Chapter Twenty-Four: The Sect of Subtle Fragrance

Let us turn to the other side of the tale, where the ghostly woman was in high spirits. Having drained the vital essence of more than a dozen robust men in an instant, her once translucent form seemed almost tangible now. Her icy skin and jade-like bones were untouched by sweat; when the wind swept through the watery halls, a subtle fragrance filled the air.

Stepping into the room, she was startled to find a tranquil gaze fixed upon her. It belonged to a young-looking Daoist priest. Next to him, a disheveled scholar stared at her with an expression of mindless infatuation.

“Master Daoist, my name is Jiang Caiwei. I came to Baiyang Prefecture to visit relatives, but was waylaid by villains on the road. I alone managed to escape, forced to seek shelter here for the night. Might you take pity and offer me refuge?” Jiang Caiwei’s eyes brimmed with tears, her demeanor pitiable.

“Please, make yourself comfortable,” Lu Qian replied with a nod and gentle smile.

“No need to stand on ceremony, miss—the floor is filthy. Allow me,” the scholar interjected, hastily removing his outer garment to lay upon the ground for her. Yet, for all his attentiveness, the ghost paid him no heed; her mind was wholly fixed on Lu Qian.

The Daoist’s body radiated an abundance of vital energy, blazing like fire in the darkness. Clearly a martial artist—draining him alone would be worth ten ordinary men.

“Thank you, Master Daoist—oh!” Jiang Caiwei staggered, collapsing against Lu Qian’s chest. Her robe fell open slightly, revealing a swath of fair skin at her neckline. A subtle fragrance wafted to his nose, and the soft pressure against his chest was dizzying.

“Master Daoist...” Jiang Caiwei murmured shyly, as bashful as a budding flower. Lu Qian reached out and held her by the waist.

Elated, the woman thought her enchantment spell had worked—even a martial artist could not resist her charms. She tilted her head up, eyes half-closed, lips parted invitingly.

Lu Qian lowered his head, his breath hot upon her ear.

With her fingers forming a secret sign, Jiang Caiwei summoned her yin energy, poised to drain the Daoist dry. Yet, try as she might, not a drop of essence would come—his vitality was as immovable as stone.

Puzzled, she opened her eyes. There, less than a hand’s breadth from her face, was a pale yet handsome visage, dark, clear eyes glinting with amusement.

Gone was his earlier dazed look; he had been feigning all along! With a startled cry, Jiang Caiwei summoned a black, demonic wind in an attempt to escape.

But his arm held her fast, as though by some enchantment, rendering her powerless to move.

“Have you played enough?” Lu Qian smiled faintly, his eyes exuding a wicked aura in the ghost woman’s view, as he leaned in closer.

“Let go... mmm—” Her spell broken, the scholar snapped out of his infatuation.

“The world’s gone to ruin, it’s all downhill from here!” he lamented, clutching his head in despair at the scene before him.

But what happened next nearly made him lose control entirely.

Before his eyes, the stunning beauty faded like a shadow, growing paler and more insubstantial.

Crash! A sound like shattering crystal rang out as the peerless beauty dissolved into a swirl of stardust.

“A ghost!” the scholar cried out before fainting dead away.

Lu Qian straightened, a flicker of black energy passing across his face. The power of pitch-black true water surged forth, and the sky broke into a sudden downpour. His flesh, blood, and bones crackled with energy.

True Lunar Water Cultivation Method (Initiate: 426/1000)

“I’ve gained forty drops of true water power—the improvement to my body is equal to four months’ effort,” Lu Qian mused. Each drop of true water equated to ten points on his progress scale. By draining the ghost woman’s vital essence, he had surged ahead by four hundred points.

Though the ghost was attractive, what caught his interest was not her looks, but the purity of her yin energy. Spirits are born of absorbing the essence of sun and moon, nourishing their souls with some of it, and storing the rest within.

Unlike other mindless, wrathful ghosts, this one was intelligent and evidently dedicated to her cultivation, resulting in extraordinarily pure power. Thus, Lu Qian reversed the flow, absorbing her yin energy and dramatically increasing his own cultivation in an instant.

He cast a glance at the scholar, then at the withered willow tree in the rear courtyard, and mounted his horse to depart.

Lu Qian was discreet by nature, never courting trouble, and was by no means a gentleman. Many considered him honest and good-natured, but in truth, his mind was more calculating than most, and he could endure humiliations others could not.

During his half-year at Mo Liang Monastery, he had calmly endured both the insults and beatings from Mo Ling’er. Most thought him easy to bully and weak of will.

But in the end, all of them perished by his hand—down to the very last.

Now, sitting astride his steed, Lu Qian felt the immense power coursing within him, muscles and sinews taut as a tiger or leopard’s.

“How I wish I could drain a few more,” he thought. It was far faster and more entertaining than dull meditation and breathwork—but that path would lead to demonic corruption and instability, risking madness and destruction.

He would need time to fully digest this newfound strength.

In truth, his monastery also possessed similar cultivation methods. The art of the bedchamber—dual cultivation, as it was commonly called—wherein yin and yang energies intertwined, and male and female Daoists paired freely, each seeking their own benefit without obligation or commitment.

Some, more extreme, hunted maidens of pure yin to supplement their own yang, bringing ruin to hundreds.

“If I should find a suitable woman, why not?” Lu Qian reflected. “I am a Daoist, not a monk. Wealth, companions, method, and land—companions are ranked second, after all. Cultivation need not mean a life of solitude.”

With a sharp slap to his horse’s flank, the sweat-blood steed quickened its pace, hooves pounding urgently along the road.

After riding through the night, a city perched against the mountains appeared in the distance, its gates bustling with people, merchants, and laden wagons—a scene of great prosperity.

This city boasted a population of over a million, one of the great metropolises of the southwest, and yet it was under the dominion of the Dark Meditation Monastery.

Lu Qian now clearly understood the power of his order—a thousand Daoists seemed paltry compared to the city’s teeming masses, and yet