47: Chapter 47 Spiritual Energy Fluctuations

The city walls of Yongzhou City loomed like a dark, oppressive mountain in the twilight.

Jiang Yan mingled with the last group of mule carts entering the city; the gate guards were busy collecting tolls and didn't even lift their eyelids.

He stepped into the city gate tunnel, the horizon behind him burning red with the sunset's afterglow, while ahead, street lamps lit up one by one—lanterns, oil lamps, and torches. Orange light poured out in clusters from the shops on both sides of the street, illuminating the bluestone pavement until it glistened.

Yongzhou City was much livelier than Ding Prefecture. Both sides of the street were packed with restaurants, teahouses, pawnshops, pharmacies, and cloth shops, with signs hanging one after another along the entire street.

A few young boys were chasing a lame dog at the alley entrance. The dog dove under a wonton stall, bumping the vendor's copper pot and causing it to sway. Scalding water splashed out, and the vendor cursed while brandishing a ladle, but the boys had long since vanished.

Jiang Yan didn't look back. His Divine Sense unfurled, covering the street.

The aura of Mortals was as dense as sand in a river, while the Internal Energy of Martial Artists was like pebbles in that sand—there were a few, scattered in different directions.

He didn't stop, crossing the intersection and walking about half a li to the south before halting. Red Sleeve Pavilion.

A three-story vermilion building stood by the roadside, a row of large red lanterns hanging from its eaves. The candlelight filtered through the red gauze, casting an ambiguous glow over half the street in front of the door.

The sound of strings and bamboo drifted from a private room on the second floor; the flute and pipa intertwined, accompanied by the crisp, coquettish laughter of women and the coarse shouts of men.

Standing at the entrance were two heavily powdered young women, one in green and one in red, pulling passersby inside.

Jiang Yan stood in the dark alley across the street, his back against the wall, the hood of his cloak pulled low.

He caught a fluctuation of Qi. It was very faint, lazily spread out in the innermost private room on the third floor, without any restraint—like a person who had just burped, lying on a recliner with their belly protruding, even their breath reeking of alcohol.

Qi Refinement Stage. The cultivation level was not high, but it was indeed a Cultivator.

For a Cultivator to appear in such a place, they were either a retainer recruited by a local force in Yongzhou City or a wild Loose Cultivator who had come to the city to enjoy life.

Regardless of which it was, it was worth stopping to ask.

Jiang Yan looked up at the rooftops on both sides of the street. Where the lantern light couldn't reach, the shadows between the tiles connected into a black line, stretching from the alley entrance to the side of the Red Sleeve Pavilion.

He kicked off the alley wall with his right foot, his figure silently flipping onto the roof.

The window of the innermost room on the third floor opened toward the back street, the window paper glowing brightly with candlelight. The laughter of women erupted from inside in waves, with the man joining in, laughing until he was out of breath.

The window frame was carved with a pattern of mandarin ducks playing in the water, and the lacquer on the necks of the wooden mandarin ducks had bubbled from being soaked by rain.

Jiang Yan pressed his side against the outside of the window, his back against the cold brick wall, and probed inside with his Divine Sense.

A middle-aged man was reclining on a soft couch. He wore a brocade robe and a gold-embroidered Storage Pouch hung from his waist. His features were rough—high cheekbones, bulging cheeks, and an old scar on his chin—but he was well-fed and plump, with layers of flesh on his face squeezing the scar in the middle, looking rather out of place.

Two prostitutes snuggled against him, one on the left and one on the right. One held a wine cup to his lips, while the other held a peeled grape, feeding it into his mouth.

The man's hand rubbed up from the waist of the prostitute on the right toward her chest. He held a grape in his hand and chewed one in his mouth, the juice dripping from the corner of his lips as he threw his head back and laughed heartily.

The table was piled high with food and wine; several empty wine pots lay tilted at the corner of the table. The air was filled with the smell of alcohol, the scent of cosmetics, the charred aroma of roasted meat, and a faint trace of Qi—loose and scattered, like a pool of murky water that couldn't be stirred.

Jiang Yan evaluated him in his mind. Qi Refining Stage 2. The vortex of Qi in his Dantian was rotating sluggishly, the Qi scattered and unrefined, its flowing luster dim; it was clearly the state of someone who hadn't properly Cultivated for some time. He was even worse than Zhao Xuancheng.

He flicked the window paper, and a small hole tore through it.

Thirteen golden needles silently drilled through, their bodies flashing with a fleeting dark golden light under the candlelight—the two prostitutes hadn't even had time to turn their heads before the needle tips pierced their sleep-inducing acupoints.

Their bodies went limp simultaneously; one slumped against the armrest of the soft couch, while the other slid down to lie by the table leg. The middle-aged man's reaction was not slow.

His pupils contracted sharply. Without even glancing at the window, his right hand slammed toward the Storage Pouch at his waist. His fingertips touched the opening of the pouch, and a Talisman slid out, glowing with a pale cyan light.

The Talisman hadn't yet left his hand when three golden needles simultaneously pierced his Fengfu, Mingmen, and Jianjing acupoints. The moment the paralysis Restriction was activated, the pale cyan light went out with a puff.

The Talisman slipped from his fingers, landing lightly on the table beside a dish of peanuts.

The man's body remained frozen in the posture of striking his Storage Pouch—his half-raised right arm hung in mid-air, his five fingers still splayed in preparation to form a hand seal, his eyes darting in terror toward the window, but his neck could not move.

Jiang Yan pushed open the window and vaulted inside. The soles of his boots made a slight creaking sound as they stepped onto the wooden floor. He walked over, took the Storage Pouch from the man's waist, and tucked it into his robe.

He then picked up the unactivated Talisman from beside the dish of peanuts—a Low Grade Tier 1 Fireball Talisman. Its quality was average, and the edges of the Talisman paper were slightly frayed.

Jiang Yan stowed the Talisman away as well and grabbed the man by the scruff of his neck. This person was heavier than he looked; underneath the brocade robe, he was all fat. When he lifted the collar, it dug into the flab under the man's chin, squeezing his cheeks into two pale, fleshy folds.

When Jiang Yan vaulted out of the window, the sound of a drunkard's footsteps came from the third-floor corridor, boots creaking as they walked down the wooden stairs. Downstairs, a woman shouted something in a shrill voice, which was drowned out by a burst of laughter. The music didn't stop, the flute continued to play, and the candlelight pouring into the private room flickered. No one noticed that the private room on the third floor was already empty.

Three li to the southeast outside of Yongzhou City, there was an abandoned brick kiln. Most of the kiln's roof had collapsed, with broken bricks piled at the entrance, all overgrown with weeds and withered vines.

Moonlight leaked in through the collapsed roof, illuminating the broken bricks on the ground in a ghastly white. There were still black scorch marks left by fire on the kiln walls. When the wind blew in, the withered vines rustled, sounding like something crawling in the dark.

Jiang Yan threw the man onto the ground. The man let out a muffled groan, the back of his head hitting the sharp corner of a broken brick, making him wince in pain. Moonlight hit his face, and a fine layer of sweat had already seeped out on his forehead.

Jiang Yan squatted down and withdrew two golden needles, allowing his upper body to regain mobility. The moment the man's mouth could close, he opened it, his voice trembling and sounding like a broken gong: "Who—who are you? Do you know who I am? If you dare to touch me, Prince Yong—"

Jiang Yan flicked his finger. A thread of extremely fine Qi pierced into the man's Meridians. It was not a normal impact of Qi—that Qi was like a red-hot iron wire, drilling into the inner wall of the Meridians and crawling up along the vessel walls, twisting as it climbed. It was a method of interrogating captives from the Demonic Path in his past life; it didn't damage the Foundation of the Meridians, only stimulated the sense of pain.