Chapter Seven: Pursuit

Boom!

Liu Shuangling's body was flung into the air like a rag doll, then crashed heavily to the ground. She coughed up a mouthful of fresh blood; her internal organs felt as if they had been shattered by that punch, pain so intense it turned her vision black.

Yet before she could catch her breath, a massive shadow engulfed her sight, as though space itself was torn apart by some fearsome presence. Driven by a fierce will to survive, Liu Shuangling gritted her teeth against the agony, rolled swiftly to the side, and narrowly avoided Bai Yuijing's attack.

Bai Yuijing's foot struck empty air, but he did not pursue her further. His blow had been deliberately severe, wanting Liu Shuangling to learn, at the very last moment, how to endure pain and evade, “That’s all for this morning’s training.”

Liu Shuangling coughed, blood seeping from her mouth, her body sprawled on the ground in a star shape, chest heaving violently, as if her warm yellow T-shirt might split apart. Bai Yuijing drew a pale yellow talisman from his sleeve, inscribed with healing scripture.

He pressed the talisman to her abdomen and infused it with spiritual pressure. Green light surged wildly from the script, transforming into wisps of pale green mist that seeped through the yellow T-shirt, flooding her bruised abdomen.

The agony of shattered organs vanished with her next breath. The talisman, however, dissolved as the price. Most scriptures were single-use consumables. Only the ones inconvenient to carry, etched at fixed locations, were reusable.

For example, Bai Yuijing had inscribed a mixed-type advanced scripture in the hall, its duration set for one year. “Dust yourself off—we have a new job,” Bai Yuijing withdrew his spiritual pressure.

The hall rapidly repaired its previous damage and returned to its normal size. He took out his phone and set the demon-hunting app status to online.

Now came the order-taking time.

Liu Shuangling rose, dusted herself off, and walked into the kitchen to wash her face with cold water. She glanced at the bloodstained spots on her clothes and pants, gently wiping them clean with a damp towel. After tidying herself, she took a stool and sat in the courtyard.

Warm sunlight spilled over her, dispelling some of her fatigue. She closed her eyes, replaying the battle just now in her mind, pondering how she could avoid the devastating blow next time.

...

Qingyun Sect was a Class D organization, and most of their daily orders were minor, low-risk Class D tasks. Incidents like Wang Debiao’s were exceptions, rarely happening.

Most Class D orders brimmed with the mundane—running errands to buy things for someone, escorting a child to the hospital, or helping evacuate bystanders during occasional spatial tremors caused by monster invasions in the city.

These everyday tasks, Bai Yuijing completed with the utmost speed.

His demon-hunting app boasted a 100% positive rating; his swift order completion increased the system’s dispatch rate. Sometimes he received three or four orders at once, all in the same area, never worrying about confusion.

At that moment, Bai Yuijing sat atop a Dayun-brand cargo truck, feet planted on the roof. Ordinary traffic regulations did not apply to spiritual practitioners.

He wasn’t sitting there to flaunt his unique status, but purely to execute a transport escort. The cargo loaded from the port had to be delivered to the factory warehouse, and drivers requested practitioners to sit atop the vehicles to deter theft by other practitioners.

Other cargo trucks also had spiritual practitioners sitting on their compartments. In this industry, not hiring practitioners made cargo theft almost inevitable.

Some practitioners, though perhaps wary of murder or robbery, had absolutely no qualms about petty theft. Abroad, it was rumored that some practitioners formed gangs; if a shipping company didn’t hire them, they’d become thieves, stealing everything from that company.

The Summer Nation, in this respect, was somewhat behind the times.

...

The truck arrived at the factory warehouse right on schedule. Waiting workers opened the compartment, began unloading cargo, and the supervisor checked each item against the manifest, confirming everything before marking the order as completed.

Bai Yuijing jumped down from the roof, saying, “Remember to give a five-star review.”

“No problem.” The supervisor smiled; unless a practitioner performed very poorly, five-star reviews were the norm.

Bai Yuijing’s phone chimed—another order had come in. Liu Shuangling also jumped down from the roof, her chest trembling as she glanced at her phone screen.

New Order: Locate a kidnapped child, address: 379 Shangzhongxi Road, Liaodong New District, Shanghai City.

Bai Yuijing grabbed Liu Shuangling, and in an instant, they vanished.

...

Bang!

The air burst with a muffled sound; an invisible wave swept up dust from the ground, a gentle yet irresistible force pushing aside the crowd and leaving a wide open space.

Bai Yuijing and Liu Shuangling landed steadily.

Such a dramatic arrival instantly drew the gaze of the crowd and caused the woman sobbing by the roadside to pause her tears.

The woman appeared to be in her early forties, the hair at her temples graying, deep crow’s feet at her eyes, her hands rough and callused from years of hard labor. Her figure was plain, dressed in cheap online-bought T-shirt and pants costing barely twenty yuan.

Seeing the pair arrive, she rushed forward in agitation, “Masters, please, I beg you to find my son!”

Bai Yuijing’s expression remained calm, “Tell me what happened.”

The woman choked up, “About half an hour ago, my neighbor notified me that my child suddenly vanished on the road in front of our house, right under this tree. The constables from Six Gates came by and told me to wait for news, but how can I just wait!”

“Half an hour...that makes things difficult,” Liu Shuangling shook her head, “After so long, the spiritual pressure is likely gone.”

“Yes,” someone in the crowd sighed. Even ordinary people knew that if a practitioner acted, there would always be traces of spiritual pressure at the scene. But as time passed, those traces would dissipate; some practitioners could even accelerate the disappearance of their own traces.

Half an hour had already missed the golden window for rescue.

The woman’s face turned pale, on the verge of fainting.

Bai Yuijing caught her shoulder, speaking in a deep voice, “Relax. I will find your child.

Shuangling, give me your hand.”

“You want to use my blood for Spirit Tracing?”

“You truly are clever,” Bai Yuijing’s praise brought Liu Shuangling little joy. Spirit Tracing was scripture number seventy-three, an advanced technique that tracked residual spiritual pressure. Most importantly, it could be written with blood as ink—very convenient.

A hint of reluctance flickered across her face, but she lifted her right hand.

Bai Yuijing quickly pricked her fingertip, drawing blood. He swiftly waved his hand through the air, using the blood as ink to write the scripture.

“O river of ceaseless spirit, weave threads of light into the shape of a thousand birds, and proclaim your name to the shadows of the abyss.

East bound to the wings of Azure Dragon, west tied to the fangs of White Tiger, south gathered in Vermilion Bird’s eye, north fixed upon Black Tortoise’s shell, transformed into an arrow of light piercing the four realms.

Reveal the trail upon the pure mirror—Scripture, volume seventy-three: Spirit Tracing.”

As the final word was uttered, the scripture trembled in the void. Each character burst apart, transforming into countless strands of light, rushing toward the spot where the child had vanished.

Then, with a sudden twist, one strand dimmed, shooting rapidly toward the west.