Chapter 39: Cults and Spirits

Instantly, all three of them turned their gaze straight to Xu Bao’er.

Xu Bao’er was startled and said, “I was eleven that year. On the day the Grand Theatre opened for the first time, our class had a choral performance, so I was there too.”

Xu Baoguo seemed to recall, nodding, “Yes, yes, Bao’er was there. I waited two hours just to watch her perform, but that day Master Mao only stopped by briefly and left soon after.”

“No, our choir was the finale, so we had to wait. The reason it sticks in my mind is because of Fu Yiman,” Xu Bao’er said.

The name Fu Yiman sprang from Xu Bao’er’s lips, and my heart skipped a beat. I stared intently at her.

“Fu Yiman is that famous young female pianist who held a concert at the Linjiang Grand Theatre not long ago. She was already somewhat well-known back then, at least among the students in our school. She also had a spot in the theatre’s opening performance,” Xu Bao’er explained.

“What’s the story between Fu Yiman and Master Mao?” I asked.

Seeing my urgency, Xu Bao’er decided to tease, giggling, “I’ll tell you if you accompany me shopping tomorrow.”

“Fine, fine, not just shopping—I’d even sleep with you if you asked,” I said heatedly.

“You’re so annoying, my dad’s still here,” Xu Bao’er said bashfully, casting me a coquettish glance. But seeing my sharp eyes, she dared not say anything more.

That day, Xu Bao’er grew bored waiting, and since she’d drunk too much water, she left backstage to find the restroom.

Afterward, rounding a corridor, Xu Bao’er suddenly saw Master Mao, whom her father always spoke of with respect, talking with Fu Yiman, though she couldn’t hear what they were saying.

Fu Yiman had just finished her performance and was about to leave.

Then she saw Master Mao reaching to take Fu Yiman’s hand, but Fu Yiman dodged.

Xu Bao’er had a small bag on her back, containing sketch paper and pencils she often carried. She instantly pulled them out, intending to capture the scene.

Why draw it? Xu Bao’er was a little jealous of Fu Yiman, thinking if she sketched her tangled with an older man, others would no longer view her as a goddess.

At that moment, Master Mao, seeing Fu Yiman unwilling to go with him, forcibly yanked her hand.

Fu Yiman bit his wrist with all her strength, and when he cried out in pain and let go, she ran inside.

Just then, Xu Bao’er’s teacher called her to assemble for their performance, and she followed.

Xu Bao’er never released the sketch, but kept it, feeling embarrassed whenever she remembered her childishness.

“Where’s the drawing?” I asked, my voice low.

“Wait, I’ll find it,” Xu Bao’er replied.

“I’ll go with you,” I said, impatience getting the better of me, and followed her into her bedroom.

Once inside, Xu Bao’er remembered something and tried to push me out.

She had known I was coming, so she’d rifled through her wardrobe and thrown all the clothes onto the bed. The room was strewn with clothes, even her underwear scattered everywhere.

“Hurry up and get the drawing. I’ve seen you in every state—do you think I care about this pile of old clothes?” I said.

Xu Bao’er blushed and glared at me.

That night was a humiliation for me as a man—and for her as a woman.

Xu Bao’er entered the smaller study attached to her bedroom and dragged out a box filled with sketchbooks.

“All these are your drawings? Huh?” I picked one up and flipped through it. Immediately, I froze: the girl inside wasn’t wearing clothes, and she looked awfully familiar.

Xu Bao’er shrieked, snatched it back, and shut it tight behind her—her secret, exposed to me.

These sketches were simply a young girl’s curiosity about her own body—self-portraits drawn in front of a mirror, unclothed.

“I didn’t see anything,” I joked, surprised at Xu Bao’er’s artistic talent. Her drawings were lively and vivid—truly impressive.

Xu Bao’er buried that sketchbook under several others and kept searching, her face flushed red to the tips of her ears.

Soon, she pulled out another sketchbook, flipped it open, and said, “Found it. This is the one.”

I snatched it and leafed through quickly. My eyes narrowed as I found the picture she’d mentioned.

It depicted a bearded man viciously grabbing a little girl’s hand, while the girl bit his wrist.

Though in comic style, Fu Yiman’s adolescent expression was captured perfectly, and the main features of Master Mao were likely accurate.

“I’m taking this with me. Thanks!” I told Xu Bao’er.

“You promised to go shopping with me,” she said, grabbing my hand, afraid I’d renege.

“I’ll get in touch tomorrow,” I said, pinching her cheek.

Xu Bao’er’s eyes sparkled, and she smiled radiantly.

Ghost and I returned to the Third Unit’s base and immediately summoned Zhao Zheng and Ye Luo, instructing them to investigate Master Mao based on the drawing.

Ye Luo brewed me a cup of coffee before getting to work.

“Sister Ye, that’s not fair. Why don’t I get anything?” Ghost complained.

“You little brat, make your own! You expect me to serve you?” Ye Luo replied.

“Ye Luo, I’m your brother, but I don’t get this treatment either,” Zhao Zheng said, lifting his head from the computer.

“You’re not as handsome as Qin,” Ye Luo teased.

I didn’t join their banter, just took a sip of coffee and lounged on the sofa, piecing together fragments in my mind.

Based on Xu Bao’er’s account, Fu Yiman was likely chosen by Master Mao. What was his purpose?

The nine coffins in the Nine Yin Place, filled with poisonous insects and snakes, had been discovered by accident. Master Mao exploited the event, transforming the theatre’s rooftop into a Nine Yin Place.

Nine types of dark evil converged; we’d found the cat soul and the Black Widow’s spider sac, and the other accidents surely involved the remaining poisons.

“Ghost, Fu Yiman held ten concerts, but there are only nine types of evil. Could the one fatality have been an accident?” I suddenly asked.

“It’s possible. We can have the Ninth Bureau’s field agents investigate,” Ghost said.

“Are field agents special?” I asked.

“No, but they’re equipped to handle unusual events, with professional weapons,” Ghost replied.

“Forget it, then. I feel this is bigger than it looks. Let’s wait for Captain Chen’s team in the capital to see if they find any leads,” I said.

At that moment, Ye Luo, analyzing the data Zhao Zheng had gathered, suddenly looked up. “Found it.”

I immediately got up and walked over. Ghost and Zhao Zheng joined me.

“Protector Tu Mu of the Poison God Cult—twenty years ago, wounded by Ninth Bureau operatives during a pursuit and escaped. Whereabouts unknown,” Ye Luo said, showing a photo.

The man looked to be in his thirties, with prominent cheekbones and a sinister gaze. He was clean-shaven, but without a beard, his features matched the comic version of Master Mao remarkably well.

“It must be him. Xu Baoguo said he saved Master Mao’s life twenty years ago—he probably never imagined he was a cultist,” I said.

“What should we do now?” Ghost asked. Zhao Zheng and Ye Luo looked at me expectantly.

I’d only just arrived, not officially joined the Ninth Bureau, yet they all took my lead.

“Report this to Captain Chen, wait for news from the capital, and verify the positions of those nine so-called Evil Suppression Columns at the Linjiang Grand Theatre. That’s it for tonight—I’m going to bed,” I said, heading upstairs to the suite assigned to me.

I sat cross-legged on the bed and began cultivating according to the Grand Netherworld Yin-Yang Method. Soon, I entered a state of total absorption.

Suddenly, I sensed my magical energy circulating faster, with pure energy streaming into my body.

In the room, a special pocket on my chest glimmered with dark, eerie light—the energy was thick and was drawn into me.

After a while, the piece of mutton-fat jade Old Li had given me floated out of my embrace, its array glowing.

Suddenly, a translucent figure emerged.

It was the soul of a girl, sixteen or seventeen, who seemed to have just awakened from a long sleep, her gaze hazy.

Her eyes soon locked onto the dark glow emanating from me, filled with longing.

She looked at me timidly, then slowly approached, pressing her soul against my body to absorb the energy.

The Nether Dragon Eye at my chest gave a jolt, abruptly snapping me out of my trance. I opened my eyes and saw the girl’s soul close beside me.

Instinctively, I drew my Blood Fiend Blade, my eyes sharp.

The girl’s soul gasped and retreated, gazing at me in fear.

“Huh?”

I stared at her, astonished. There wasn’t the slightest trace of ghostly aura—where had she come from?

No—this wasn’t a ghost; it was a spiritual entity! One in ten thousand!

Spiritual entities are pure; though souls, they lack any ghostly energy. In fact, to all ghosts, a spiritual entity is the supreme delicacy—a ghost who devours one may become king of all ghosts.

For a Yin-Yang master, encountering a spiritual entity is rare indeed, for it’s a crucial ingredient in forging legendary spiritual artifacts.

An artifact with spirit becomes a spiritual artifact.

My heart raced, but seeing the mutton-fat jade beside me, I guessed the girl’s soul had come from there.

“Come here—I won’t harm you,” I said gently to the timid spiritual entity.

She stared into my eyes, as if judging whether I spoke the truth.

After a while, she tentatively floated to my side.

“What’s your name?” I asked.

“Li Ling’er,” she replied.

Li Ling’er—a fine name, full of spirit.

But suddenly, my expression froze. Li—could she be Old Li’s deceased daughter?