Chapter Sixty-One: Waiting for the Prey, Thrown into the Dungeon

In less than half an hour, the lean steward arrived with the magistrate's scribe, bringing all the files related to the flower-picking cases and handed them over to the portly prefect, who brought them inside for Han Chong to review.

At first, Han Chong paid little mind, but upon reading the files, he was instantly shocked and enraged. Over the past two weeks alone, Yunzhu City had reported more than a dozen such cases. This was in an era of conservatism when most victims dared not come forward; the true number of incidents was likely several times higher.

All these cases involved young maidens who had not yet married, violated in their own chambers. Han Chong examined the details and found that four of the cases left traces, indicating the victims had been forced. In the remaining nine, the doors and windows showed no signs of disturbance, and the girls had been assaulted while unconscious, only discovering their plight upon waking the next day.

It became clear that the perpetrator's methods were not those of a martial master but rather someone versed in the art of illusions and narcotics. Furthermore, these nine incidents mostly occurred in the homes of prominent officials and gentry in the northern part of the city.

“Prefect, if my guess is correct, this Immortal of Illusion targets the daughters of officials and gentry in the northern city. Please instruct the officer in charge of household registration to investigate all unmarried maidens in North City. That will allow me to narrow the scope and wait for the culprit to walk into our trap.”

The portly prefect was overjoyed that Han Chong had found the crux of the matter so quickly. He rushed out and personally went to the front office to investigate. An hour later, he returned with a list of all eligible maidens in North City, and summoned ten guards, each of innate cultivation, to await Han Chong’s orders.

Han Chong nodded, surprised that the prefecture maintained ten such skilled guards—it would make things much easier. He instructed the scribe to map out the residences by the list, roughly narrowing it down to ten households.

“Gentlemen, I have been entrusted by the prefect to uncover an evil practitioner who preys upon young women. This person is a cultivator, swift as the wind, and adept in the arts of illusion. Each of you will hide at one household. If you notice anything suspicious, signal for reinforcements at once. We must surround him and bring him to justice!”

“Understood!” The ten experts each chose a location and dispersed.

“Doctor Han, I leave this in your hands,” said the prefect, his heart now settled, convinced of Han Chong's prudence.

“Rest assured. If that Immortal of Illusion dares act again, I will make him regret it!”

Han Chong took the map and left the prefecture, heading toward the cluster of official residences.

That night, at the third watch.

On the shadowed, lamp-less street rooftops, a figure clad in black leaped lightly, landing soundlessly several yards away, wandering through the area where the officials lived.

He seemed either to have scouted the place in advance or possessed information on these households, heading straight for a large estate. Soon, he locked onto the direction of the young miss's chamber, peered about to ensure no one was near, and floated down. He pressed a bright yellow talisman onto himself and slipped directly through the door.

A hidden guard observed this scene, raising an alarm arrow. A brilliant firework exploded in the sky.

Han Chong and the other nine guards rushed toward the signal.

The intruder, startled by the explosion outside, hastily used his wall-passing technique to exit and leapt onto the eaves, attempting to flee.

“Villain, where do you think you're going!” The guard shouted, keeping his eyes fixed on the black-clad figure, and lunged forward with his sword using lightfoot skill.

“Innate cultivation!” The black-clad man muttered, surprised that an expert lay in ambush and had sounded the alarm. He dared not engage, fleeing at full speed.

Han Chong was nearby. He mounted his sword and flew, descending like lightning to block the escape.

“Sword flight! How is this possible?” The black-clad man was stunned, nearly petrified with fear, and hurriedly changed direction.

But Han Chong, wielding the Pure Clarity Sword, trained in both martial and spiritual arts, and enhanced by speed, was far superior.

Desperate, the intruder flung seven or eight bright yellow talismans at Han Chong, but they were swept away by two sword beams, exploding uselessly. The ten guards had now surrounded him, swords drawn.

Terrified, the black-clad figure pulled several black pellets from his breast, spinning and hurling them at the surrounding experts. The pellets exploded with loud bangs, blanketing the area in thick black fog. The guards could not see their own hands, dodging to avoid danger.

But Han Chong would not allow the fiend to escape. The Pure Clarity Sword ignited with flame, dispelling the fog with a thrust, striking the villain in the thigh and bringing him down.

A scream echoed across ten miles; the black-clad man crashed to the ground in the courtyard below.

“Seize him!”

The guards seized the man and rushed him back to the prefecture.

Han Chong followed, arriving at the prefecture's rear prison, where the black-clad man was bound in iron chains, his shoulder bones pierced.

“Who are you, really? How can you fly on a sword?” Before Han Chong could speak, the black-clad old sorcerer barked at him in a harsh voice.

“You scoundrel! How dare you trick me into swallowing poison! Outrageous! Hand over the antidote, or you’ll beg for death and find none!” The portly prefect had just entered the cell and, seeing the old sorcerer ignoring him, flew into a rage, beating him until he spat blood.

“I am but a physician called by the prefect, with some knowledge of common arts. But you—hiding in the Prince Ying’s residence and concocting poison—what is your aim?” Han Chong asked coldly.

“Hahaha! Don’t get ahead of yourselves. If you don’t release me at once, disaster will befall you—all of you will be hacked to pieces, left with no graves!” The sorcerer laughed maniacally.

The prefect’s face twisted in anger, yet he felt a hint of dread. Years in office had taught him that the sorcerer’s words might not be empty threats—was there truly a powerful force backing him?

“Hmph! Guards, interrogate him day and night, but do not kill him. I want him to tell us how to concoct an antidote.”

“Yes, sir!” The guards prepared to use severe measures.

Han Chong, however, was troubled. Though he was trusted as a physician, delays could bring disaster. If the villain escaped again, it would be like searching for a needle in the sea—he might never be caught.

“Prefect, may I speak with him alone? After all, he is a cultivator, his arts unpredictable. Should anything happen, I may not be able to help.”

The prefect’s expression changed, then he smiled. “Doctor Han, you are a cultivator as well—truly a hidden talent. I have long suspected you were no ordinary man. Since you ask, I’ll leave it to you. Let’s go.”

The ten guards and several jailers withdrew with the prefect, sealing the iron gate behind them.