew back in, casting a fearful glance at Qin Sang before merging into the Yan Luo Banner.
The surface of the Yan Luo Banner shifted, and the image of King Yan reappeared.
Qin Sang commanded it to emerge, and the flag's surface distorted as King Yan floated out again, standing solemnly before him, appearing unusually obedient.
Qin Sang knew that what King Yan feared was the Jade Buddha, not him. But he didn’t mind. Recalling the text he had read earlier, he ordered, "Give me a Soul Pill."
King Yan’s eyes suddenly turned blood-red, a fierce expression flashing across its face before it reluctantly opened its mouth and spat out a ball of black qi. The black qi quickly condensed into a Soul Pill, about the size of a longan, which Qin Sang caught in his hand, feeling its coldness.
Afterwards, King Yan’s form flickered, appearing weaker after expelling the Soul Pill.
Suppressing his eagerness, Qin Sang commanded King Yan to return, tidied up the disarrayed bed, and sat cross-legged, holding the Yan Luo Banner and the Soul Pill as he activated his cultivation art.
Just as the text had described, the moment the art began to circulate, Qin Sang immediately felt a significant difference. After completing one cosmic orbit, the improvement was far greater than before, even more effective than the herbal baths.
Despite his joy, Qin Sang couldn’t help but feel troubled. The text had clearly stated that to obtain more Soul Pills in the future, he would have to let King Yan devour human souls or malevolent yin qi.
But Qin Sang had no idea what malevolent yin qi even was. Am I really destined to become a murderous fiend?
Faint light seeped through the window. Qin Sang sighed softly, lay down without undressing, and decided not to dwell on these worries for now. He used his inner vision to examine his body, feeling as if he had received a new, fascinating toy, and let his consciousness roam throughout his body.
Finally, it returned to the location of his soul. The yellow light still enveloped it, though the Buddha’s shadow was nowhere to be seen.
...
So much had happened that night, causing Qin Sang’s emotions to rise and fall dramatically. It felt as though an entire year had passed.
Soon, daylight broke. Qin Sang feigned nonchalance, rising as usual to start the fire, practice martial arts, and perform his morning exercises. It wasn’t until midday that he pretended to discover Old Wu’s death, feigning panic as he called for the Daoist monk.
True to form, Daoist Jixin found no suspicious signs, concluding that Old Wu had simply overexerted himself from daily toil, exhausting his vitality and passing away from a sudden seizure in his sleep.
Among Old Wu’s belongings was a dagger for self-defense and a few taels of silver. When the Daoist instructed Qin Sang to report the death to the authorities, Qin Sang contributed money to buy a sturdy coffin. He enlisted the help of the temple residents to prepare Old Wu’s body and belongings for burial, finding a spot on the back mountain for a simple grave, and interred him the same day.
With no living relatives, Old Wu’s funeral was kept simple. The Daoist monk recited a few scriptures, while Qin Sang crouched by the grave, burning a full basin of paper money and murmured softly, "Old Wu, may you live well in the afterlife. I’ll find a boy to adopt in your name, to carry on the Wu family line. Rest in peace."
Though the killer was the evil spirit, it had all started because of his recklessness. He had narrowly escaped death under the Jade Buddha’s protection, but Old Wu had become the sacrificial victim.
Qin Sang was fully absorbed in his cultivation when suddenly, his expression shifted, and he snapped his eyes open, shouting, "Who’s there!"
His gaze darted around, locking onto a corner of the room.
In an instant, the darkness in the corner began to ripple, and then a shadowy figure emerged—a person dressed in dark attire!
"Who are you?!"
Qin Sang was startled; someone had silently infiltrated his room.
His hearing was extremely sharp, and he had only noticed an unusual sound in the wind when the intruder slipped in, awakening him. Otherwise, the person might have crept right up to him without being detected.
Who is this person? What are they doing in my room? Have my secrets been exposed?
A whirlwind of thoughts raced through Qin Sang’s mind as his hand quietly reached for the Yan Luo Banner on his bed.
The black-clad figure stood nonchalantly in the room, showing no sign of panic from being discovered. Their eyes remained sharp even in the dim light, and Qin Sang felt as if two knives were scraping over his body, sending chills down his spine.
The intruder scrutinized Qin Sang with a hint of surprise, "Tsk, tsk... I didn’t expect a Daoist from this rundown temple to have the eyes to see through my stealth. So, was it you who killed Old Wu?"
Old Wu’s death was the biggest weight on Qin Sang’s mind. He had thought his cover-up was flawless, but having it suddenly exposed by a stranger sent a shockwave through him, and his gaze hardened slightly.
"It really was you?"
The black-clad figure’s eyes narrowed, and in an instant, a terrifying killing intent surged in their gaze. In a chilling tone, they continued, "Old Wu reported that there were only two young Daoists here who knew some basic martial arts, nothing to worry about. Who would’ve thought he’d end up dead! Kid, I’m very curious about who you really are, to have even outwitted an assassin from Jiangshan Tower!"
Qin Sang hadn’t expected the intruder to be so perceptive, catching onto his slip with ease. At the same time, he found it strange—according to the intruder’s words, Old Wu wasn’t just an ordinary person. Could his identity as a burlak have been a facade?
Old Wu had been lurking in the temple for half a year; what was his true purpose?
"I don’t know what you’re talking about!"
Qin Sang forced himself to stay calm, denying everything. "Old Wu died from overexertion, pulling barges at the dock every day—it had nothing to do with me! There wasn’t a single mark on his body. If you don’t believe me, go dig up his grave and see for yourself!"
1. Weiya is a traditional annual celebration for Tu Di Gong (the earth god, also known as Fude Zhengshen, the god of wealth and merit) on the 16th of the 12th lunar month in Chinese society ☜