The sprawling courtyard was dotted with elegant pavilions. In one of them, Left Protector Guo Linyu leaned over a railing, flicking the last of his fish food into a shimmering pond. A frenzy of red carp churned the water below.
Footsteps crunched on the gravel path behind him. It was Hu Biao and Fan Hu, the tall and short duo who had eagerly volunteered to "assist" Jiang Dao with his investigation.
"Left Protector," they said, bowing their heads.
"Ah, there you are." Guo Linyu dusted his hands off and turned, his face an unreadable mask. "Pull this off in Greenstone Town, and I'll see to it you get your hands on a premier internal cultivation manual."
A flicker of greed lit their eyes. "Thank you, Protector!"
Guo Linyu nodded, stepping closer and clapping the taller man, Hu Biao, on the shoulder. He lowered his voice. "You two are skilled. You've always been my most trusted men, the ones I count on in the shadows. Once I take over this gang, you'll be my right and left hands. I know this is beneath you, but just bear with me a little longer."
"Don't worry, sir," they rumbled in unison. "We'll give it everything we've got."
"Good. But leave nothing to chance." He produced two small porcelain bottles, one black and one red. "I have here a vial of Golden Wave Poison Mist. When the time is right, just uncap it. A single whiff is enough to bring Jiang Dao down for good. The red bottle holds two antidotes, one for each of you. Just in case."
Hu Biao took the vials, a cruel smile twisting his lips as he tucked them away. "He's just a kid. How tough can he really be?"
"I don't want any surprises," Guo Linyu said, his voice flat and cold. "Make sure he disappears. Nobody, no traces, nothing."
They nodded, a grim understanding passing between them, and departed.
On his way to the stables, Jiang Dao couldn't shake a feeling of unease. He kept replaying the Gang Leader's words in his head. Was Fang Tianba really betting on me? He knew about the bad blood between him and Guo Linyu, yet he approved the man's suggestion to send Hu Biao and Fan Hu along. It felt like a setup. And the way Hu Biao had looked at him… pure hatred.
Is the leader testing me? Does he want to see us tear each other apart?
Whatever their game was, it didn't matter. If those two made one wrong move, he'd snap their necks before they knew what hit them.
He pulled up his internal status panel, his focus sharpening.
Wind and Thunder Palm [Modifiable]
Wild Wind Saber Technique [Modifiable]
Golden Bell Body Protection Divine Art [Modifiable]
He focused his intent, mentally pressing the upgrade button.
Swoosh.
The world seemed to blur for a second. The text on the panel flickered and reformed.
Wind and Thunder Palm [Maximum Proficiency]
Wild Wind Saber Technique [Maximum Proficiency]
Golden Bell Body Protection Divine Art [Maximum Proficiency]
His personal stats immediately climbed.
Strength: 4.2
Speed: 3.4
Spirit: 1.4
Just as I thought, he mused. Low-level techniques can be maxed out to sixty years of practice instantly. High-level ones are capped at thirty.
A torrent of information flooded his mind—sixty years of practice for each art compressed into a single, breathtaking moment. Techniques, counters, and profound insights now felt like second nature. His body began to change with the influx of power. His skin grew tougher, his muscles and tendons denser. The knuckles on his hands alone seemed to have grown a full size.
He clenched his fists, feeling a colossal, untapped power coiled within him. He knew that if he unleashed his full strength, his muscles would swell, making him taller, bigger, a monument of raw force. He glanced at his palm. It was wide and powerful, his fingers long and conditioned, humming with energy.
"So this is the Wind and Thunder Palm," he whispered. After sixty years of mastery, who in the world could block his strike?
Just for a moment, he let a sliver of that power out. With a casual wave of his hand, the air itself seemed to crackle and pop, a sound like distant thunder rolling through the hall.
A short while later, after giving his final instructions at the Flying Eagle Hall, Jiang Dao waited by the main gate. Within the hour, a dozen riders thundered down the street. They were dressed in fine clothes, their horses powerful, their expressions cold and hard as they galloped through the town.
Leading the pack were Hu Biao and Fan Hu. Hu Biao was lanky as a bamboo stalk in a plain linen robe; Fan Hu was short, stout, and clad in black. There was an edge to them that set them apart from the others.
From high on his horse, Hu Biao looked down at Jiang Dao, his voice a dry rasp. "Ready to go, Hall Master?"
Jiang Dao's eyes swept over him, taking in the deliberate show of disrespect. "Let's ride," he said, his voice clipped. He motioned for his own horse, swung into the saddle, and led the procession out of the city.
They rode hard and in silence. They'd left in the afternoon, and by the time they reached the outskirts of Greenstone Town, the sun was a dying ember on the horizon. The fading light cast long, eerie shadows over everything, making the small town look haunted. It was unnervingly quiet, the streets deserted. A sudden gust of wind sent funeral money skittering across the dirt, carrying with it the faint, sweet smell of rot.
Jiang Dao's jaw tightened. A wave of déjà vu washed over him. It was just like Hangzhou City before the fall.
"Where's the local branch?" he asked, his voice cutting through the silence.
No one answered. Hu Biao and Fan Hu stared straight ahead, their faces blank, as if he hadn't spoken.
A muscle twitched in Jiang Dao's cheek. "What, are you deaf?"
Fan Hu let out a strange, wheezing laugh. "What's the rush? It's just up ahead." He spurred his horse forward, and the others followed, leaving Jiang Dao in their dust.
Jiang Dao watched them go, a cold fire building in his eyes. He nudged his horse into a trot, falling in behind them.
After winding through a few more desolate streets, they came upon a large compound surrounded by a whitewashed wall. In the center was a large, crimson gate. Four men in black stood guard, each with a white sash tied around his waist. White funeral banners flapped listlessly in the breeze.
"Whoa!" Hu Biao called out, pulling his horse to a halt. "Where's your manager? Get him out here!"
The guards' faces went pale when they saw the insignia from headquarters. One of them scrambled inside. Moments later, a flustered, middle-aged man in a manager's uniform hurried out, bowing frantically.
"My name is Lü An! Welcome, Hall Master Hu, Hall Master Fan! Please, forgive me for not preparing a proper welcome!"
"At ease," Hu Biao said, then gestured with his chin toward Jiang Dao. "This is Hall Master Jiang."
Lü An's eyes widened, and he immediately bowed again. "A thousand pardons! Welcome, Hall Master Jiang!"
"Tell me about the disappearances," Jiang Dao said, swinging down from his horse. "How did it happen? Where?"
He stood on the ground, but Hu Biao and Fan Hu remained mounted, looking down on the scene with indifference.
Jiang Dao's eyes narrowed. He looked up at them. "You're not getting down?"
Hu Biao said nothing.
Fan Hu cracked a smug smile. "We're just here to assist, Hall Master. You don't give us orders."
Jiang Dao held their gaze for a long, heavy moment before turning back to Lü An.
"Tell me everything."
"Hall Master, it's… It's unnatural," Lü An began, his voice trembling as he hugged himself. "It started about a month ago. The two deacons stationed here… they suddenly got obsessed with Buddhism. At first, it wasn't so strange. They put up a statue in their rooms, chanted scriptures in the morning and evening. Normal stuff. But then… it got worse. They stopped sleeping. You could hear them chanting all night long. And the sound…" He shuddered violently. "It wasn't peaceful or compassionate like it's supposed to be. It was wrong. It sounded like a demon whispering prayers.
"I… I get up sometimes during the night," he continued, his eyes wide with remembered terror, "and I heard it more than once. Every time, it felt like ice was crawling up my spine, like something was standing right behind me in the dark. Then, it spread. They got other gang members to join them, all of them locked in their rooms, chanting through the night. It was the strangest, most terrifying thing I've ever seen.
"This went on until three nights ago. I was up again, and I heard the chanting, same as always. But when I came back from the latrine, it was just… silent. I figured they'd finally tired themselves out. But the next morning, their doors were still locked from the inside. That's when I knew something was horribly wrong. We broke down the doors, and… they were all gone. Vanished into thin air."
Jiang Dao processed the story, the pieces clicking into place with grim certainty. "If you knew something was wrong, why didn't you report it to headquarters?"
"I didn't know they were going to disappear!" Lü An cried, his face a mask of terror. "Besides, they were deacons, and I'm just a manager. Who was I to question them? I just thought it was… a strange hobby."
"Has anyone else acted this way since they vanished?" Jiang Dao asked.
"Yes! Two more men. They've started doing the same thing. Chanting all night, locked in their rooms. They won't come out for anything."
"Where are they?"
"In their rooms right now!"
"Show me."
"This way, Hall Master!" Lü An said, practically running to lead him deeper into the compound.
Behind them, Hu Biao and Fan Hu exchanged a wary glance before finally dismounting and following with their men.
They moved through a long, torch-lit corridor. Despite the flames, the air was unnaturally cold, and shadows seemed to cling to the corners like grasping hands.
Suddenly, a sound drifted toward them.
"Mokechi mokechi, aluosaluosa…"
It was a strange, hypnotic chant, the syllables foreign and unsettling. The sound seemed to worm its way into your head, hollowing you out and leaving a strange sense of empty calm in its wake.
Jiang Dao paused, listening, then continued his determined stride forward.
They arrived at a small, isolated courtyard with five rooms. Three were empty and dark. Lü An explained that as soon as the two new men had shown symptoms, he'd moved everyone else out, fearing the madness was contagious.
"It's those two rooms, Hall Master," he whispered, pointing with a trembling finger.
Both rooms were pitch-black, their doors and windows sealed tight. The eerie, muffled chanting oozed from within.
"They don't use lamps at night?" Jiang Dao asked.
"Never. They keep the windows boarded up even during the day. They hate the sun."
"Then how do they read the scriptures in the dark?" Fan Hu muttered, frowning.
"I have no idea," Lü An whimpered.
Jiang Dao turned to Hu Biao and Fan Hu. "Well? One of you wants to take a look?"
Fan Hu forced a smile. "After you, Hall Master Jiang. We'll be right here to back you up."
Jiang Dao let out a silent, contemptuous huff. He turned back to the doors. "Break them down."
Emboldened by his presence, Lü An's men grabbed a heavy wooden beam and began ramming it against the doors.
THUMP. THUMP. THUMP.
The thin wooden doors held firm, as if barricaded by something immense from the inside. The chanting never wavered.
"Move," Jiang Dao growled, striding forward. The men scrambled out of his way.
BOOM!
He drove his foot into the nearest door. The wood didn't just break; it exploded inward in a shower of splintered fragments.
The stench hit them like a physical blow—the cloying, sweet rot of a dozen corpses left to fester. It was so vile it made their eyes water, and several men doubled over, gagging.
Jiang Dao had already held his breath, his eyes like daggers piercing the darkness inside. Lü An, his face green, waved a torch forward, its flickering light slowly pushing back the gloom.
The room was small and squalid. Strange symbols were scrawled across the walls. The floor was littered with scraps of paper, food waste, and dark, dried patches of what looked like blood. In the far corner stood a foot-high stone statue of the Buddha. But there was no compassion in its carved face—only a sinister, knowing smirk.
A man in black robes knelt before it, his back to them. The moment the door had burst open, his chanting had stopped cold.
Jiang Dao walked slowly across the filthy room until he was standing right behind the kneeling figure.
"Why'd you stop?" he asked, his voice low and dangerous.
The man didn't move. Didn't even seem to breathe.
Jiang Dao reached out and placed a hand on his shoulder.
The effect was instantaneous and grotesque. With a soft hiss, the body deflated like a punctured bladder, slumping sideways to reveal it was nothing more than an empty suit of human skin. A writhing carpet of white maggots spilled from the inside, the source of the overwhelming stench.
Lü An clapped a hand over his mouth, his stomach heaving.
"He's gone," Jiang Dao said, flicking a maggot from his hand in disgust. His gaze swept the room. "Check the other one."
"Right," Hu Biao and Fan Hu agreed, eager to leave the horrifying scene.
Jiang Dao's eyes landed on the stone Buddha. He frowned, picked it up, and turned it over in his hands. On the base, two small characters were carved into the stone.
Xiao Shi.
"Where did this come from?" he demanded. "Is there a temple around here?"
"There's an old one," Lü An managed, speaking through his sleeve. "Hardly anyone goes there anymore. It's about twenty li east of here. It's called Xiaoshi Temple."
"Xiaoshi Temple?" Jiang Dao repeated, staring at the carving. "This statue came from there?"
"I-I don't know, sir."
Jiang Dao held on to the statue and stalked out of the room. The chanting from the second room had also gone silent. When he got there, Hu Biao and Fan Hu were already coming out, holding an identical stone Buddha.
"Did the others who disappeared have one of these?" Hu Biao asked Lü An.
"No, definitely not!"
"So the statue disappears after it's done its work?" Hu Biao mused, then turned to Lü An. "You said there's a temple nearby?"
Lü An quickly repeated the information.
Fan Hu shot a look at Jiang Dao, a sly, challenging glint in his eye. "Well, Hall Master Jiang, it seems our work isn't done. Shall we pay a visit to Xiaoshi Temple?"
Jiang Dao slowly turned his head, cracking his neck. He looked from Fan Hu to Hu Biao, a long, deep look that made them both shift uncomfortably.
"Fine," he said. "Let's go."
He walked past them toward the horses, the stone Buddha still in his hand.
Hu Biao and Fan Hu exchanged another glance. Something about Jiang Dao's demeanor had set them on edge.
What's there to be afraid of? Hu Biao thought, forcing a sneer. He's a kid. How strong can he be?
They mounted up and followed Jiang Dao into the night.
The moon was high and bright, casting skeletal shadows through the rustling forest. They rode in tense silence.
Halfway to the temple, Hu Biao gave Fan Hu a subtle nod. He slowly drew the black porcelain vial from his robes. He uncorked it, and a sweet, cloying fragrance instantly drifted forward on the breeze. At the same moment, he and Fan Hu swallowed the red antidote pills and signaled for their men to hold their breath.
Suddenly, a horse screamed.
Then another, and another. In unison, their mounts collapsed to the ground, legs kicking spasmodically, white foam frothing at their mouths.
As his horse went down, Jiang Dao vaulted from the saddle, landing lightly on his feet. He swayed for a second, a wave of dizziness washing over him. His lungs felt tight.
"Feeling a little woozy, Hall Master?" Hu Biao's raspy laugh cut through the quiet.
Jiang Dao's head snapped around, his eyes blazing in the moonlight. "You poisoned me."
It wasn't a question. Hu Biao and Fan Hu were grinning, their men forming a silent, menacing circle around him, all of them covering their noses and mouths.
"Just relax and let it happen, Hall Master," Hu Biao jeered. "This is a nice, peaceful place to be buried. Once the Golden Wave Poison Mist is in your lungs, even an elephant would drop like a stone."
Jiang Dao said nothing. A terrifying, oppressive aura began to radiate from him, so palpable it felt like a physical weight.
"Was it the Left Protector?" he asked, his voice dangerously calm. "Did he send you to do this?"
"A dead man doesn't need answers," Hu Biao chuckled. "But don't worry, we'll tell you all about it after you're gone."
Jiang Dao's lips curved into a smile that held no warmth, only death.
"In that case," he said, his body tensing like a coiled spring. "You die first."