Chapter Fifty-Six: The Antelope Hangs Its Horns

About an hour later, a piercing, mournful scream rang out from the cosmetics shop. Dr. Cui Mingli of the Imperial Academy, his face smeared with blood, was filled with terror in his eyes. He had long since collapsed into a quivering heap, huddled in the corner, shivering and begging for mercy. "Spare... please spare me..."

A few of the other scholars, hearing the commotion within, exchanged uneasy glances, muttering inwardly, "Truly as ravenous as wolves and tigers." After several breaths more, the inner room was filled with the faint rustling of soft paper, as if someone were wiping away something unseen.

"Gentlemen, scholars, brothers," the woman who sold cosmetics lifted the curtain and stepped out, but her legs gave way beneath her, and she tumbled forward, falling flat on her face in a most undignified manner.

"In broad daylight, such indecency—how mortifying, how shameful for men of letters..." Several scholars reached out simultaneously to help her up, their slender, pale hands colliding awkwardly beneath her arms.

The scholars exchanged knowing smiles, a silent understanding passing between them.

"So then, are we now kindred spirits?" one of them chuckled.

"Indeed, fellow travelers all."

But just as they were rolling up their sleeves, preparing for mischief, the alluring woman lying on the ground suddenly raised her head, revealing a ghastly pale face.

"All of you—go to hell!"

Her once-beautiful and gentle features shriveled before their eyes, wrinkles crawling across her skin in an instant, exposing two rows of razor-sharp teeth. Blood began to trickle from the corners of her mouth.

The scholars, shocked, tried to cry out, but her long hair came alive, twisting like a nest of black serpents, darting into their mouths, noses, eyes, and ears...

Within moments, the scholars were reduced to piles of black ash, scattered to the four winds with the slightest breeze, vanishing utterly from the world.

...

Meanwhile, beneath the Demon Suppression Tower of the Demon Slaying Division, He Chang'an urged the little black rod, refining the baleful yin energy flowing along the black thread with all his might, and couldn't help but let out a satisfied burp.

"This monster is truly something. I've been refining it for half the night, and it still hasn't weakened."

In less than the time it takes to drink a cup of tea, He Chang'an's Qi-Devouring Technique broke through yet another bottleneck, advancing to the twenty-sixth level...

Damn it, this fake technique is going to kill me!

All He Chang'an wanted was to advance to the ninth rank as a martial artist, but who would have thought that his Qi-Devouring Technique would malfunction, breaking through level after level, but showing no sign of reaching the ninth rank.

"No matter! I just need one chance—I'll kill that bastard across from me first!"

---

He Chang'an was becoming increasingly familiar with his strange ability, realizing that the black thread connecting him to the demon could be seen only by himself—no one else would notice, even if they stood right next to him.

This was, in a sense, quite convenient.

As he continued to refine the energy without pause, the black thread linked to Chen Shuangdao's very soul began to thicken, carrying with it waves of resentment and hatred, which quickly transformed into pure spiritual energy and righteous qi.

He Chang'an sensed that these two utterly different energies were slowly merging...

...

Back at the cosmetics shop in Rouge Alley, the demon in the guise of the alluring woman was driven to a frenzy.

To its horror, it found that its cultivation and baleful yin energy were being drawn away by an invisible thread, siphoned off bit by bit.

The scholars it had just devoured, their blood energy so thin and weak, had barely lasted a dozen breaths before dissolving into nothingness.

"The array—it must be that damned array!"

"I must get word out, tell the master that the array in Chang'an can devour baleful yin energy..."

The demon tried with all its might to sever the barely-there thread, but could not find the means.

It attempted to follow the thread back, but after two failed attempts, it realized dismally that a mysterious and powerful force blocked its way—there was no crossing it.

Even when it tried to send a message to its master using its spirit sense, it found, to its frustration, that it was impossible.

"Then let us die together!"

Driven to fury, the demon let out a guttural snarl, tearing off the outer layer of human skin in a few swift motions, revealing blood-soaked, writhing flesh beneath.

It clutched the skin—which had once belonged to the cosmetics vendor—in its hand, and with a light rub, reduced it to powder.

A bloodcurdling shriek split the sky, and the whole cosmetics shop exploded, sending the women who had come to Rouge Alley to spend their silver fleeing in terror...

The demon opened its gaping maw, howling as it leaped into the panicked crowd. Its long black hair turned into tendrils of shadow, transforming the bustling marketplace for a hundred yards around into a hellish slaughterhouse, devouring all in its path...

...

"Not good—it's a Ghost Infant!"

At the entrance to Rouge Alley, two Yellow-Rank Demon Slayers on patrol were taken aback, drawing their swords with alarm.

Ghost Infants are cruel and bloodthirsty, their demonic arts strange and deadly. Once fully cultivated, they could shatter the heads of any martial artist below the fifth rank. Even Earth-Rank Demon Slayers would find them formidable opponents.

---

Damn it! Who would have guessed that such a deadly creature was hiding in Rouge Alley in Chang'an? The two Yellow-Rank Demon Slayers cursed their luck.

"Send out a message—call for backup!"

One of them shouted, grabbing a handful of magical artifacts, talismans, implements, and weapons, and hurled them all at the Ghost Infant without hesitation.

The other tore his badge from his waist, infused it with spiritual power, and murmured a strange incantation.

With a soft hum, a flash of clear light shone from the badge. After a subtle ripple in space, an image of the massacre in Rouge Alley appeared upon a jade tablet in a stone chamber on the seventh floor of the Demon Suppression Tower.

Behind a stone desk by the window, a middle-aged man holding an ancient book seemed to sense something. He looked up at the jade tablet, a hint of surprise in his expression. "A Ghost Infant?"

He had a square face, fair skin, sword-like brows, and tiger eyes. Frost touched his temples, lending him less of a scholarly air and more of an imposing, innate authority.

He glanced at the jade tablet, then returned to his reading.

"In Rouge Alley," said a woman in red coldly.

"Damn it! I'll go gut the thing myself!" roared a burly, bearded man, about to set off, but the middle-aged man stopped him with a raised hand.

"Let Hongxiu handle it," he said calmly. "There is more to this case than meets the eye. Hongxiu can help me verify something. As for you, you have only just advanced to the third rank—your blood and sword energy are still unstable. Give it a few more years."

"Hongxiu obeys!" With a step, the woman in red had already vanished a hundred yards away.

"Lord Zheng..." the bearded man began, but the middle-aged man simply smiled, stood, and went to the window, hands clasped behind his back, gazing into the distance. His slender silhouette seemed a little lonely.

In Chang'an, the early winter sun was truly beautiful.

Soft rays of sunlight fell over palaces, city walls, and clusters of homes, casting everything in harmonious order.

A wounded pigeon limped across the sky, its shadow flickering swiftly along the ground, leaving not the faintest trace behind...

...

"In a few days, it will snow. Be sure to lay in more firewood and keep the stove warm," the middle-aged man remarked calmly, settling back into his seat atop the Demon Suppression Tower, turning another page of his book.