Chapter Sixty-One: Casting a Long Line for a Big Catch

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Zhang Yichao had captured ten remnants of the Night God Sect. Among them, seven had their souls tampered with by evil spirits; the other three had fallen victim to manipulation after losing control during cultivation. Watching He Chang'an employ the Soul Sight technique to distinguish them one by one—and confidently assert that, if he were willing to expend spiritual power, he could even perform "reverse tracing" to hunt down the ghostly entities controlling these men—Zhang Yichao stared wide-eyed, utterly unconvinced.

“Go on, catch one for me to see!” Zhang Yichao glared at He Chang'an. “You’d better not be like those scholars, always spinning empty tales.”

He Chang'an glanced at Lord Zheng, noticing skepticism on his face too. He sighed inwardly, muttering, “Forget it. Showing off like this in front of others only breeds envy. Best to avoid it in the future.”

“Lord Zheng, Head Zhang, I may have exaggerated. Truth be told, I’ve only ever tried it once…” He Chang'an bowed with a wry smile.

“Then try it again,” Lord Zheng remarked coolly.

“But, Lord Zheng, performing reverse tracing expends a great deal of spiritual energy and vital essence. I fear my body won’t withstand it,” He Chang'an replied, forcing another bitter smile.

“If I don’t seize this chance for some benefit, I’ll end up nothing but a beast of burden for the rest of my days.”

“No matter. If you can truly fish out a big one through them, the Demon Slayer Bureau’s pills will be yours in abundance!” Before Lord Zheng could answer, Zhang Yichao grinned broadly.

If this fellow could really perform "fishing" enforcement, there’d be no need for street patrols. They could just take him for a stroll around Chang'an, seize anyone whose soul bore a mark, and let He Chang'an slowly reel in the culprits.

“But pills alone aren’t enough. I have no resources whatsoever for a martial artist’s cultivation…” He Chang'an stammered.

“That’s nothing! Don’t worry—before you advance to the fourth grade, I, Zhang Yichao, will provide everything you need.” Zhang Yichao thumped his chest with bravado, exuding a charmingly boisterous air.

“And—could I advance a few months’ salary? I barely have two taels of silver to my name.” He Chang'an muttered, sheepishly pulling out a handful of silver fragments—indeed, less than two taels.

“No problem, it’s nothing—wait, you haven’t shown this reverse tracing yet, but you’re already making demands!” Zhang Yichao’s face darkened.

“If you don’t fish out a big one, I’ll crush your eggs myself!”

He Chang'an squeezed his legs together and managed an awkward smile. “I’ll do my utmost, sir, my utmost!”

…

And so, after the time it takes for tea to brew.

He Chang'an first performed a tortoise boxing routine to warm up, swallowed a True Essence Pill gifted by Zhang Yichao, drank half a jug of wine, and devoured three pounds of lamb before beginning his spell.

Watching He Chang'an’s antics, Zhang Yichao’s eye twitched, itching to kick the fellow down the stairs.

He hadn’t even started, and already demanded a year’s advance—never had he seen such a useless demon slayer.

Lord Zheng watched with a cold gaze, a book in hand, eyes flickering, lost in silent calculations…

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“Head Zhang, remember to strike quickly, or my life may be forfeit,” He Chang'an cautioned repeatedly before beginning, urging them to act at the instant he fished out the culprit.

‘Mainly, I’m afraid the enemy will crawl back along the net.’

“All right, all right, I know,” Zhang Yichao waved impatiently.

“Then, shall I begin?”

“Hurry up!”

Approaching a middle-aged man, He Chang'an activated Soul Sight again, confirmed his target, then tapped the man’s brow, sending a small black rod into it.

After a dozen breaths, the "Night God Sect remnant" turned pale and shivered, blood trickling from his mouth and nose.

The ghost mark deep within his soul was swiftly refined by He Chang'an.

A thin black thread extended toward a grand mansion somewhere in Chang'an…

…

“Chamberlain Xing Yuzhai?” Zhang Yichao’s expression changed as he looked to Lord Zheng.

Lord Zheng nodded slightly.

Zhang Yichao took a single stride, appearing a hundred yards away, then vanished into the snowy night.

He Chang'an, "weakened," collapsed to the floor, gasping and coughing, as though he had expended most of his spiritual power in one go.

“Tired?” Lord Zheng asked calmly.

“Uh, it’s manageable—just severe soul depletion, a bit of exhaustion,” He Chang'an replied "strenuously."

“In that case, you should be sent to the palace,” Lord Zheng remarked. “With your Soul Sight and reverse tracing, you could serve the Demon Slayer Bureau, but this would cut off your cultivation path.”

Lord Zheng set his book aside, stretched, and stood up.

He Chang'an panicked, scrambling to his feet and forced a laugh. “Lord Zheng, I’m not tired, not tired at all!”

“Oh?” Lord Zheng sized him up, seeming doubtful.

“Just now—Lord Zheng, I’m simply impoverished, hoping to seize more cultivation resources…” He Chang'an confessed.

He had seen through Lord Zheng—laconic, ruthless, mind as deep as the sea. His petty tricks were nothing before such a man.

Better to confess and hope for leniency.

Lord Zheng regarded He Chang'an with a half-smile, his tone meaningful. “Then remain beneath the Demon Suppression Tower. Fish out three hundred, and you may leave.”

“I obey!” He Chang'an bowed deeply, accepting the task.

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As long as he didn’t have to go to the perilous northern or western borders, nor be sent to the palace, he’d be content even if tasked with visiting the pleasure quarters, listening to music, arranging flowers, or admiring the moon.

Lord Zheng said no more, picking up his book and reading with relish.

‘How is it that in this Great Tang, the more someone loves books, the more handsome—and the more sly—they become…’

…

At midnight, the little nun’s face had turned green with hunger.

She had tried several times to go out, but remembering she had only two coins, gave up and collapsed in bed, sighing.

That Li Yishan fellow, it had been three or four hours, and he still hadn’t brought food. Surely he wasn’t at the Music Bureau again…

Suddenly, there was a stir outside.

Someone approached through the snow, stopping outside the little nun's door and knocking.

Knock, knock, knock.

The crisp knocking echoed in the snowy night, the visitor’s manner polite. The little nun scrambled up to open the door.

But she halted abruptly, suspicion clouding her face.

The visitor was certainly not Li Yishan. So who could it be?

Silently, the little nun took out her wooden drum, ready to recite the Six-Syllable Bright Mantra, and grasped a fistful of talismans from her bosom.

“Princess, returning to Chang'an without notifying your servants? We could have prepared the imperial carriage to welcome you,” the visitor’s voice was thin and mocking, hardly the tone for addressing a princess.

The little nun’s mouth went dry as she slowly retreated toward the bed.

Beneath the bed, there was a secret passage.

“The Imperial Consort misses the Princess dearly, so much she cannot eat or sleep. Pity her, Your Highness, and follow this old servant to the palace,” the eunuch outside spoke with chilling sweetness.

The little nun sat at the bed’s edge, flinging a stack of talismans that burst into dozens of radiant shards, shooting toward the door.

At the same time, she pressed a mechanism at the bed’s head.

With a soft click, the bedboard flipped, revealing a dark entrance to the secret passage…

Just then, the little nun’s expression changed abruptly.

A pale, skeletal hand reached from the passage, seized her throat, and dragged her into the darkness…