The first light of dawn was just breaking as Jiang Dao spurred his horse back towards the Jiang family estate.
"Whoa there."
He pulled up short, his gut clenching. Something was wrong.
White mourning banners fluttered from the gates, stark against the dark wood. The ground was littered with the ghostly pale of joss paper. An unnerving stillness hung in the air, a palpable presence that clung to the manor like a shroud.
Jiang Dao swung himself out of the saddle and strode through the entrance.
Pang Lin, the head of the guards, spotted him. His eyes went wide. "Young Master? You're back?"
"Master Pang." Jiang Dao gave a quick, respectful bow. "My father—is he alright? Did something else happen?"
"The master is unharmed," Pang Lin said, his face a grim mask. "But… the spirit came again last night. We lost seven more of our staff."
"What?" Jiang Dao demanded. "What about the Daoist, Changbai? What does he have to say?"
"He came by, took one look, and said the spirit has its sights set on the Jiang family. He's planning to stand watch tonight to confront it."
"A watch, tonight?" A glint appeared in Jiang Dao's eyes. "Good. Thank you, Master Pang."
This was perfect. If the old Daoist wanted to play hero tonight, Jiang Dao would finally get a front-row seat to see what the man was really made of. It was also the perfect chance to test a theory of his own: whether these so-called spirits were truly immune to cold, hard steel.
He left Pang Lin and headed for his father's quarters.
"Father," he said, pushing the door open.
Jiang Dalong's head snapped up, his expression shifting from worry to alarm. "Dao'er! Why are you back? Didn't Magistrate Wang let you leave the city?"
"He did," Jiang Dao said, shaking his head. "But I was worried. And I was right to be. That Magistrate is a snake. He let us go, only to have an ambush waiting for us on the road. He wanted us dead, and our money for himself." He paused. "I took care of them. My brothers and sisters are safe; I sent them ahead to Fengzhou City to wait this out."
"That venomous bastard!" Jiang Dalong's eyes blazed with fury, and he ground his teeth. "After all the silver we paid him, he still wanted more? He wanted to wipe out my entire line, leave no one to even light a stick of incense for our ancestors. The man has no soul."
"Don't worry, Father. I'll deal with Magistrate Wang."
Then, the realization of what his son had just said hit Jiang Dalong. "Dao'er, you said you… You took care of the ambush? When did you become so capable?" He looked at his son, a mix of shock and awe on his face.
"Let's just say I've had my share of opportunities, Father. I just never mentioned them. The important thing is, it's not a bad thing."
"Good. Good boy," Jiang Dalong said, clapping his son on the shoulder, a wave of relief washing over him. Out of six sons, one of them had finally become a man he could count on. He could face death now and rest easy.
"About tonight," Jiang Dao said, his voice serious. "The Daoist is standing watch for the spirit? I want to join him."
"Absolutely not," his father shot back. "You may have learned to fight, but martial arts are useless against these things. It's too dangerous."
"I know what I'm doing, Father. I promise, I'll keep my distance if things get out of hand." Jiang Dao changed the subject. "Do we have any quality iron in the storerooms? I need to have a weapon forged."
"Iron? We do. There's a block of Xuan Iron from a decade ago that we could never sell. Let me show you."
Jiang Dalong led him out. In the back of the family storeroom sat a dark, unassuming block of metal, roughly the size of a basketball. Jiang Dao wrapped his hand around it and lifted. It had to be close to a hundred pounds.
"What are you planning on making?" his father asked.
"A staff," Jiang Dao replied. "A heavy Xuan Iron staff. The thicker, the better."
Of all his skills, the Mad Demon Staff Technique was his most advanced. A custom-made weapon would let him unleash its full potential. And against a blade? A heavy iron staff could function just as well as a sword.
"I'll send for the blacksmith immediately," Jiang Dalong said, already heading for the door. "And Dao'er, you must be hungry. Let me get you some food."
The day bled away into evening. As the sun dipped below the horizon, bathing the sky in fiery orange and red, the Jiang manor began to glow with the light of dozens of lanterns.
The Changbai Daoist, draped in a fine blue silk robe, gave Jiang Dao a cool, appraising look. "Are you certain about this, Young Master? You truly wish to join my vigil?"
"I am. Thank you for having me, Daoist Master." Jiang Dao nodded.
"Hmph." The Daoist gave a slight nod, saying nothing more.
But inwardly, he was laughing. This kid learns a few moves and suddenly thinks he's invincible. He wants to stand watch with me? He had no idea what was really targeting this house. This wasn't just some common spook; an organization of terrifying power had the Jiang family in its crosshairs. The entire manor was doomed.
The Daoist had already planned to cut his losses and run tonight. But now, with the Young Master playing brave, he saw an opportunity. Why not use the boy as a distraction? The whole family was going to die anyway—what difference did a few hours make? In fact, he'd heard that a third of the entire city was going to be wiped out before this was all over. He could sacrifice Jiang Dao, grab the family's valuables, and be long gone before anyone was the wiser.
True night fell, and the city of Hengzhou was swallowed by an inky blackness.
They sat in the room of the maid who had died. The old Daoist was perfectly composed, sipping a cup of freshly brewed tea. Jiang Dao sat opposite him, a heavy steel saber across his lap, as still and silent as a statue carved from stone.
The minutes ticked by.
Outside, it felt as though a thick cloud had smothered the sky, snuffing out the moon and stars. The courtyard grew impossibly dark. Even the lanterns seemed to cast a dim, hazy light, their glow struggling against an oppressive, unseen barrier.
Jiang Dao's eyes narrowed. Something was wrong.
Then he heard it. Faintly at first, then growing clearer: the sound of a child's laughter.
Hee…
Hee hee hee…
A tremor went through him. That laugh. It was the same one from his nightmares.
His fingers tightened around the hilt of his saber. He held his breath, every muscle in his body coiled and ready, his eyes scanning the oppressive darkness.
Tch. The old Daoist shot him a look, a flicker of contempt in his eyes. Does this spoiled brat really believe his crude fighting skills can touch a spirit? He had no idea what he was up against. This wasn't just any evil spirit; these were the disciples of the Spirit Child Palace. Soon, he would learn the meaning of true despair.
Hee… hee hee hee…
The eerie laughter was getting closer, seeming to come from every direction at once, echoing through the courtyard. It sounded like a child was just outside, playing a terrible game.
"Aren't you going to go take a look, Young Master?" the Daoist asked, a smirk playing on his lips.
"I'm staying right where you are, Daoist Master," Jiang Dao said, his voice low.
The Daoist smiled, setting his teacup down on the table. With a dramatic flourish of his sleeves, he rose and walked toward the door. Jiang Dao was on his feet in an instant, right behind him, his senses on high alert.
The courtyard was a pit of black, silent dread.
The moment the Daoist stepped outside, he spun. A cloud of white powder exploded from his sleeve, shooting directly at Jiang Dao's face.
Jiang Dao reacted instantly, throwing an arm up to shield himself. He batted the smoke away and lunged forward, but it was too late.
The courtyard was empty. The old Daoist was gone.
"You old bastard," Jiang Dao muttered, his eyes narrowing to slits. "You set me up."