As they spoke, Lu Sheng introduced Zheng Xiangui to Chen Jiaorong. Yet it was clear that Chen showed little interest in the Zheng Family. In his eyes, the son of a local wealthy merchant from a remote city simply wasn’t qualified to enter his circle.
Truthfully, even Lu Sheng would not have been worth his attention, if not for Chen Jiaorong’s sister constantly speaking about him. Had fate not intervened, Chen would never have cared.
But circumstances had changed—Lu Sheng had saved his life.
He later made some inquiries. Many had witnessed the pleasure boat engulfed in flames, the blaze visible from several miles away. Once Chen learned the full story, his entire back had gone cold with sweat. Even now, he still refused to set foot on any boat. The trauma lingered deep.
Upon understanding Chen Jiaorong’s status, Zheng Xiangui immediately grew eager to please him. Neither Zheng Yu’er nor Lu Sheng liked watching him fawn so eagerly, but they also knew—this was simply who he was. “A true man knows when to be tough and when to bow his head,” was something he often said himself.
As the conversation continued, Lu Sheng gradually fell silent, listening rather than speaking. Everyone was already accustomed to his quiet nature, so no one found it unusual.
His gaze drifted across the crowd.
Then it stopped—fixed on an old beggar crouched in a corner.
The beggar’s behavior stood out. Though it was summer, the Eastern Mountain Institution lay at the foot of Eastern Mountain, where the air remained damp and chilled all year round. The ground was cold enough to seep into one’s bones.
Yet the old beggar sat directly upon the freezing stone floor. He had an old cotton coat beside him, but instead of wearing it, he was dressed only in a thin, tattered garment. His back was hunched, his posture unmoving.
Sweat beaded along his forehead, glistening under the dim light.
His lips moved faintly, whispering something no one else could hear, his eyes unfocused and distant.
Lu Sheng studied the beggar closely. An odd sensation rose in him—something about this man felt familiar, almost similar to himself. But why? The beggar was old, at least in his sixties or seventies, his frame thin and withered, his features nothing like Lu Sheng’s. Yet that strange feeling persisted.
While Chen Jiaorong had already begun chatting with Zheng Yu’er, Lu Sheng quietly stepped away and made his way toward the beggar.
That was simply how he acted—when a thought came, he followed it without hesitation.
He stopped in front of the man, his shadow draping across the beggar’s thin figure.153Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡN9wGzeAtVj
“Old man, it’s quite cold here. And you’re dressed so lightly. Aren’t you cold?”
The beggar lifted his head. His eyes were clouded, unfocused. “Warm… warm… not warm? Warm? Not warm… warm…” he muttered, voice drifting as if lost somewhere far away.
Lu Sheng frowned, shook his head, and was about to turn away.
Then the beggar suddenly shouted, his voice cracking through the air: “You’ve seen ghosts!!!”153Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡy3dlXr5ekX
His whole body trembled. “Ah… Body of Half-Yin, Body of Half-Yin… I have it too… I’ve seen many ghosts… been possessed… You’re like me… like me…”
He burst into wild, broken laughter. “Ha… hahahaha…”
Lu Sheng stopped mid-step. “Body of Half-Yin?” he echoed, staring at the old man again.
Despite the beggar’s current condition, his clothes—though worn—were once of decent make. At the very least, he must have come from a respectable household. Something catastrophic must have driven him to this state.
“What is the Body of Half-Yin?” Lu Sheng asked, curiosity stirring.
The beggar paused. His lips moved soundlessly for some time. Slowly, the haze in his eyes thinned, and a faint clarity returned. He looked at Lu Sheng with a trembling seriousness, his voice hoarse and uneven:
“You… are like me. A Body of Half-Yin… those who were possessed by ghosts young… or have seen too many ghosts… become this… attract them… draw them in… and eventually… die…”
Lu Sheng tried to understand the old beggar’s words, but confusion lingered. Still, that strange sense of familiarity refused to fade. It wasn’t physical resemblance—rather, something deep within, an indescribable similarity of spirit or fate.
Could it really be what he said? This Body of Half-Yin? he wondered.
The old beggar suddenly broke into foolish laughter, pointing a trembling finger at Lu Sheng.153Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡUW6R4ZZTDE
“Half-Yin… attracts ghosts… Half-Yin… Half-Yin…” he chanted over and over, voice drifting into nonsense.
Lu Sheng frowned and attempted to ask more, but the beggar only repeated the same two words, his mind sealed away behind that murky gaze.
A loud clang rang out.
Admission to the examinations had begun.
With no choice, Lu Sheng turned and headed toward the entrance of the institution.
The Annual Examinations consisted of three continuous tests. Candidates were required to eat, drink, and relieve themselves inside the venue. Leaving was strictly prohibited. By the time Lu Sheng finished and stepped out, the sun was already high the next afternoon.
Exhausted examinees staggered out of the gates one after another.
Lu Sheng, however, looked no different from usual. With his cultivation of both internal and external force, such hardship barely affected him.
The moment he exited, he glanced toward the corner where the old beggar had been. As expected, the man was gone.
Body of Half-Yin… The term echoed persistently in his thoughts. If what he said was true—that those who had encountered many ghosts since youth possessed such a body—then I really am one.
After thinking it over, he decided he needed answers.
Who would be most familiar with ghosts? His mind turned, and soon, a certain place came to him.
Just then, Zheng Xiangui and the others emerged as well. All of them wore dark, miserable expressions, as though they had just lost everything. Clearly, this year’s examination questions had been exceptionally difficult.
Chen Jiaorong emerged from the examination hall with a deep frown. Chen Yunxi walked beside him, but the moment she saw Lu Sheng, she shrank behind her brother, her cheeks flushed, attempting to look shy and demure.
Lu Sheng touched the spot where his eyebrows once were—now burned away—and smiled helplessly. He had hoped the change in his appearance would make Chen Yunxi give up on him. Clearly, it had not.
Soon after, Song Zhenguo exited the building. Lu Sheng exchanged a few words with Chen Jiaorong and his sister before parting ways and heading to dinner with the Zheng siblings and Song Zhenguo.
They ate until dusk. After saying goodbye, Lu Sheng made his way out of the city toward the mountains.
To the left of Mountain-Edge City stretched a vast mountain range. Its peaks branched and curved like the antlers of a great deer, and so it was known as the Deer Antler Mountains.
At the base of those mountains lay the largest cemetery in the region—Wan Feng Garden.
As the sky dimmed, Lu Sheng entered Wan Feng Garden and approached the gatekeeper.
The groundskeeper was a lame old man. His clothes were neat but worn thin, and his face carried a faint greenish cast—perhaps from lack of sunlight, or perhaps something else entirely.
After listening to Lu Sheng’s inquiry, the old man shook the wineskin in his hand, weighing the copper coin he had just been given. He looked Lu Sheng over slowly.
“Body of Half-Yin?” he echoed. “Young lad, did you run into something unclean? The term exists, yes, but most folk don’t call it that. The ones who meet many ghosts… we call them Yang Sachets.”
“Yang Sachet?” Lu Sheng repeated, brows drawing together. “So such people really exist?”
The old man gave him a strange look, as if surprised he even needed to ask.
“Of course. I’ve lived many years, seen too many things. I’ve seen plenty of Yang Sachets. Not one of them lived long.”
“Young Master, judging from your condition, you must have only recently become a Yang Sachet. Not long ago, you encountered something unclean, didn’t you?”
Lu Sheng’s eyes widened slightly. He hadn’t expected the groundskeeper to be so perceptive. He nodded.
“That’s right. I came into contact with something unclean not too long ago. Sir, will Yang Sachets encounter any danger because of it?”
The old man waved a hand, as though brushing away smoke.
“Hard to say… but it’s said that Yang Sachets attract ghosts like moths to flame. None of them live long. Still, that’s only talk—don’t let it weigh too heavily on your mind. Life must go on.” He took a slow sip from his wineskin. “When you return, find a Taoist priest and have the rites performed to drive off the evil. That should do.”
Find a priest? Lu Sheng’s expression didn’t change, but inwardly he sighed. He had visited several temples already; all of their so-called priests were nothing more than charlatans. If such men could truly exorcise ghosts, then he would have already crushed countless Demonic Ghosts beneath his palm.
“Are there any other methods, sir?” Lu Sheng asked again, brows tightening slightly. He wanted to know if ordinary people—those without martial strength—could protect themselves.
The groundskeeper chuckled, and his eyes narrowed into something faintly eerie.
“Methods…? There is indeed one.” He gave a crooked smile. “Since Young Master was generous with your coins, this old man will offer you some directions.”
“What directions?”
The old man took a gulp from his wine, the sharp scent drifting into the air.
“In Mountain-Edge City, there is one sect, two societies, and three clans. My own nephew once joined the sect—called the Crimson Whale Sect. Unfortunately, he became involved in some dispute and lost his life. But the connections… remain.”
He finished speaking and looked at Lu Sheng expectantly, waiting for another token of sincerity.
This was the first time Lu Sheng had heard of the one sect, two societies, and three clans of Mountain-Edge City. But when the name Crimson Whale Sect surfaced, his heart stirred.
Was this not the very same Crimson Whale Sect that Duanmu Wan had mentioned?
Duanmu Wan was a mystery, but her words carried weight. If she claimed the Crimson Whale Sect’s techniques were the strongest in the region, it was likely true. What Lu Sheng lacked now was not just any inner force method—he needed a stronger one. Ordinary cultivation techniques no longer offered him any meaningful improvement.
At his current level, only a technique surpassing the Black Fury Skill—perhaps even one capable of replacing it—could allow him to continue increasing his strength without relying on Yin Qi. After all, Black Fury Skill had only a limited number of layers, and absorbing too much Yin Qi clearly had its own hidden dangers.
“But sir,” Lu Sheng asked, “I’ve been in Mountain-Edge City for quite some time, yet I’ve never heard of this Crimson Whale Sect. You’re not trying to deceive me, are you?”
The groundskeeper let out a sly, crooked laugh. “They’re an underground faction. And what is ‘underground’? Anything you can’t see on the surface.” He leaned closer, lowering his voice. “Their influence stretches behind every brothel, every black market, every ghost market in Mountain-Edge City. They have hands in every street and every district. Young Master, you seem to live comfortably and have no trouble with money—so of course you wouldn’t notice them. But ordinary folk? Theft, robbery, loan sharks, extortion, killings, scams… all of it is tied to them.”
Understanding dawned. The Crimson Whale Sect was not a righteous martial sect—it was a hidden organization, a force operating in the shadows. A concealed mafia, woven tightly into the city’s underbelly.
Lu Sheng thought for a moment, then handed the old man a piece of silver.
The groundskeeper broke into a wide grin. “A fine Young Master indeed. The Crimson Whale Sect is full of experts. Rumor says they are a large organization, working alongside the yamen to keep order in Mountain-Edge City. There will surely be someone there who can resolve your problem.”
But resolving his problem wasn’t Lu Sheng’s main priority.
What he sought… was power. If he could find a way into the Crimson Whale Sect, then perhaps he could obtain a martial skill far stronger than the Black Fury Skill.
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