Chapter 1 Goose City at Night

Night, Goose City.

"Zi hour, third watch, all is well—"

The night watchman, lantern in hand, walked alone along the deserted, silent streets, striking his gong to mark the time.

The muffled sound of the gong startled a stray cat scavenging in the shallow ditches, sending it scurrying into a dark alley.

Suddenly, a faint gust of wind swept over the watchman's head. Startled, he cut short a yawn and quickly looked up, only to see the upturned eaves of tall buildings and the deep night sky.

The watchman suddenly remembered the strange rumors circulating in the neighborhood. He couldn't help but shudder, taking two steps at a time as he fled the street.

————

County prison.

It was late at night. The five jailers were all huddled in the room next to the dungeon gate.

Normally, the jailers would have gone to bed, leaving only one to guard the night.

But tonight, knowing that White Lotus cultists might come to break into the prison, how could they sleep soundly?

Each wore leather armor, held a knife, and had shackles tied around their waists, hiding in the corner of the room, nervously staring at the door by the candlelight in the middle of the room.

The blades in their hands had been requisitioned by Ma Bangde from the Wude Garrison armory, and were covered with talismans.

Even ordinary mortals could wound demons and monsters with low cultivation levels with these knives.

A young jailer licked his chapped lips and muttered, "Damn it, that idiot Wang Liu actually used his uncle, the constable, as an excuse to call in sick and not come. Leaving us to hold the bag."

Another complained, "The county magistrate is the same. Knowing that the White Lotus cultists might come, he still made us jailers guard this place."

"Alright, alright, say less."

The oldest jailer frowned and scolded, "You eat the king's food, you bear the king's burden.

In the prisons of the surrounding counties, which one isn't dilapidated, cramped, and filled with bitter labor, and they cut back on the jailers' food and salaries every other day.

Only Goose City under Magistrate Ma's rule can be considered a peaceful and happy place where the people live and work in peace.

You should remember the kindness the county magistrate has shown us these past few years.

How can you abandon your duties and flee in fear because of a cultist who may or may not come?"

The jailer paused, glanced at the slight shame on the faces of his subordinates, and said in a low voice, "What's more,

if that Ximenzi Daoist is really so powerful,

then maybe this prison is the safest place in Goose City..."

Before he could finish speaking, a gust of nameless, chilling wind blew in through the cracks in the door.

The candlelight flickered, wavering, and finally went out.

The room fell into a deathly silence.

All the jailers shuddered, seeming to see the terrified expressions on each other's faces.

"Bright moon casts its light, the yin wind blows through the willow lanes, who is willing to love, the mournful ghost bride—"

A faint female voice seemed to ring out from outside the prison, melodious and ethereal, gradually rising in pitch.

The biting cold seemed to penetrate the thick stone walls and seep into the jailers' hearts and lungs.

"Bright moon casts its light, wronged souls drift in the wind, the night grows deeper, the fog grows colder—"

The singing stopped abruptly, and all was silent.

The next second, the heavy, iron-clad wooden door of the prison was suddenly pushed open.

The huge iron lock hanging on the inside of the door flew out and landed on the ground with a dull thud.

The jailer's expression changed drastically. Although his heart was pounding wildly, his body obeyed his instincts, rushing towards the door with his long sword, kicking it open, and blocking the not-so-wide prison corridor.

The terrain of the entire prison was slightly lower than the flat ground of Goose City. From the main entrance of the prison, one had to walk down a flight of six steps to enter the prison.

By the dim moonlight, the jailer could clearly see a strange figure standing at the top of the steps.

It seemed to be a man, dressed in black, his hands hanging straight down at his sides.

He was tall and thin, his face was eerily white, his eyes were very large, and his eyebrows were extremely thick, but he had a cherry-like mouth.

The overall outline of his face was cylindrical, and his stiff, motionless limbs appeared extremely slender in relation to his body.

He didn't look like a living person, but rather like…

a paper figure buried with the dead.

"Wandering souls tread, the lonely road, seeking a replacement—"

The male paper figure opened his cherry-like mouth, tilted his head, and sang like a Peking opera actress.

He twisted his stiff, strange body, walked down the steps one by one, and slowly approached.

The jailer felt his liver and gall bladder about to burst. The long sword in his hand trembled constantly, and he subconsciously took half a step back, not daring to look back. He could only shout in a trembling voice, "Ximenzi Daoist! Ximenzi Daoist!"

There was no response.

The cell prepared for Wu Hu and the Ximenzi Daoist at the innermost part of the prison was silent.

The strange singing awakened the prisoners in the entire prison. The prisoners near the prison gate were so frightened that they screamed,

while the prisoners inside the prison didn't understand what was happening and could only shrink into the corner, covering themselves with their bedding.

Step, step.

The paper figure touched the ground with its toes and floated into the dark corridor.

Wherever it passed, the candles hanging on the beams instantly went out.

Death was near. The jailer's pale face instead tightened its grip on the long sword, taking half a step forward and roaring, "Playing tricks, die!"

The long sword came down.

With a tearing sound,

the paper figure's head split in half, drooping on either side of its shoulders. In the opened chest cavity, there seemed to be a cloud of ink-like mist swirling around.

Its head was chopped, the paper figure suddenly stopped, slowly raising its arms.

Its palms supported the two halves of its head, and it pressed them together in the middle, forcibly joining the split paper head together.

The already strange and inhuman face became even more shriveled and deformed.

The paper figure squeezed out a brilliant smile, raised its arms, and its paper hands grabbed the jailer's neck with lightning speed.

Its shriveled head moved closer, opened its mouth, and slowly吐出一团乌黑浓雾朝牢头缓慢飘去。

At this time, several jailers had rushed out of the room, crowding into the corridor. Seeing their superior being strangled by a tall man, they didn't have time to be afraid. They screamed and slashed wildly with their knives.

Disturbed, the paper figure remained still, but its neck turned one hundred and eighty degrees, and its shriveled head smiled at the jailers.

Tss—

The sound of air leaking from a balloon came from the paper figure.

From the cracks and cuts all over its body, a torrent of thick smoke poured out, eventually gathering on the ceiling of the prison, solidifying without dispersing.

And that roughly made paper body softly collapsed, turning into a thin layer of paper.

The jailers looked up at the tumbling black smoke, standing in place, dumbfounded.

"The hour has come, for collecting lives—"

A muddled murmur came from the black smoke.

The entire cloud of smoke, like an overwhelming net, rolled back towards the jailers in the corridor.

Just as they thought they were about to die,

"Creak,"

the door of the cell in the farthest corner of the prison opened.

A short-haired Daoist in a crane cloak pushed open the wooden door, walked out of the cell, his face calm and composed. He glanced at the black smoke and casually waved his hand.

A barely perceptible golden light broke free from his hand, streaked through the air, and pierced the black smoke.

A piercing scream shook the heavens, and the black smoke dissipated in an instant.

A weasel the size of a dog fell from the ceiling of the prison, landing on the paper skin. A soul-suppressing nail, specially used by the Wude Garrison soldiers, was nailed right into its forehead.

"Just a beast using illusions to confuse people."

The short-haired Daoist shook his head, his voice a little hoarse, "The pet has been killed, isn't the owner going to come out and uphold justice?"

Suddenly, from a dark corner that no one had noticed, a thin figure in night clothes darted out, the poisoned dagger in his hand, with a dim blue glow, silently stabbed towards the Daoist's heart.