Chapter Twelve: The County Constable

Buddhists excel at manipulating the soul, while Confucians are best suited to support roles... This was not quite as he had imagined.

The two masters toiled ceaselessly for half an hour, only to make the corpse puppet even more frenzied, to the point that it was about to erupt.

He Chang’an grew anxious.

He drew his blade once more, crouched low with bent knees, and pushed off the ground with both feet, shooting forward like an arrow loosed from its bow.

Man and blade became one—slash!

With a muffled thud, He Chang’an’s waist-saber struck the corpse puppet’s neck, causing the creature to stagger and lurch several steps forward…

A flicker of joy flashed across He Chang’an’s face, but it quickly faded.

His all-out strike had merely made the corpse puppet stumble a few steps, leaving only a faint white mark on its neck?

The creature seemed to have been hurt by the blow. It bared its teeth in a low growl, then suddenly whipped its head around. Its eyes glowed with a strange, bloody light as it fixed its gaze on He Chang’an, jaws full of razor-sharp teeth…

He Chang’an paled in shock.

He hurriedly edged closer to the disheveled scholar, having noticed that while the scholar’s “words carry power” had little offensive force, his defenses were formidable. Despite the length of the previous melee, the corpse puppet had been unable to breach the four- or five-foot radius encircling the scholar…

Within four feet of the scholar, He Chang’an felt a strange warmth and uprightness surround him, the chill within his body noticeably suppressed by half. So, there really was a defensive aura at work—was this the Confucian spirit of righteousness?

The scholar, long frustrated by his lack of progress, felt a great relief when a reckless warrior suddenly leapt in to draw the monster’s ire and act as a shield.

He casually tore a page from his scroll, intoned, “There are spirits three feet above one’s head,” and tossed the page out. It transformed into several ancient characters that merged into He Chang’an’s body.

He Chang’an’s spirit soared; he felt as if his skin was now sheathed in a thin, glowing membrane that shielded him securely…

Seeing the corpse puppet about to charge, he grabbed the disheveled scholar’s waist and leapt atop the wall.

“A Confucian master, yet so little physical strength…” He Chang’an was surprised to find the scholar limp in his arms, offering no resistance at all.

“The Master said… Officer, restrain yourself!” The scholar, suddenly perched atop the wall, glanced down and grew dizzy, shouting, “Don’t let go! I—I’m afraid of heights…”

He Chang’an, of course, had no intention of letting go. With such a fine human shield, how could he bear to let his defensive asset tumble from the wall?

He had brought the scholar up there intending to use some of his “little tricks.” Even if he could bind the corpse puppet for a dozen heartbeats, he’d have a way to pierce it. Besides, he wanted to test the power of his “little black rod”...

At last, the corpse puppet erupted, howling skyward, pounding its withered chest with its fists. Its eyes blazed crimson as it staggered toward He Chang’an.

Still half a zhang from the earthen wall, the corpse puppet gathered itself to leap.

Suddenly, a net of fine palm-fiber rope appeared, ensnaring the corpse puppet mid-leap. The net shrank swiftly, binding the furious creature into a bundle.

Another net dropped over its head, binding it yet again.

A soft whir followed as dozens of sharp bamboo spikes shot from the corners of the wall, piercing the puppet’s belly, flanks, and thighs—wherever flesh was soft.

Still not enough.

Gritting his teeth, He Chang’an leapt down with the scholar, slashed his blade viciously into the puppet’s abdomen, then retreated several steps.

“Damn it, I still can’t break through its defenses!”

Assaulted by both spikes and steel, the corpse puppet’s skin remained unbroken. It thrashed and roared, tightly bound, the ropes stretching and snapping, threatening to burst.

“Om mani padme hum!”

At last, the young nun ceased her silent watching. Her soft lips parted to chant the Six-Syllable Mantra, and she struck her wooden fish drum.

The corpse puppet, on the verge of breaking free, rolled its eyes back, foamed at the mouth, and convulsed as though struck by lightning, its struggles ceasing.

All three let out a sigh of relief.

“What now?” they asked in unison.

He Chang’an stood, blade in hand, his expression calm.

The pretty young nun blushed, pressed her palms together, and recited, “Amitabha, mercy, mercy…”

The disheveled scholar, cheeks burning, wrenched himself free from He Chang’an’s grasp, coughed lightly, and quoted, “The Master said, ‘Only the petty man and the woman are difficult to nurture.’”

“Hmm?”

He Chang’an and the nun turned to stare at the scholar.

“Uh—slip of the tongue!” the scholar stammered, then recited, “How can one say there are no robes? I will share yours—when the king raises his army, I will sharpen my spear. Together, we share enmity…”

“Yes, yes, together we share enmity!”

The young nun turned away with a look of disgust and once again used the Six-Syllable Mantra and wooden fish to plunge the puppet into an even deeper stupor.

He Chang’an could only shake his head and smile wryly—this Confucian was certainly a character.

“Miss—Reverend,” He Chang’an said after a moment’s thought, “keep this creature under control, and I’ll try to break through its defenses.”

“Break through—its defenses?” The nun blinked her wide eyes, a bit confused.

An angel’s face… Xiao Huan’s chest… Xiao Fang’s eyes… This nun is just too adorable!

He Chang’an collected himself, cleared his throat, and said, “Uh, I mean, figure out a way to kill this bastard.”

“Crude!” the nun and scholar said together, full of disdain.

Damn it, I’m an orthodox Tang officer, and you two call me unrefined? You’re both dabblers in heterodox arts…

“Sir, please—give me a defensive and then an offensive boost,” He Chang’an muttered absently as he studied the corpse puppet.

But then he realized his game jargon probably made no sense to a Confucian scholar of the Tang.

“Heh, see, the professional constable is truly professional, even if he is just a coarse, freshly inducted martial man!” The scholar chuckled, tore off two more pages from his scroll, and cast them onto He Chang’an, chanting:

“With a single strike, one kills an enemy; across a thousand miles, one leaves no trace!”

Dozens of ancient green characters the size of fists appeared in the air, swarming to He Chang’an and merging into his body.

He Chang’an’s aura surged more than twofold, and even his constable’s saber gleamed with a mysterious blue light, pulsing with power.

Damn, you’re the real professional here; your support skills are top-notch!

Without hesitation, He Chang’an flipped his blade to use it as a sword, thrusting it directly into the corpse puppet’s throat.

At the same time, he secretly guided the restless “little black rod” within his spirit sea to flash forth and stab into the puppet’s brow.

A bloodcurdling scream rang out. Suddenly, He Chang’an clutched his head, dropped his saber, and collapsed, foaming at the mouth and convulsing uncontrollably.

The pretty nun and the disheveled scholar exchanged stunned glances, unable to comprehend what had just happened.

Moments ago, the constable had been in fine form—bolstered by the scholar’s murderous aura, he’d pierced the puppet’s throat with a single stroke…

“Hmph, you two dabble in heterodox arts and dare to exorcise demons?”

Suddenly, a man strode in at the door, clad in blue official robes embroidered with the rhinoceros insignia of an eighth-rank military officer.

His face was stern, his gaze dismissive of both the nun and the scholar as he walked straight to the writhing, roaring corpse puppet bound in the net.

This was Yang Zhen, County Constable of Weiyang.

He glanced down at He Chang’an, who was rolling on the ground clutching his head, and gave a barely perceptible nod, a faint smile appearing on his fair, handsome face.

With a casual slap, he reduced the puppet to a puddle of broken flesh.