Chapter Fifty-Seven: Subtle Threads in the Dust

Before the person arrived, the blade's aura swept across, and the ghost infant was sliced, losing half its skull. A wail echoed. It had just struggled to rise from the ground, using some secret ghostly art to restore its head, when a foot pressed it down, sinking it deep into the stone. A woman in crimson robes, graceful and nonchalant, lifted her foot, stomped again, and pressed it further into the stone. "It's Red Sleeve, it's Miss Red Sleeve!" whispered two Yellow-rank Demon Slayers, who had been beaten to the brink of helplessness by the ghost infant, awe filling their eyes. "Thank you, Miss Red Sleeve, for saving us!" Limping, the two hurried forward, bowed, and paid their respects. "You two did well. Go back and bandage your wounds," Miss Red Sleeve nodded slightly, her delicate hand flipping to reveal a magical rope, specially crafted to bind monsters and spirits, wrapping up the ghost infant like a rice dumpling. Most of the ghost infant's body was crushed into pulp, but its ferocity still surged, issuing heart-shaking shrieks. Red Sleeve frowned, raised her dainty fist, enveloped it in a clear radiance, and rained blows upon the creature's head and face. She scolded disdainfully, "Ugly thing, keep screaming, keep screaming!" Soon, the ghost infant's aura faded, and its demise became imminent...

Hidden beneath the Demon Slayers’ Bureau, beneath the Tower of Suppressing Demons, He Chang’an was happily leeching spiritual energy and planning to use the ‘Heaven-Supporting Demon-Suppressing Technique’ to digest the excess energy, when the black thread suddenly snapped. He paused, feeling a bit of regret. Why is a man's happiness always so short-lived? The twenty-seventh layer of the Qi-Consuming Method seemed a bottleneck; even though He Chang’an’s dantian and spiritual sea ached with fullness, he simply couldn't advance. Helpless, he sought ways to expend the surplus spiritual energy and righteous aura...

Since he’d begun practicing the ‘Heaven-Supporting Demon-Suppressing Technique,’ He Chang’an had rarely had the chance to use it, almost forgetting it entirely. "Well, it's broken, let it be. Next time, I'll try to last a few more hours. A man must never say he can't." He checked Chen Double-Blade's condition, discovering that the mark deep in his soul had been thoroughly refined, but his consciousness had been ruined in the process. He Chang’an stood up, brushed off the dust, placed Chen Double-Blade on his usual stone bed for meditation, arranging him in a cultivation posture...

...

In Rouge Alley, more than two hundred lay dead, most of them the elite of Great Tang—princes, nobles, civil and military officials... and their consorts.

The matter finally exploded. Rumors abounded, the court was shaken, factions stirred and incited, all directing their accusations at the Demon Slayers’ Bureau. The most fervent agitation came from the Censorate; under Imperial Censor Yuan Wei and twenty-three others, they jointly submitted a memorial, impeaching the Demon Slayers’ Bureau for negligence. The Imperial Academy was also disturbed. Hundreds of scholars jointly memorialized, listing ten grievous offenses of the Demon Slayers’ Bureau and Chang’an County Office, and slyly included a jab at the academy’s own scholars...

Thus, His Majesty summoned Lord Zheng late at night.

...

In Yellow Clay Alley, the academy scholars' ‘mad builder’ mode was nearing its end, transforming the once shabby streets into vibrant ones. Schools, bookshops, taverns, and stores opened one after another, waiting for the scoundrel He Chang’an to return and find a way to open a few upscale brothels. As fortunes rose, land prices soared dozens of times, and Alan became a little rich lady. Consequently, Ajiao’s status... was less than before.

The old proprietor of the tavern, Alan’s father, would chase Ajiao with a stick whenever he saw him, driving him to flee in panic. Outsiders might powder their daughters’ faces for beauty, but he felt only frustration. Thus, the old man clashed with Ajiao. "Brat, if you want to bully my Alan, you’ll have to get past me first!" Watching Ajiao run off, the old man tossed away the stick and, after a few harsh words, returned smiling to the tavern to greet guests.

"Proprietor, who’s that boy?" a patron asked with a smile.

"A country bumpkin," the old man replied angrily, "A toad lusting after a swan. If he pesters Alan again, I’ll break his third leg!"

"Careful not to really break it, or Alan might scratch your old face," joked a few patrons.

"She wouldn’t dare! The sky would have to turn upside down first!" the old man retorted, so angry he drank half a bowl of cold leftover wine, "Back in the day, when I served as a border soldier in the north, who did I ever fear?"

"Proprietor, you joined the northern campaign back then?"

"Yes, I did." His mood dropped instantly; he quietly wiped the elmwood table with a rag, remaining silent. His hunched back seemed to bend even more, and he looked much older...

"I’ve heard that during the northern campaign, Lord Zheng led three hundred thousand soldiers, but less than a tenth survived. It was one of the rare defeats for Great Tang since its founding."

"They say Lord Zheng is the pillar of Great Tang, his military achievements even surpassing the Duke of State. But if so, perhaps he’s not all that..."

"You can’t say that. After all, humanity has been weak for centuries, always beaten down..."

"Lord Zheng has led four major wars, lost three, and cost nearly a million Tang soldiers; now he heads the Demon Slayers’ Bureau, yet lets a monstrous fiend hide in Chang’an, killing over two hundred in Rouge Alley."

"In Great Tang, none is more unworthy of their position than Lord Zheng..."

"Careful! Do you want to die?"

...

The patrons debated, their words full of criticism for Lord Zheng and the northern campaign. None noticed the two murky tears slowly seeping from the old man's eyes...

...

Returning to He Chang’an’s small courtyard, Ajiao carried a large bucket of well water, washed his face, and began to make a fire for cooking. This small courtyard now belonged to He Chang’an. It had cost less than eight taels of silver for a two-section house; remembering the former owner’s regret, Ajiao would secretly laugh. "When he returns, I’ll gift him a courtyard worth five hundred taels, a pair of shoes, a meal of wine and meat—about enough to settle the debt... Though, killing to repay is quicker."

Ajiao took nearly an hour to finish his simple meal. He had a natural reverence for food. So, whenever time allowed, he cooked and ate with utmost care, savoring the quiet joy in each bite.

After cleaning the pots and bowls, Ajiao returned to a guest room, took out the ‘Qi-Consuming Method’ He Chang’an had left him, and began to ‘cultivate’...

An hour later, he opened his eyes and smiled wryly. That technique He Chang’an gave him was far too advanced; he simply couldn’t practice it. For so many days, Ajiao had diligently ‘cultivated’ one or two hours daily, yet felt not the slightest trace of spiritual energy. His persistence was born of a strange trust, believing He Chang’an would never deceive him. At the same time, he used this fruitless meditation to temper his own character.

As for his inability to enter the ‘Qi-Consuming Method,’ he could only admit: Ajiao was born to wield a sword, and when it came to cultivation, his talent was lacking...