Perfected Master Changqing walked out of the War Temple without expression.
For a Great Qian in such decline, calling upon the golden dharma forms of fallen Spirit-Transformation cultivators was very nearly their most severe warning — second only to awakening their one remaining Spirit-Transformation Ancestor.
These golden dharma forms might not be a match for a true Spirit-Transformation cultivator.
But they were more than capable of crushing a Mixed Origin Grandmaster.
How long could Wu Dao’an, at his cultivation level, sustain a dharma form — one stick of incense, or two hours? The Perfected Master didn’t know, and didn’t dare gamble on finding out.
He bit down on his anger and quietly consoled himself.
These insufferable people could only throw their weight around in this crumbling imperial city.
Nothing but watchdogs in the end.
“Shen Yi of Qingzhou…”
Once he’d settled his nerves, Perfected Master Changqing turned the name over inwardly, a flicker of puzzlement rising in his eyes.
He’d originally only come to ask on someone else’s behalf, as a casual favor.
But the War Temple disciples’ reaction had set off a small alarm in his chest.
Qingqiu’s foxes had been investigating for quite some time, and still hadn’t managed to get a clear picture of Shen Yi. The entire Qingzhou Demon Suppression Division seemed to have collectively taken a vow of silence — through whatever connections were tried, through however many oblique inquiries, the moment that name came up, everyone turned mute.
Even those few willing to open their mouths couldn’t piece together anything coherent. Master, technique, cultivation level — not a single one was known for certain.
The stories they could spin, mind you, were another matter — the exploits described were frankly laughable.
A few months ago still dealing with a Threshold-realm dog demon; and then suddenly slaying a Core-Nurturing-at-Perfection flood dragon — the two halves didn’t fit together at all.
“No matter. Report what there is to report.”
Perfected Master Changqing straightened his robes. This information was obviously something the War Temple had prepared in advance and was now releasing to throw people off the scent.
To go to all this trouble to protect someone — they must be holding very high hopes for this person indeed.
Still dreaming of recovering the standing they’d once had, refusing to face reality?
At the thought, he gave a contemptuous snort and looked back at the War Temple looming behind him, the way one might regard a pauper in a crumbling estate.
Not willing to obediently stand guard for Xuanguang Cave — they couldn’t even manage to be a proper watchdog. A few more lashes would probably be needed before they learned to behave.
As Perfected Master Changqing rode his cloud away.
Inside the War Temple’s courtyard, the remaining three Custodians exchanged uncertain looks. “Senior Brother Wu, what did you just do?”
Calling upon a golden dharma form made quite the impression, certainly — but wasn’t that more or less the same as publicly admitting to the thing?
“Was it actually Shen Yi who killed that Qingqiu disciple?”
“…”
Wu Dao’an gave a dismissive wave of his hand. “How would I know.”
The other three stared at each other, bewildered. If it hadn’t been Shen Yi — well, obviously it hadn’t. The man had been Qingzhou’s Demon Suppression General. Given the state Qingzhou was in, just barely holding the local demons in check was about all one could ask. Why on earth would he go out of his way to pick a fight with some passing fox demon?
“But what I do know is Shen Yi’s talent. Anyone with eyes can see it — and Qingqiu’s foxes certainly have eyes.”
Wu Dao’an glanced across them. With a talent like a pixiu, that terrifying ability to absorb without limit — the man was a natural-born divine-spirit cultivator. Once word got out, the Thousand Demon Den would move to strangle him in the cradle at all costs.
“True enough.”
The Custodians nodded, remembering the scene at the War Temple refinement, when the young man had absorbed every last trace of the golden body’s presence.
Compared to the consequences of that information getting out, carrying an extra charge of false blame wasn’t worth worrying about.
“Senior Brother Wu would be wise to remind him — unless necessary, he should try to stay inside the capital.”
At that, Wu Dao’an’s hand curled into a fist, and he let out a rare profanity. “Remind him what? I took my eyes off him for one night and he was already halfway to Song Prefecture.”
“What was he going to Song Prefecture for?” The Custodians looked thoroughly baffled.
“I gave him a position as Deputy Inspector of the Demon Suppression Division.” Wu Dao’an sighed, thinking of Liu Kun coming to report the news in such a breathless hurry, and felt a headache building behind his eyes.
“Did you not make it clear that the position was just for drawing on accumulated faith?” the others said, somewhat at a loss.
Was there really a divine-spirit cultivator out there who would honestly go and patrol the Nine Provinces in person? Did he not realize that wasn’t a job his current level was supposed to be doing?
At that, Wu Dao’an hesitated slightly. “I thought I made it clear enough?”
He could hardly come right out and say “sinecure” in so many words — anyone with half a brain should have been able to read between the lines.
“Look what you’ve done — the man is young and full of fire, did you really think he could sit still while people came in begging for help?” The rounder of the Custodians rolled his eyes, turned, and walked toward the door, tossing back a parting word:
“Don’t worry — Song Prefecture’s Yang Qianxiang knows what’s at stake. He wouldn’t really let your prized junior get himself into danger.”
“Senior Brother Wu, go rest. We’ll handle the remaining refinement sessions.”
Channeling the Lion-Camel dharma form at an upper-tier Martial Immortal’s cultivation level — even for Wu Dao’an, who cultivated the Lion-Camel’s own Golden Body method and understood it well, it had still been a tremendous strain. Those few casual movements alone would take at least ten days or more before his divine spirit recovered to full strength.
“No need.”
Wu Dao’an shook his head, and looked in silence toward the direction of the Demon Suppression Division’s central offices. He couldn’t quite explain it, but there was a nagging unease in his chest — the feeling that something had been stirred up.
His junior brother Shen hadn’t actually gotten himself into trouble, had he?
Seven or eight days went by in a blur.
The flow of people at the Demon Suppression Division’s offices remained as steady as ever.
Liu Kun sat behind the counter, his mind clearly somewhere else entirely.
The newly appointed Inspector had been whisked away to Song Prefecture right under his nose, and still hadn’t returned.
He knew Song Prefecture’s situation better than anyone.
The place was a disaster waiting to happen at any moment — looked manageable on the surface, but in reality, one small thing going wrong could have made it more dangerous than even Qingzhou at its worst.
“Yang Qianxiang, you old bastard…”
Liu Kun’s jaw was tight. He could only pray that old man hadn’t done something stupid — if anything happened to the Inspector, the War Temple would have him skinned alive.
“…”
Yang Qianxiang had just stepped up to the counter when that muttered curse reached his ears.
The old man pressed his lips together, entirely unsure how to respond.
After a brief silence, he cleared his throat. “Ahem.”
“Hss—!”
Liu Kun snapped back to attention, and the moment he recognized the face before him, scrambled to his feet. “General Yang, what brings you here?”
Yang Qianxiang smiled wryly and shook his head — no inclination to make anything of it — and cupped his fists. “Commander Shen told me to come to the central offices and file my report myself.”
With that, he offered the document he’d already prepared.
Liu Kun flipped through two pages at random, found the usual litany of disaster already known to everyone in the whole Division, and looked back up. “Why are you handing this to me? The whole Demon Suppression Division already knows you lost four prefectures. Where’s Commander Shen?”
Song Prefecture had only a lower-tier Martial Immortal to hold off two demon kings — the central offices genuinely hadn’t been able to send anyone to help. But they still understood the situation well enough not to pile all the blame on this gaunt old man.
“Commander Shen? He went back to rest.”
Yang Qianxiang paused, realizing that not only had Commander Shen paid him little notice, the Demon Suppression Division itself didn’t seem to be taking him particularly seriously either.
He was a General of one of the Nine Provinces, come to answer for his failures, after all… could they at least react a little?
“You — stay right there. Don’t move.”
Liu Kun shot out from behind the counter, bolted into the War Temple’s main hall, and came back shortly at a near-run with all four blue-robed old men in tow.
Only when the four of them closed in around him with cold expressions did Yang Qianxiang suddenly get the sense that something was not quite right.
(End of Chapter 230)