Chapter Twenty-Four: The Taoist with the Explosive Hair

At the site of the recent explosion lay several mutilated corpses and a centipede severed into several segments—presumably the remains of the three officials and the old woman. A group of guards had surrounded a single individual, holding their ground in a tense standoff. Wang Yuanfeng saw that it was a ragged man, his clothes shredded to tatters, his face darkened, his hair standing wildly as if blasted by an explosion. Surprisingly, they hadn't yet subdued him. Judging by his demeanor, he seemed unwilling to harm anyone; otherwise, these guards would hardly be his match.

Yet the Daoist was a strange sight—wandering about with his wild hair, clearly searching for something. Wang Yuanfeng thought to himself that the man at least had a good heart, for he had not injured anyone.

He called out to his eldest brother, but seeing him busy comforting Huamei and wiping away her tears, he turned instead to his second brother, who was directing the aftermath of the battle from the sidelines.

"Second Brother, I see that this wild-haired Daoist has not harmed anyone from start to finish. There's no need to be so forceful—let us hold off for now, I have some questions for him."

Wang Yuanling, hearing this, agreed it was reasonable. After a brief discussion with Wang Yuanxing, he called out to the Daoist. At first, the Daoist was unresponsive, but for some reason, he eventually agreed.

Wang Yuanfeng, after resting for a moment, found he could gradually control his internal energy once more. The vital force circulated through his ears, and his hearing slowly returned to normal.

By this time, the wild-haired Daoist had been escorted over by several guards with swords and shields. The others were busy clearing the battlefield. Wang Yuanfeng looked at the Daoist, whose garments were now mere tatters, and spoke:

"Thank you for your mercy, Daoist."

"Alas," the wild-haired man hesitated before replying, "but young master, your tendency to kill may be somewhat excessive."

Wang Yuanfeng was momentarily speechless. What nonsense was this Daoist spouting? The attackers had come to their very door, and the air was thick with the aura of calamity—clearly, these were people steeped in heavy karma, or they would never have been drawn here by such a scent of disaster.

Calamity and blessing have no gate; man calls them unto himself. Did they come here in the dead of night just for a stroll?

Besides, this was his own home. It was not a place where anyone could come and go at their whim, without consequence. He asked:

"Daoist, I merely observed that you have not harmed anyone, and so I chose not to fight you to the bitter end. As for whether to kill or not, and whom to kill, I have my own judgment."

The Daoist pondered and replied, "This humble monk—ah, no, this humble Daoist—thanks you for sparing my life. But those people were all high officials and nobles; killing them will bring you much trouble."

Wang Yuanfeng was struck by his slip of the tongue, calling himself a monk, but let it pass as a mistake. He asked, "Why should they not be killed? Daoist, you are an outsider and may not understand how the world works. But why did you not act yourself? Did you not come here seeking treasure?"

The Daoist muttered to himself, glanced around, and seemed relieved as the sense of being watched faded. He explained, "This humble monk—no, this humble Daoist—saw that you were no ordinary man. This capital is a place where dragon energy converges; all kinds of magical arts are suppressed here. If your household’s troops were to suppress me, escaping would be difficult. To be honest, I came to slay a demon. Should I be captured, the demon I was tracking would go unpunished, and I could only watch as it infiltrated the court, corrupted the dragon energy, and sowed chaos in the land, leading to disaster and misery for the people."

"A demon?" Wang Yuanfeng glanced at the centipede spirit on the ground and asked, "Was it this demon?"

The Daoist hesitated. "Yes and no."

"Why?" Wang Yuanfeng pressed.

The Daoist answered, "It is indeed a demon, but the real culprit is the monk recently recommended to the emperor by the Fourth Prince—his name is Universal Mercy, and his cultivation is on par with mine."

Wang Yuanfeng realized that the monk in question was likely one of those sought out by the princes to please the emperor’s desire for alchemy. He asked, "And what does this have to do with demon-slaying? Or with your coming here? Shouldn’t you be in the capital?"

He looked the Daoist up and down. His hair had been blasted into wiry tangles, his clothes were in tatters, his face blackened by the explosion—apart from his rolling eyes, one could hardly see him clearly at night. Despite his comical appearance, he had the air of a guardian of the Way, though his philosophy clearly differed from Wang Yuanfeng’s own.

He himself followed the Way of Heaven—observing its patterns, acting in accord with its nature. This Daoist, however, was blinded by the worldly dichotomy of good and evil, losing sight of his true nature. Wang Yuanfeng saw no further reason to engage in debate.

He simply said, "Daoist, thank you again for your restraint." Producing a jade token, he continued, "Regardless of your motives, you showed mercy, and so I owe you this. If ever you come to the Marquis of Wu'an’s residence with this token, I shall not refuse any favor within my power."

The Daoist eyed the jade token—inscribed with symbols and a mark of identity, obviously valuable and made of spiritual jade. Realizing this meant the young man was an important figure of the Marquis’s household, he replied, "So you are the fourth son of the Wang family. I see now I was being overly presumptuous. Best keep your token, young master; I dare not trouble you for aid."

Wang Yuanfeng was not offended. He could keep his resentment; Wang Yuanfeng would honor his debt of gratitude. Noting that the Daoist was clearly not a local, and that, despite his tattered clothes, he seemed not to live an easy life, Wang Yuanfeng asked, "Daoist, do you have any place to stay in the capital?"

"Hmph, I do not," the Daoist replied, bristling at Wang Yuanfeng’s gaze.

Wang Yuanfeng found the Daoist’s pride amusing—so concerned with saving face, yet what good did pride do? In his previous life, people of all ages and conditions considered face the highest standard of survival. Using powder and cosmetics was only the first level; those whose faces could withstand the roughest treatment reached the second; those with skin thick as city walls, the third; and those who trained their faces into iron, the fourth—thick, tough, and even capable of attack.

With such a concern for face, the Daoist would only have starved in that former world—destined to end up with wasted ambitions and empty regrets. He muttered with a trace of disdain, "Dying for pride, living in misery."

"What are you saying, young master? Don’t think that just because you have numbers I’m afraid of you!" The Daoist glared at Wang Yuanfeng, his eyes wide. If his face weren’t blackened by the explosion, he would surely be blushing furiously.

"Heh, heh," Wang Yuanfeng laughed awkwardly. He reached into his robe, took out a gold ingot, and handed it over. He meant, on the one hand, to offer some help—for the Daoist’s character seemed passable—and, on the other, to encourage him not to spread word of tonight’s events. As for the demon-slaying, it was no concern of his; the Daoist could do as he pleased.