The journey back to the Herbal Fragrance Shop was surprisingly uneventful. Before midnight struck, both Xu Nuo and I had returned safely.
As soon as we got off the motorcycle, Xu Nuo didn't pause for a second. Clutching the white spirit banner in one hand and dragging me with the other, she rushed into a storage room on the first floor of the shop.
Inside, I saw twelve straw men. I had no idea who made them, but they were disturbingly lifelike. Each had a crooked head, as if grinning eerily in my direction.
"Don't just stand there like an idiot. Help me move these to the Apothecary Hall!" Xu Nuo barked. She hoisted two straw men with ease and strode away.
Not knowing what she was up to, I followed her instructions, grabbing two of the figures and trailing behind. When I stepped out, I saw her soaking the four straw men in some kind of herbal liquid. The sharp scent of ganoderma filled the air.
"You're soaking them in ganoderma? That's insanely extravagant!" I winced as Xu Nuo poured bottle after bottle of precious medicinal essence onto the straw figures.
She tossed the empty bottles aside and retorted, "Did you think those twelve dead souls from Zhangjia Village would help you for free?"
"Didn't you already drug them with mind control powder? Why bribe them, too?" I asked, puzzled.
While we carried out the rest of the straw men, she explained, "Taoism is bound by the laws of karma. Today I use a charm to enslave them—if one of them perishes because of it and seeks revenge tomorrow, what then? Authority and kindness in equal measure—that's the key to reducing karmic entanglements."
As she spoke, Xu Nuo raised her white spirit banner toward the twelve crooked-headed straw men. Only then did I notice the vibrant, ancient embroidery on her sleeve—mysterious and beautiful.
With a graceful sweep of her spirit banner across each straw figure, faint translucent silhouettes slipped into their bodies. In the next moment, those twelve straw men transformed—flesh and blood now clothed their forms. Yet their eyes remained hollow, heads tilted at that same eerie angle, unmoving, their gaze fixed lifelessly on the ground.
"Junior Brother, eat this…" Xu Nuo retrieved a blood-red herb from her sleeve. It had nine distinct leaves, gleaming like it might bleed at any moment.
"What… what is this?" I asked.
"Separation Grass. Once ingested, your three souls and six spirits will be drawn into these nine leaves. I'll hide them around you, so if anyone senses your spirit, they'll mistake you for a vengeful ghost."
As she spoke, she began plucking off the nine crimson leaves.
I took the remaining stalk, chewed it, and swallowed. A searing pain flared in my stomach—like a serpent twisting and writhing within me. My strength drained rapidly, while the nine leaves in Xu Nuo's hands plumped and gleamed, as though nourished by spring rain.
She tucked them into her robes, then pulled out a yellow-and-white Taoist robe, mottled with dried blood. Its presence alone was spine-chilling.
"This belonged to the previous master of the Herbal Fragrance Shop. Put it on. When the spirit appears, pretend to be an ancestral Taoist and bluff your way through. That should be enough to scare it off."
I nodded. Seeing that, Xu Nuo seemed reassured. "I'm heading back to my room. You keep watch outside the hall. The moment any of the twelve lift their heads, it means that thing has arrived."
Once she left, silence swallowed the Apothecary Hall. The twelve resurrected villagers sat with heads cocked, dull eyes fixed on the floor. Even glancing at them sent chills down my spine.
I slipped into the blood-soaked robe, folded my legs, and sat cross-legged in their center. Beside me lay the peachwood sword still stained with Zhang Kun's black blood.
I hadn't slept properly since yesterday, and now that all was still, my eyelids grew unbearably heavy, as if weighed down by lead.
Suddenly, a cold wind howled outside. With a groan, the wooden windows slammed shut.
I snapped awake. Under the dim light, all twelve villagers lifted their heads in unison and stared past me, toward something behind me.
A cold breath caught in my throat.
He… he was right behind me.
Any other day, I would've bolted. But now, I couldn't. One flicker of fear and I'd be exposed. I had to stay calm—even if I had to fake it.
"You've come. Then show yourself," I said flatly, unmoving.
Drip. Drip.
The sound of water striking the ground echoed behind me, each drop sharp and deliberate.
My patience wore thin, I turned slowly. And there it was—just inches from my face.
A rotting, wrinkled visage hovered before me, so close that even the faintest movement would've pressed our faces together.
The water ghost still wore that tattered raincoat. Its skin, soaked and swollen by water, was a ghastly pale—utterly revolting.
"Filthy Taoist! Was it you who murdered my son?!" The ghost's gaze flicked to the twelve silent spirits surrounding me. For a moment, it hesitated.
"The living walk their path, the dead walk theirs. I merely sent your son to the afterlife," I replied, pressing a hand to the floor and slowly rising, eyes filled with solemn resolve.
"So it was you!" the ghost howled. Its pallid hands lunged at me, fingers digging into my shoulders like icy knives. "I'll rip your soul apart! I'll avenge my son!"
I clenched my jaw through the searing pain, unmoving, as he tried with all his might to wrench my soul from my body.
The agony lasted a long thirty seconds. When nothing happened, disbelief clouded his face. Then realization dawned—his expression twisted in horror.
"You… you're not human…"
At those words, a cold smile curled at my lips. "You've only just realized? I'm just like you. That's why you can't kill me."
"No… If you're a ghost too, then how could you wear a Taoist robe? Unless…" The water ghost stared at me, lifeless and cold.
Damn. I was slipping up.
I braced myself to run, even knowing I couldn't outrun a ghost.
"Unless… unless you're a Fallen Taoist!" he stammered, stumbling back several steps in terror.
"A… Fallen Taoist?" I echoed dumbly, completely thrown off. What the hell was that?
When the ghost turned back to look at me, I quickly masked my confusion, bent to pick up the bloodied peachwood sword, and pointed it at him.
"That's right," I declared coldly. "I am the Fallen Taoist you fear."
As I raised the sword, the twelve spirits of Zhangjia Village turned as one, surrounding the water ghost from all sides.
So that's how it works! All I had to do was wield the sword, and they'd obey me.
The ghost trembled violently, believing I held true power. Surrounded, he crouched low in fear.
I glanced around, looking for a chance to let him go. After all, I wasn't a real Fallen Taoist—just someone good with words. I couldn't fight him head-on.
"Lift your head…" I lowered the tip of the sword to his chest, my voice calm and quiet.
He glared at me with rage, terror, and despair—but made no move to resist. His fear of the Fallen Taoist was absolute.
For some reason, I suddenly found him pitiable. I had killed his son, whether by accident or not. And yet here he stood, helpless to avenge him.
I sighed deeply. "Strictly speaking, I didn't kill your son. The honeysuckle he bought had been swapped for soul-severing grass. By the time I noticed and chased after him, I was trapped in a ghost maze. I couldn't find my way out—or your son."
"A Fallen Taoist… trapped in a ghost maze?" Doubt flickered across his decayed features, then realization. "You're lying… You're not a Fallen Taoist."
I froze. Damn it. I'd said too much.