Chapter Fifty-Five: The Desire to Kill

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He Chang’an found himself in dire straits, convinced that trouble had landed squarely in his lap.

That fellow Chen Double-Blade, a seventh-rank martial officer, demon-slaying official of the Yellow Order, and minor overseer of the first floor of the Suppression Tower, had assigned him three consecutive tasks that were impossible to complete without cheating, all with a smiling face.

Faced with this, He Chang’an had only one recourse: to collapse headfirst, foam at the mouth, and let his limbs twitch as Chen Double-Blade hurried over to “rescue” him.

But things could not go on this way. If it continued, not only would his little black rod inevitably be exposed, but his very life might inexplicably end in this sunless Suppression Tower…

The fourth time he reversed his spiritual energy, feigning unconsciousness, a sudden idea flickered through his mind.

…

Chen Double-Blade heard someone stumbling hurriedly down the corridor outside his door. His expression darkened, irritation welling up within him as he muttered, “Damn it, still not dead yet…”

He rose and looked toward the entrance, just in time to see He Chang’an collapse through the doorway, fall to the ground and cry, “Chief Chen, save me!” before beginning to foam at the mouth and convulse.

Chen Double-Blade ignored him, instead stepping to the door to glance up and down the hallway. Seeing no one nearby, he simply shut the iron door tight.

Turning back to the “unconscious” He Chang’an, he smiled.

To him, He Chang’an was just a newly appointed martial officer, someone he could crush with a single punch. The only reason he had waited so long to act was to avoid drawing attention.

If he could let a monster kill He Chang’an or cause him to go mad from energy backlash, that would be ideal.

“Boy, if you turn into a vengeful spirit, you can seek me out. I, Chen Double-Blade, will continue to suppress you,” he sneered.

Suddenly, a swirl of dark mist appeared at the center of Chen Double-Blade’s brow, coalescing into a grinning ghostly face in an instant.

He straddled He Chang’an’s body, extended a finger, and slowly pressed it toward He Chang’an’s brow…

At that, He Chang’an groaned softly and, without anyone the wiser, activated his “freeloader” mode.

Chen Double-Blade’s soul had long since been branded by a ghostly entity. Now, his mind was in utter chaos, vaguely sensing something was amiss, yet powerless to resist, left only to collapse atop He Chang’an…

Trembling, spasming, drooling white foam onto He Chang’an’s face.

He Chang’an had already probed Chen Double-Blade’s soul and discovered that this demon-slaying official had long been enslaved, turned into an undercover agent for that ridiculous “Cult of the Night God.”

So this time, he came prepared.

His first move was a killing blow: the little black rod stabbed deep into the core of Chen Double-Blade’s soul, stirring it fiercely before beginning a frenzied refinement.

Sure enough, after just a dozen breaths, as the ghostly face mark on Chen Double-Blade’s soul was about to be refined away, a fine black thread appeared.

The thread connected to the ghostly mark, continuously supplying baleful yin energy, trying desperately to restore and solidify it.

“Ah, this is the joy of freeloading…”

It had been so long since he’d “fished online”—the sensation was simply exhilarating.

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Unlike the previous two times he refined things from a distance, when he’d had to stay constantly on edge for fear that some ghostly thing might crawl back along the “connection,”

This time, he was in the safest place in all of Great Tang: beneath the Demon-Slaying Division, inside the Suppression Tower. Even if the enemy wanted to crawl back, they’d have to think twice…

He even felt a reckless urge to crawl along the thread himself and see who dared to target the Demon-Slaying Division.

But it was only a fleeting thought…

…

In Chang’an City, in Rouge Alley, inside a powder shop.

Someone was reciting poetry.

“Crimson rouge and jade-white powder, both extraordinary;
Wax candles cast bright shadows, brimming with charm.
Mountains of water as screen, clouds cradle the moon;
Butterflies fluttering light, singing the purest verse.”

“Oh my, what a poem! All four words—rouge and powder—are present. Scholar Cui, your ‘Ode to Adorning Flowers’ is ethereal and crystalline, no less than the works of Li Bai himself!”

“As expected of the number one talent at the Imperial Academy—eloquent and poetic, brimming with artistic flair!”

The assembled scholars all exclaimed in admiration, applauding and roaring with laughter.

A scholar of the Imperial Academy stood with hands clasped behind his back, trailed by three or five companions, each one strikingly handsome, with red lips and white teeth, skin as fresh as morning dew. Their beauty made the shopkeeper’s cheeks flush, and she had to squeeze her legs together despite herself.

Had He Chang’an been present, he would surely have muttered, “Good grief, such a crowd of pretty boys…”

“Gentlemen, would you like to peruse the rouge and powders in my humble shop?” the woman inquired gently, her peach blossom eyes full of mirth. “The Lady Consort herself has praised our wares. Even if your refined skin hardly needs them, purchasing a box or two to sprinkle upon your letter paper would lend your study a touch of elegance.”

The women working in Rouge Alley were specially trained. If not accomplished in music, chess, calligraphy, and dance, they were at least masters of gentle speech and reading people’s moods—by no means simple folk.

Sure enough, after her few words, the scholars nodded eagerly.

Someone laughed, “It’s not as if we’re writing to you, madam. If we sprinkle powder on the letter paper, wouldn’t that be a case of falling flowers chasing a heartless stream?”

The scholars burst into laughter.

The woman shot him a sidelong, coquettish glance, feigning a pout. “Hmph, always teasing me. Who knows which pretty fox face you’ll gift that powder to?”

“If I were to write a letter on scented paper, naturally it would be for you,” the scholar, nearly melted by her look, quickly responded with a bow.

“Truly? Then shall I fetch you a box?” she replied with a lilting laugh, thrusting out her chest.

The sight—trembling, full and round—made the scholars momentarily dazed. “Yes, yes, one box for each of us. Be sure it’s the newest from Watercloud Pavilion.”

The woman’s eyes softly caressed each of them in turn, like invisible hooks scratching at their hearts…

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“Yes, of course it’s the latest from Watercloud Pavilion… ah…” The woman was just turning away when suddenly her cheeks flushed, her legs gave out, and she stumbled forward two steps.

“Sister…” The leading scholar, bearing the surname Cui, instinctively reached out, catching her full against his chest, instantly flustered and parched.

The sensation—good heavens, it was almost criminal!

The woman clung to him, ten slender fingers digging into his back, eyes unfocused, body trembling, jaws clenched as she gasped for breath, emitting strange hissing sounds; her legs pressed tightly together, twitching every now and then…

The scholars exchanged glances, casting eager looks at Scholar Cui and the woman.

The Imperial Academy’s scholars were refined gentlemen, unlike the rougher fellows from the provincial colleges, who could only sneak off to brothels on holidays.

So, regarding such situations, they knew only a little—half-guessing, half-pretending.

“Scholar Cui recites poetry while embracing beauty; swallows and orioles sing in harmony…”

“Brother Liu, your lines rival Bai Letian’s. Those provincial students are nothing compared to us!”

“Hahaha, you flatter me, we’re all equals here.”

To conceal their own embarrassment, the scholars quickly took seats, each producing a paper fan. One hand carefully covered a certain spot, while the other fanned themselves with poise, smiling and conversing as if nothing had happened.

Just a fleeting moment, soon to pass.

Scholar Cui, flustered, lowered his head and called softly twice, “Sister, wake up, wake up!”

Glancing around, he simply lifted the woman in his arms, swept aside the curtain, and strode into the inner chamber of the powder shop…

“Gentlemen, please enjoy your tea. I, for one, am willing to expend my righteous energy to rescue this lady.” Placing the woman upon the bed, Scholar Cui parted the curtain, poked his head out to solemnly instruct his companions, and then withdrew inside.

“Brother Cui’s healing hands work wonders, truly impressive…”

The scholars clasped their hands, smiling with utmost seriousness as they offered their blessings.

…

And so, about an hour later—