Chapter Twenty-One: Redirecting Calamity Eastward

Spending the night at Weiyang Academy, He Chang'an was on edge, unable to close his eyes for even a moment. When he stepped outside in the morning, the glare of the sun made his steps unsteady.

A night without incident was, in itself, a blessing.

The magistrate had already left at dawn, riding back to the county office. Leading his skinny donkey, He Chang'an exited the academy, glanced back at the four large golden characters above the gate—"Weiyang Academy"—shook his head with a wry smile, and made his way toward the county seat.

"Daoists are ruthless, monks are sly, scholars are filthy…"

"Damn it, that one offhand remark from the magistrate contained more information than I expected."

The little nun hadn’t followed him, and that was a relief. That gluttonous Buddhist was simply impossible to feed—one meal and she could eat up three coins’ worth of silver, still complaining she wasn’t full or satisfied…

Even the hardest-working donkey couldn’t match her appetite.

He patted his purse. Of the twenty taels left by the lady ghost as "maintenance" money, nearly three were spent on arrangements for Old Tiger Zhang’s funeral; Li Yishan had swindled fifteen taels and two coins; the little nun had eaten nearly another tael…

Counting carefully, he had less than two taels of loose silver left.

Just days ago, he’d thought he’d finally achieved financial freedom and could finally rest from his struggles. Who would have thought that, in the blink of an eye, he’d be right back where he started before he crossed over…

…

Inside the county office’s main hall, the county magistrate’s expression shifted between gloom and uncertainty as he cradled a bowl of tea, raising it to his lips several times but never drinking.

"Master Yang, the Ma Dai you mentioned—is he the madman who blocked the gate of the Imperial College in years past and injured dozens of scholars?" the magistrate asked, visibly unsettled.

"That is indeed the man," replied the magistrate. "He was once a student at the Imperial College himself, but was expelled for his outspokenness. In a fit of rage, he entered the academy and apprenticed himself to Zhao Zheng. He is now at the eighth rank as a scholar."

"An eighth-rank scholar, slaying a ghost with over three centuries of cultivation?" the magistrate muttered, sounding dubious.

The Great Tang Empire was founded on martial prowess, and though the traditions of Confucianism, Daoism, and Buddhism remained, their true legacies had long faded. They had been weak for generations.

Daoists drew talismans, monks recited sutras, scholars exorcised evil—on rare occasions, a truly remarkable talent would appear, but their brilliance was as fleeting as a night-blooming flower, never enough to shift the balance of power.

Thus, the court merely turned a blind eye to their activities…

"What is your view of this matter, Magistrate?" the county magistrate suddenly inquired.

"I am but a humble soldier," the magistrate replied, bowing. "My duty is to apprehend criminals and destroy wicked spirits and evil creatures."

"Ah… This matter must be reported urgently," the magistrate mused. "As for your suggestion yesterday, I have considered it carefully and believe it is open to discussion. For instance, we can make a show of force, publicly rooting out monsters and ghosts, but we must be careful not to provoke them completely… As for how to balance this, I leave it to your judgment, Master Yang."

The magistrate was silent for a long moment before bowing and replying, "As you command."

…

He sighed inwardly. The Great Tang’s power had waned; though there were many warriors, not a single one had transcended the mundane. Surrounded on all sides by powerful enemies, they knew full well that outsiders were constantly scheming and infiltrating outside of Chang’an, yet they could only endure passively.

Taking his leave of the magistrate, Master Yang returned to his office, summoned a pile of documented cases of monsters and ghosts within Weiyang County, and began to study them carefully.

"In the eighth year of Wuzong, the scholar Li Taibai slew a great demon north of Weiyang County, destroying countless evil spirits."

"In the twelfth year of Wuzong, the Ghost King infiltrated Weiyang County, slaughtering over three thousand commoners before being destroyed by Buddhist disciples working together."

"In the sixty-fifth year of Renzong, during a great tide of monsters and ghosts, the local Zhang Shen rallied the people to resist, fighting bravely to the death."

"In the one hundred and twenty-first year of Mingzong, monsters and ghosts in Weiyang County kept humans as livestock, resulting in the mysterious deaths of over a thousand people…"

…

With each record he read, the magistrate’s brow creased tighter, his expression growing ever more grim.

For over a thousand years, the Great Tang’s control over the vast lands beyond Chang’an had never been especially firm; it existed in a perpetual state of semi-chaos.

Factional strife was constant at court, with officials scheming against one another;

Generations of emperors and members of the imperial clan outwardly honored warriors and encouraged scholars, yet secretly allied with the Daoist sects, consuming elixirs in pursuit of immortality…

The magistrate sighed, rubbing his brow as he paced the floor.

"Even a public campaign to clear out monsters and evil spirits would be impossible—there are only a handful of men under my command… Wait, what about He Chang’an?"

"Someone, summon Quickhand He Chang’an to me. I have questions for him." The magistrate sat down, his expression somewhat peculiar.

This He Chang’an did have a bit of backbone—he’d stood vigil for Old Tiger Zhang, and dared to draw his blade in the face of a corpse puppet’s attack…

"Sir, you called for me?" He Chang’an entered, sweating profusely, and bowed.

"What happened to you?" the magistrate asked curiously. For a martial man of his rank, walking seven or eight miles shouldn’t have left him in such a state.

"Sir, it’s the donkey…" He Chang’an replied with an embarrassed grin. "Last night, it ate something bad at the academy and had the runs all the way back; its legs turned to jelly. I had no choice but to carry it home myself."

Most people ride donkeys, but in his case, the donkey rode him…

The magistrate’s face stiffened, but he couldn’t help laughing. He said kindly, "Had I known, I wouldn’t have asked you to return this morning."

"Sir, do you mean we’re heading back to the academy?" He Chang’an asked.

"Yes, go tidy yourself up; we’re heading to Weiyang Academy," the magistrate replied with a smile.

"Er… All right. Actually, there’s not much to pack—I’m always ready to go, and as for valuables…"

Would a tael and seven coins of loose silver count?

"By the way, sir, should I bring the men from Quickhand Squad?" He Chang’an asked.

…

Bringing more men to the academy would certainly be safer. With his martial skills, he could easily be among the first to escape…

"No need," the magistrate said, his gaze shifting as if considering something. "Take my warrant to the county assistant, collect some magical tools and talismans, and distribute them among the men. Have them sweep the city in search of the criminal."

"Specifically, the one responsible for yesterday’s mass deaths—make sure the search is thorough, house by house, not missing a single corner!"

As he spoke, the magistrate laid out a sheet of paper, wrote a warrant, and handed it to He Chang’an.

He Chang’an took the warrant, left, and gathered Hu Laosi and the others to collect the magical items, though he puzzled inwardly, "Didn’t that old scoundrel get killed? Why are we searching the whole city?"

Still, he asked no questions.

The magistrate’s orders were to be obeyed, nothing more.

…

Thus, an hour later, just past midday, Magistrate Yang Zhen and Quickhand He Chang’an arrived once again at Weiyang Academy.

This time, they made a deliberate effort to conceal themselves: no horses, no donkey, dressed in common clothes, slipping quietly out of the city.

"Remember," the magistrate whispered at the academy gate, "to the scholars, say only that we wish to borrow some books. Do not mention monsters or ghosts."

"Er… Understood!" He Chang’an replied.

"Is the magistrate planning something?" he wondered. "So many scholars, not easy to provoke…"

But recalling the magistrate’s earlier ‘maneuvers,’ He Chang’an couldn’t help his lips twitching in amusement. He thought, "When the magistrate mocked the scholars, saying Daoists are ruthless, monks are sly, scholars are filthy… In my opinion, the real schemer is the magistrate himself."

Through certain special channels, word had been spread that the Weiyang magistrate was a man of high integrity—unyielding in the face of evil, unwilling to see his people suffer, and determined to fight demonic forces to the end…

At the same time, rumors circulated that "evil spirits had wrought havoc in the city, killing hundreds," but thanks to the intervention of disciples of the Confucian sage, Ma Dai and Li Yishan, who, though only eighth-rank scholars, managed to slay the monster beyond their station…

The news caused a sensation. The streets were flooded with people, a "parasol of ten thousand" was crafted and delivered to the county office with much fanfare;

Meanwhile, some half-baked scholars ran about spreading the word that the Weiyang Academy, long neglected and fallen into disrepair, would reopen its Hall of Sages and begin classes on the fifteenth of August…

…

A masterstroke—diverting disaster eastward!

He Chang’an began to suspect that this magistrate might once have been a scholar himself.