Both Bodhi Teaching disciples died—

And in that instant, the great hall—once resplendent in gold and jade, now a ruin—quietly began to fade.

Even the gleaming golden statue dissolved in a moment, like passing smoke.

On the crowded street, the smell of blood suddenly spread, and passersby stopped short in shock. Only two pools of blood on the bluestone paving were left to prove what had happened.

On another street, far from there—

A man in a white robe, wine gourd in hand and face flushed with drink, suddenly sniffed. His eyes cleared.

He frowned. Beneath that faint whiff of blood, he'd caught a rich fragrance.

Meng Xiuwen formed a hand seal and took a single step, and he was standing before the two pools of blood. He pushed through the gawkers, bent down and dabbed a fingertip in one.

When he saw the specks of gold slowly fading in it, the last of the wine left him, and he shuddered.

“This is bad…”

Before Meng Xiuwen had even thought it through, his legs were already carrying him toward the inn.

He hadn't thought much of Ye Lan leaving Jianyang Prefecture and being tied up elsewhere. A Demon-Slaying Officer had the strength to hold a prefecture on his own. Big problems rarely came up.

But now he felt cold all over.

A Bodhi Teaching Pilgrim had died in Jianyang Prefecture, and the Pilgrim Meng Xiuwen knew best was his own brand-new Demon-Slaying Officer!

Had that old hen Qingmei come knocking?

“Are you all right?”

Meng Xiuwen barked the words on the inn's second floor and kicked the door in with a crash. When he saw what was inside, the urgency on his face slowly gave way to something odd.

Ye Jing was leaning in a corner, eyes closed, steadying her breath.

Across from her sat a monk with a bloody, gaping hole in his face—Pilgrim Zhikong, as far as Meng could tell. He wasn't tending his wounds. He just sat on the floor in a daze, staring at Shen Yi by the bed.

This didn't look like what he'd imagined.