Chapter Sixty: The Mystery of the Corpses in Changning County, and the Profound Secrets of the Shadow Arts

Seeing that Old Master Xiaoshan kept backing down, Song Mo’s mind raced. What could he possibly have that made Old Master Xiaoshan wary? His status? Song Mo was just a mere mortician, a leatherworker in the Office of the Dead; if he died, at most a copper gong would toll the news, a hole would be dug, and he’d be buried without even a grave marker. Before the third day, the ceremonial officer from the Office of the Dead would have already sent a new mortician.

His strength? The thought was immediately quashed—he knew all too well his own limitations. Even with the benefits of the ginseng fruit and the Strength Pill, he was at best a bit tougher and stronger than the average man. If it really came to blows with the shadow demon, it could crush him dozens of times over with a mere flick of the finger.

“Could it be the Soul-Summoning Banner and the Soul-Guiding Register?” Suddenly, this guess leapt into Song Mo’s mind, and almost instantly, he was sure of it. Because besides these, he had nothing else worth mentioning. However, the Soul-Guiding Register and the Soul-Summoning Banner only appeared during mortuary rites—how could Old Master Xiaoshan know about them?

Song Mo was baffled. After all, he had only just come into contact with these items and knew nothing of their secrets. What Song Mo didn’t know was that, though Old Master Xiaoshan had tried several times to kidnap him, he was always thwarted by the Soul-Calming Lantern of the Office of the Dead. The Office belonged to the Yin realm; the lantern burned with underworld fire that all spirits, demons, and monsters instinctively avoided. Yet what truly made Old Master Xiaoshan wary was not the lantern, but Qiongqi—the fierce beast that had leapt out from the Soul-Summoning Banner’s world of mountains and seas. Old Master Xiaoshan could not see the banner or the register, nor that other world, but he could see the shadowy figure of Qiongqi merging into Song Mo’s body, and that was what gave him pause. All of this, Song Mo knew nothing about.

Though it seemed as if Song Mo and Old Master Xiaoshan had deliberated for a long time, in truth it was but the blink of an eye.

“Old Master Xiaoshan, we have nothing to do with your grudges. If you continue to press us, you should know—even a clay idol has a bit of fire inside!” Song Mo braced himself, feigning calm as he met the old man’s gaze.

Old Master Xiaoshan stared coldly at Song Mo for a long while before finally saying, “Very well. I’ll let you save face one more time today. You may take them and leave, but never return to Sheepgut Mountain.” It was his final concession; the “them” he mentioned naturally referred to Tang Yi, Xia Yu, and the rest of the unruly men from Changning County.

“Deal.” Song Mo saw the old man yield and was just about to relax when, beside him, the pale-faced Tang Yi spoke up.

“No.”

Song Mo stared in disbelief as Tang Yi, barely able to stand, spoke again in a resolute, low voice: “No. I must take the Zhang family from here—they are innocent.”

“Innocent?” The word enraged Old Master Xiaoshan; his face darkened as he snarled, “Innocent? You talk to me of innocence? A hundred years ago, the Zhang family betrayed and murdered my father, Old Master of the Mountain, and seized the spiritual gold sand of Sheepgut Mountain. That’s how they came to live in luxury, while Sheepgut Mountain became a barren wasteland. Who, then, is innocent?”

“I know nothing of the grudges of a hundred years past, but the Zhang family of today should not bear the brunt of your hatred.” With that, Tang Yi fell silent and gripped his willow-leaf saber tightly.

With the matter laid bare, Song Mo knew there was no turning back. He quietly stepped to Tang Yi’s side, standing shoulder to shoulder. Old Master Xiaoshan was not wrong—he was driven by vengeance. Nor was Tang Yi, whose guiding principle was to protect the people of the Great Zhou.

If anyone was at fault, it was this accursed fate.

“So this is your final choice?” Old Master Xiaoshan’s face was clouded with gloom, his gaze shifting from Tang Yi to Song Mo.

“I’m sorry—he is my friend,” Song Mo replied calmly, fear having become irrelevant. After all, Tang Yi had once saved his life; how could he just watch his friend die before his eyes?

“In that case, you can all die,” Old Master Xiaoshan said, his body dissolving into a cloud of black mist.

Song Mo dared not lose focus, but soon his vision was overwhelmed. From within the swirling darkness, countless shadowy figures began to emerge.

“Stay sharp!” Tang Yi barked, then charged at the shadows with his blade.

The black shapes split into two groups, one attacking Tang Yi, the other coming for Song Mo. There was no time to think—dozens of shadows lunged at Song Mo.

Clutching a heavy stone in each hand and relying on his brute strength, Song Mo struck at the shadows, the magical horseshoe on his leg lending him speed and agility. Dodging and weaving, he smashed the stones into the shadowy forms.

These specters took many shapes—some resembled wild beasts or birds, some were plants or stones, and some even took human form.

Song Mo kicked away a shadowy night-cat that pounced at him, only to have a mass of brambles seize his right hand. He struggled free, but then a lone-eared wolf’s shadow lunged, snapping at him.

“Fatty Xia, are you dead or not? If you’re alive, get over here and help!” In the chaos, Song Mo dropped all pretense and called impatiently for Xia Yu, smashing the wolf to the ground.

“Don’t worry, Brother Song—Xia Yu is here!” Xia Yu finally snapped into action, drawing his broadsword and charging in. As a first-class martial artist of the yellow rank, his body was thick with muscle and the blade in his hand swung with great weight and force. Fueled by a desire to avenge his brother, he unleashed his full power in a whirlwind upon the shadows.

With Xia Yu’s help, Song Mo’s burden eased. He battered the shadows mercilessly with his stones, and soon those seemingly invincible black shapes began to grow thin and transparent; the night-cat and bramble shadows had already dissipated.

“There’s hope!” Song Mo shouted with delight. “These shadows can be destroyed—just finish them off first!”

He redoubled his efforts, smashing the stones down even harder, watching as the number of shadows dwindled and glancing toward Tang Yi.

Tang Yi was indeed formidable. Though badly wounded, his elegant blade swept through the shadows like a meteor, the number surrounding him swiftly thinning.

Suddenly, Song Mo’s eyes widened in shock as he realized something.

“The shadows—they’re the missing corpses from Changning County!” he cried out, incredulous.

In the chaos of battle, Song Mo saw clearly: those inky black shapes were the spitting image of the missing bodies from Changning County. The one wielding a stone pillar was clearly Chen Aniu, known for his monstrous strength; the one with a bronze hammer and gong was the night watchman Han Bing; the man with the steel fork was the hunter Wang Biao…

Tang Yi’s eyes hardened, and with a single sweep of his blade, he felled the remaining shadows.

Split in two, the shadows trembled on the ground, then fell still.

“What’s going on? How did the missing corpses become shadows?” asked Xia Yu, gripping his sword in alarm, ready for anything.

“I don’t know, but it must be Old Master Xiaoshan’s doing,” Song Mo replied in a low voice, scanning the empty surroundings.

“Exactly. All these people have become shadows, even those from a hundred years past,” came Old Master Xiaoshan’s voice suddenly from the garden pavilion.

They turned to see him sipping flower tea, looking perfectly at ease.

Song Mo felt a chill in his heart. If just these shadows had left them so battered, Old Master Xiaoshan’s true strength was more terrifying than he had imagined.

“Shadow and man—the shadow comes first, then the man. But without a shadow, where is the man?” Old Master Xiaoshan sipped his tea with a twisted smile.

“I see now. Old Master Xiaoshan has captured and imprisoned their shadows. Without their shadows, their bodies vanish in sunlight—that’s why the corpses of Changning County disappeared!” Song Mo spoke in a grave tone.

“Correct. I took their shadows and trapped them, so they can never reincarnate. Don’t you think it’s a fine solution?” Old Master Xiaoshan asked, looking at Song Mo.

“Imprisoned for a hundred years—could it be these shadows have their own consciousness?” Song Mo demanded, suddenly lifting his head.

“How clever. What could be more terrifying than being trapped forever in your own shadow, doomed to eternal darkness?” Old Master Xiaoshan replied, a note of pride in his voice.

Song Mo sensed that something was off, but before he could react, a sharp pain stabbed through his heart.

“No—it’s a trick! The shadows on the ground!” he shouted in sudden realization.

“Too late.” Old Master Xiaoshan gave a devilish smile and snapped his fingers.

Song Mo, Tang Yi, and Xia Yu looked down, their faces draining of color.

The split shadows on the ground began to writhe violently. Before the three could pull away, the broken shadows started to tug at their own shadows, dragging them down.