Night, Goose City.

"Third watch of the hour of the Rat, all is safe—" said the Watchman as he walked alone, carrying a lantern through the cold, quiet streets, striking the gong to mark the time.

The sound of the gong was dull, scaring away a wild cat foraging in the shallow gutter, which darted haphazardly into a dark alley.

Suddenly, a faint gust of wind swept over the Watchman's head. He was startled, interrupting the yawn he was halfway through, and hastily looked up, only to see the eaves of the high buildings and the deep night sky.

Remembering the strange tales circulating among the townsfolk, the Watchman shuddered and, taking large, quick strides, fled the street.

「County Jail.」

The night had grown deep, and all five prison guards were huddled in the room by the main gate of the jail. Usually, the guards would have gone to sleep by this time, leaving only one to keep watch. But tonight, knowing that White Lotus Demon Cultivators might come to raid the jail, how could any of them sleep peacefully? Each wore leather armor, held a knife, and had manacles fastened to their waists. Hiding in the corners of the room, they stared warily at the door, their faces lit by the candles placed in the center.

The blades they held were provided by Ma Bonde from the Wude Guards' armory, each wrapped in talisman paper. With these knives, even laymen could harm demons of lesser cultivation.

A young prison guard licked his dry lips and cursed under his breath, "Damn it! Wang Liu, that oaf, actually used his connection as the chief constable's nephew to call in sick, leaving us to take the fall."

Another complained, "And Prefect Ma too. He knows the White Lotus Demon Cultivators might come, yet he still has us guards stationed here."

"Enough, both of you. Say less," the head jailer said sternly, his face hardening. "We are sustained by the Prefect's office, so we must shoulder its burdens. In the surrounding county jails, which one isn't old and dilapidated, narrow and crowded? Their guards toil in filth and misery, their provisions and salaries constantly cut. Only in Goose City, under Prefect Ma's governance, do the people enjoy prosperity and peace, living long and contented lives. During Prefect Ma's years in office, we should remember the good he has done for us. How can we abandon our duties and flee in fear because of some demon who might not even show up?"

The head jailer paused, glanced at the slight shame on his subordinates' faces, and said in a low voice, "What's more, if that Daoist Xi Menzi is truly as powerful as they say, then perhaps this very jail is the safest place in Goose City..."

Before he could finish, an ominous breeze slipped through the crack under the door. The candle flames trembled and swayed, then finally sputtered out, plunging the room into deathly silence and darkness.

All the prison guards shivered in unison, imagining the terror-stricken expressions on each other's faces.

"The moon shines bright, an ill wind blows through Willow Alley, who would love such a mournful, ghostly bride—"

A woman's faint singing seemed to rise from outside the jail—melodious and clear, yet ethereal and haunting. It gradually grew louder, and an icy chill seemed to penetrate the thick stone walls, seeping into the prison guards' hearts and lungs.

"The moon shines bright, wronged souls drift in the wind, the night deepens, the fog thickens—"

The song abruptly halted. All was silent.

An instant later, the heavy, iron-sheathed wooden main door of the jail was violently pushed open. The massive iron lock hanging on the inside flew across the room, landing with a muffled THUD on the ground.

The head jailer's face changed drastically. Though his heart pounded as if it would burst, his body reacted on instinct. Gripping his Longsword, he rushed to the doorway, kicked open the door of their room, and positioned himself in the narrow prison corridor.

The entire jail was situated slightly lower than the flat ground of Goose City. From the main entrance, one had to descend a flight of six steps to reach the jail interior.

By the cold moonlight, the head jailer clearly saw a bizarre figure standing at the top of the steps.

It appeared to be a man dressed in Night Clothes, his hands hanging stiffly by his sides. He was tall and thin. His face was a sickly white, his eyes abnormally large, and his brows extremely thick and heavy, yet he possessed small, cherry-like lips. His overall facial contour was cylindrical. His stiff, motionless limbs seemed unusually slender compared to his torso.

It didn't look like a living person. Rather, it resembled... a paper effigy, the kind buried with the dead.

"Wandering souls tread far and wide, on the desolate path, searching for a replacement—"

The male paper effigy opened its small, cherry-like mouth, tilted its head, and sang in the style of a female opera singer. It twisted its stiff, bizarre body, descending the steps one by one, slowly approaching.

The head jailer felt as if his insides would rupture from fear. The Long Knife in his hand trembled incessantly. He instinctively took half a step back, not daring to turn, and could only shout in a quavering voice, "Daoist Xi Menzi! Daoist Xi Menzi!"

There was no response.

In the innermost part of the jail, the cell prepared for Wu Hu and Daoist Xi Menzi remained utterly silent.

The eerie singing had awakened all the prisoners. Those in cells near the main jail entrance screamed in terror, while those in the inner sections, ignorant of the cause, could only shrink into corners and pull their quilts over themselves.

TAP, TAP.

The paper effigy glided on tiptoe into the dark corridor. Wherever it passed, the candles hanging from the beams and pillars instantly extinguished.

With death so near, the pale-faced head jailer, instead of retreating further, tightened his grip on his Long Knife. He took half a step forward and roared, "Stop your ghostly act! Die!"

The Long Knife came crashing down.

RIP!

The paper effigy's head split in two, the halves dangling on either shoulder. Within its open chest cavity, a swirling mist as black as ink seemed to churn.

Its head cleaved, the paper effigy abruptly stopped. It slowly raised its arms, placed its palms against the two halves of its head, and slammed them together, forcibly rejoining the sundered paper cranium.

Its already bizarre, inhuman face became even more shriveled and misshapen.

The paper effigy cracked a disturbingly bright smile. It raised its arms, and with lightning speed, its papery hands clutched the head jailer's throat. The shriveled head drew closer, its mouth opening to slowly exhale a mass of black, dense fog that drifted towards the jailer.

At this moment, several other prison guards rushed out from their room, crowding into the corridor. Seeing their superior being throttled by the tall figure, they had no time for fear. Yelling incoherently, they hacked wildly with their knives.

Disturbed, the paper effigy's body remained still, but its neck rotated a full one hundred and eighty degrees. The shriveled head smiled at the onrushing prison guards.

HISS—

A sound like air leaking from a punctured balloon emanated from the paper effigy. From the myriad cuts and tears covering its body, thick smoke furiously surged out. It gathered on the jail ceiling, congealing there without dispersing.

The crudely made paper body, however, limply collapsed, reduced to a flat, papery husk.

The prison guards stared up at the churning black smoke, frozen in place, dumbfounded.

"'Tis the hour... for reaping souls—"

A murky, indistinct whisper emerged from the cloud of black smoke. The entire mass of smoke, like a vast, overwhelming net, surged down towards the prison guards in the corridor.

Just as the men thought they were about to die,

CREAK.

The door of the cell in the farthest corner of the jail opened.

The short-haired Daoist in the Crane Cloak pushed open the wooden door and walked out of the cell. His expression was steady and calm. He gave the black smoke a single glance, then casually flicked his hand.

A barely perceptible golden light shot from his hand, streaking through the air and striking the black smoke.

A deafening, piercing scream rang out. The vast cloud of black smoke dispersed in an instant.

A weasel the size of a large dog fell from the jail ceiling, landing on the papery husk. A Soul-suppressing Nail, the type exclusively used by the Wude Guards, was embedded squarely in its forehead.

"Nothing but a beast that deceives with Illusion Technique," the short-haired Daoist said, shaking his head. His voice was slightly hoarse. "Its pet has been killed. Shouldn't its master come out and see justice done?"

Suddenly, from a dark corner no one had noticed, a slender figure clad in Night Clothes darted out. A dagger, its blade coated with a faintly blue poison, silently stabbed towards the Daoist's heart.

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