Not far off, Jiang Dao saw the whole scene unfold, and a deep frown creased his brow.
It was a classic carrot-and-stick approach. A temporary fix, at best.
He knew this charade couldn't last. As long as the root of the city's unnatural curse remained buried, Hengzhou was a powder keg waiting for a spark. His father was holding it together with the fading authority of the Jiang family name, but that wouldn't be enough. As the body count rose, people's fear would inevitably turn to fury, and that was a tide his father couldn't hope to hold back.
Worse, if their hired guards and martial arts masters decided to save their own skins and flee, the Jiang family would be utterly finished. Their entire reputation, their power, was built on the backs of those paid protectors. If that foundation crumbled—if they turned on them—the thought was too horrifying to complete.
A cold dread washed over Jiang Dao, the sense of crisis sharpening to a knife's edge.
It's over, he thought. This family is really done for.
He quickened his pace and stepped out from the shadows, approaching his father and the Daoist priest. "Father, Daoist Priest," he said, bowing his head in greeting.
"Dao'er," his father, Jiang Dalong, said, his voice laced with concern. "How are you feeling? Any better?" As the eldest son and heir, Jiang Dao was the focus of his father's hopes.
"Much better, thanks to the Daoist Priest's excellent remedy," Jiang Dao replied.
"You're too kind, Young Master," said the priest, Changbai, with a placid smile on his face. "Just keep taking the medicine as prescribed." He then turned his smiling eyes back to Jiang Dalong. "Master Jiang, about the maidservant we discussed?"
"Right away," Jiang Dalong said with a forced, accommodating smile. "I'll have someone see to it immediately."
"Excellent. My thanks, Master Jiang," the priest chuckled, turning toward his room. "You know, the Third Miss is also quite a lovely girl."
Jiang Dao's jaw tightened. "Father," he whispered, "is he making a move on Third Sister again?"
"We'll talk later!" his father hissed, his face hardening into a grim mask.
Without another word, the two men turned and left. Behind them, the head guard, Pang Lin, began ordering his men to dispose of the bodies in the courtyard.
Inside his private study, Jiang Dalong slammed the door shut. His face was a storm cloud. With a guttural roar of frustration, he snatched a porcelain teacup from the table and hurled it against the floor, where it shattered into a hundred pieces.
"That old bastard is going to bleed us dry!" he seethed, grinding his teeth. "He has his eyes on your third sister, on your fourth mother—on all of them!"
"So what are you going to do?" Jiang Dao asked. "Are you going to throw him out?"
"No," his father said, the anger in his voice giving way to a grim certainty. "I can't. Forget about whether he'd use force against us. Even if he didn't, what happens the next time a spirit attacks? What would we do then? We'd be defenseless."
He paced the room, his hands clenched. "There's only one way. You and your brothers have to go to him again. You must convince him to take one of you as an apprentice. If we can just learn his methods for killing those things, then I can finally deal with him on my own terms."
Jiang Dao frowned. It sounded simple, but it was anything but. The old priest was impervious to their pleas. They had begged him countless times before, all to no avail.
"Father, what's the situation in the Jinyang district?"
Jiang Dalong let out a heavy sigh. "It's hard to say. The old man went to look. He came back saying the spirit was gone and that things should be quiet for now."
"The spirit is gone from there, but what about the rest of the city?"
"The rest of the city is on a razor's edge," his father said, his voice dropping low. "As long as the city gates are sealed, we know the spirits are still out there, hunting. The death toll is over five hundred now."
Five hundred. The number hit Jiang Dao like a physical blow. The danger of this world was far greater than he had ever imagined.
"Father," he said, his voice firm. "Let's go see the old Daoist now."
Jiang Dalong nodded slowly. "Get all of your brothers."
Jiang Dalong's family was a sprawling enterprise. With eight concubines, he'd sired six sons and eight daughters. As the eldest and the only son of the main wife, Jiang Dao's position was absolute. When his father was away, he was the master of the house.
He quickly rounded up his five younger brothers. If he was being honest with himself, he felt nothing for them. He wasn't sure if his body's previous owner had, but he, a soul who had only been here for three days, saw them for what they were: a collection of perfect, pampered freeloaders, doing nothing but eating, drinking, and waiting for death.
"Father!" they chimed, grinning. "Greetings, Father! Greetings, Big Brother!"
"You're coming with me," Jiang Dalong announced, his tone leaving no room for argument. "We are going to see the Perfected One, Changbai. This time, one of you will be accepted as his disciple."
He led the way, a procession of his six sons trailing behind him, toward the elegant pavilion where the priest resided. After navigating a maze of covered walkways and courtyards, they arrived.
"Daoist Master, are you present?" Jiang Dalong called out, forcing a smile onto his face.
A cheerful voice drifted from within. "Ah, Master Jiang!" The door slid open, and the priest appeared, beaming. "Did you bring the Third Miss with you?"
His words hung in the air as his eyes scanned the crowd. The smile on his face instantly vanished, replaced by a cold mask.
No women. Just a pack of men.
His brow furrowed. He knew exactly what this was about. "Master Jiang," he said, his voice dripping with condescension, "are you trying to make a fool of me? What is the meaning of this?"
Jiang Dalong laughed, stepping forward. He smoothly produced a small, ornate box made of Zitan wood from his sleeve. "Daoist Master, by a stroke of luck, I came into possession of an eight-hundred-year-old wild ginseng. A small token of my esteem, which I hope you will accept."
"An eight-hundred-year-old ginseng?" The priest's eyelid twitched. "You are far too kind, Master Jiang."
He accepted the box and casually lifted the lid. Beneath the thick, purple root lay a hefty stack of silver banknotes, each for a thousand taels. There were at least a dozen.
The priest's smile returned, wider and more brilliant than before. "Master Jiang, your generosity is truly overwhelming."
"Think nothing of it. We are kindred spirits, you and I. What is a little silver between friends?" Jiang Dalong pressed. "But about the matter I raised before… I was hoping you might reconsider. With so many sons, surely one of them has what it takes to be your disciple? Even just an apprentice would be an honor!"
The priest's face fell. He shook his head, his tone final. "I've told you before. It's not something you can learn. Spirit slayers are born, not made. It's in the blood. If you have the gift, you have it. If you don't, no amount of training will change a thing. Even if I took them on, it would be a waste of both my time and theirs."
"There's truly no other way?" Jiang Dalong asked, his voice tight with desperation.
"None," the priest said flatly. "Don't trouble yourself over it. Even if your family can't produce a slayer, you still have me. And as long as I am here, the Jiang family has nothing to fear."
Jiang Dao had to stop himself from scoffing. The old leech had no intention of ever leaving.
"Daoist Master," Jiang Dao spoke up, unable to stay silent any longer. "What about martial arts? Could that offer some protection?"
The priest let out a short, derisive laugh. "Martial arts? A parlor trick, at best. Useful for brawling with peasants, perhaps, but completely and utterly useless against a spirit. Young Master, I suggest you don't waste your time. You might hurt yourself."
"Having a skill is better than having nothing," Jiang Dao countered, his voice low and stubborn. "Even if it's useless against spirits, it's still my own strength. No one can take that away from me."
"Then by all means, study diligently," the priest sneered, his disdain palpable. "But don't come bothering me about it." He turned his gaze back to Jiang Dalong. "Master Jiang, don't forget about the maidservant."
"Yes, of course," his father stammered, forcing another smile. "I'll see to it."
With a final, contemptuous glance at Jiang Dao, the priest turned and disappeared back into his room.
The moment the door closed, Jiang Dalong's face turned to stone. His fists were white-knuckled with rage. He spun around. "We're leaving," he growled.
He was a volcano of silent fury. Thirty thousand taels of silver, gone without a trace.
As they walked back in suffocating silence, Jiang Dao spoke.
"Father, I want to learn martial arts."
Jiang Dalong stopped dead in his tracks. He turned to face his son, his expression a mixture of shock and disbelief. "Dao'er… are you serious? This isn't just anger talking?"
"I'm serious," Jiang Dao said, his voice heavy with resolve.
This family, for all its apparent wealth and power, was standing on the edge of a cliff. If he didn't have his own strength, he wouldn't even be able to command the loyalty of his own guards when the time came.
A slow smile of genuine pride spread across Jiang Dalong's face. He clapped his son firmly on the shoulder. "Good lad. I'll arrange it for you myself." He then whirled on his other five sons, his anger finally finding a target. "You see this? Look at your brother! Why can't you be more like him? All you know how to do is eat, drink, and chase women! You're a worthless bunch of degenerates!"
His younger sons just shuffled their feet, lowering their heads with sheepish grins.