Is the middle-aged man the real puppet master?
The thought coiled in Jiang Dao's gut, hot and sharp. Frustration simmered, threatening to boil over. He hadn't come out here to play guessing games in the dark. He needed the crunch of bone, the raw finality of a fight—not riddles wrapped in shadows.
He took a sharp, deep breath, forcing the inhuman bulk of his body to shrink, to settle back into its normal form. He had to be calm. Holding the warped bronze mirror, he strode out of the temple and back down the mountainside.
Guo Dutian and Qi Rongfa were waiting anxiously below. When they saw him emerge from the shadows, they rushed forward.
"Chief, what did you find?" Guo Dutian asked, his voice tight.
Jiang Dao ignored him, turning to the other man. "Qi Rongfa," he said, pressing the twisted piece of metal into his hand. "Ever seen this before?"
Qi Rongfa turned the mirror over, his brow furrowed in concentration. "Never, Chief. But there are plenty of old-timers and master craftsmen in Qingluo City. Someone will know it's made."
"Good," Jiang Dao grunted. "When we get back, find them. I want to know where this thing came from. Every detail."
"Yes, Chief!"
"Get my clothes. We're leaving."
Guo Dutian quickly handed over a fresh black coat. "Chief," he asked cautiously, "the temple… what about the temple?"
"It won't be coming back," Jiang Dao said, shrugging on the coat. He glanced back up the mountain, a final thought striking him. "Qi Rongfa. One more thing. Find out who's made offerings at that temple recently."
"Right away, Chief."
Jiang Dao swung himself onto his horse. Within moments, the entire party was a thunder of hooves fading into the night.
In a dark, secluded courtyard miles away, a pale-faced man doubled over, vomiting a spray of black blood against the wall. The substance sizzled, eating through the plaster like acid. His eyes, sunken and venomous, were fixed on a bronze mirror on the table.
Where Jiang Dao's reflection had been moments before, the image now dissolved into a screech of static and vanished.
"Damn it all," he hissed, his voice like nails on a chalkboard. "What is that monster? He destroyed my sanctum… the nexus of death I worked so hard to build."
He paced the room, a predator trapped in its own cage. "Just four more," he whispered, the temperature in the room plummeting. "Four more souls, and I would have reached the pinnacle of the Annihilation-Grade. Then, no one in this city would have been left alive. Not a soul…"
By morning, Qi Rongfa and his men were turning Qingluo City upside down. They worked relentlessly, and by noon, they had answers.
"Chief, we've got it," Qi Rongfa said, breathing heavily as he ran into the room. "I showed the mirror to a dozen different experts. It was commissioned by the Fang family."
Jiang Dao leaned forward. "The Fangs?"
"They were wiped out three years ago," Qi Rongfa explained. "The whole family, dead. They were a line of respected doctors, with the patriarch, Fang Zhongze, at the head. But three years back, a plague hit the city. Fang Zhongze couldn't stop it—in fact, it got worse under his care. The magistrate's office investigated and claimed he was the one poisoning the wells all along. The townspeople were furious. They dragged all thirteen members of the family from their home and burned them alive."
Qi Rongfa paused, catching his breath. "There's more. Fang Zhongze had a daughter who had just married a local nobleman, Master Lu. Turns out, she was cheating on him and got pregnant. When Lu found out, he threw her out, sending her back to her family in disgrace just before the fire broke out. She died with the rest of them."
He held up the mirror. "This was part of her dowry. Custom-made at the Li Ji General Store. The shopkeeper still remembered the inscription."
"I see," Jiang Dao said, his fingers drumming a slow, menacing rhythm on the arm of his chair. So, a piece of the Fang family's tragedy ended up buried beneath that cursed temple. Who put it there? A survivor? Or was it something else? A spirit fueled by a rage so powerful it outlived death itself?
"What about the worshippers at the temple?" Jiang Dao asked.
"Just one, recently. The richest man in the city is Li Daoran. But he's dead. Died the day after he went up there. His guards all went insane."
"Any family?"
"Seven wives," Qi Rongfa said. "Want me to bring them in?"
Jiang Dao considered it for a second. "No," he said, standing. "I'll pay them a visit myself."
A short while later, dozens of riders from the Blazing Flame Gang descended upon the Li estate. The steward, a man named Li Er, saw them coming and turned pale with terror, scrambling inside to alert the mistresses of the house.
The estate was already in a state of mourning, draped in white linen, with guests coming and going to pay their respects. Half the city's elite were there, including the city magistrate himself, Tang Bin. But when the Blazing Flame Gang appeared at their gates, a wave of fear silenced the entire affair.
Everyone knew who they were. For a thousand miles in any direction, the Gang was the law. The government served at their pleasure. To cross them was a death sentence.
Magistrate Tang Bin stepped forward, his hands trembling slightly. "To what do we owe the honor of this visit from the esteemed Blazing Flame Gang?"
Guo Dutian's voice boomed. "You are addressing the new Chief of the Blazing Flame Gang, Jiang Dao!"
Jiang Dao swung off his horse. He was an imposing figure in a heavy black bearskin coat, his face a mask of cold authority. Flanking him, four massive, muscle-bound men carried a single, colossal black sword. A collective gasp went through the crowd. The Chief himself was here?
They all bowed hastily, plastering on greasy, terrified smiles. Whatever questions they had about his youth were silenced by the sight of that impossible sword. A man who wielded such a weapon could crush them all without a second thought.
"Relax," Jiang Dao said, his voice a low rumble. "I'm not here to cause trouble."
A sigh of relief rippled through the onlookers.
Just then, the seven wives of the late Li Daoran emerged, their faces tear-streaked and pale. The first wife curtsied deeply. "Honorable sirs, have you come to pay your respects to my late husband?"
"Madam," Jiang Dao said, cutting straight to the point. "Your husband visited the Yin Mountain temple before he died. Did he say anything when he returned?"
The guests exchanged nervous glances.
"He… he came back with a terrible fever," the first wife stammered. "He was delirious, rambling… none of it made sense."
"What did he say?"
"He kept whispering, 'It's them… they're back… don't kill me…' He was like that for a whole day, burning up, before he fell into a coma."
Them? The word hung in the air, cold and heavy. Human or ghost?
"And his guards?" Jiang Dao pressed. "What did they say?"
"They were completely mad, just screaming nonsense. Only the captain, Zhu Biao, said anything we could understand. He just kept yelling, 'Ghosts! There are ghosts! Stay back!' before he lost his mind too."
A fresh wave of fear washed over the crowd.
"One last question, Madam," Jiang Dao said. "What was your husband's relationship with Fang Zhongze?"
The wife hesitated. "My husband was a charitable man. He tried to be friends with everyone. He and Fang Zhongze were on good terms, I suppose."
"Good terms?" Jiang Dao's eyes narrowed. "And yet, when the townspeople came to burn his 'friend' alive, he did nothing to help?"
"The mob was… unstoppable," she whispered, her eyes downcast. "My husband had to protect himself."
Jiang Dao held her gaze for a long moment, but his eyes were scanning the crowd. As soon as he'd mentioned Fang Zhongze's name, nearly everyone had tensed up. But one man's reaction stood out above all the rest.
Magistrate Tang Bin. His face was a mask of pure, unadulterated guilt.
He knows, Jiang Dao thought. He knows the whole story.
"Was the entire Fang family truly killed in that fire?" he asked the wife, though his eyes were still on the magistrate.
"I… I don't know," she mumbled.
Jiang Dao asked a few more perfunctory questions before turning to leave. Twenty minutes later, he and his men were gone, leaving a trail of fear and unanswered questions in their wake.
Night fell, and the city came alive with the cries of food vendors and the glow of lanterns. In the back courtyard of the magistrate's yamen, Tang Bin knelt alone before a small Buddhist shrine.
"Bodhisattva, please, protect me," he mumbled, lighting a stick of incense. "Let this pass… Namo Amitabha…"
"If gods were real, this city wouldn't be so full of ghosts."
The voice came from the shadows. Tang Bin yelped and scrambled backward, his heart hammering against his ribs. Sitting calmly in a chair that had been empty a second before was a massive figure in a black bearskin coat.
It was the Chief of the Blazing Flame Gang.
"You… How did you get in here?" Tang Bin stammered. "What do you want?"
"Scream and you die," Jiang Dao said, his voice flat and cold. "Simple as that."
Tang Bin clamped his mouth shut, his mind racing.
"Fang Zhongze," Jiang Dao said. "You know what really happened. Tell me. And don't lie. I'll be checking your story. If any part of it is false, I will personally kill your entire family. Your youngest son is sleeping in the next room, isn't he? I can bring you his head right now if you need more convincing."
"No!" Tang Bin cried, a choked sob escaping his lips. For a long moment, he was frozen, his face a canvas of pure terror. Then, something inside him broke. He slumped to the floor, all the fight gone out of him.
"I'll talk," he whispered, his face ashen. He buried his face in his hands. "Gods forgive us… what we did to the Fang family…"
Jiang Dao watched him, his expression unreadable.
"It was three years ago," Tang Bin began, his voice cracking. "Li Daoran heard a rumor that the Fangs were secretly sitting on a colossal fortune, something about a lost treasure from a dynastic general in their ancestry. He said only Fang Zhongze knew where it was hidden… I was greedy. Li Daoran, Master Lu, they all worked on me, convinced me to help them get it…"
His words came out in a rush, a torrent of guilt. "It wasn't supposed to be like this! We just wanted the money! But Fang Zhongze… he was stubborn. He wouldn't cooperate. So we had to force his hand. Master Lu drugged his daughter, Fang Lianhua, and arranged for a guard to be with her. He used the scandal to ruin her and her father's name. Then Li Daoran found some… some horrible poison. He put it in the city's wells, and the plague started. People were dying everywhere, and Fang Zhongze… he worked day and night, using his own money to treat them for free. And I…"
He broke down, weeping openly. "I stood before the entire city and accused him of starting the plague. I betrayed him. Oh, gods, I never wanted to… I never meant for it to go so far…"
"So you murdered his family for a treasure you never even found?" Jiang Dao sneered.
"No! I didn't kill them!" Tang Bin wailed. "It was the mob! Li Daoran and Lu whipped them into a frenzy! They were the ones who set the fire! I can still hear them screaming… I can still hear Fang Zhongze's family burning alive. They swore… they swore they would come back as ghosts to get their revenge…"
"Li Daoran got what was coming to him. What about Master Lu?"
"Dead," Tang Bin sobbed. "He died ten days ago."
Suddenly, a child's giggle echoed from the courtyard, high-pitched and utterly chilling.
"Hee hee hee… ha ha ha… Tang Bin… are you ready to die?"
Jiang Dao's eyes went cold. He moved in a blur, exploding out of the room. A terrified Tang Bin scrambled after him. That voice… it was his son.
When Jiang Dao burst into the courtyard, he stopped dead. The entire space was filled with corpses. Dozens of them, the magistrate's family and servants, hung from the eaves by white silk ropes, their necks snapped, their dead eyes staring into nothing.
In the center of it all stood a little boy, no older than seven, wearing a flowered robe. A wide, playful grin stretched across his face, but his skin was the color of bone, and his eyes were swirling pits of demonic blackness.
"Jie!" Tang Bin screamed before his eyes took in the full horror of the scene. "My wife… my daughter…" He collapsed, his mind shattering.
"You're the thing from the temple," Jiang Dao said, his voice dropping to a deadly low. "You've had your fun. Now it ends."
"Hee hee…" the boy giggled. "Everyone has to die. The whole city has to die…" As he smiled, his eyes began to melt, streaming down his face in thick, scarlet trails of blood. He let out a piercing shriek and launched himself at Jiang Dao.
Boom.
Faster than thought, Jiang Dao's hand blurred forward, plunging straight through the child's chest. In a single, devastating impact, the small body disintegrated into a shower of ash.
"Aaaargh!"
A shriek of pure agony tore through the night. A sickly green light shot out from the dissipating ash, coalescing in the far corner of the courtyard. It solidified into the form of the pale, middle-aged man from the mirror, his lips blood-red, his eyes burning with a venomous hatred.
He stared at Jiang Dao for a fraction of a second, his face a mask of disbelief and terror. Then he turned and fled, his form dissolving into the shadows.
Jiang Dao was right behind him.
The man moved with supernatural speed, a wraith flowing through the darkness of the city, making a desperate run for the ruins of the old Fang estate. He couldn't believe it. This Gang Chief… he was impossibly strong. He himself was at the very peak of the Annihilation-Grade, one step away from becoming a true Nightmare entity. Yet Jiang Dao had wounded his spiritual form with a single blow. It was terrifying.
Was this man already at the Nightmare-Grade?
A wave of searing heat washed over his back. He glanced behind him. The man was gaining.
"Whispers of Resentment!" the spirit shrieked. As he ran, eight transparent tendrils of energy shot out from his body, lancing into nearby civilians walking the streets.
Instantly, their eyes flashed red. Their bodies contorted, muscles bulging with unnatural strength. With bestial roars, they spun around and charged at Jiang Dao.
"GET OUT OF MY WAY!"
Jiang Dao's voice was a physical force, a thunderclap of pure power. The possessed townspeople screamed as the sonic blast hit them, blood pouring from their eyes and ears. The ghostly tendrils in their minds evaporated, and they collapsed, their sanity brutally restored.
The spirit's terror intensified. He dove into a narrow alleyway, the ruins now just ahead.
"Little Hei!" he screamed into the darkness. "Stop him for me!"
If he could just make it back to the courtyard, his power would multiply. He just needed a few more seconds.