Chapter Twenty-Seven: Doing Good

Almost at the very moment Jin Ying descended the stairs, a chilling dark flame, accompanied by a whistling sound, tore through the air toward Lu Qian and his companions.

“Ha! Friends, how about a little sparring?” Jin Ying’s wild laughter echoed in all directions.

The sudden turn of events caught everyone off guard. After all, who would expect an attack in such a secure place?

Han Bingli was the first to recover, gripping her sword in preparation to retaliate.

Yet someone was even faster.

With a sharp whistle, an azure ribbon of light split the air, shrieking as it flew.

The ribbon pierced straight through the flames.

A muffled explosion followed—the dark fire erupted instantly!

Still, the green ribbon’s force did not wane; it shot straight toward Jin Ying’s brow.

“Wait, friends! It’s a misunderstanding!” Jin Yang, recognizing the man, cried out in alarm.

At the very last instant, the ribbon of light veered aside, leaving a bloody gash across Jin Ying’s face.

The light returned to Lu Qian’s side, hovering silently in the air.

Only then did the others see it clearly: it was a long sword, wholly verdant, its blade shimmering with an ethereal glow. A glance was enough to feel a murderous intent that seemed to stab straight into one’s brow.

“It looks like the Sword of Yin Talisman… I had no idea he possessed such a hidden mastery,” Han Bingli thought with surprise. She realized she had underestimated her fellow cultivators. She’d thought only Yu Ci’s skills were formidable, yet Lu Qian, too, had such a deadly hand.

Jin Yang hurried to the stunned young man’s side and asked anxiously, “Ying’er, are you all right?”

“Grandfather, I’m fine,” Jin Ying replied, still shaken. The whole affair felt dreamlike. He could not believe how quickly he’d been defeated—their strengths were supposed to be similar, yet he hadn’t withstood even a single move.

Was this the power of a true disciple from a great sect?

“Apologize to our friends at once!” Jin Yang’s beard quivered with anger as he turned to Lu Qian and the others, a forced smile on his face. “Forgive the boy’s poor manners. I apologize on his behalf.”

“It’s nothing—a simple misunderstanding,” Lu Qian replied with a wave of his hand.

This Jin Ying was not the brightest, clearly far inferior to his grandfather.

Lu Qian wrinkled his nose, frowning slightly.

“What’s wrong?” Han Bingli noticed the change in his expression and asked softly.

“It’s nothing—probably my imagination. Let’s move on,” Lu Qian replied, and they departed.

Upstairs, Wan Ming had witnessed the entire scene. After his initial surprise, he let out a derisive laugh. “The Twin Walls of Baiyang—do you really think you’re worthy to be compared with me?”

Still, the visitors from the Temple of Profound Communion were not to be trifled with. He must inform his father at once.

Meanwhile, Lu Qian and the others decided to split up in their investigation. Lu Qian and Han Bingli were to look into the case of the vanished girls, while the others would inspect the production sites of the Ghostface Flowers and the Icy Silkworm Threads.

At the Lin residence, a grand mansion, a man and a woman stood awaiting their arrival. Hearing that someone had come from the City Lord’s mansion, Master Lin and his wife hurried to greet them.

“Have you found my daughter?” a graceful middle-aged lady asked anxiously.

“I’m sorry, not yet. We’ve come to ask a few questions,” Lu Qian replied, shaking his head.

Their daughter had vanished three days prior, just like the others—gone without a trace, as if she’d evaporated from the world.

“Oh, what are we to do?” Lady Lin’s eyes brimmed with tears as she began to sob. “My precious Zhu’er!”

“Was there anything unusual on the day she disappeared? Have you offended anyone recently?” Han Bingli asked gently, her tone softened by sympathy.

“We have always done good deeds and harmed no one,” Master Lin replied with a pained bow. “Even if someone bore us a grudge, they should come for me, not my poor daughter.”

Lin Zhu’er was known for her kind heart and graceful beauty, with suitors lining up at her door. She often helped the poor, who revered her as a living bodhisattva. Such a person could hardly have made enemies.

And yet, one day, on her way home, she vanished mysteriously, leaving no trace behind. The thought of her possible fate broke her parents’ hearts.

“Let’s go,” Lu Qian said to Han Bingli. Clearly, there was nothing more to learn here.

They visited several families, but all their inquiries ended in vain.

“Have you noticed something?” Han Bingli suddenly asked as they walked.

“You mean that all the missing women are both beautiful and kind?” Lu Qian replied.

“And one more thing—they are all unmarried maidens,” Han Bingli added with a smile. “Perhaps the culprit is a cultivator practicing the art of harvesting yin to replenish yang. That would explain why the authorities have found nothing.”

“Then perhaps we should try to lure the snake from its den. But you’d have to change your appearance; looking as you do now, you’d scare any villain away,” Lu Qian teased, glancing at her.

A flush rose to Han Bingli’s cheeks. She stamped her foot and chided, “Why don’t you go yourself, then?”

Realizing her words sounded flirtatious, she quickly composed herself.

“I’d like to, but I lack the… qualifications,” Lu Qian replied, spreading his hands in resignation.

Night fell.

The streets blazed with lanterns, crowds thronged shoulder to shoulder, and vendors’ cries rang out without end.

The scents of braised pork, noodles, and fried skewers drifted temptingly through the air.

A lady clad in scarlet palace attire, her features delicate as a painting, walked gracefully down the street, drawing every gaze.

Beside her was a scholar, handsome and refined, his bearing extraordinary.

Young ladies in passing carriages hid their faces behind fans, stealing glances at the pair.

They walked side by side—a golden boy and jade girl, a sight to stir envy.

The market’s bustle soon separated them.

The palace-garbed lady, played by Han Bingli, searched anxiously for her companion.

Suddenly, a commotion arose from a nearby alley.

Following the sound, Han Bingli saw a group of street children wielding sticks and stones, tormenting a filthy old beggar.

The beggar lay prone, his dark face streaked with bleeding welts from their sticks, his forehead covered in fresh blood—a pitiful sight.

“Get up, old beggar!”

“Ha, look at the old beggar!”

The beggar feebly tried to shoo the children away, but this only excited them further. They treated him like a stray dog, mocking and taunting him.

With a kick, they overturned his bowl, spilling the scraps inside.

The beggar, desperate, crawled toward the spilled food and began licking it from the ground.

“He looks just like a dog!” the children shrieked with laughter.

Some even undid their trousers, urinating on the beggar’s food.

Driven by hunger, the beggar ate it without complaint.

“What sort of children behave like this? Have you no manners? Get lost!” Han Bingli could not bear the scene and stepped forward, scolding them.

The children scattered, giggling as they fled.

“Here, eat this,” Han Bingli said kindly, crouching down to place a braised pig’s trotter in front of the beggar.

“Thank you, merciful lady!” The beggar wept and laughed, kowtowing in gratitude before devouring the food ravenously.

Han Bingli left a few pieces of silver beside him, then rose to leave. That money would be enough for him to buy new clothes and a few acres of land.

“Please, merciful lady, wait a moment!”

Han Bingli turned instinctively. The beggar’s eyes were suddenly clear, with a hint of cunning.

With a flick, powder scattered from his sleeve and a plume of black smoke rushed toward her.