The death of the Liu family poured cold water over everything.

No more wishful thinking.

These weren’t mindless creatures drifting through the wilderness, content to haunt one patch of land and wait for heroes to come find them. They were intelligent, emotionally alive, and passing information between themselves far faster than he’d assumed.

What he’d been doing — borrowing the predecessor’s network, striking from within a position of trust while the demons had their guard down — had worked. It could not work indefinitely.

The demons had known where the black-furred Dog Demon was going that night. Did he really think they didn’t know who had taken it there?

Every demon that died would make the rest more vicious and more vigilant. When word of the missing ape demons eventually spread, the next thing coming for him wouldn’t be a mid-tier demon settling a score.

It would be a Greater Demon.

Shen Yi had no interest in spending his days looking over his shoulder.

He needed more demon lifespan. Much more.

With that thought settled in his chest, he stood and walked out of the courtyard.

Willow Leaf Street had gathered a small crowd — people watching from a careful distance, drawn by the rare spectacle of constables roughing up other constables.

“Let them go.”

He gestured with his chin.

“Yes, sir.” Chen Ji clasped his hands and signaled the others to untie the prisoners.

Then he hesitated, jaw working, and reluctantly produced a torn-open letter — the envelope still spotted with blood. “You should probably look at this. It fell out of one of their pockets.”

Shen Yi took it with a slight frown and unfolded the paper.

One line. No greeting, no signature.

“Come to Liuli Temple village. I have questions.”

No name. No context.

But Shen Yi had spent enough time with the Dog Demon faction to know their habits. Writing — calligraphy, correspondence, anything requiring a brush held with actual fingers — was not their strength. The one among them with enough leisure and refinement for this kind of thing was the old patriarch himself. And among the county’s constables, the only one the Yellow King would bother addressing was Shen Yi.

Chen Ji had clearly worked it out too, which was why he’d hesitated before handing it over. “What do we do? Going is obviously out of the question — but if you ignore it, they’ll come into the city looking for you. Should we bring in Senior Clerk Liu?”

Everyone knew that Clerk Liu had essentially raised Shen Yi as a protégé. With that connection, Liu could potentially petition the powerful martial artist lodging at the magistrate’s residence to go and negotiate on their behalf.

“We need to move fast, or Liuli Temple village—” Chen Ji was beginning to look strained.

“Ha.” Zhang Pengfei was propped against the wall by two of his men, spitting bloody froth and laughing through it. “Liu already made his move. You’ve got no one left to command, Shen Yi. Stay in the county, be grateful someone’s keeping you breathing. As for those other cheap lives out there—” he spat onto the ground, “—that’s above your station.”

Chen Ji’s chest tightened. He looked at Shen Yi instinctively — then felt the familiar weight of helplessness settle back over him.

Even with Shen Yi’s strength far beyond anything he’d imagined, that strength was still the strength of a single man. Against the full Dog Demon faction — all those martial artists the wealthy families had hired, every one of them a practiced demon-slayer, and not one of them had ventured outside the city walls. What made anyone think Shen Yi could fare differently?

Then he noticed something.

The hard knot between Shen Yi’s brows had quietly smoothed out.

“Sir—”

Shen Yi clapped him on the shoulder. “Head back.”

He’d been turning the problem over — demons deep in the mountains, difficult terrain, a nightmare to track. Waiting for them to come to him was too passive.

And now they were inviting him to a conversation.

How could he possibly pass that up.

“…”

Shen Yi walked away with his usual unhurried ease. Chen Ji watched him go, unease climbing steadily up his spine.

“He’s not going outside the walls—?”

“Oh, get off it.” Zhang Pengfei hawked and spat again. “I watched that man claw up from the gutter with my own eyes. His own mother could’ve been dragged off by demons and he wouldn’t have turned his head. Now he’s playing the hero? Please.”

Outside Baiyun County’s walls.

A figure crossed the treetops like a loosed arrow, branches swaying faintly in its wake, birds startling from their perches.

The Serpentine Eight Strides had been an ordinary movement technique once. Driven now by the power of five open apertures at the Threshold Realm, it rendered the user nearly invisible to the naked eye.

In very little time, Shen Yi saw the ruined temple again.

He eased his pace. His breathing was even and relaxed, as if he hadn’t been moving at all.

On the paddy paths of Liuli Temple village, the farmers had stopped their work and were looking toward the road. A constable walking in with a saber — that combination usually meant either shakedown or disaster.

When they recognized his face, the blankness in their expressions eased slightly.

They remembered this one.

Last time, he’d killed the Dog Demon himself. And he’d left without asking for anything.

A small girl — barely old enough to walk steadily — came tottering forward in an oversized cloth shift full of holes, cradling a chipped bowl. She held it up with both hands, small voice piping: “Mister constable. Water.”

Shen Yi ruffled her head, took the bowl, and drank it empty.

When he set it back down, his gaze drifted to the mountain path on the far side of the village.

Good timing, as they say.

On the winding path above, between the dense trees, more than ten figures moved in and out of view — each standing two heads taller than any person had a right to. Dense, knotted fur over compact, rolling muscle. Faces pulled into something savage. Nothing on their bodies but loincloths. They moved across the mountain trail with the ease of a flat road, and on their shoulders they carried a palanquin twenty feet long.

Reclining on it was a body that weighed, at rough estimate, the better part of eight hundred jin.

The fat was layered two fingers deep at each level, stacked in fold after fold, like a landscape of flesh. Impossible to count how many tiers.

What drew the eye above all else was the fur — a deep, lustrous yellow, gleaming like lacquered gold, striking against the darker coats of the others.

The procession came to a halt at the village entrance.

The little girl had just turned back to reclaim her bowl when she sat down hard on the ground.

Her dirty face went absolutely still. She held her breath, baby teeth clamped to her lower lip, her tiny body beginning to tremble without her permission.

The other villagers were steadier — or rather, more accustomed.

Their eyes moved to the road.

One constable. One saber.

The path behind him stretched silent and empty. They waited. No other figures came.

Something settled in the villagers’ eyes — not resignation exactly, but a grief that had already been lived before.

They crouched down where they stood, arms drawn around themselves. No crying. No running.

The little girl felt a shadow fall over her.

She looked up.

The constable had stepped past her, moving at an unhurried pace — and as he walked, he drew the saber from his hip.

The blade came fully free.

Shen Yi stood in front of the enormous palanquin, saber hanging loose and easy at his side.

(End of Chapter)