Chapter 5: The Sparrow Ghost

Title: Shadow of the Silent Blade

The Nine Spirits Terrace rose like a small mountain, its thousand stone steps stretching upward. At the very summit, a bronze statue of a giant bird soaring through the sky could be faintly discerned.

This was the sacred site where the imperial clan of the Zhao Kingdom performed their annual grand sacrifices to the Heavenly Mandate.

At the base of the Nine Spirits Platform, eight massive bronze cauldrons stood encircling the area. One of them now blazed fiercely, its surging flames spewing waves of heat as sparks danced wildly within.

Even covered by a white cloth, Ning Qinshui’s corpse revealed the gruesome sight of rotting flesh and bones festering with sores.

Song Ce glanced at the young couple behind him. The girl’s brows were tightly furrowed, her heart surely filled with anguish. As for the boy who had dared to speak so recklessly moments ago, witnessing this living spectacle, he surely wouldn’t entertain any more absurd notions, right?

Yet, as Song Ce observed Ning Changjiu closely for a while, he detected little emotion on the man’s face.

Hmph, feigning composure.

Just as Song Ce was about to speak, Ning Changjiu walked over, bowed slightly before the corpse, and paid his respects.

Ning Xiaoling watched him nervously, steeled herself, and followed suit. Closing her eyes, she offered a feigned bow to the old creature she despised with every fiber of her being.

Song Ce clasped his hands before his abdomen, sleeves hanging low.

With constant wars erupting between Zhao and Ying, the suffering of the people had been ongoing for far too long. Thus, observing this master and disciple, he felt little sorrow—only a desire to send them on their way swiftly.

As these thoughts crossed his mind, Ning Changjiu had already stepped before him.

“Let’s go,” he said.

Song Ce exhaled in relief. The youth had finally relented. He refrained from any sarcastic remarks, merely replying:

“Someone will escort you shortly.”

Ning Changjiu shook his head.

“Minister Song, I meant to the Young General’s residence.”

Song Ce’s expression darkened.

“What did you say?”

“Last night was turbulent. There was unusual activity at the Young General’s residence. The deceased is likely General Wang Yangyu’s son.”

“Who told you this?” Song Ce demanded.

“Calculations and deductions.”

Song Ce remained silent, but the look in his eyes as he regarded the youth before him had changed.

Interesting.

At the Young General’s residence, servants stood in a line outside. Several guards stood with swords drawn, brows furrowed, a hint of fear visible.

“Ever since General Wang Yangyu’s death, the young general has placed numerous Buddhist statues in his home. Today, as usual, he burned incense and bowed three times. Then his head slammed onto the floor, and he didn’t get up. The maid sensed something was wrong, went to check on him, and then smelled the scent of blood… His throat had been slit. Though his chest bore no major wounds, blood seeped profusely, forming the faint outline of a strange bird through his clothing.”

“A sparrow ghost?”

“Yes! This is the fifth victim. Every deceased person bears this bloodstain on their chest—including the Taoist priest we summoned to perform the ritual.”

“Has this happened before?”

“No.”

“What occurred twenty days ago?”

Song Ce regarded the youthful, delicate-featured youth with a hint of displeasure.

“Young man, you may have learned some skills under your master’s tutelage, but overconfidence will save no one.”

As he spoke, Song Ce led the youth over the threshold and into the young general’s residence. Ning Xiaoling followed behind them, head bowed, not daring to interject.

Upon entering the main gate, the pungent stench of blood assaulted their senses. A thick, black pool of blood snaked across the floor like a serpent.

At its end, before a solemn, golden Buddha statue, a young man of sturdy build knelt motionless, his life long since extinguished. Looking back, the skin on his neck appeared rotten, as if scalded by boiling water.

Ning Xiaoling covered her nose and mouth, involuntarily taking two steps back.

Ning Changjiu approached the man, crouching down. Without flinching, he tore open the front of his shirt. There, formed by countless tiny red dots like the marks of thousands of needles piercing the skin, was that eerie pattern of a strange bird.

After studying it for a moment, Ning Changjiu turned to Song Ce, whose brow was deeply furrowed.

“Minister Song, what exactly happened twenty days ago?”

Anger flashed across Song Ce’s face.

“You Taoists just focus on exorcising demons! Exorcise them if you can, and if you can’t, let someone who can handle it. Why all these questions?”

Ning Changjiu replied calmly:

“As long as the sparrow ghost remains unvanquished, people will keep dying. If we could pinpoint the root cause, this matter would be far simpler.”

Song Ce shot him a glance, his anger rising, but ultimately sighed.

“Return now. In a few more days, the reclusive cultivators should arrive at the palace. By then, everything will be settled.”

Ning Changjiu asked quietly:

“What if tomorrow it is Minister Song himself?”

Ning Xiaoling gasped, staring at her senior brother in horror. How dare you speak such words within the palace walls?