Chapter Thirty-Eight: The Imperial Clan Minister’s Purpose

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After a brief pause, I said, “Zong Ren’s cultivation wasn’t sufficient to draw the Black Tiger Sha into Zong Hanlin’s body. Or perhaps he was missing some other crucial element. That was why he had to force his father, Zong Zheng, to intervene and save Zong Hanlin’s life.”

“Once Zong Zheng discovered the scheme his son Zong Ren had laid years ago, the first thing he did was seal both Zong Ren and Zong Hanlin away, preventing the Black Tiger Sha from merging with Zong Hanlin.”

“But Zong Ren continued making arrangements from outside, and lured the Tang siblings into the affair.”

Ye Huan said, “What does Zong Ren want the Tang siblings to do? Didn’t you say Zong Zheng alone could summon the Black Tiger Sha? Why provoke the Tang siblings as well? Wouldn’t that be unnecessary?”

I shook my head. “You forgot that Zong Zheng is still guarding White Dragon Cliff.”

“The line Zong Hanlin saw—‘Beneath the White Dragon’s maw, the Golden Toad raises its head’—should point to the exact location of White Dragon Cliff’s secret burial site. I think Zong Ren was willing to refine his own son into the Black Tiger Sha because it has something to do with opening that hidden tomb.”

“If Zong Hanlin is the key to opening the secret burial site, then the Tang siblings must be another key.”

Ye Huan said, “Then shouldn’t we be keeping an eye on those two from the Tang family?”

I gave a cold laugh. “Our objective is to capture the Mountain-Watching Hound and question him about the Thirteen Ghost Gates.”

“Whether the Tang siblings live or die, and whether White Dragon Cliff is opened or not—what does any of that have to do with us?”

“I’ll go in and find Zong Zheng. You cover me. The best outcome would be for us to subdue Zong Zheng before Zong Ren returns. If things go badly…”

I drew a deep breath. “Then we’ll have lost the Mountain-Watching Hound’s trail again.”

I still remembered Zong Zheng saying that even if he had to die, he would never allow Zong Ren to succeed.

Zong Ren had entrusted his own child, Zong Hanlin, to Zong Zheng and let him raise the boy for eighteen years—all so he could use the bond between grandfather and grandson to force Zong Zheng to yield.

The saying that grandparents dote most on their grandchildren was no exaggeration. A first grandson was the very apple of an old couple’s eye, especially after they had raised him for eighteen years.

If his own life could be exchanged for his grandson’s safety, Zong Zheng would likely slit his own throat without hesitation.

So even though I knew the alley might be a trap, I had to go in and see whether Zong Zheng was dead or alive.

I fitted my sleeve darts again, checked my equipment, carefully concealed my aura, and entered through the mouth of the alley.

When I pried out the blue-gray brick at the entrance, I immediately realized that the wall had been built from tomb bricks. And whoever had laid it could not have been alive, otherwise there would not have been such a heavy aura of yin between the bricks.

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This alley was not as simple as it appeared.

When I had reached the middle of it, I saw someone approaching from the opposite direction. We came face-to-face, yet the other party showed no intention of stopping.

A ghostly head-on encounter.

If an ordinary person found himself walking directly toward someone like that, he would usually turn sideways to let the other person pass.

But that simple turn was precisely how one fell into a ghost’s trap.

When a person turned sideways, the ghost would do the same. It would look as though the two had shifted past each other, and no one would think anything of it. Naturally, you would make the same movement.

When a person and a ghost crossed paths, if they were facing each other, their faces would come together. By the time you saw the other’s features clearly, the ghost’s lips would already be pressed against yours, and there would be no escaping the fate of having your vital energy sucked away.

Turning sideways back-to-back was even more dangerous.

You would assume that the person behind you was walking against the wall just as you were, unable to turn around. In reality, he could turn and look straight at your back.

At that moment, you would essentially be handing him your neck. If the ghost seized you from behind, what you lost would be far more than a single breath of vital energy.

Seeing the figure rapidly approaching, I could not help frowning.

It was not that I feared encountering a ghost head-on. I simply had not yet decided how to deal with this one.

Killing it would not be difficult. A single sleeve dart would finish it. The problem was whether this ghost was merely a guard. If I killed it and alerted Zong Zheng, everything that followed would become even more troublesome.

While I was considering how to handle the ghost, I suddenly saw its head jerk upward. Its chin and neck stretched into a straight line, and its body twisted like a fish caught on a hook as it was hauled into the air.

I looked up and saw Ye Huan standing on top of the wall, apparently pulling the ghost upward with a fishing line.

I took a closer look. There really was a semitransparent thread in Ye Huan’s hand. The light had been too dim, and I had failed to notice it before.

Could a fishing line catch ghosts as well as fish?

I immediately realized that what Ye Huan held was no ordinary fishing line, but a fine cord braided from animal sinew.

In ancient times, fishing lines were made from animal sinew. Even today, some of the Oroqen people still used sinew fishing lines. The one in Ye Huan’s hand was almost certainly not made from ordinary sinew.

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Old Thief Yuan had once told me that sorcerers who openly walked the world were not frightening. They had only a handful of tricks, and whatever they knew, you could learn as well. In the end, it came down to whose techniques were more skillful.

The truly terrifying ones were the hidden sorcerers, also called Hidden Masters. They never admitted that they were sorcerers, and the trades they practiced had nothing to do with sorcery. Yet they possessed secret arts of extraordinary power.

There were three hundred and sixty trades, and every trade had received secret arts from its founding master. Those arts could suppress evil spirits, and they could also kill. The vast majority of people learned only the craft itself, never its secret techniques. Only genuine Hidden Masters possessed the abilities passed down through their schools.

Once you provoked a hidden sorcerer, it was easy to be killed without even realizing what had happened.

Old Thief Yuan had personally seen fishermen use hooks to haul water monkeys out of the river.

He had also told me that the reason the Thirteen Ghost Gates were so difficult to find was that most of their members were hidden sorcerers.

You never knew where they were hiding. Only after they revealed the slightest trace could you follow it and begin your investigation.

That was why finding Zong Zheng first was so important.

Ye Huan held the ghost in one hand and gestured with the other, urging me to move faster.

The ghost in his grasp was still alive and had given no warning. I could take advantage of the moment to slip in and investigate.

I gave Ye Yang a thumbs-up, crouched low, slipped beneath the ghost’s feet, and made my way farther into the alley.

Before long, I reached the entrance of a residence.

I pressed my eye to the crack in the door and looked inside. A cold breath caught in my throat.

Someone had placed a grand chair in the very center of the courtyard. A ghost had been mutilated by having its tongue cut out, then its hands and feet nailed to the chair.

The ghost was in unbearable agony, yet it could not break free from the iron nails pinning it down. Trapped between life and death, it radiated a surge of murderous resentment.

Yet that resentment, billowing outward like a column of smoke, was being guided by some unseen force from the courtyard toward another place.

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