Chapter Thirty: The Sect of Yin and Yang

“Master Gongyang, I have discovered that someone within our bureau is collecting demon souls and demonic energy,” Zheng Yishan reported gravely.

“Oh? Is it one of our veterans?” Gongyang Yan’s expression was one of surprise.

She had been closely monitoring the Demon Suppression apprentices suspected of being spies, but they had all behaved themselves recently, showing no signs of unrest. According to her analysis, the infiltrators’ mission was to keep the Demon Suppression Bureau under surveillance. Those demons and spies had not been placed here simply to collect demon souls and demonic energy—such things were of no use to them. Could it be that some other force had extended its reach into Dongbin City? Noble houses? The royal family? Foreign powers?

“Yang Zheng,” Zheng Yishan replied, a trace of regret flickering in his eyes.

“Him?” Gongyang Yan’s tone was incredulous.

Yang Zheng was considered one of the true gentlemen of the Demon Suppression Bureau. He had managed the crematorium for twenty years without a single mistake. Moreover, he played a crucial yet unobtrusive role in the bureau’s mission review process—he was indispensable, though seldom in the limelight.

“Yes. The tool he uses to absorb souls is a Black Soul Jar.”

“A Black Soul Jar! Of course—even the Demon Suppression Bureau cannot withstand the lure of the hidden sects,” Gongyang Yan sighed.

She had considered many possibilities but had overlooked the reclusive sects that had long remained in the shadows. Years ago, when the imperial regime trampled the martial world, broke sects, and razed temples, the rift between the Great Yuan and the sects became irreparable.

Zheng Yishan’s face turned deathly pale, fear written plainly across his features. The sects that survived within the Great Yuan Dynasty were all immensely powerful. In those turbulent times, even the imperial purge had failed to eradicate them; it was only when the Gu Liang royal clan was forced to sign a treaty that unrest finally ceased.

Sects with enduring legacies were far older than the Great Yuan itself. The power they wielded was terrifying. Zheng Yishan knew all too well how difficult it was to enter a sect—hundreds of times harder than joining the Demon Suppression Bureau. Yet, for any martial artist, the allure of the sects was nearly irresistible.

“What is there to fear? Times are changing. In a hundred years, even if the sects possess world-shattering power, they will not be able to withstand the tide of humanity,” Gongyang Yan said with a faint smile.

The royal houses of the West had suffered greatly under the yoke of religion, but now public consciousness was awakening. They had already begun to explore a more universal path, pouring new blood into their decaying civilizations. Gongyang Yan believed that in another century, martial arts might no longer be mainstream, nor would demons and monsters pose any real threat. The advent of firearms had already proven the point. The pursuit of knowledge through investigation and experimentation had no foreseeable end.

These words had been spoken by the ancestor of the Gongyang family, the Sword Saint Gongyang Dao, who with his cultivation had reached the realm of the Earthly Immortal.

When industrial machinery first appeared and began to spread among mankind, the old patriarch had foreseen that one day, a new civilization forged by ordinary human intellect would overturn the training systems that had endured for millions of years.

Zheng Yishan couldn’t help but recall the news from the imperial capital: the emperor had established the Divine Engine Battalion and assembled a distant-seas fleet. Was the age of reform truly at hand?

Wasn’t the Gu Liang royal clan reputed to be the most unyielding of all? Why would they agree to change?

“Yishan, bring Yang Zheng to me,” Gongyang Yan’s expression grew as cold as frost.

If agents of the sects had indeed arrived in Dongbin City, she needed to know which sect, who they were, and their purpose. Otherwise, talk of breaking the prophecy would be meaningless; she would only become entangled in endless conflict with the sects.

“At once, I will bring Yang Zheng before you, Commander,” Zheng Yishan replied, hesitating as if wanting to say more.

“If he cooperates, I’ll spare his life,” Gongyang Yan said indifferently. To her, Yang Zheng was a small and insignificant figure; if he could be let go, so be it.

“Thank you, Commander,” Zheng Yishan replied gratefully, visibly relaxing.

“How interesting—so they’ve removed one of my pieces already?” Jiang Dongliu sipped his tea, head lowered.

He had not yet tested Gongyang Yan directly; the time was not right. But he had already transmitted some of his observations and speculations about Dongbin City back to his sect. Once the agents planted in the imperial palace by the sect were activated, he would receive more news and could adjust his plans accordingly.

For now, his attention was fixed on the peculiarities of Dongbin City. As a disciple of the Heavenly Yin-Yang Sect, he possessed special powers that allowed him to sense certain things happening here. Recently, he had been gathering all he could about the city’s history, legends, and local myths, hoping to find a clue amidst the chaos.

“The Commander who slew the Kun Demon…”

No matter how one traced Dongbin City’s history, it always circled back to that mythic episode. Gazing into the distance, Jiang Dongliu’s eyes fixed on the giant sword standing before the gates of the Demon Suppression Bureau. After more than seven centuries of wind and frost, the sword still radiated both murderous and demonic energy, its fierce aura soaring skyward.

To think that a mythic demon like the Kun had been slain by the bureau’s commander! Even within the sects, this was a feat worthy of remembrance.

Yet, only after arriving in Dongbin City did Jiang Dongliu learn anything about that commander from seven hundred years ago—but even now, his understanding was incomplete. He still did not know the man’s true name.

Clearly, someone within the Demon Suppression Bureau had deliberately concealed it. Such a powerful commander could not possibly have faded into obscurity; he must have been a figure of immense importance.

“What are you hiding beneath Dongbin City?” Jiang Dongliu wondered. “Why did the Kun Demon appear here? What secrets does this city hold that our sects never recorded?”

A host of questions swirled in his mind. He wanted to return to the sect and consult the elders, but they were sunk in deep slumber, and awakening them always came at a great cost—so he let the matter rest.

“Could it be connected to the Divine Inspection Bureau?” he mused.

Long ago, a master from the bureau had declared Dongbin City the treasury of the Great Yuan, and later became its second Grand Inspector. The Divine Inspection Bureau was shrouded in mystery. Many elders believed its system sprang from a splinter branch of the Supreme Daoist sect, which had cooperated with the Gu Liang royal family to found the institution.

The Demon Suppression Bureau was the royal family’s blade; the Divine Inspection Bureau, their eyes and mind.

“The abyss I have glimpsed is enough to fill me with dread… Gongyang Yan, I wonder if your ‘Martial Eye of Judgment’ can also sense the city’s peculiarities? Pity you have yet to step into the realm of supernatural insight, unable to perceive the shifting of yin and yang, much less illuminate the heavens and earth with your spirit.”

Setting down his teacup, Jiang Dongliu’s figure vanished from sight.

“Heavenly Yin-Yang Sect—Young Master Jiang?” Gongyang Yan’s expression shifted subtly. “Could it be him?”

The confidential records of the Divine Inspection Bureau listed the outstanding disciples of the sects. Jiang Dongliu’s reputation was unremarkable in the Great Yuan, but the bureau’s assessment of him was: “Within a hundred years, a future heir of the Heavenly Yin-Yang Sect.”

Such a simple sentence conveyed enough for Gongyang Yan to treat him with utmost caution. Why would such a distinguished figure come to Dongbin City? Had the sect sensed something?

“Commander, what shall we do with Yang Zheng?”

“For now, keep him detained,” Gongyang Yan replied, though her thoughts remained fixed on Jiang Dongliu.

She knew little about him, except that he had once crossed the borders of the Great Yuan and journeyed over the Eastern Sea to the Land of Cherry Blossoms. Years ago, that land had suffered a monstrous calamity, causing the deaths of hundreds of thousands. Gongyang Yan did not believe in coincidence; she doubted Jiang Dongliu was entirely uninvolved.

“The intervention of the sects… truly troublesome.”