Chapter 27: The

Two days passed in the blink of an eye. At noon, a sudden barrage of knocks resounded at the door, startling everyone in the Demon-Slaying Division.

“Who’s there, banging like that? Have they no fear? Han, go see who it is and send them away,” ordered Captain Wu, who was drinking at the time and found the noise unbearable.

Han Chong answered and walked toward the main gate. When he opened it, he found four young officers with unfriendly faces standing on either side. In the middle stood a tall, slender man of about thirty, dressed in a purple robe, his hands clasped behind his back.

This man’s hair was bound with a golden pin, a jade belt at his waist, and a black tiger token at his side. His skin was pale, his features handsome, yet his peach-blossom eyes avoided looking at anyone, as if he hadn’t seen Han Chong at all.

“This is the new Pacification Captain of Peijun Prefecture, third son of the Prefect of Yunzou, Young Master Chen. You see your superior—why haven’t you paid your respects?” sneered the black, rotund officer who had knocked.

“Subordinate Han Chong greets the Captain,” Han Chong replied with an unchanged expression, bowing respectfully.

But Captain Chen made no reply, simply striding into the division, casting his gaze around with clear disdain.

“Pacification Captain arrives! All division officers step forward!” the black, rotund officer announced loudly toward the rear hall.

Captain Wu, Captain Ning, and the others emerged to welcome him, only to see that their new superior was a frivolous, pale-faced young lord. Their expressions changed, and after a moment’s pause, they saluted in unison.

“Hmm, enough,” the peach-eyed young master’s gaze wandered, but suddenly fixed raptly upon Leng Yue, unable to look away.

She frowned, her face turning cold, and ignored him completely. Yet the heat of his gaze only grew more intense.

“Ahem! I am Zhao Wu, Captain Wu Hongda.”

“I am Ning Tiancheng, leading eight officers of this division in greeting the Captain!”

“Very well, I know who you are,” the peach-eyed captain waved them off, but then asked Leng Yue, “And what is this lady officer’s name?”

“Subordinate Leng Yue, reporting to the Captain.” Though she found him utterly contemptible, Leng Yue answered coolly as decorum demanded.

“My, my! ‘A crane crossing a cold pond, the soul of fallen flowers buried by cold moon.’ What a splendid name!” he exclaimed.

The others cursed inwardly—where had this foppish wastrel come from, to be made Pacification Captain? Clearly, their days ahead would be difficult.

“Captain Chen, I have an urgent matter to report!” Han Chong stepped in front of Leng Yue and addressed him respectfully.

“Oh? What is it? Can’t it wait?” The peach-eyed captain frowned, annoyed that Han blocked his view of Leng Yue, and waved him aside.

“Captain, this is a matter of utmost urgency—every moment’s delay brings harm to the people.”

“Yes, Captain,” Wu and Ning added. “This is our division’s newly appointed Banner Officer Han Chong, who has solved many strange cases and slain many demons. The matter he must report concerns the most pressing demonic disturbances in Peijun Prefecture—every delay means more innocent lives lost!”

“So urgent? Speak, then.” The peach-eyed captain clicked his tongue, impatiently nodding.

“Captain, recently we discovered that the House of Buried Flowers was hiding a demon, with ties to the Marquis of Lingzhen’s household. Upon investigating, we found a white jade serpent demon residing there. Pursuing it, we discovered it slipped into the Silver River through the Egret River. Beneath those waters lies a submerged ghost city stretching for a hundred miles. We believe the legendary One-Horned Ghost King, rumored for decades in Peijun, dwells there. We request your orders—how shall we attack the ghost city and strike down this fiend?”

With each sentence Han Chong reported, the faces of the peach-eyed captain and his four subordinates grew more and more astonished—their eyes wide, mouths agape, rendered speechless.

“Are you… are you telling the truth?”

Every word is what I and my comrades witnessed with our own eyes,” Han Chong replied coldly.

“This… what are we to do?” the peach-eyed captain glanced around, seeking counsel from the others.

“Please, Captain, give us your decision.”

“Yes, Captain, please advise!” all the officers echoed, bowing.

“This… this is a grave matter. Allow me to consider it carefully. Dismissed!” The captain’s face darkened with anger, trembling with frustration. He hadn’t expected, on his first day in office, to be hit with such a challenge by his subordinates.

Though his father had hired masters from the Demon-Slaying Division to teach him immortal arts since childhood, and he’d trained for more than ten years, just reaching the Foundation-Forming realm, he’d never actually encountered true demons, let alone a ghost king! He likely couldn’t withstand a single blow.

Watching the peach-eyed captain flee with his four attendants, everyone in the division smirked at his cowardice. But Han Chong was deeply troubled—clearly this new captain was just a showpiece. If they wished to breach the underwater ghost city and slay the One-Horned Ghost King, they’d have to find another way.

The next day, however, the peach-eyed captain returned, his arrogance restored as if the previous day’s humiliation had never happened. At his side stood an old Daoist with ram’s horn whiskers and piercing eyes, holding a horsetail whisk, a peachwood talisman sword on his back, exuding an extraordinary aura.

“Captain, who is this Daoist?” Captain Ning asked in confusion.

“Haha! This is my father’s close friend, the Hermit Hawk Daoist of the Three Pure Ones Monastery on Mount Yuntai, south of Peijun. The Daoist has long cultivated in seclusion, but upon sensing demonic unrest, he journeyed to Peijun and, by chance, I was able to invite him here. With the Hermit Hawk Daoist present, even the One-Horned Ghost King must surrender without a fight! Lead the way at once, so as not to waste the Daoist’s precious time!” the captain introduced, beaming with pride.

The old Daoist kept his eyes half-closed, serene as if roaming the heavens, but the slight lift of his chin and the odd smile at his lips betrayed his pleasure.

“Greetings, Master Daoist. We will assemble at once and depart immediately,” said Captains Ning and Wu, exchanging surprised glances. They hadn’t expected the peach-eyed captain to find such powerful aid. With the Hermit Hawk Daoist, perhaps the ghost king was no longer to be feared.

The group set out on swift horses, galloping in a cloud of dust toward where the Egret River met the Silver River. The Daoist, however, did not ride a horse—his mount was an aged elk, its hooves yellow as wax and coat a reddish gold, yet it could keep pace effortlessly without guidance.

All were inwardly convinced of the Daoist’s prowess, their confidence growing. The peach-eyed captain noticed the respectful glances his officers cast toward the Daoist and felt a surge of pride.

Upon reaching the rivers’ confluence, Han Chong pointed out the location of the sunken ghost city. Everyone dismounted and turned to the Hermit Hawk Daoist, eager to witness his powers.

“Uncle Hermit Hawk, we’ve arrived,” the peach-eyed captain said obsequiously, addressing the Daoist who appeared to be dozing.

The old Daoist slowly opened his eyes, a faint black light flickering within, and gazed down into the river. After a moment, seeming to have found what he sought, he withdrew his spiritual sense and nodded.

“Indeed, many ghosts lurk beneath the waters.”

“Uncle Hermit Hawk, your immortal arts are truly profound! To see through a hundred feet of river—your nephew is full of admiration!” the captain exclaimed, astonished.

“Master Daoist, please vanquish the demons and reclaim the land!” the officers all cried in unison.

The Daoist raised his hands and suddenly leaped into the air, soaring more than ten feet before landing upon the river’s surface, standing atop the water as if it were solid ground! With his left hand, he drew the peachwood talisman sword from his back; with his right, he formed a sword-finger and chanted incantations. From his robe, several bright yellow talismans shot out, whirling around him.

“Zha! By the edict of the Supreme Lord Laozi, Water-Burst Immortal Talisman—go!” the Daoist shouted, his eyes bulging fiercely, his manner awe-inspiring and mysterious.

He pointed his sword-finger at the water, and the yellow talismans shot down into the river like golden rods. As he manipulated his sword and gestures, controlling the talismans, everyone watched intently.

After twenty breaths, six water columns, each three feet high, erupted from the river’s surface, sending ripples across the water.

“Incredible! The Daoist stands atop the river and attacks the ghosts below with talismans—what a display!” Captain Wu exclaimed, dumbfounded.

“Indeed! We Demon-Slaying Captains, still at the stage of refining body and energy, can’t even perform such immortal arts, much less attack across the river!” agreed Captain Ning.

“Haha! My uncle is the foremost immortal on Mount Yuntai—even the Guerrilla General is his peer!” the peach-eyed captain declared, arms folded in triumph.

Han Chong watched with some surprise. The six talismans did seem to wreak havoc upon the sunken city a hundred feet below. Whether the ghost king was harmed, however, remained uncertain.

A guttural, fearsome howl suddenly rumbled up from beneath the river, making the surface tremble and splash. A black, spiraled unicorn horn two feet long pierced the water, followed by the massive head of a black ghost ape, waves parting around it.

The Hermit Hawk Daoist was no longer calm and imperturbable—his eyes bulged, bloodshot, his hands shook visibly, and for a moment he was speechless with terror. He had thought the ghost king would be no stronger than the early Foundation-Forming stage, but the aura before him rivaled a peak mid-stage fiend! Though the difference was less than two minor realms, the gulf in power was vast.

Hundreds of water ghosts and restless souls surged around the ghost king, turning the surface of the river into a hellish realm.

The ghost king shrieked again, breaking the surface, beating its chest as it charged across the waves toward the Daoist.

“Old fiend, taste my talismans!” the Daoist cried, panicked, grabbing another handful of yellow talismans and hurling them at the ghost king, chanting and pointing as he did. The talismans whistled through the air, seven or eight striking the ghost king’s chest and exploding with thunderous force.

The officers gasped. The ghost king flailed its claws, its flesh torn and battered, but only superficially wounded. As the last talisman detonated, the ghost king, more enraged than ever, attacked again, slashing wildly with its claws.

The Hermit Hawk Daoist, terrified, dashed back, dispatching several minor ghosts in his flight. Reaching the shore, he leapt onto his elk and fled at full speed.

The officers stood frozen in shock, and the peach-eyed captain could not believe his eyes as his “uncle” galloped away, already a hundred yards distant.

The One-Horned Ghost King, still in a fury, charged toward the shore, coming within thirty feet of the group. The officers scattered in panic, while the peach-eyed captain was so frightened he forgot to run, wetting himself on the spot.