Chapter 28: Blissful Inn

“Who’s up there playing tricks?” Fang Yue shouted, his right hand gripping his blade’s hilt.

Upstairs, the strange sounds continued—low moans of ecstasy, as if in that fleeting moment, pleasure alone was eternal in this world.

Then, from the darkness of the second-floor corridor, a petite figure emerged, heading toward the Room of the Dragon. Fang Yue was startled. The little girl he had saved had somehow made her way upstairs, and something about her seemed off.

“Stop!” Fang Yue called out to her, but she showed no sign of hearing, continuing her slow advance.

“She’s bewitched,” the innkeeper’s assistant whispered in terror.

Fang Yue hesitated, then dashed toward the stairs to catch up with the girl. But he had barely climbed a few steps when he heard the creak of a door above. The little girl had already pushed open the door to the Room of the Dragon.

Suddenly, the inn, which had been shrouded in darkness, was flooded with light. The brightness came without warning or source; in an instant, the entire inn glowed like midday. The air filled with the melodious strains of stringed instruments and the lingering scent of rare incense.

Fang Yue even felt the temperature rise around him, a gentle warmth suffusing the air, as if he were soaking in a hot spring, so comfortable it tempted him to never move again.

Yet he felt no pleasure—only a cold dread welling in his heart.

Because, now seated in the inn’s main hall, were several people.

Master Xu and a few demonic cultists sat upright in their chairs, gazing eagerly at the second floor, as if waiting for a peerless beauty to appear.

If one ignored the ghastly, bleeding wounds marking their bodies—fatal wounds Fang Yue himself had inflicted—they might have seemed like eager patrons in a brothel, awaiting the star courtesan’s entrance.

But Master Xu and his men were already dead.

The scene was grotesque and unnatural. The innkeeper’s assistant was so terrified he could barely stand, trembling and speechless.

Fang Yue glanced upstairs. The little girl had already entered the Room of the Dragon; there was nothing more he could do for her. Gripping his blade, he backed down the stairs, slowly moving toward the exit.

As he passed the assistant, he whispered, “Come.”

The assistant hurried after him, terrified, barely daring to breathe.

They edged their way out, passing close to Master Xu and the cultists. Fang Yue kept his hand tight on his blade, wary of any movement. But the dead men paid them no mind, their eyes fixed longingly on the upper floor, faces tense with anticipation.

Their bearing and movements were indistinguishable from the living; nothing about them suggested they were corpses that had previously sprawled lifeless on the ground.

Fang Yue, wary of disturbing this uncanny scene, chose not to provoke them.

He didn’t relax until he was completely outside, standing beyond the inn’s entrance. Nothing happened.

Staring at the inn, now ablaze with light, Fang Yue fell into deep thought.

The events before him were too bizarre. They could only be the result of supernatural forces at work—something far beyond his current power to handle.

He felt for the book hidden in his clothes—a manual of internal cultivation he’d taken from Master Xu’s body, titled “Jade Essence Technique.”

“It’s not enough. I’m still far too weak. If I want to survive in this nightmare world of demons and ghosts, I need to become far stronger.”

His face remained calm, but his heart was a storm-tossed sea.

“Hail, Holy Envoy!”

Suddenly, shouts rang out from within the inn.

“Why did the inn’s name change?” the assistant cried, pointing in terror at the signboard above the door.

Fang Yue looked up. The sign now read “Inn of Ultimate Bliss.”

He clearly remembered it had been “Tongfu Inn” before. In the blink of an eye, the name had changed.

Two rows of red lanterns now gleamed by the entrance, casting a festive glow.

Inside, the inn bustled with voices—shouts from the men, playful laughter from the women—a scene of noisy revelry.

Standing outside, however, Fang Yue and the assistant felt no trace of celebration—only a deep, chilling dread.

“We can’t stay here any longer,” Fang Yue said.

He took up the kerosene lamp in his left hand, his blade in his right, and after one last glance at the brilliant lights behind him, strode into the darkness of the street without looking back.

…

The Daoists say: “Refine essence into qi.”

To cultivate inner energy, one must begin with the refinement of essence.

Essence refers to all tangible, subtle substances.

Qi refers to all intangible, subtle substances.

How does one transform one into the other?

Fang Yue sat in his courtyard, frowning in thought, the “Jade Essence Technique” open on his lap.

Half-withered leaves from the parasol trees littered the stone steps before him. The autumn wind swept through, rustling them with a soft whisper.

This was the home he had rented. From the bodies of Master Xu and the cultists, he had scavenged silver coins and notes—enough to ease his worries about daily survival. So he had rented this small two-courtyard house.

For the past two days, aside from practicing his forms, he had been poring over the “Jade Essence Technique.”

But Fang Yue had no foundation in internal arts, nor anyone to guide him. Self-study was difficult, and much remained unclear.

“Internal cultivation is not like other skills. If you make a mistake, the consequences can be dire.”

He recalled the martial tales of his previous life—those high-flying masters whose training mishaps left them crippled at best, or, at worst, driven mad or dead.

“It would be best to find a martial artist to teach me, someone who can give me a solid grounding in the basics. But where in this world can I find such a person? How do I even begin to look?”

He felt a headache coming on. Once, he had devoted himself only to the classics, never giving martial arts a thought. He didn’t even know if a martial world like those in the novels truly existed here. Seeking a master of internal cultivation seemed a hopeless endeavor.

And even if he found such a person, would they be willing to teach him?

“Maybe I should inquire at the city’s martial schools. If they dare to take on students, surely they have some skills. Even if they don’t know internal arts themselves, perhaps they have connections.”

Fang Yue closed the “Jade Essence Technique” and stood, determined to venture out.

Before the bronze mirror, he adjusted his sapphire-blue robe. He stood tall and straight, with windswept temples and a striking, refined appearance.

With silver in hand, he no longer lacked for food. In just a few days, he had replenished the strength he’d lost from the system’s transmission of skills.

The gauntness had faded, his face now fuller and healthier.

Yet his complexion still retained a lingering pallor—a mark he could not dispel.

“This is the mark left by that ghost in red. I don’t know when it will flare up. It’s a serious problem.”

Fang Yue frowned. The presence of this hidden affliction troubled him deeply.

Though he felt no physical discomfort, the psychological burden was immense.

When it came to spirits and demons, he had no way to resolve the issue.

“They say the authorities will soon send someone to deal with the supernatural troubles in Ping’an County. Perhaps I can ask them to remove the ghost’s mark from my face. Better still, if they could destroy the ghost in red entirely, the matter would be settled for good.”

This thought comforted him somewhat, but he knew he could not place all his hopes on others. To survive in this world, he would need strength of his own.