Chapter Fifty-Eight: Heart Extraction

And so the conversation continued, unceasing as ever. Master Liaoxin was indeed worthy of his reputation; in every word and gesture, the air of a true master clung to him. Chen Jin felt that if he kept bantering like this, he would absolutely be outwitted and left speechless, yet he could still follow the thread of the conversation—so long as he didn’t argue rashly, he could keep up, but once things grew contentious, he’d surely lose. Moreover, Chen Jin sensed he had already revealed a great deal under Master Liaoxin’s subtle probing.

The house Master Liaoxin resided in was built by his own spells, and the mist Chen Jin had passed through earlier was summoned by him as well. Though Master Liaoxin was talkative, he clearly disliked being disturbed, especially by mortals, and thus he was something of a reclusive master.

This place, in fact, was not within the bounds of Mount Lao itself, but rather on a small ridge at its edge. The era was still the Jin dynasty, specifically the Western Jin, before the chaos of the Eight Princes’ Rebellion.

The land of Qilu, where Mount Lao stood, was steeped in legends. Recalling one particular tale from Strange Stories from a Chinese Studio, the story of the Taoist of Mount Lao, Chen Jin naturally drew a connection, especially as the mysterious Black Book he’d encountered contained a passage that seemed lifted from that very story.

Chen Jin knew Strange Stories from a Chinese Studio intimately, the entire book committed to memory. The tale of the Taoist of Mount Lao was not one he could forget; it began with “In this county, there was a scholar named Wang…”—well, that was to be expected, as most protagonists in these tales were scholars. Presumably, the county lay at the foot of Mount Lao, yet Chen Jin had already wandered the area and found many county towns and many scholars surnamed Wang.

As for whether there were monsters or demons lurking at the foot of Mount Lao—well, with all those idle Taoists about, no monster or demon would dare make trouble here. Any that did would quickly find themselves dispatched by a flying sword.

“I heard there’s a Heart-Stealing Demon over there. Let’s go take a look,” Master Liaoxin suddenly interrupted, speaking to Chen Jin with unusual gravity.

“You heard?” Chen Jin asked, puzzled.

“I just heard it now. Let’s go while it’s still dark—there’s plenty of time to get up the mountain,” Master Liaoxin replied, tapping his ear.

A true master indeed; he didn’t learn of events through rumor, but simply listened with his own powers. Such ability was awe-inspiring.

And so the two changed course, turning thirty degrees, their feet brushing through the dew-laden grass as they made for the nearest small town. It was about ten kilometers away, yet their pace was brisk—no, Master Liaoxin’s magical power was extraordinary. He cast a spell that seemed to imbue Chen Jin’s legs with wind, as if unseen hands were pushing him forward. Their speed was more than ten times faster than normal, yet Chen Jin felt no wind battering his face.

Clearly, Master Liaoxin’s talents were not limited to debate—his mystical arts were formidable as well.

In what seemed no time at all, they arrived at the small town, but then, unexpectedly, Master Liaoxin collapsed, muttering, “I’m fainting, I’m fainting. Zhengyang, you go on ahead and check things out for me.”

Chen Jin could only roll his eyes. Master Liaoxin’s acting left much to be desired; at least he could have frothed at the mouth or lost control of his bowels. Outwardly, he showed no sign of distress, merely flopping to the ground.

Well, perhaps this was meant as a test. Chen Jin consoled himself with this thought.

Still, he made a show of concern: “Master, perhaps I should carry you up Mount Lao to have my teacher treat you?”

He stood his ground, face full of worry, but made no move to help.

“No need, no need. This is an old ailment—it’ll pass with a little rest. Go on ahead and see what’s happening,” Master Liaoxin insisted, his cheeks ruddy yet face drawn in feigned distress, clutching his chest with a plump hand.

With a sigh of resignation, Chen Jin turned toward the town, glancing back to see Master Liaoxin still lying there, waving him on.

Truly, the master had a mischievous side.

With the master in this state, Chen Jin had no choice but to press forward.

The town, far from the tranquil quiet of a rural settlement, was in utter chaos. The night rang with the clamor of frightened and angry voices.

No one noticed Chen Jin’s arrival. The crowd was gathered along a single street—the source of the trouble, no doubt.

He slipped quietly through the throng, arriving at the center. There, surrounded by torches whose yellow flames cast everything in stark relief, lay a corpse—a middle-aged man in scholar’s robes resembling a Taoist’s, which was the fashion among literati of the time, who often aspired to the freedom of hermits.

Indeed, Chen Jin himself wore such attire and found it commanded respect in the street.

But let us return to the dead, for the dead deserve respect.

The corpse bore a fist-sized wound through the left chest. The blood had long since clotted; he had been dead for some time.

There was no trace of pain on the dead man’s face; in fact, he seemed almost peaceful—no, not just peaceful, there was even a hint of pleasure about his features, as if his last moments had been happy.

For someone to die in such a way, it could only be the work of a monster. But what sort, Chen Jin could not say.

In these times, monsters were plentiful, and humans and demons often lived side by side. The path of men was waning, and even the throne of the Human Emperor was ill-gotten; it was no wonder that demons and ghosts mingled among men. In the days of the First Emperor or the Han at its height, even cultivators yielded to the power of humanity. Now, all manner of strange beings dared exploit the weakness of mankind.

It was said that even during the Jin dynasty, monsters ran rampant—the age was not easy for anyone.

Still, it was a fine time to be a master of the occult; many of the most famous practitioners of later generations arose in this era. Two of the Four Great Celestial Masters appeared in these very days—it was the best and worst of times.

As these thoughts passed through Chen Jin’s mind, his gaze swept the crowd, but he saw nothing amiss. The faces around him were filled with ordinary fear and anger.

He listened to their whispered conversations and shouted arguments. This was not the first such incident, nor was this the only town affected. Three nearby villages and another town had seen similar horrors—seven dead in all, each with a gaping wound in the left chest, their hearts stolen.

The terror was growing, spreading like a blight.

Some clamored to send for the Taoists of Mount Lao.

Others called for the authorities first, and then the Taoists—commendably law-abiding.

“And who are you?” someone demanded, noticing the stranger in their midst.

“Just a passing Taoist,” Chen Jin replied calmly, smoothing his robe.