Chapter Sixty-Two: Watch Me Improvise

“Master Taoist…” A young man with a simple, honest face and dark skin timidly approached Chen Jin, softly calling out.

“What is it?” Chen Jin opened his eyes and replied.

He had just completed the transformation of his primordial qi and was now at the stage of stabilized qi cultivation. Thus, he was not meditating but responded directly.

“There are only… only three men in our town who have served in the military, and none of them have ever killed anyone…” The young man spoke helplessly, embarrassed.

Though these were not truly chaotic times, rebels still roamed various regions—whether Wei, Han, or even those waving banners for the restoration of Zhou. Disorder prevailed everywhere, perhaps laying the groundwork for the later turmoil of the Eight Princes’ Rebellion.

As for the region of Qi and Lu, its people were known for their spirited nature, so Chen Jin could not fathom why there would be those in this town who failed to meet his requirements.

But Chen Jin merely sought to delay matters, so he did not insist on his conditions; even five young boys would suffice.

“No matter, five able-bodied young men will do.” Chen Jin feigned deliberation, then replied with some reluctance.

“Is it really… safe to do so?” The dark-skinned youth asked uncertainly.

“It’s fine—just bring along two black dogs as well.” Chen Jin fabricated further.

“Alright, alright, I’ll get on it at once.” The youth nodded repeatedly.

Since Chen Jin assured him, it must be fine.

Watching the youth depart, Chen Jin summoned the nephew sent by Wang Zhang to assist him.

After some inquiry, Chen Jin learned his name—Wang Tong, from a nearby county called Yu Ze, sixteen years old.

“Are you familiar with the affairs of this town?” Chen Jin asked.

If he answered yes, Chen Jin planned to coax information from him; if not, he would have Wang Zhang brought in for the same purpose.

“I know a little,” Wang Tong replied.

“Whose house was it where I fought the demon?” Chen Jin inquired.

“No one owns it,” Wang Tong replied promptly.

“…?” Chen Jin was taken aback. “But surely someone lived there before? Who was it?”

“It belonged to Granny Chen, but she died two years ago,” Wang Tong answered.

“Two years ago?” That’s a bit early… ah, disrespectful to the dead—slap my mouth…

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“I heard people say the place is haunted… Is that true?” Chen Jin asked again.

“Yes, but I think it’s fake—just a trick to scare people,” Wang Tong replied, sharing his view.

Chen Jin’s interest was instantly piqued. From their first meeting, Wang Tong had always been calm and unruffled, yet now he grew agitated over the haunted house—there must be some intrigue here.

Chen Jin felt compelled to probe further.

“It is indeed false. I sensed no sinister presence there. The talk of ghosts is mere rumor, intended to frighten.” Chen Jin first affirmed Wang Tong’s viewpoint.

This was a way to win over the young man—first, agree with him to put them on the same side, then start reasoning to coax out more information.

But Chen Jin was not intent on misleading him, only to glean a bit of insight—more knowledge would be of no use.

“Do you know who started these rumors? And who put an end to them?” Chen Jin flicked his sleeve, speaking in a low tone.

“An old crone from outside town,” Wang Tong replied without hesitation.

Whether it was his sharp memory or prior preparation, or perhaps the person left a deep impression, Wang Tong answered immediately.

“Is she still outside the town?” Chen Jin pressed.

“She was the first to die…” Wang Tong’s expression was blank, but Chen Jin saw his pupils repeatedly contract and dilate.

Was it excitement, or fear…

“Hopefully excitement…” Chen Jin thought to himself.

“Who was the second to die?” Chen Jin rose slowly from his cross-legged seat.

“Granny Chen’s nephew,” Wang Tong replied.

Now things became interesting—was the truth about to surface?

“Where does he live? May I visit his family to offer condolences?” Chen Jin’s curiosity was truly aroused.

“He had a wife, but no children. Granny Chen was his last relative in town,” Wang Tong answered.

“Then… can you take me to see his wife?” Chen Jin continued.

“…Alright.” Wang Tong hesitated briefly, then agreed.

The two then made their way from the town’s outskirts toward its center, heading to the northern side.

After passing several dirt streets, they arrived outside a certain residence.

---

Standing by the courtyard wall, faint sounds of crying could be heard from within.

“Were they a loving couple?” Chen Jin asked Wang Tong.

“Seems so… I’m not really sure.” For once, Chen Jin’s question stumped Wang Tong.

Knock, knock, knock…

Chen Jin rapped on the gate.

In the night’s gloom, with the town alive with chaotic noises, his knocking was not out of place, but those inside could still hear it.

Footsteps approached from within.

The steps drew near, but the door did not open.

“Who is it?” came a hoarse, tearful voice from inside.

“I am Wang Tong, nephew of Elder Wang Zhang, accompanying a Taoist master from Mount Lao…”

“To bless your husband’s soul, cleanse the grievances of his wrongful death, so he may pass swiftly to the underworld and be reborn.”

Seeing Wang Tong about to reveal his true intention, Chen Jin quickly interjected.

The door creaked open.

A middle-aged woman with swollen, reddened eyes peered out.

“May I see my husband one last time?” she asked hopefully, looking at Chen Jin.

In truth, Chen Jin had not seen the husband’s ghost—ghosts in this era were rare. The rules of the underworld were strict; unless the dead harbored great resentment, they were drawn directly below. The smile on her husband’s face before death clearly showed he had met his fate willingly—a cheerful, even romantic passing—thus, he would have been taken swiftly to the underworld.

“It may be difficult, but could I see his body? To cleanse his grievances, I must first know how he died and who caused his death. By this, I might offer him solace. Though we now know it was the work of demons, their location remains unknown, so I may need clues from your husband himself.” Chen Jin placed his hand on the gate, offering what he hoped was a compassionate smile.

He was bluffing, as was his habit; if he were to descend to the underworld, surely he’d visit the Tongue-Pulling Hell for his lies.

Perhaps the eighteen levels of hell had already been built by now…

…