“This inner energy is truly miraculous. Even though I’ve only just begun to sense it, I can already dispel the cold from my body. If that’s the case, then those people who have cultivated for decades really can become immune to heat and cold, and feats like flying through the air or burrowing into the earth aren’t just myths. I just wonder if I’ll ever have the chance to be like them!”

　　His mind was preoccupied with thoughts of cultivation, and before he knew it, he began circulating his inner energy according to the family’s secret manual. Unfortunately, after just a few breaths, he opened his eyes, a trace of helplessness flickering at the corner of his eye.

　　The technique he practiced was a family inheritance, Shaoyang Qigong, which cultivated Shaoyang inner energy. This kind of Shaoyang Qigong required absorbing the yang energy at noon each day. But now it was the middle of the night—there was no yang energy, only plenty of yin energy. How could he possibly cultivate under these conditions?

　　“Shaoyang Qigong, haha, in wuxia novels, it’s a classic secret martial art!”

　　Leaning against the headboard, he thought of his previous life’s world. At times he felt a bit melancholy, at other times he thought this world was better. His thoughts drifted, and before long, he gradually drifted off to sleep against the bed.

Chapter Three: Demonic Cultivator, Swordsman

　　The county office of Dongling was as dilapidated as ever, now tinged with an even deeper sense of desolation. The two yamen runners standing at the entrance leaned listlessly on their water-fire staffs, slouching by the gate as if all the strength had been drained from their bodies, not a trace of spirit or energy in sight.

　　You couldn’t really blame them. Just this morning, the third murder had occurred. The victim was, once again, a pregnant woman, and the unborn baby had also been removed from her body. Three cases, four lives, three infants—it was like a heavy stone pressing on everyone’s hearts. The county magistrate, John Thompson, was losing his hair at an alarming rate, with only a few strands left. Half the constables in the office had been beaten, and the other half were trembling with fear, worried they’d be next.

　　Lucas Ethan hadn’t been beaten. He was just a rookie who had only recently joined; no one expected him to accomplish anything in this case. Still, the oppressive atmosphere in the yamen affected him as well.

　　Today, after more than ten days of investigation, they finally had a lead. The peddler Matthew Bolton, who sold goods along the streets, had seen a black-robed Daoist appear at the door of the third victim’s house. But in the blink of an eye, the man had vanished. Dongling County wasn’t large, nor was its population; everyone knew each other, so a stranger stood out immediately. Matthew Bolton was certain that this black-robed Daoist wasn’t from Dongling. However, he’d only caught a glimpse before the Daoist disappeared. At first, he thought he was seeing things, so he hadn’t gotten a clear look at the man’s face—he only remembered a long banner hanging from the Daoist’s body, and assumed he was a wandering fortune-teller.

　　A black-robed wandering Daoist—this clue gave them a target. The constables began investigating this black-robed Daoist, and soon received another report.

　　The gatekeeper of the charity mortuary outside the city, Old Thompson, and a traveling merchant, Robert Clark, had both seen a black-robed Daoist at the mass grave west of the city. Again, he had appeared and disappeared in a flash, with a long banner on his back. Old Thompson had seen him five days ago, while Robert Clark had seen him just a day ago.

　　Thus, the mass grave west of the city and the black-robed Daoist became their only leads.

　　……

　　The mass grave west of Dongling had a history of several centuries. No one knew how many people had been buried there, nor did anyone know its origins. In any case, unless absolutely necessary, no one would go near that haunted place.

　　Now, Lucas Ethan found himself reluctantly mixed in with a group of constables, heading in a grand procession toward the mass grave.

　　The mass grave was about ten li from Dongling County. After crossing a small river and veering west off the main road, you could see an ancient locust tree in the distance—that meant you were almost there.

　　This old locust tree had stood for many years. The elders of Dongling said it was extremely mysterious, its lush branches entwined with wandering spirits. It was precisely because it kept those restless souls bound to the mass grave that Dongling could remain peaceful. So every year, on the fourteenth day of the seventh lunar month, when the gates of the underworld were said to open, the elders would come here to burn incense. After so many years, the side of the tree facing Dongling had been blackened by incense ash. In front of the tree stood a small altar, with some offerings placed on it.

　　As the group of constables approached the old locust tree, a chilly wind blew from the mass grave behind it, making everyone shiver. Even though it was already noon and the sun was directly overhead, the gust of cold wind made everyone instinctively pull their clothes tighter. Lucas Ethan was no exception—a warm current rose from his dantian and flowed through his body, but it still couldn’t dispel the chill. As they passed the old locust tree, the temperature around them suddenly dropped, several degrees colder than before.

　　“Everyone, be careful. We’re already within the bounds of the mass grave. The yin energy here is strong. If you can’t take it, ask for some ginger soup!” David Reed’s voice sounded in his ear.