Chapter Seven: The Threads of Causality

Watching the massive body of the serpent demon slither into the forest, Xu Boqing felt a faint unease in his heart, as if some invisible thread was now attached to him. He had no idea what this meant. He assumed it must be the serpent demon’s doing, so he dared not let his guard down for an instant, maintaining the lofty, unapproachable bearing of an immortal sage, sitting upon the stone with head held high as he gazed at the moon. In truth, all his attention was focused on his eyes. To him, the world now looked like a faded scroll, even the silver moon in the sky lost some of its luster.

Within his sight, he could clearly see the serpent, more than thirty feet long, gradually receding into the distance, its form shrouded in a haze of black mist. He also saw an insubstantial thread linking himself to it—a line of causality.

He did not know what a “line of causality” was, but he intuitively understood its significance. He realized that such acts of posturing should not be done too often, lest one become entangled in fate and consequence.

This incident made him understand—there truly were demons and spirits in this world; materialism held no sway here. At this point, he feared not only monsters and fiends, but even hungry wolves and tigers could easily claim his life.

He needed to escape as soon as possible.

Xu Boqing’s eyes felt dry once again. Confirming that the serpent demon had gone, he let his focus disperse, and the strange visions faded from his eyes. Glancing at the stone beneath him, he saw an inscription indicating the direction of Hongyang County—just a few miles away. Feeling sensation return to his weakened legs, he wasted no time and took off running toward Hongyang County.

This “body of pure yang” truly felt wasted on him. The “infinite stamina” that came with it, so useful in the game for fighting hordes of demons or standing alone against many foes, now served only for grave-digging or fleeing for his life.

Damn it all.

In the end, he blamed everything on that wretched emperor. Sitting on the throne without governing, letting the world fall to chaos—if not for that, his transmigrated life could have been one of inheriting family wealth, marrying several concubines, and gathering friends for card games in leisure.

Would that not have been bliss?

Xu Boqing suppressed these stray thoughts. Seeing the city walls of Hongyang County ahead, he stopped—not because he was unwilling to enter, but because it was the dead of night, and the city gates were closed.

Hongyang County was not far from the capital, counted among several fortress towns near the Liang Kingdom’s seat. It, too, enforced a strict night curfew. He would have to wait several hours before being allowed in.

After some thought, Xu Boqing wandered around the city walls, soon finding a river bordered by flagstones, with shallow pits here and there, likely a spot for washing clothes.

Remembering his own filthy, bedraggled appearance, he took advantage of the darkness to bathe in the river and then washed his muddy clothes, wringing them out. July’s heat lingered even at night, so the clothes, left to dry for a short while, would be nearly ready to wear again by dawn.

Morning light crept across the sky.

A rooster crowed loudly, announcing the beginning of a new day.

Yawning, the sentries coming to take over opened the gates of Hongyang County. Outside, townsfolk carrying baskets, pushing carts, and shouldering loads filed in with practiced order, greeting friends and neighbors along the way.

As it was a market day—held every two, five, eight, and ten days—the vendors had set out early to claim the best spots in the marketplace. Likewise, the townsfolk, eager to avoid the midday heat and buy the freshest produce and meats, also arrived early.

Before long, stalls of every kind lined both sides of the street, their owners loudly hawking their wares—cosmetics, fruits and vegetables, steamed buns, noodles—everything imaginable.

Old Liu, as usual, wore a shabby blue-gray Daoist robe and a poorly made priest’s hat. He carried a small stool in one hand and the long banner of a fortune-teller in the other.

The battered canvas banner bore bold characters: “Uncanny Predictions” on one side, “Divining Heaven and Earth” on the other.

He found a shaded, secluded corner of the market, propped his banner against the wall, sat on his stool, crossed his legs, and stroked his goatee. He neither called out to customers nor greeted passersby, maintaining the aloof air of a true master, indifferent to whether people came to him or not.

He was a half-local, having told fortunes here for several years. Thanks to his silver tongue—saying what people wanted to hear, be they human or ghost—he was a minor celebrity in the Hongyang marketplace. Not enough to make a fortune, but he never had to worry about food and drink.

But he had barely settled into his “master” persona, not even opened for business, when several armored guards, swords at their sides, approached his stall.

“Well, what wind blows Master Zhao and Master Zhang my way?” Old Liu greeted the lead guard with a grin, uncrossing his legs and ceasing to stroke his beard. He stood up and offered his stool.

“No need to sit,” replied the guard surnamed Zhao, ignoring the gesture. “Old Liu, you need to come with us.”

Old Liu’s eyes widened. He thought to himself that he hadn’t done anything wrong, and quickly protested, “Master Zhao, I’m an old man, always honest and well-behaved…”

“Relax,” Zhao said, waving his hand. “We’re not here to arrest you.”

“Then…?”

“We need your help with an investigation,” explained the guard named Zhang. “Yesterday, two of our colleagues reported a corpse rising from the grave out by the abandoned burial ground. We don’t know if it’s true, but today Magistrate Sun is gathering capable people from the city to assist in checking it out.”

“Ah, this…” Old Liu’s heart began to pound. He knew his own abilities—he was, at best, a smooth talker, a charlatan living by his wits, with nothing in common with the “capable and extraordinary.” The very words “corpse rising” were terrifying. What could he possibly do? Flatter the corpse? Sweet-talk it?

Forcing a smile, he clasped his hands and said, “Masters Zhao, Zhang, I’m just a fortune-teller, too feeble even to truss a chicken. I’m really not suited for dealing with corpses. Perhaps…”

Zhao snorted and patted the saber at his waist, his meaning clear. “This is a direct order from Magistrate Sun. All the fortune-tellers in the city are being brought along. Old Liu, don’t make things difficult for us.”

Old Liu’s face froze.

Zhang, seeing his look, consoled him, “Don’t worry, Old Liu. Magistrate Sun is personally leading a hundred men to search the area. Even if something does happen, you lot won’t be the ones dealing with it.”

Hearing this, Old Liu’s expression improved slightly. He nodded, forcing a smile, and said, “All right, sirs, please wait a moment while I pack up my things.”

“You’re still thinking about packing?” Zhao said impatiently. “Magistrate Sun is waiting. Besides, your business is all smoke and mirrors—just a broken stool and a ragged banner. No one would bother hauling it home for firewood. Move it!”

Zhang nodded as well. “We’re all neighbors. No one will take your stuff. Hurry up; if you make Magistrate Sun wait, you might get a beating.”

“All right, all right…” Old Liu gave up on packing, grinning obsequiously as he followed the guards off to assist in their investigation.