Chapter Fifty-Nine: Investigation

“Taoist?!”

“There’s a Taoist!”

“Then let him take a look!”

...

The crowd fell silent at Chen Jin’s words, then grew even more boisterous, every eye fixed eagerly upon him.

Chen Jin did not shy away from their gaze; after all, he had been under the spotlight before, and he rather enjoyed the feeling. Who wouldn’t?

“Good folks, my master and I happened to pass through this place when we heard rumors of evil spirits haunting the area. My master has gone elsewhere to investigate, and I was sent here to look into the matter,” Chen Jin announced in a clear, commanding voice.

His tone overpowered all others, and for a moment, everyone stared at him in stunned silence, hope flickering in their eyes.

Hope was only natural—dealing with evil spirits was no easy task, and Taoists, by word of mouth, were famed as professional cleaners of such supernatural threats.

Chen Jin moved toward the deceased.

Beside the body stood two men—one old, one young. They had been crouched, examining the corpse, but stood as Chen Jin approached, drawn by the commotion.

The elder’s face was lined with age, his hair and beard white as snow, but he did not appear feeble; on the contrary, he radiated vigor, the very image of aged strength. The younger, full of youthful energy and noble bearing, was the epitome of the nation’s bright youth, handsome and spirited.

Having praised them inwardly, Chen Jin nodded to the pair.

“And who might you be?” he asked.

“My surname is Wang, given name Zhang. I am the third elder here. This is my grandnephew, visiting from the county,” the old man replied, smiling.

The third elder was akin to a village head, though not a formal administrative post. The title carried little real power, but such elders were widely respected—even high officials would treat them with deference.

“Have you found any clues on the body?” Chen Jin inquired.

“Evil spirits are beyond the sight of ordinary folk. We leave it to you, Taoist,” Wang Zhang said, stepping aside and gesturing for him to proceed.

“Not at all, let’s examine it together,” Chen Jin replied, though his words were humble, his actions were decisive as he approached the corpse.

Respect for age and youth was a foundation of society—indeed, of any era—but it all depended on whether that respect was truly heartfelt.

As for these two, the old man seemed worthy; the youth could wait.

Chen Jin’s gaze settled on the corpse.

The face... was not easy to praise. Not ugly, nor handsome, but its expression was so unpleasant that anyone who saw it would feel compelled to slap it half a dozen times.

Chen Jin felt the same urge, but he restrained himself; his cultivation had not been achieved through brute force. As for the others present, they seemed accustomed to such sights.

“Elder, how many people have died in this town?” Chen Jin asked Wang Zhang.

“This is the second. We suspect the evil spirit has drifted into our town,” Wang Zhang replied.

It was obvious—the man had not been dead long, likely killed tonight. The evil spirit was certainly here, but whether it remained was another matter.

Unfortunately, Chen Jin had suppressed his cultivation. Though his level was advanced, his power had not caught up, making it difficult to use the spells available to his stage. Otherwise, he would have cast several tracking spells already—after all, Xin Yang’s memories held plenty of such techniques.

But... something had fallen.

Chen Jin’s keen eyes quickly spotted something useful on the corpse—a strand of hair.

Simple enough. He picked it up.

He then drew a talisman from his pocket.

Talismans existed before paper was invented; after its appearance, their use became even more widespread, bringing hope to lower-level practitioners. Those able to draw talismans in the air were all senior cultivators. Young ones like Chen Jin lacked such skill—at best, they could urinate in the dirt, mix it to make a mud tablet, and inscribe their talisman upon it...

Such methods were used to enhance the effect of a talisman.

With the advent of paper, it was no longer about urine, but about imbuing each sheet with the vital energy gathered daily. Once matured, these talismans rivaled those mud tablets.

Chen Jin’s talisman was not nearly so potent, since he hadn’t yet gathered vital energy, but it was still effective. With the right incantation and some fresh blood, it would work.

He wrapped the hair in the talisman, then sliced a small cut on his left index finger, letting blood smear the paper.

Then Chen Jin began to chant.

The crowd, seeing his ritual, fell silent, watching intently as he performed his incantation (and, perhaps, showed off).

A sudden thud...

The incantation was not yet finished when the talisman in Chen Jin’s hand flared up, burning fiercely.

The crowd gaped in astonishment.

Chen Jin, however, grew alert—such fire meant the evil spirit was nearby.

He ignored the burning pain, scanning the crowd, searching for the hidden culprit.

His spiritual vision was not yet activated, so he could not see the spirit—but he could smell.

Not the vague scent of spirit energy, but the sharp tang of blood.

The strongest blood scent came from the corpse, then from the evil spirit, then from the old man, the youth, and finally himself.

He set aside the elder and the youth, focusing on the townsfolk around him.

As his gaze swept over them, most avoided his eyes. Some met his look directly, perhaps confident in their innocence.

But Chen Jin was not relying on sight—too often, appearances deceived.

Other senses could mislead as well, but scent was a loophole right under people’s noses.

Yet, he detected no blood scent from any of the townsfolk—only from himself, the elder, and the youth.

Perhaps the culprit was hidden close by—could it be one of these two? The elder could be ruled out, as a local, but the youth was from elsewhere, making him suddenly more suspicious.

“When did you—”

A sharp sound interrupted him from the direction of a nearby house.

A shadow appeared atop the roof...