Lu Sheng halted about twenty paces from the temple ruins, his breath misting in the frigid air.171Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡqKq2aPMs9O
Through the shattered gate, he watched intently as Yan Kai, sword in hand, faced off against a hazy white figure. The Taoist’s blade flashed—a streak of cold light cutting through the gloom—as he struck, forcing the ghostly form to recoil.
In the next instant, the white shadow shrieked in a high, pitiful tone before the sword pierced through it completely. Its cry echoed through the empty hall, then faded as the figure dissolved into nothingness.
Yan Kai, face flushed and chest heaving, slowly sheathed his sword. Steam rose faintly from his head, mixing with the white mist of his breath. The northern winds howled through the mountains, freezing every surface; even a man’s exhalation turned to frost. After such exertion, the contrast of heat and cold was palpable.
Noticing movement outside, Yan Kai turned his gaze toward the figures beyond the gate.171Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡtpB0UpLtnx
“It’s the Lu Family’s Young Master Sheng and his men.”
From a shadowed corner, Duan Rongrong crept out, her expression pale but relieved.171Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡSFFyMH1dUV
“What a close shave. Demonic Ghosts never appear in groups. Who would’ve thought we’d encounter three of them here? Our luck couldn’t have been worse,” she said, her voice still trembling slightly.
“It’s alright now. They’ve all been dealt with,” Yan Kai replied evenly. “Go greet Young Master Sheng. The underground tunnel beneath the temple may have something to do with the missing persons.”
“Mission completed! We’ve earned ourselves a long journey’s worth of expenses!” Duan Rongrong exclaimed, brushing the dust from her robes before heading toward Lu Sheng and his entourage.
Yan Kai followed behind, exhaustion shadowing his face. Lu Sheng met them with a courteous smile.171Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡgGi9KVrnXu
“Taoist-sir…”
Before he could finish, a sharp tearing sound split the air—like fabric being violently ripped.
POOF!
A blur of white surged from the side, streaking straight toward Lu Sheng and his guards.
“Not good! It’s trying to possess a body!”
Yan Kai knew all too well how formidable Demonic Ghosts were. Unlike ordinary spirits, they could seize control of living bodies. Once possessed, their hosts became near invincible to most exorcising methods—leaving only direct combat as a viable option.
Worse still, possession granted the host an unnatural surge of strength. A possessed body could easily overwhelm even seasoned cultivators.
Had he been at his peak, Yan Kai might not have feared such a foe. But in his current state, drained and exhausted, the situation was dire. With so many vigorous men around Lu Sheng—strong, full of life and Qi—they were nothing less than perfect vessels for the ghost.
If the creature succeeded in taking over one of them, especially Lu Sheng himself, the consequences would be catastrophic.
“MOVE AWAY!!!” Yan Kai bellowed, surging forward as his blood and Qi roared like waves.
But even at full speed, he was no match for the Demonic Ghost’s eerie swiftness. With a chilling whoosh, the white blur lunged straight for Lu Sheng—the brightest beacon of life force among them.
Yan Kai’s heart clenched. If anyone else fell victim, it would be a tragedy; but if something happened to Lu Sheng, the repercussions in Nine Links City would be disastrous.
Gritting his teeth, Yan Kai shifted his stance and launched himself forward, his steps tracing strange arcs on the ground as he tried to intercept the ghost.
CLANG!
A blinding flash of light cut through the darkness.
Lu Sheng’s eyes snapped open.
The air around him trembled; waves of Qi surged wildly, and faintly, the echoes of tiger roars filled the void.
In one fluid motion, his right hand gripped the hilt of the saber on his back. The blade came down in a sharp, vertical arc—swift and fierce.
Steel gleamed. The saber roared like a raging beast.
“ROAR!!!”
BOOM!
The blade struck true. The white shadow was torn apart, flung across the air like shredded silk before dissolving into mist with a faint poof.
Silence fell over the temple ruins. The cold wind slipped through the broken walls, whispering faintly as Lu Sheng exhaled and slowly sheathed his saber.
His muscles, still tense and swollen from the surge of blood and Qi, gave him an almost inhuman aura—like a predator who had just struck down its prey. The faint sheen of sweat on his skin glimmered under the torchlight, adding to that air of raw, restrained savagery.
Yan Kai stood frozen mid-step, eyes wide in disbelief. He stared at the spot where the Demonic Ghost had vanished, then at Lu Sheng’s body—pulsing faintly with power—and could only gape in silence.
Duan Rongrong’s eyes sparkled with awe as she approached, her tone filled with both admiration and unease. “Brother Yan Kai, this Young Master Sheng… is not to be trifled with…”
She was, after all, only a beginner in the mystical arts—unable to truly comprehend what that saber strike had contained. But Yan Kai did. He, more than anyone, understood what kind of terrifying force could obliterate a Demonic Ghost outright. Even as Lu Sheng calmly walked up to him, Yan Kai was still too stunned to speak.
“You’ve worked hard, Taoist-sir. If it hadn’t been for your efforts in weakening the Demonic Ghost first, I wouldn’t have been able to finish it off with a single saber stroke,” Lu Sheng said with a faint smile.
“…Young Master Sheng… is too polite,” Yan Kai managed at last, shaking himself free from his daze.
He let out a low sigh, his expression mixed with disbelief and respect. “To be honest, I’ve met many exorcists like myself—and seen others who use strange methods to deal with beings like Demonic Ghosts. But to slay one purely through the might of inner force, as Young Master just did… this is the first time I’ve ever witnessed such a thing.”
As he spoke, he recalled his earlier words—that martial arts were useless against ghosts—and could only smile bitterly at his own folly.
“Oh?” Lu Sheng raised an eyebrow, slightly surprised.
Yan Kai gave a weary chuckle before explaining further, his tone more composed now. “Actually, martial arts aren’t entirely ineffective. But only inner Qi of an extreme Yang nature—or one with certain special attributes—can harm ghosts at all. Still, the damage is minimal. To put it simply, if our exorcist methods take one unit of strength to destroy a Demonic Ghost, it would take fifty units of Yang-nature inner Qi to achieve the same result.”
Lu Sheng immediately grasped the meaning behind Yan Kai’s words.
It was no wonder the Taoist had looked down upon so-called martial experts—compared to true mystical methods, ordinary martial arts were far too limited in power. The difference was like heaven and earth.
“But—apart from the fact that it was already gravely injured by me—your saber strike was able to slay the Demonic Ghost in one blow because your inner Qi carries an attribute that can slightly suppress such entities,” Yan Kai explained.
Behind them, Yuhan and the Lu Manor guards were still reeling from what they had witnessed—their Young Master cutting down a ghostly apparition in a single stroke. The fear that had gripped them moments ago dissolved, replaced by awe and pride.
Their eyes burned with respect. Though the Taoist had proven formidable, they now realized that their own Young Master was far from ordinary.
Yuhan, recalling how the ghost had lunged toward them earlier, felt a bead of cold sweat trickle down his back. He was secretly relieved that he’d been too stunned to act—at least he hadn’t disgraced himself. The same could not be said for several guards behind him; more than half had turned tail and fled, leaving their torches and weapons scattered across the ground.
Lu Sheng cast a sweeping glance over them before turning to Yuhan. “Tidy up this place and search the perimeter. Make sure there are no more lurking around. Taoist-sir, this place is ‘clean’ now, isn’t it?”
He turned toward Yan Kai as he spoke.
Yan Kai’s face reddened slightly, embarrassed by his earlier lapse in vigilance. He nodded quickly. “Don’t worry, it’s clean now. That one was just a fish that slipped through the net.”
Duan Rongrong, wide-eyed and curious, continued to study Lu Sheng as if seeing him anew. Yan Kai went on, gesturing toward the ruins. “There’s an underground tunnel inside. When Miss Zhuan Feng first discovered this place, she suspected that there might be people hidden within.”
“Where’s Miss Zhuan Feng?” Lu Sheng asked, just as a calm voice answered from within the temple.
Zhuan Feng stepped out of the shadows, her expression composed.
“Let’s go. We’ll take a look inside.”
Lu Sheng tightened his grip on the hilt of his saber and strode toward the temple gates.
Yan Kai and Duan Rongrong quickly moved ahead, guiding him as they entered.
The Taoist temple loomed in faded yellow-grey, its three chambers aligned in a straight row. The main hall at the center had long since lost its doors, and a gaping hole in the roof exposed tangled roots and scattered stones above.
Lu Sheng followed the two Taoists into the Great Hall. On the wall opposite the entrance, a black-and-white Tai Chi diagram spread faintly across the cracked plaster. Before it stood a weathered stone idol—its upper half severed cleanly, the features so damaged that one could no longer tell which Daoist deity it once represented.
Yan Kai stepped up to the altar, nudging aside the weeds at its base. With a swift motion of his foot, he hooked something beneath the overgrowth.
KA-DUMP.
A muffled thud echoed as a square stone panel dropped open, revealing a dark passage beneath the floor—just wide enough for a person to descend.
From within the opening came the faint whistle of wind, mingled with distant, indistinct sobbing. The sound was chilling, like voices carried from another world.
Zhuan Feng approached, her expression grave. “I went down there once earlier,” she said softly. “Inside… there are corpses—and some still living…”
Her words faltered. An uneasy look crossed her face, as though what she had seen was beyond simple description.
Lu Sheng turned toward Yan Kai.
The Taoist only offered a weary, bitter smile and shook his head. “I’ve heard Miss Zhuan Feng’s account as well. Only you can go in, Young Master. Don’t worry—there are no more evil entities below. It’s safe.”
A faint sense of dread coiled in Lu Sheng’s chest. He took a steadying breath, tightening his grip on the saber’s hilt before descending into the darkness below.
Zhuan Feng followed close behind, her steps soundless against the stone.
No one else entered.
The tunnel was narrow at first, the air heavy and damp. After about ten paces, it curved sharply, leading to a pitch-black iron door that stood slightly ajar.
From within came faint, muffled sounds—half whispers, half wails—seeping through the cracks of the darkened passage.
Lu Sheng turned his gaze toward Zhuan Feng.
“That’s the place. All the missing persons are here, I think,” she said solemnly.
Lu Sheng studied her in silence, curiosity flickering in his eyes. There was something about Zhuan Feng—her calmness amid horror, her composure even when faced with a Demonic Ghost—that spoke of experience no ordinary woman should possess. What kind of past had shaped her into someone so cold and steady, a hunter without fear?
After a brief pause, he asked quietly, “Miss Zhuan Feng, have you got any interest in joining my Lu Family as a paid consultant?”
“Nope,” she replied simply, her tone flat and direct.
Lu Sheng gave a faint smile. He knew that besides wealth, he had little to offer someone like her. Without pressing further, he stepped forward and pushed open the iron door.
The hinges groaned in protest, metal scraping stone, as the door swung wide. A stifling air seeped out from within—thick with decay and cold.
Before him lay a small stone chamber, barely ten paces across. In one corner, a heap of naked corpses was piled haphazardly—men and women, young and old, all lifeless and pale.
Among the dead, three people still clung to life. Two women and a man—each well-built, their physiques betraying the fact that they had been trained fighters.
Lu Sheng’s breath caught when his eyes fell upon one of the women. His heart plummeted.
It was Lu Qingqing.
Her body was bare, her long hair tangled and matted. She was on her hands and knees, trembling faintly. Her once lively eyes were dull and vacant, her lips tinged with blue. A thin string of saliva trailed down her chin.
“Qingqing!!!” Lu Sheng shouted, rushing to her side. He tore off his outer robe and wrapped it around her trembling form. “Qingqing, wake up! Wake up!!”
He slapped her cheeks lightly, desperation tightening his voice. But there was no response. Her eyes remained glazed, empty—her spirit gone somewhere beyond reach.
Zhuan Feng’s expression softened, a fleeting sorrow passing through her usually indifferent gaze. “It’s no use,” she murmured. “She’s already lost her mind. The Yin Qi invaded her brain. Without enough Yang Qi to resist, half of it’s dead. It’s a miracle she’s still breathing. Those were the Taoist-sir’s exact words.”
Lu Sheng’s chest tightened painfully.
He lifted Lu Qingqing into his arms, his face shadowed with grief, then turned his gaze toward the other two survivors.
They were strikingly good-looking, both the man and the woman—bodies untouched but bound by fear. It was clear the Demonic Ghosts had kept them alive for reasons far more sinister than mercy.
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