Chapter 60: The Corpse Guard (Part 1)

The man in brocade snorted coldly. "Pig-skinner, since when do you have a say in my business?"

As he spoke, he moved to step forward, only to be blocked once more. The guard said icily, "The chief has given orders—no visitors tonight. You'd best go back."

“You—” The man in brocade’s expression shifted, his glare venomous. He shot a final glance at Yi Fan, as if wanting to speak, but thought better of it.

Yi Fan’s face was grave. He turned to Daoist Zhao. “There’s a demonic presence—something monstrous is hiding inside.”

“Then there’s no mistake. The disappearance of the townsfolk is surely connected to this Wind and Fire Gang.” Daoist Zhao nodded, his senses affirming the suspicion. He glanced around, then drew from his sleeve the Soul-shocking Bronze Gong. “Just now, young friend, you displayed great power. Now it’s my turn to show what this old Daoist can do.”

They were about to force their way in. The man in brocade felt his scalp prickle, but dared not interfere; he merely stood aside, face contorted in distress.

The surrounding guards’ gazes turned icy. Swords and sabers flashed from their sheaths. Their leader barked, “Where did these wild Daoists come from, daring to make trouble on Wind and Fire Gang turf? You must have a death wish.”

“Baldy Lai, these two troublemakers came with you. We’ll capture you all first—let’s see how the chief peels your skin off.”

At his command, the men surged forward, those inside and out gathering at the commotion.

Daoist Zhao remained unruffled. “Young friend, guard your spirit. Don’t let yourself be harmed.” As he finished speaking, he tapped the Soul-shocking Bronze Gong.

A clear, piercing sound like that from the depths of the underworld rang out. The encircling men’s eyes glazed over; their steps faltered, swords and sabers clattering to the ground.

He struck the gong again. The sound seemed to pierce straight into their souls, dragging them into a muddled oblivion. As if by prior agreement, they all collapsed limply to the floor.

Daoist Zhao wiped the sweat from his brow, his breath unsteady. He glanced around in satisfaction—at least a dozen men now lay unconscious—and shook his head. “I’m getting old. In the past, I could strike this gong a dozen times without losing my breath.”

“You’re too modest, elder.” Yi Fan let out a sigh of relief, marveling at the bronze gong in Zhao’s hands. Such a magical artifact was most effective against spirits. Even the smallest ghost would be utterly destroyed by a single strike.

Magical implements like this were rare, usually passed down through generations, their power growing over a century or more—like the Demon-Slaying Sword at the Yitian Temple, originally just a peachwood blade, but strengthened by many Daoists before it gained its formidable might.

Seeing Yi Fan’s gaze, Daoist Zhao nonchalantly put away the Soul-shocking Bronze Gong. “Let’s go in. We mustn’t let that fiend escape.”

Just then, a scream split the air from the inner courtyard. Yi Fan’s expression changed in alarm. “Not good. The demon must have heard the commotion and is trying to flee.”

He could feel the faint trace of demonic energy rapidly receding. Without hesitation, he leapt up onto the high wall and saw a wisp of gauze, like blue smoke, drifting away.

“Fiend, you won’t escape!”

Yi Fan struck out with a Palm Thunder, but was a step too late. He only managed to blast half the roof apart—the slender figure was already gone.

“Elder, search inside. I’ll pursue.”

Without another word, his figure shot forward. He bounded along the walls, chasing the faint demonic aura as it sped away.

The area was a warren of alleys and wooden shacks, making it difficult to maintain his momentum. Forced to drop to the ground, his pace slowed.

At last, he reached a main street. Yi Fan paused, ears pricked, hearing the rush of energy. He dodged aside as a stone whistled past. Looking to its source, he saw a young woman in light gauze standing there, poised and beautiful.

Who else could it be but Nie Xiaoqian?

“Hey, Daoist, why are you chasing me?” Nie Xiaoqian pouted, feigning indignation.

Yi Fan narrowed his eyes, scanning the surroundings for accomplices. Seeing none, he spoke coldly, “Demon, are you behind the disappearances of the townsfolk in Guobei County?”

Nie Xiaoqian’s large eyes darted in confusion. “What missing townsfolk? And what do missing mortals have to do with me?”

“Still trying to deny it? You think I can’t see through you?” Yi Fan snorted. “You’re capturing people to use their heart’s blood to defile the sacred relics and help the tree demon regain its freedom, aren’t you?”

“I don’t understand a word you’re saying.” Nie Xiaoqian pouted. “I want to go home. Stop chasing me or I’ll get angry. And when I get angry, even I’m afraid of myself.”

With that, she turned to leave.

Yi Fan, now annoyed, struck out with another Palm Thunder. Lightning cracked down, but Nie Xiaoqian nimbly dodged it, stamping her foot. “Why won’t you let me go, Daoist?”

“Until you tell me where the missing townsfolk are, you’re not leaving. Speak now, or I’ll destroy your soul and you’ll never reincarnate.” Yi Fan swept his sleeve, drawing the Demon-Slaying Sword from his back, a few demon-slaying talismans ready in his hand.

Nie Xiaoqian patted her chest, grinning. “Oh, I’m so frightened. I’m right here—come and get me if you can.”

Yi Fan’s face darkened. Sword in hand, he closed the distance in a flash, spinning the blade in a flourish to cut off her retreat, sending a talisman flying.

He stayed vigilant, knowing this demoness would not be captured easily. Sure enough, she spun gracefully, drawing a long ribbon from somewhere to deflect the attack and blow the talisman aside.

Fortunately, he was prepared. Yi Fan retrieved the talisman, unleashing several bolts of Palm Thunder. Amidst the thunderous crash, Nie Xiaoqian cried out as she was thrown back, striking the wall and vanishing from sight.

“Such petty tricks—do you really think you can fool me? Dream on.”

Yi Fan shifted his stance, sending another demon-slaying talisman to the wall. Flames flared up, burning swiftly. Then a long ribbon shot out, darting toward him like a snake.

He didn’t panic, countering with another Palm Thunder that struck the ribbon and knocked it to the ground. It slithered back into the wall, and Nie Xiaoqian flew out once more.

“Hey, Daoist, are you being so fierce because you’ve taken a fancy to me?” Nie Xiaoqian rolled her eyes mischievously. “How about this: I’ll warm your bed and serve you well, and you let me go, all right?”

“Utter nonsense. Even now you cling to false hopes. Do you really think I won’t kill you?” Yi Fan’s voice was thunderous as he advanced. “Speak—where are the missing townsfolk?”

This woman’s power was not weak; capturing her in one move would be nearly impossible. If she focused only on fleeing, unconcerned with injury, he had no confidence in stopping her.

“I could tell you, but you must agree to one condition.” Nie Xiaoqian bit her lip, thinking. “It’s a simple condition. If you agree, I’ll tell you where the people are.”

“Speak your condition. As long as it’s not wicked or unjust, it can be discussed.” Yi Fan was curious what trick she had in mind.

“Hmm, but I haven’t decided what my condition is yet. Why don’t we wait until I figure it out, and I’ll find you then?”

Yi Fan, furious, sent several bolts of Palm Thunder crashing down. “Demoness, you deserve to die!”