Chapter Thirty-Eight: The Bamboo Slips of Yunmeng

The Order of Public Peace was commissioned by the Directorate of Tranquility of the Great Jin and crafted by a master of the Daoist sects. Using the Daoist art of “Qi Observation” as its core, it was forged to sense the presence of spirits and monsters, automatically tally merits, and purchase talismans and spiritual tools. In essence, this token served as a kind of early warning device.

Yet, though the red-haired demon that had appeared earlier was menacing and terrifying in appearance, the Order of Public Peace had shown no reaction to it. This, by implication, meant that the red-haired demon was not a true spirit or monster at all.

An Huayuan’s expression turned grim. Clearly, someone was secretly plotting against the An family, deliberately targeting them from the shadows.

Soon, more and more of the An household’s retainers gathered, and the threshing ground was abuzz with noise. Everyone was animatedly recounting the recent battle. Meanwhile, Chen Jiu and the father-son pair of the An family rode back to the residence by carriage.

…

Inside the An residence’s council hall, the lanterns burned bright. The old master An sat at the head of the table, while Chen Jiu and An Huayuan took seats to the side, unconcerned with formality.

“Father, have you perhaps offended anyone lately?” An Huayuan pondered a moment before asking.

The old master furrowed his brow, deep in thought, as if wrestling with an insoluble knot. After a while, he let out a long sigh and shook his head. “No, no one’s come here deliberately looking for trouble recently.”

An Huayuan’s face grew dark. No trouble, no feuds—this meant there were very few leads, making it all the more difficult to uncover the mastermind behind these events.

Chen Jiu considered for a moment and said, “I have a suspicion.”

The old master’s eyes lit up. “Please, Daoist, speak your mind!”

Chen Jiu paused, then continued, “As I mentioned before, the red-haired demon was fashioned from paper cuttings. This means that though you escaped disaster tonight, there’s no guarantee you’ll be so fortunate tomorrow.”

The old master replied, bitterness in his voice, “I know that well enough.”

But An Huayuan caught a different implication in Chen Jiu’s words. His eyes flashed as he pressed, “What’s your insight, Daoist?”

Chen Jiu shook his head and turned to the old master. “It’s not so much an insight as a question I’d like to ask you.”

The old master gestured for him to continue.

“How many times have you been to the threshing ground recently?”

The old master thought for a moment. “Only tonight,” he answered. “I’ve been run ragged these days, between the ancestral rites and the wheat harvest. When I heard there were bandits nearby, I decided to take the lead in guarding the grain. But who could have expected…”

Chen Jiu pondered. “If the demon hadn’t appeared before, it wasn’t after the threshing ground. But as soon as you arrived, it struck. I suspect it was sent by someone, and its target was you—either for wealth or for your life.”

An Huayuan listened for a while and thought to himself, That’s hardly news.

The old master shook his head solemnly. “I wasn’t carrying any money. And if someone wanted to kill me, why wait until today? I was alone at the ancestral shrine just days ago, and nothing happened then.”

An Huayuan interjected, “Speaking of which, the ancestral rites are nearly upon us. That’s why I returned.”

He seemed to have no reservations mentioning the ancestral rites in front of Chen Jiu. In fact, An Huayuan had never harbored any hostility or suspicion toward Chen Jiu, even after the Daoist’s seemingly absurd warning of impending calamity for his father came true with the appearance of the demon. Whether this was due to the confidence of a seasoned official or a genuine trust in Chen Jiu was unclear.

When the old master heard his son mention the ancestral rites, a look of surprise crossed his face. He slapped the table. “That’s right! I brought that item out from the ancestral hall.”

An Huayuan’s expression grew grave. “Is it the bamboo slip that grandfather gave you?”

The old master nodded heavily. “Yes. I thought the rites couldn’t proceed without it, so I kept it on me. With so much going on, I never put it down. Do you think this could be the reason?”

He reached into his clothes and pulled out a bamboo slip, about two fingers wide and a foot long, with a greenish hue.

Chen Jiu’s expression remained unchanged. He glanced at it briefly, then looked away.

Yunmeng.

He had seen those two characters carved upon the bamboo slip.

An Huayuan then said to Chen Jiu, “To be honest, our An family is not originally from this county.”

Chen Jiu said nothing, though his eyes brightened.

An Huayuan continued, “We hail from Yunmeng Prefecture, which borders Lao Prefecture. That is our true homeland.”

A hint of nostalgia flickered in his eyes.

The old master, too, was caught up in reminiscence, his tone tinged with melancholy. “Ah, yes. In those days, the endless Yunmeng Marsh was the longing of countless cultivators. Legend has it that deep within the marsh lies an immortal isle, covered with trees of eternity. Eat just one fruit and you’ll live forever…”

The Tree of Eternity? The name brought to Chen Jiu’s mind the tragic events of Liuyecun. Yet he couldn’t help but laugh inwardly.

How could immortality be achieved by simply eating a fruit?

The three of them discussed further, speculating that the bamboo slip might be the cause of these troubles. An Huayuan even devised a plan to lure out their hidden adversary. Perhaps the enemy truly was after the seemingly ordinary bamboo slip, for Chen Jiu could discern no other secret within it beyond the carved words “Yunmeng.”

Chen Jiu also suggested using fire to combat these paper-formed demons—after all, paper could never withstand flames.

…

The next morning, Chen Jiu woke from his meditative trance. It had been a long time since he’d found the leisure to cultivate, having spent nearly all his recent days on the run. There had simply been no time to practice, nor to nurture his lotus platform further.

He felt a helpless frustration. If he paused to train, he risked being killed by the “Hanging Eye,” but if he did not, he would never be able to rid himself of those two persistent fiends.

“Once this business is over, I must ask An Huayuan for a place suitable for cultivation,” Chen Jiu resolved silently.

After his recent interactions, he had gained some understanding of An Huayuan. This man, who had long served in the Directorate of Tranquility, was certainly more than he appeared. Though he possessed no spiritual power, he was someone the Directorate went to great lengths to curry favor with, simply because the An family held sway over most of the local landowners and grain merchants.

Maintaining good relations with An Huayuan would buy Chen Jiu the time and space to grow stronger. Only by achieving the first rank of immortality—the “Lesser Elixir Embryo”—would he have any real power to defend himself, and perhaps even challenge the “Hanging Eye” one day.

He affixed the Breath Concealment Talisman that An Huayuan had given him. Though he felt safe with the vice director, caution dictated that he wear it anyway—after all, it wasn’t his own.

Today, the old master would make his routine inspection of the threshing ground, carrying the bamboo slip as usual. Meanwhile, An Huayuan had quietly arranged a number of hidden traps, preparing to catch the mastermind behind the paper demons at the opportune moment…