Chapter Fifty: An Elderly Taoist Appears Outside the Door, Xia Yu Has Yet to Find a Wife

“Boundless Heavenly Honor.”

Song Mo spun around sharply at the words, only to see an old Daoist standing outside the door. The old Daoist wore a gray robe, patched from the chest down to the long sleeves. He was gaunt, almost skin and bone, with a prominent brow ridge, and hardly looked benevolent.

“Who are you?” Song Mo asked in a low voice, wary of this uninvited guest before him.

“And who are you?” To his surprise, the old Daoist retorted.

“I am from the Changning County Office, here to investigate a case,” Song Mo replied, pulling out an official identity as a cover. He casually edged toward the window, his gaze sharp as a hawk upon the old Daoist outside the door.

“I am merely a wandering Daoist. Sensing the presence of evil spirits here, I have come to banish them,” the old Daoist replied, brushing dust from his robe, sending up a small cloud.

Song Mo relaxed a little. Judging by his patched robe and dusty appearance, the old Daoist seemed more like someone who slept on the streets and, despite his looks, had a kind heart.

“You’re late. The Zhang family has vanished without a trace,” Song Mo sighed.

The old Daoist scrutinized the room, then sniffed the air, a look of disgust crossing his face.

“Foul! Unbearably foul,” he exclaimed, pinching his nose in exaggerated distaste.

“You speak without courtesy, Daoist. This is a maiden’s chamber—of course it is fragrant. How can you call it foul?” Song Mo asked, though he knew the answer.

The old Daoist snorted, looking at Song Mo with contempt. “A mere mortal, blinded by the flesh. What do you know? A fox spirit lived here. The stench of fox is unmistakable.”

As he spoke, he lowered his head and sniffed himself, wearing a look of blissful intoxication that made Song Mo frown.

“Daoist, aren’t we here to banish evil? Where is the spirit?” Song Mo asked irritably.

The old Daoist grinned, unconcerned. “The spirit? Why, it was frightened back to its lair by my formidable presence.”

Song Mo suspected he was boasting, but the mention of a “lair” made him pause, as if struck by a sudden thought.

“The lair?” He muttered, rubbing his hands as he paced, finally making up his mind.

“It seems I must go there after all…” he thought, his heart growing heavier.

Song Mo strode to the front hall, where Xia Yu and the other four waited.

“This looks hopeless now. I wager Lord Tang has met a grim fate,” Xia Yu said, unable to hide his disappointment—not for Tang Yi, but for his own prospects.

“Not necessarily. There’s still one place we haven’t searched,” Song Mo said, surveying the group solemnly.

“Where?”

“The Sheepgut Mountain.”

...

The autumn was bleak, the wind mournful, and all the flowers had withered. The six rode westward, galloping along forty miles of lonely official road, seldom traveled.

“Brother Song, are you saying the fox spirit originated from Sheepgut Mountain?” Xia Yu slowed his horse deliberately, riding alongside Song Mo.

Song Mo hesitated, lowering his voice. “In the county office, I saw Tang Yi had deliberately opened the Zhang family’s records and the county annals.”

“The records began: ‘The Zhang family, humble folk for generations, prospered in the thirty-second year of Da Zhou Hengliang, when their ancestor chanced upon a thousand-year-old lingzhi in Sheepgut Mountain, thus rising in fortune.’”

Xia Yu was puzzled. “Lingzhi is valuable, and a thousand-year-old specimen is a rare treasure. Selling it for a high price seems natural—what’s the issue?”

Song Mo nodded. “On its own, the Zhang family’s records seem fine. But when compared with the county annals, something intriguing emerges.”

“How so?” Xia Yu pressed.

Song Mo glanced at the four bailiffs ahead, who had put some distance between themselves and the two, then lowered his voice further. “The annals say: ‘In the thirty-second year of Da Zhou Hengliang, Sheepgut Mountain was plagued by evil spirits. The fox demon caused chaos. The Zhang family suffered especially, losing nine out of ten. Later, a sage built a fox spirit temple as a ward, and only then did the calamity cease.’”

Xia Yu’s face was stricken with horror. After a long silence, he asked, “Are you saying the fox demon in Changning County is connected to the Zhang ancestor bringing back the thousand-year lingzhi from Sheepgut Mountain?”

“More or less. Though over a century has passed, and I do not know all the details,” Song Mo replied, a suspicion forming in his mind.

“Could it be that the Zhang family’s current decline is related to the fox demon?” he asked.

“Brother Xia?” Song Mo noticed Xia Yu’s strange expression, as if he wanted to speak but hesitated, and asked.

Xia Yu sighed. “Brother Song, let me speak plainly. The fox demon of Sheepgut Mountain has been powerful for over a hundred years; now its sorcery is at its peak. It’s killed several people, and can even abduct the two hundred members of the Zhang family without a sound. We, mere martial men with fists and feet, would be lambs to the slaughter.”

Song Mo’s face darkened. Xia Yu’s words were reasonable. He had been so anxious about Tang Yi’s safety that he had set aside such concerns.

Now, Xia Yu’s blunt reminder cleared his mind. After a moment’s thought, he was about to speak, but Xia Yu spoke first, awkwardly smiling. “Brother Song, I’ll be honest—I and my men only wish to earn a living to feed our families. It’s not worth losing our lives to the fox demon.”

Song Mo nodded solemnly. “It’s only human. You’re right. Even if we found Tang Yi and the others, we could not all escape the fox demon’s clutches.”

He paused, then continued, “Here’s what we’ll do. Brother Xia, take your men to Jian’an Capital and report this. Go to the Six Gates, and have them ask the Demon Suppression Bureau for help.”

He clasped his hands in thanks. “Thank you, Brother Xia.”

With those words, Song Mo spurred his horse forward—aloof and resolute.

Jiang Wan-yi had saved Tang Yi’s life, and Tang Yi had risked his to repay her. And had not Tang Yi also saved Song Mo’s life?

The mountain wind was cold, biting. The hero departs, awaiting his return!

Song Mo tightened his thin coat. Soon, urgent hoofbeats sounded behind him. He turned to see Xia Yu galloping after him.

“Brother Xia?” Song Mo was surprised; he hadn’t expected Xia Yu to follow.

Xia Yu grinned sheepishly. “I haven’t found myself a wife yet…”

Though Song Mo knew Xia Yu hoped to redeem himself by finding Tang Yi and the Zhang family, he was warmed by Xia Yu’s willingness to brave the risk.

“Besides, the paths in Sheepgut Mountain twist like a maze. Without a local like me, you’d never find the Fox Spirit Temple,” Xia Yu said, patting his chest.

“Then I’ll rely on you, Brother Xia. When all is done, I’ll treat you to drinks,” Song Mo replied, feigning lightness.

Xia Yu pulled a face. “Better prepare plenty of silver—you know how much your old brother can eat.”

Song Mo was amused. “Let’s drink until we’re thoroughly drunk—how about it?”

“Excellent, excellent!” Xia Yu laughed.

Their banter eased the tension for a moment. Sheepgut Mountain was shrouded in reddish-black mist, like a haunted realm, terrifying in its gloom.