Thirty-Six, The Daoist Lineage of Immortals and Alchemists (Seeking Follows and Votes)

Ouyang Rong was awakened by the look of disappointment in someone’s eyes.

He lay on the table that served as a makeshift bed, eyes opening to stare blankly at the dark rafters of the magistrate’s office for a long moment.

Back in his past life, his poor foreign language skills had landed him in an unremarkable university. Yet, Ouyang Rong had actually been quite fond of that place. It had plenty of open-air basketball courts; a hole in the wall beside the dormitory that saw more foot traffic than the back gate; a row of gingko trees along the path to the classrooms, where one could ride a bicycle and soar through the autumn leaves; the cafeteria lady’s Parkinson’s hadn’t yet reached its late stages, and a bowl of rice cost only fifty cents, ensuring one never had to resort to eating dirt. Most importantly, his major in the School of Liberal Arts had a high ratio of women to men; sitting in the classroom felt like being in a harem, filled with pretty girls who, while not as wealthy as his junior apprentice sister, were far more generous...

Alright, enough posturing. The truth was, he had been the "class heartthrob," and naturally, he missed the empire he had built there—the girls who blushed when they spoke to him, and the roommates he’d spent countless nights gaming and eating skewers with.

However, his family and friends were dissatisfied. They believed his talent should have taken him to a better place, lamenting that he had wasted his potential, laid flat, and rotted away.

Ouyang Rong did not agree with their disparagement of his college years. Perhaps it was his fragile pride, or perhaps he had been stung by a particular look of disappointment, but he had resolved to pursue graduate studies. He wanted to get into a school that would allow him to slap all of their faces in return.

Wasn't it just bloody studying? It was merely an easy mode.

Sometimes, a person lives just to prove a point.

Now, as the magistrate who was about to flip the table and raid the houses of the corrupt, Ouyang Rong was also fighting for a point—one called "justice."

These days, he had discovered that the poor people swarming the disaster relief camp on the outskirts of town looked at him—their magistrate—with a gaze diametrically opposed to that of his family and friends in his past life.

It was a look of hope, one Ouyang Rong could not put into words.

They seemed to trust him, this "turnip magistrate" who wandered around the relief camp all day, meddling in trivial affairs.

Yet, Ouyang Rong felt he hadn't actually made their lives much better: the daily porridge wasn't enough to fill their bellies completely, only enough to stave off starvation; the shelters he had built only shielded them from the wind and rain, not the cold. Their original homes, their fields, and even their families were gone. Having lost so much, Ouyang Rong had given them only the barest essentials for survival.

Why were they so grateful to him?

It seemed to be because... finally, a ruler was treating them like human beings.

Having understood this world, a fire ignited in Ouyang Rong’s chest, one that surged up and refused to die down.

In the pitch-black hall, unable to sleep, Ouyang Rong rolled off the table, threw a light robe over his shoulders, and headed to the East Warehouse.

It was a crescent moon tonight, the light dim. But the East Warehouse was illuminated by hundreds of torches.

Commandant Qin stood guard at the door with his saber, armored soldiers stood vigil on all sides, and elite scouts were hidden nearby, bows drawn, ready for anything. Inside the warehouse, Old Man Cui and his clerks were working overtime. Xie Lingjiang had placed a wooden stool across the entrance, sitting with austere posture, her pointed chin tilted slightly upward, clutching her sword as she stared straight ahead.

Tension permeated both inside and out. Aside from the clacking of the clerks' abacuses, it was silent. Everything seemed fine.

Ouyang Rong felt slightly relieved. He walked around to inspect the area, greeted everyone, and asked about the progress of the audit. He also checked the barrels of well water prepared in the courtyard—a precaution against anyone getting desperate enough to commit arson.

There were so many ledgers in the East Warehouse that it would be impossible to burn them all without being noticed; he had blocked that path.

Ouyang Rong exhaled slightly. He looked at the sky—it was the third watch, the night already half over. He decided to return to the office nearby to rest; there was serious work to be done after the audit concluded tomorrow.

However, just as he returned, he ran into Ban Xi outside the office door.

The Silla maid wore a veil and carried two small boxes. She walked up happily, "Young Master, the Mistress asked me to bring you some midnight snacks."

Ouyang Rong looked them over and nodded. "Thank you for your trouble. Is everything alright with Auntie?"

"It’s no trouble at all. The Plum Deer Garden is fine; the Mistress is just worried about you."

"I'm glad to hear it. I'm not hungry."

Ouyang Rong shook his head, opened the boxes to inspect them, and then handed the snacks to the yamen runners who had escorted Ban Xi.

"Take her back to the Plum Deer Garden. Also, send these snacks to the East Warehouse for Old Man Cui and Junior Sister Xie to taste. Tell them there’s no harm in taking a break if they’re tired; they don't need to rush."

"Yes, My Lord."

The runners left with a reluctant-looking Ban Xi. Ouyang Rong offered a few words of encouragement to the soldiers standing guard, chatted briefly, and returned to the office.

This time, he didn't lie down. He extinguished the lamp, sat alone in the chair, lowered his head, closed his eyes, and pinched the bridge of his nose to clear his mind.

In truth, this office, located not far from the East Warehouse, was also heavily guarded, with traps set in the courtyard and sentries on the roof, waiting for someone to take a desperate risk.

After all, even a dog will jump a wall when cornered.

Sitting alone in the darkness, sleepiness began to creep in. Just then, several crisp sounds of a wooden fish rang out in his ears.

He was slightly stunned.

In the middle of the night, why had his merit suddenly increased?

The young magistrate was puzzled, but regardless of the reason, gaining merit was surely a good thing. He nodded and continued to rest his eyes in the dark.

***

Xie Lingjiang glanced at the snacks sent by her senior brother and looked at Commandant Qin at the door. The latter nodded slightly, signaling that his men had already checked the food and there was no danger.

Xie Lingjiang looked away and resumed her rigid posture, eyes fixed on the warehouse interior, not touching the food.

"The Magistrate treats us well." Old Man Cui distributed the snacks to his apprentices and glanced at the sky. "You only have a quarter-hour to rest after eating. Don't go too far for the latrine, and come back quickly."

The others nodded, stretching and relaxing before leaving, though they were searched by Commandant Qin’s men before they could step out. Only Old Man Cui remained, continuing to organize the ledgers, even reaching over to pull books from the other clerks' desks to check them. The others were long used to this.

Only Xie Lingjiang and Old Man Cui remained in the warehouse.

Xie Lingjiang spoke up, "Old sir, you should rest as well. I will guard the place."

Old Man Cui shook his head, murmuring, "It’s almost dawn."

"Have you found anything in the Liu family's ledgers?"

Old Man Cui sighed, pointing to a stack of confidential ledgers on the table. "No wonder they get richer every year, despite the annual floods."

Xie Lingjiang frowned, standing up to inspect them. Just then, she smelled a pungent odor, different from the snacks. She immediately held her breath. As if by intuition, she suddenly looked up:

On the ceiling of the warehouse, there was a large black gecko... no, it wasn't a gecko, but a person clad in black robes with a bronze beast mask, their entire body pressed flat against the stone tiles of the ceiling.

Who knew when they had snuck in!

Xie Lingjiang made an instant decision. She grabbed several writing brushes from the table and flung them like flying daggers.

The masked monster flipped three times to dodge, while simultaneously waving a long sleeve to drop something.

Below, Xie Lingjiang had already pulled her longbow, the arc like a crescent moon. Before her fingers moved, an arrow was already loosed, pinning the object the monster dropped firmly to the ceiling with a "thwack."

With a loud "boom," the spot where the arrow hit exploded into a ball of flame three meters in diameter, sparks flying everywhere.

Fortunately, a table was kicked up from below, catching most of the falling debris and flames.

All of this happened in the space of a single breath.

The masked monster seemed wary; it crawled along the ceiling like a gecko toward the only narrow skylight in the warehouse.

"Trying to run?"

Xie Lingjiang’s willow brows arched. In the next second, she stepped onto the edge of a table, leaping onto the rafters like an eagle soaring toward the clouds, drawing her sword to stop the intruder.

The masked monster didn't look back, throwing another object, but Xie Lingjiang flicked it away with the back of her sword. It fell ten meters away, but this time, it did not explode.

Xie Lingjiang ignored it, seizing the chance to close the distance. With a flash of her blade, the masked monster was cut in two.

But in the next second, a bizarre thing happened: the bottom half fell away, revealing itself to be an empty black robe; the "top half" continued to crawl toward the skylight, squeezing out through the opening no larger than a human head.

"Sorcery! A practitioner of the Immortal Path?"

Xie Lingjiang gritted her teeth, landed swiftly, and without a word, rushed out the door. She tossed a command to Commandant Qin and his men, who were gathering in alarm—"Seal the doors and windows, let no one in"—and gave chase.

In just a few moments, the clash between the two cultivators shocked the soldiers. They checked the room, saw that Old Man Cui was uninjured, and then retreated, sealing the doors and windows.

However, what Commandant Qin and his men, who were busy securing the perimeter, failed to notice was that inside the East Warehouse, Old Man Cui, sitting alone at his desk, silently bent down and picked up the tubular object—the "Heaven-Burning Thunder"—that the monster had thrown but which had failed to explode.

Old Man Cui calmly unscrewed the small tube, slowly pouring the mixture of ointment and black powder onto the stack of ledgers on the table. He then poured some onto his own gray hair and robes.

Having done this without a sound, the quiet old man reached out for the oil lamp on the neighboring desk.

But in the next second, a familiar male voice echoed from the doorway:

"What are you doing?"