Chapter 78: The Crisis in East Continent City

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Jiang Pingchuan had just stepped out of the gates of the palace residence when he caught sight of Ah Hu dashing hurriedly from the side entrance. Jiang Pingchuan hesitated for a moment before deciding to follow. Ah Hu’s anxious demeanor made it clear that something urgent had happened.

Trailing Ah Hu out of the city, Jiang Pingchuan soon arrived at the outskirts of Dongzhou City. Not far ahead stood a mortuary, where a crowd had already gathered at the entrance, engaged in animated discussion. Ah Hu squeezed into the throng, and Jiang Pingchuan lingered on the outskirts, observing the fearful and frantic expressions as people pointed toward the mortuary.

Jiang Pingchuan tapped a man on the shoulder. The startled man whirled around, ready to curse, but upon recognizing Jiang Pingchuan, his fear turned instantly into delight.

“You’re Mr. Jiang Pingchuan, aren’t you? You’ve come at just the right time—something big has happened here again!”

The man spoke with urgency, glancing nervously at the mortuary behind him, his eyes flickering with dread.

“What exactly has happened?” Jiang Pingchuan nodded, asking quietly. The first major news he’d heard upon arriving in Dongzhou City had been about a looming crisis, yet even now he still hadn’t unraveled what catastrophe had truly befallen this seemingly bustling city. Truth be told, he knew precious little, barely even the faintest hint of the so-called major event.

“Mr. Jiang, Dongzhou City is counting on you. Today marks the nine hundred and ninety-seventh death…” The man shook his head bitterly, his eyes rimmed with red.

“What’s causing all these deaths?” Jiang Pingchuan seized the man’s hand, sensing his tension—the man was trembling uncontrollably before him.

“Is that Pingchuan?” The man was about to reply when a voice rang out from within the mortuary—it was Master Gong. The man, hearing the voice, trembled even more violently as if struck by lightning. Jiang Pingchuan gave his hand a reassuring pat, then pushed his way through the crowd toward the mortuary gates.

Out of respect for the deceased, the mortuary in Dongzhou City was built with solemn dignity. Stepping inside, Jiang Pingchuan was immediately greeted by the pungent scent of Xiangjun grass, a herb used to prevent corpses from decaying. Such a scent was common in places like this, and under its influence, only a faint, lingering aroma of decomposing bodies wafted through the air.

Inside, Jiang Pingchuan saw Master Gong, Ah Hu, and several notable figures from Dongzhou City. As soon as Master Gong saw him enter, he strode over to greet Jiang Pingchuan.

“Pingchuan, you’ve had a long day. I was planning to throw you a celebratory banquet, but now this calamity has struck.” Master Gong spoke with some embarrassment, and those around him shook their heads in dismay.

“Master Gong, you are too kind—this is what I ought to do. Please don’t blame yourself,” Jiang Pingchuan replied with a gentle smile. In truth, he had no interest in any celebration. The most pressing matter was to resolve Dongzhou City’s crisis and then deal with his own affairs with Fox Enchantress. Only then could he take Lan Dao to the capital.

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“Haha, I’m glad you understand, Pingchuan, I’m glad you understand.” Master Gong chuckled, patting Jiang Pingchuan on the shoulder. Jiang Pingchuan responded with a shy smile, sensing that Master Gong seemed somehow younger than before.

Moreover, Master Gong’s entire aura had shifted in some subtle way, though Jiang Pingchuan couldn’t quite pinpoint what had changed.

“Master Gong, what exactly is happening here that has put all of Dongzhou City on edge?” Jiang Pingchuan set aside further pleasantries—he was never one for small talk, a trait instilled in him by his elder brother Jiang Yulong since childhood.

“What’s happening here is the very crisis threatening all of Dongzhou City. In three months, nine hundred and ninety-seven bodies have filled the mortuary. The mounting death toll foretells an impending catastrophe for our city.” Master Gong stepped aside, leading Jiang Pingchuan into the main hall of the mortuary, where the bodies lay in neat rows—nine hundred and ninety-seven of them, shrouded in white cloth. Their attention, however, was focused on a newly deceased body lying by the entrance.

Jiang Pingchuan crouched beside the corpse, lifting a corner of the shroud to reveal the body beneath. The deceased’s face was darkened, eyes sunken, and Jiang Pingchuan immediately noticed a deep crimson mark upon the victim’s neck—a woman’s kiss.

Apart from this mark, the face bore no wounds. The only suspicious sign was the kiss on the neck.

Jiang Pingchuan stood up. Ah Hu seemed about to ask a question, but Master Gong silenced him with a gesture. Everyone watched Jiang Pingchuan in silence.

He moved among the other corpses, lifting each shroud to examine the necks. Every victim, without exception, bore similar marks—every single one, and none had any injuries above the neck. Their deaths mirrored the first corpse in every respect.

Returning to the first body, Jiang Pingchuan knelt again and touched the neck. The corpse was still warm, indicating it had died only recently—it was already the fifth hour of the night. This suggested the killer struck at this time, and that the perpetrator was a woman. All the victims were men, and when Jiang Pingchuan used his inner energy to probe the body, he found all traces of masculine energy had vanished.

Usually, if a person’s body retained warmth after death, some residual life force would remain. Yet this body, though warm, was utterly devoid of yang energy.

This detail caught Jiang Pingchuan’s attention. He surveyed the hall—nine hundred and ninety-seven corpses, all dead in the same fashion, suggesting a single killer.

“Pingchuan, have you discerned anything?” Master Gong asked, fingering his prayer beads. Jiang Pingchuan glanced at Master Gong, then at the others present—all cultivators save for Master Gong himself.

“These nine hundred and ninety-seven deaths likely share a single culprit—a woman. Of course, it’s possible a man with a twisted mind could be using such a method as well.” Jiang Pingchuan spoke with utmost seriousness, and everyone’s expression changed at his words.

“So, according to Brother Jiang, all of us cultivators are suspects?” sneered Mo Shu, his tone dripping with sarcasm.

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“Mo Shu, watch your tongue!” barked a straightforward-looking cultivator standing opposite him.

“Zhentong, you might fear him, but I, Mo Shu, do not. We all know what Jiang Pingchuan’s words imply. Let me make it plain: whatever my faults, I would never commit such heinous acts!” Mo Shu spat out the grass stalk he was chewing, his cheeks flushed with anger.

Jiang Pingchuan said nothing, simply observing the assembly. He did not believe the killer was among them, yet he couldn’t entirely dismiss the possibility that the culprit had ties to someone present.

“No need to get angry, Mo Shu. The way you’re so eager to clear your name makes me wonder—feeling guilty, are we?” snorted another cultivator, this one dressed in tattered rags. Mo Shu glared at him, then huffed and clamped the grass back between his teeth, fixing his gaze on Jiang Pingchuan.

“Enough, all of you. This is Dongzhou City—we are all cursed here, no one can escape. Now is not the time to sow discord. Settle down and let Pingchuan finish.” Master Gong waved his hand, his voice stern. The others fell silent at once, a testament to the authority Master Gong commanded in Dongzhou City. Apart from the City Lord and the now-deceased Han Ming, only Lai Qing dared ignore him. No matter their strength, none dared challenge Master Gong’s authority—not even Zhao Kunhe, the head of the Merchants’ Guild.

“Pingchuan, please continue. You see the situation for yourself—this is the problem facing Dongzhou City.” Master Gong’s face was clouded with worry. Jiang Pingchuan vaguely recalled that Master Gong had vowed before the City Lord to resolve the crisis, and it was clear he was now desperate.

“Master Gong, this is not something to be rushed. If we act recklessly, we may only alert the enemy,” Jiang Pingchuan answered after careful deliberation. There were things he had to guard against—he was acting out of goodwill, but he did not wish to become too deeply entangled himself.

“Hmph, I see Jiang Pingchuan has no solution either. Best to leave Dongzhou City at once,” Mo Shu muttered, the grass stalk flicking in his mouth as he frowned.

“You’re right, Mo Shu, I have no plan. But there is still a way forward. With nine hundred and ninety-seven victims already, the killer is likely cultivating a certain technique—according to my conservative estimate, it requires a thousand lives. Once three more die, this crisis will come to an end on its own.” Jiang Pingchuan replied coolly, drawing from the teachings in the “Ten Thousand Methods” manual, which mentioned several such sinister cultivation techniques.

Mo Shu snorted and turned away, spitting his grass stalk on the ground, snapping it into three pieces as he left.