Chapter Fifty-Four: Zhu Tianyi (Second Update of the Fifth Watch)

He turned and left without the slightest hesitation. The power contained in the ghost talisman was overwhelming—just one strike had completely scattered all the energy he had accumulated over the years. Fortunately, he released his grip in time, or else nothing would have remained of him.

Just as he was about to leave, a young man appeared behind the humanoid monster, holding a black iron sword. He brought the blade down upon the creature without hesitation. Even heavily injured, the monster's nearly invincible body should have been unfazed by the sword. It raised its hand, ready to catch the blade, but to its astonishment, the iron sword sliced through its hand as though cutting through tofu, then split its forehead in two, cleaving the body apart.

A flash of black light gleamed from the sword, and the monster’s fleeing soul was instantly extinguished. From that moment, the humanoid monster vanished utterly from the world. However, in its dying moments, its soul cried out, “Who are you to him?!” As if to say it died with great unwillingness.

After dealing with the monster, the young man approached Song Nianqiang. Song was still conscious at that moment and overheard the young man say his name: Zhu Tianyi.

Zhu Tianyi—he was the only disciple of the legendary ghost-catcher, a man of unknown background and unpredictable temperament. So few had ever seen his face that even his appearance was a mystery. No one knew why he had appeared here now.

Soon, members of the Northern Sect arrived, hurriedly carrying away the unconscious Song Nianqiang and the large fellow. Zhu Tianyi, however, did not leave with them. He planted his iron sword in the ground before him, standing silently, as if waiting for someone.

Sure enough, once the others had gone, several shadows flickered among the trees ahead. These figures were clad entirely in black, their faces indistinguishable in the dim light. But when they drew their katana, Zhu Tianyi laughed—a hearty, delighted laugh.

“Well, well, you little islanders. Your country may be small, but it’s not so cramped that you need to come meddling in our great China, is it?” As he spoke, the Japanese surrounded him, four in total—few in number, but all of them experts.

A cold gleam flashed, and all four blades swung toward Zhu Tianyi’s head. With a swift movement, Zhu Tianyi slid back, his iron sword spinning at his waist, and one adversary’s clothing was torn open.

The four attackers did not relent; their katana suddenly changed direction, all four slashing at Zhu Tianyi from the front. Zhu Tianyi simply smiled, eyes narrowed, and brought his sword down in a powerful arc. The four katana were forced to change course, but one managed a tricky strike, slicing open Zhu Tianyi’s garment.

“Heh, I may be a little narrow-minded, but I’m not lacking in patience. My temper is good—but not nonexistent. Now, you’ve really made me angry!” With a sweep of his sword, Zhu Tianyi’s body floated in front of a ninja. Before the man could react, his life was already gone.

“You want to play with weapons? Don’t forget, it was your ancestors who learned from our ancient masters!” Zhu Tianyi twisted his body, and with a thunderous sound, his sword thrust at another ninja. The ninja’s technique was strange but couldn’t evade Zhu’s thunderous strike—his head split open, brain matter sliding down the blade. Only when Zhu withdrew the sword did the man collapse.

The remaining two exchanged glances; one charged at Zhu Tianyi, while the other tried to escape. Zhu Tianyi had anticipated this—when outmatched, the Japanese always ran. With a cold laugh, he hurled his iron sword. The fleeing ninja was impaled and fell face-first into the muddy water.

The last ninja flashed his katana, aiming for Zhu Tianyi’s chest, intent on killing him outright. But he underestimated Zhu Tianyi. With a sudden sidestep, Zhu gripped the man’s wrists and twisted—there was a crisp crack. Zhu lifted his foot and kicked the ninja unconscious.

He strode to the impaled ninja, wrenched his sword free, then walked over to the one he’d just kicked. The sword came down upon the man’s head, ending the last of them. Yet Zhu Tianyi made no move to leave.

He stood atop a grave, gazing over the mass burial ground for a while, then approached an unremarkable tomb. He stabbed his sword into the earth, waited several minutes, and then pulled it out. There was blood on the blade—a vivid, glaring red. Zhu Tianyi laughed. “So this is where you are! Ha ha!”

Using his sword as a spade, he began to dig. The grave was not large, and in a short time he unearthed a coffin. Because he had pierced it earlier, red mist was already seeping from the crack.

It took little effort to pry the coffin open. Even so, Zhu Tianyi couldn’t help but draw a sharp breath at the sight within—a stunningly beautiful woman lay inside, dressed in white, her skin flawless as jade, long eyelashes framing a perfect face.

“Ah, even if you are beautiful, I still must behead you!” He sighed and, with a swing of his sword, severed her head. The body immediately changed, withering in an instant to a skeleton. The head’s skin shriveled, aging rapidly into that of a woman of seventy or eighty.

He pulled a black bag from his pocket, placed the head inside, and left. His task was complete, but he had no intention of returning yet. Having finally gotten away from his master, he intended to enjoy himself for a while.

Zhu Tianyi first went to the hospital. He was curious about that man’s son—what made him special? Though he was the disciple of a renowned ghost-catcher, it was not that man who taught him the craft, but rather a mysterious old man whom he’d never seen face-to-face.

This had made Zhu Tianyi intensely curious. After much inquiry, he discovered the man had a son and so decided to visit the hospital.

With the bag slung over his shoulder, he left the burial ground. As his figure vanished, a blue bolt of lightning struck the open coffin, setting it ablaze. The corpse was consumed until nothing remained. A vague, indistinct figure appeared, gazing after Zhu Tianyi’s departing form, then shook its head. With a wave of its hand, the earth covered the coffin once more, leaving the scene unchanged.

The figure faded with a peal of thunder, leaving only a pair of footprints that were soon washed away by the muddy water. For over five thousand years—more if you count before the Qin dynasty—China had been home to countless remarkable individuals. Even today, though the ancient Qi practitioners no longer existed, there was no shortage of extraordinary people. It’s just that ordinary folk never encountered them.

At that moment, Song Nianqiang lay fast asleep in his hospital bed. His body bore no wounds, but his soul had suffered greatly, and no matter who called him, he could not be roused. Even his mother, Song Min, came, but after a glance, she left unconcerned; his father had once displayed the same symptoms, so she was not worried.

As for the large fellow, he was undergoing emergency treatment. He had lost too much blood and, having forced himself to use the Purifying Heaven and Earth Divine Incantation, his condition was critical and he lay in the intensive care unit.

His parents had arrived as well. This time, they did not complain, only pleaded with the doctors to do everything possible to save their son. The doctors said little in response.

In truth, the situation wasn’t so dire. The two boys’ identities were a little special, and the colonel in charge took this “accident” seriously, so the large fellow was placed in the high-risk ward. But his main problem was blood loss, easily remedied by a transfusion. Besides, with his size, losing a bit of blood was as good as losing a bit of weight.