Chapter Forty-One: Remnants of the Night God Sect

He Chang’an was startled. The Qi Absorption Technique flowed naturally within him, and the clear radiance of his righteous energy suddenly erupted, binding the three mutated monsters.

“Wasn’t it said that there were no demons or ghosts within Chang’an? What on earth are these things?” A jolt ran through He Chang’an’s heart as he sensed three chillingly cold auras seeping through his skin, muscles, and blood, reaching deep into his organs. In the blink of an eye, his spiritual energy grew sluggish.

The small black rod in his spiritual sea activated on its own, swiftly refining the eerie cold energy.

After five or six breaths, He Chang’an felt his body return to normal—his spiritual energy and righteous force resumed their flow, while the three monsters disguised as “bandits” had disintegrated into heaps of waste, soon to be scattered by the wind.

Such a domineering evil art!

He Chang’an crouched down, wary as he scanned his surroundings. Like a shadow, he melted into the darkness of the alley, disappearing after a few nimble leaps.

Soon, silhouettes appeared at the entrance to the alley, their bodies cloaked in black, as if ready to dissolve into the night at any moment.

The group moved silently to the scene of the recent battle, finding only three piles of debris on the ground, slowly dissipating in the breeze.

“He escaped? Useless fools!” one said coldly. “Find out where he’s staying and kill him.”

“Yes,” the others answered in hushed, shrill voices—voices that sounded like eunuchs.

...

He Chang’an slipped through the shadows, using the cover of night to quickly traverse several streets, arriving in a district of low houses.

“I’ve just come out of the Demon Slayer Bureau’s dungeon, and already someone’s set up an ambush to assassinate me. Something’s not right…”

While searching for a place to hide, He Chang’an pondered the situation, feeling a strange sense of unease—as if a mysterious eye were fixed upon him.

That tingling sensation, like a needle pricking his back, was exactly what he felt.

What perplexed him most, though, was that the cold aura hadn’t been from a demon or ghost.

Who in Chang’an could be so bold—and possess such power—to dare assassinate a Demon Slayer Bureau agent?

He soon selected an abandoned courtyard, surrounded by ordinary houses, all built in the same style and wholly unremarkable.

He Chang’an released his divine sense, probing for anomalies. Finding none, he vaulted over the wall, landing lightly in the courtyard.

...

The rooster crowed thrice, and dawn broke in the east.

He Chang’an pushed open the battered wooden door, stepped out of the side room, yawned, and stretched lazily, feeling rather tired.

---

He’d spent the first half of the night listening to music and drinking at the brothel, then huddled in the side room of an abandoned courtyard for the latter half, tense for more than two hours. He Chang’an felt somewhat aggrieved.

Still, he hadn’t been idle.

He possessed a simple map he’d taken from the Demon Slayer Bureau’s library—a patrol district division map of Chang’an, likely left in a martial arts manual by one of the Demon Slayers.

He Chang’an studied the map closely, ultimately choosing three places as potential hideouts:

Yellow Mud Lane, Ox Street, and Peace Lane.

Yellow Mud Lane was neither too near nor too far from the Demon Slayer Bureau—about the time it took to drink a cup of tea on horseback. Its greatest advantage was its ordinariness.

Ordinary people’s territory, ordinary buildings—so ordinary that He Chang’an had overlooked it many times on the map.

As for Ox Street and Peace Lane, he picked these simply because they were very close to the Bureau; if he could scale the wall, he’d be home in a dozen breaths.

Moreover, the rent in these three places was probably the cheapest in Chang’an.

Yellow Mud Lane was a given. The residents were mostly peddlers, butchers, laborers—the perfect place to blend in.

Thus, his first choice was Yellow Mud Lane.

“How am I supposed to survive here? On my first day at work, someone tried to kill me—this place is more dangerous than Weiyang County…”

He Chang’an climbed the wall, relying on his excellent memory and the map in hand, weaving through several cramped alleys until he soon arrived next door to Peace Lane, at the Demon Slayer Bureau.

He Chang’an straightened his clothes, brushed off the dust from climbing over walls and roofs, and entered the Bureau’s main gate.

He breathed a sigh of relief.

Watching his colleagues arrive in twos and threes, chatting and laughing as they came to “work,” He Chang’an kept a blank expression, but inwardly resolved to quickly uncover the identity of his would-be assassin.

He couldn’t simply hide out in the Demon Slayer Bureau forever.

“Then again, that might not be a bad idea.”

He entered the second floor of the Demon Suppression Tower, into the patrol office he shared with Jiang Jifeng and Wu Jingcao, dropped off a large bundle of books, and began cleaning.

The Bureau didn’t employ idle hands; all menial work fell to Yellow Rank Demon Slayers—and among them, the newcomer with the least seniority bore the brunt.

Everyone had started out as novices, so this rule was accepted without complaint.

In truth, there wasn’t much to clean in the patrol office; just sweeping, watering the flowers, fetching hot water from the kitchen so the “lords” could have a pot of tea.

Jiang Jifeng and Wu Jingcao entered together, sporting dark circles beneath their eyes and walking unsteadily—clearly exhausted from overwork.

---

Surveying the tidied, refreshed patrol office, Jiang Jifeng nodded in satisfaction, while Wu Jingcao, as always, kept his face cold, settling at his desk.

“That guy always has a face so icy it could crack—who knows how he acts with Little Peach from the Xiang Pavilion…” He Chang’an couldn’t help but imagine a scene not suitable for children. He poured tea for his two colleagues and smiled, “You two must be tired.”

“Not really… Damn, why did you bring the books back?” Jiang Jifeng took a sip, then noticed the bundle on the floor and frowned.

Martial men disliked scholars, and by extension, disliked books.

“No choice, last night…” He Chang’an grimaced and recounted his ordeal, omitting only the detail about his “little black rod” killing the three, otherwise telling everything truthfully.

“You mean, they turned into three piles of black residue after dying?” Jiang Jifeng set his cup down, his expression grave.

“I think so. The light was dim and I was rattled—barely managed to kill them, glanced at the remains, and didn’t look closely.” Seeing Jiang Jifeng’s somber face, He Chang’an sensed trouble.

“What do you think, Old Wu?” Jiang Jifeng mused.

“Remnants of the Night God Cult?” Wu Jingcao’s face remained cold, deep in thought.

“We should report this to Chief Xu.”

The three left the patrol office and headed straight for Xu Jian’s “office.”

...

Half an hour later, Xu Jian led Jiang Jifeng, Wu Jingcao, and He Chang’an up to the fourth floor.

“Remnants of the Night God Cult, assassinating Demon Slayers?”

In a spacious but extremely bare room, a short, stout middle-aged man—Luo Daqi, a Profound Rank Demon Slayer—flew into a rage, “Investigate! Leave no stone unturned!

Those bastards—after all these years, they dare raise their heads again!”

“Chief Luo, should we report to Lord Zheng? After all…” Xu Jian hesitated.

“I’ll speak to Lord Zheng myself. You take your men to the Astrological Bureau and get those useless fellows to assist with the investigation,” Luo Daqi replied offhandedly. “And while you’re at it, see if Li Yishan has returned.

Damn it, he cheated me out of a thousand taels…”