Chapter Fifty-Eight: Unraveling the Threads of Identity, the Handsome Youth in Black

Never let your spirit be daunted in troubled times, for the future often holds hidden opportunities.

“So, should I address you as the Lame Daoist, or perhaps as Master Xiaoshan?”

Song Mo’s abrupt question startled Tang Yi, Xia Yu, and the others.

“Brother Song, who is this Master Xiaoshan?” Xia Yu whispered in confusion.

Song Mo glanced warily at the old Daoist, then lowered his voice, “Master Xiaoshan is the Shadow Fiend—the one behind the murders in Changning County.”

Xia Yu’s eyes widened in terror. He looked at the old Daoist in disbelief. “That can’t be. You mean he’s the killer Shadow Fiend? But he was the one who rescued me from the mountain cave!”

Yet as soon as the words left his lips, Xia Yu began to realize the truth. This was the Mountain Palace; he hadn’t been rescued at all, but brought straight into the heart of the enemy’s lair!

His face grew ashen, as though he’d swallowed a mouthful of flies.

The old Daoist smiled calmly. “Oh? I’d like to hear your thoughts on the matter.”

“You’re certain he’s the Shadow Fiend?” Tang Yi asked quietly, his gaze wary.

“Almost beyond doubt. Are you confident you could defeat him in a fight?” Song Mo tried to keep his voice steady as he asked Tang Yi.

“No,” Tang Yi replied, as honest as ever.

There was nothing to be done. Song Mo resolved to keep everyone calm for now, and wait for the constables of Changning County to bring reinforcements from the Demon Suppression Bureau.

After a brief pause, Song Mo looked the old Daoist in the eye and said sternly, “Your art of transformation is indeed impressive, but your words are laced with manipulation. So many coincidences—too deliberate. You may deceive for a while, but how can you deceive forever?”

At that moment, Zhang Xiaoguang also realized the truth. He pointed angrily at the old Daoist. “On the day of my wedding with Jiaoniang, it was you who sowed discord with your lies, trying to ruin our heaven-sent union!”

In his agitation, Zhang Xiaoguang forgot that his beloved Zhao Yueshu was, in fact, a fox spirit.

The old Daoist shot Zhang Xiaoguang a look of disgust and snorted, refusing to speak. Seeing this reaction, Song Mo was nearly certain of his guess.

“Speak, then,” the old Daoist said, returning his gaze to Song Mo with a low, grave voice.

Song Mo rubbed his fingers together and continued, “On the day Zhang Xiaoguang and Zhao Yueshu wed, you took on the guise of the Lame Daoist and revealed Zhao Yueshu’s secret as a fox spirit at the gate of the Zhang residence, deliberately trying to disrupt their marriage.”

Before Song Mo finished, Zhang Xiaoguang was already indignant. He snapped at the old Daoist, “So it was you! Haven’t you ever heard, ‘Better to tear down a temple than ruin a marriage’?”

Zhao Yueshu’s face turned pale. She quickly silenced Zhang Xiaoguang, pulling him protectively behind her.

Song Mo cursed inwardly. This idiot Zhang Xiaoguang always managed to say exactly the wrong thing. The Shadow Fiend, Master Xiaoshan, had nursed a grudge ever since the old mountain temple was built. Now, Zhang Xiaoguang’s careless words could provoke him further.

Indeed, Song Mo snuck a glance at the old Daoist. There was a murderous glint in his eyes, his expression sharp and dangerous.

Song Mo hastily scolded Zhang Xiaoguang, “You blockhead! Your family took his father’s life a century ago. How could anyone expect to marry into the enemy’s line a hundred years later?”

Zhang Xiaoguang flushed scarlet and fell silent, unable to muster a reply.

Zhao Yueshu’s face, too, was drawn and troubled. After all, falling in love with the descendant of one’s enemy was a torment she could hardly bear.

Sensing the old Daoist’s mood had softened slightly, Song Mo quickly changed the subject. “If I’m not mistaken, Zhao Yueshu’s feelings are sincere. Perhaps—”

He looked at Zhao Yueshu and said gravely, “Perhaps she truly wishes to forsake her fox spirit cultivation, live as a mortal, and stay with Zhang Xiaoguang until their hair turns white with age.”

Song Mo was not wrong. Though Zhao Yueshu had taken human form, she was still a spirit at heart. By offering her white fox pelt as a bridal gift, she had silently revealed her true feelings to Zhang Xiaoguang.

“Jiaoniang, is that true?” Touched by such sacrifice, Zhang Xiaoguang gazed at Zhao Yueshu with profound affection.

Exposed by Song Mo before everyone, Zhao Yueshu blushed deeply and lowered her head in embarrassment.

Some things need not be spoken aloud.

Tang Yi frowned and shot Song Mo a questioning look, and Song Mo grinned, understanding at once what Tang Yi wanted to ask: how he knew so much about a young maiden’s heart.

Song Mo could only smirk. The hearts of women might be mysterious, but Zhao Yueshu was no ordinary woman—she was a fox spirit who had cultivated for a hundred years.

And Song Mo had read plenty of Pu Songling’s Strange Tales from a Chinese Studio…

“But wait,” Zhang Xiaoguang protested, “if he only meant to stop my wedding with Jiaoniang, why did he teach my father such a cruel plan?”

Song Mo grew impatient at Zhang Xiaoguang’s density. “Fool, let me ask you—was the white fox pelt ever burned?”

Without hesitation, Zhang Xiaoguang shook his head. “No. When my father sent men to burn the pelt, it had already disappeared—stolen, perhaps, by a thief…”

He suddenly stopped, realization dawning, and pointed at the old Daoist. “It was him! He must have taken the white fox pelt!”

The old Daoist glanced at him with contempt, making Zhang Xiaoguang shrink behind Zhao Yueshu.

“You should be grateful to Master Xiaoshan,” Song Mo said, his tone laced with scorn. “If he hadn’t taken the pelt beforehand, the person standing before you wouldn’t be a lovely maiden, but a pool of fresh blood.”

By now, Song Mo’s patience for the scholar had run thin. His words were tinged with derision.

“With just these clues, you think you can conclude I’m Master Xiaoshan?” the old Daoist asked, unfazed.

“That’s not all. You revealed yourself again soon enough,” Song Mo said gravely.

“I’m listening,” the old Daoist replied, now intrigued.

Song Mo thought for a moment, then pointed to Tang Yi. “You’re wary of him, aren’t you?”

Tang Yi frowned, but quickly understood Song Mo’s meaning.

“Tang Yi and I are both from Jian’an Capital. What’s more, Tang Yi is an officer of the Six Doors, and he carries the badge of the Demon Suppression Bureau on this trip.”

Here, Song Mo pointed to himself. “I’m not worth mentioning, just a humble undertaker, but technically also under the Bureau’s jurisdiction. You fear the Demon Suppression Bureau, don’t you?”

The old Daoist didn’t reply, but the calm in his face was gone, replaced by a brooding darkness.

Song Mo’s heart grew heavier, but he pressed on. “First, you used your magic to abduct Tang Yi and the Zhang family to the Fox Spirit’s den in Sheepgut Mountain. Then, when you saw me and the county constables arrive at the Zhang’s, you wanted to repeat your trick but taking so many people at once must have taxed you.”

Seeing the old Daoist didn’t refute him, Song Mo pressed further, “So you changed tactics—once again becoming the Lame Daoist, and subtly led us here by mentioning the Fox Spirit’s lair on Sheepgut Mountain, right?”

The old Daoist was silent for a moment, then burst out laughing.

“Could my reasoning be wrong? Surely not…” Song Mo thought, uneasy at the old Daoist’s apparent madness.

“Marvelous! Simply marvelous!” the old Daoist exclaimed, clapping his hands. Suddenly, his entire aura shifted.

Shadows swirled around him, enveloping his figure.

When the darkness faded, a handsome young man in black stood before them. His lips were red, his teeth white—his features almost too perfect—but between his brows there was a faint, ominous ferocity.

“What…what is this?” Zhang Xiaoguang stammered, trembling.

“Brother…” Zhao Yueshu whispered, biting her lip.

So it was true—the Lame Daoist was none other than the Shadow Fiend, Master Xiaoshan.