Chapter One: Night Raid on the Bandits

The night was moonless and the wind was fierce, not a hint of light to be found. In the small village of South Hill, several elders had gathered in the village chief's house to discuss the events of the day.

"Why don't we just leave?" one of the old men said, his voice tinged with unwillingness.

"Leave? And where would we go? South Hill Village has only so much grain—do we even have enough to take with us? Besides, could we possibly outrun the bandits?" another chimed in.

Everyone looked gloomy. In recent days, a gang of mounted bandits had appeared from who knows where, burning, killing, and looting, earning a fearsome reputation in the area.

Not long ago, the villagers received news that these bandits were heading their way and demanded the villagers prepare grain for them to take.

Upon hearing this, panic swept through the village. First, their grain had already been taxed by the authorities, leaving little behind. Second, would the bandits really just take the grain and leave? Would it be that simple?

With the villagers as helpless as fish on a chopping block, the bandits could do as they pleased, and there was nothing anyone in South Hill could do to resist.

These were troubled times. Demons and monsters roamed the land, the Great Qian Dynasty teetered on the brink, and cults like the White Lotus stirred up rebellion and unrest. The nobles above might only feel a mild headache, but the common folk fought tooth and nail just to survive.

"If only a hero or two would pass by and save us," someone muttered, unable to hold back.

"Heroes? Hah..." another man sneered. "Do you really think these bandits have run rampant for so long without anyone daring to challenge them? Even the renowned Hero Li of Qingzhou, famed for capturing tigers and leopards barehanded, led twenty-odd men to kill these bandits. And now? His head is still hanging from the bandit chief's belt."

"How could that be?" someone asked, bewildered.

"It's said these bandits practice dark arts, possessing powers beyond ordinary men. Hero Li was skilled, but against their sorcery, he had no chance. He was captured and beheaded on the spot."

After hearing this, silence fell over the room. If even a hero like Li could not survive, what hope did simple villagers have?

As they spoke, frantic footsteps sounded outside. A figure stumbled in and fell to the ground in a heap.

It was the village chief's youngest son, panic-stricken and breathless, nearly cracking his head open as he collapsed.

"Little Wu, what happened?" the chief asked, frowning.

The boy blurted out, "Dad, someone... someone outside is fighting the bandits!"

His words were jumbled, leaving everyone confused. Who was this person? Where had the bandits come from? And why were they fighting?

"The bandits are here?" the chief asked anxiously.

The boy nodded, gasping, "The bandits are here, but they haven't reached the village yet... they ran into someone in black and white robes outside... and started fighting. Big brother is watching outside, and told me to come back and tell you..."

Though his words were fragmented, the elders finally understood and exchanged uncertain glances.

So, the bandits hadn't kept their word and had come early, likely planning a night raid to seize the grain. But who was this stranger fighting them outside the village?

Still, it sounded like good news.

"How many of them are there?" the chief asked nervously.

"There are dozens of bandits," the boy replied honestly, "It's too dark, I could only hear the noise, couldn't see how many there were."

"I'm not asking about the bandits—we already know how many there are! I'm asking about the people fighting them!" the chief snapped, exasperated.

The boy scratched his head, confused, and said, "I told you, just one person in black and white robes."

The elders' faces darkened. One person? That one was probably already dead.

"And your brother? What's he doing out there? Is he not afraid of dying?" the chief suddenly grew anxious, worried that his eldest son's curiosity would get him killed next.

At this, the boy grew excited and said, "He's not scared. That person is incredible! He's already killed more than a dozen bandits. The rest are too afraid to go near him."

Everyone was stunned.

He had killed more than a dozen bandits?

When Hero Li brought twenty-odd skilled men to deal with them, they couldn't even injure a single bandit and were all slain. Yet this stranger had already killed over a dozen?

The chief's curiosity was piqued. "What kind of clothes was he wearing?"

The boy thought hard, unable to describe it, then finally drew a circle on the ground, adding a twisting line and two dots in the center.

"Dad, like this."

The chief looked at it and was struck by a thought.

"The Taiji Yin-Yang fish! That man's a Daoist!"

"If he's a Daoist, perhaps he knows spells that can break the bandits' sorcery."

"Come, let's go see what's happening!"

With hope lighting their faces, the elders hurried outside toward the village entrance. Despite their age, their bodies were still sturdy enough for the short walk. In minutes, they reached the edge of the village, where they found the chief's eldest son hiding and watching.

"Ah Da," the chief called softly.

The man turned, saw his father and the others, and hurriedly waved them over, signaling for quiet. They crept over and peered outside.

"Where's the Daoist?" the chief whispered.

"Daoist?" his son echoed, puzzled.

"The one in black and white. Isn't he wearing Daoist robes?"

"Uh... take a look yourself, Father," the son replied.

The chief, puzzled, cautiously looked out and saw a group of armed bandits surrounding a lone figure. None dared approach.

The man at the center wore black and white robes—some sort of gown, though not quite a Daoist robe, as it was rather flamboyant. Yet on him, it lent him an air of ethereal grace, his garments fluttering in the night wind like those of an immortal.

"Is that the one who killed the bandits... that expert?" the chief muttered, unsure how to address him.

His son nodded. "I was taking my brother out to relieve himself when I heard a commotion. Came over just in time to see that man kill bandits, more than a dozen in a row, without even breaking a sweat."

"So what are they doing now?" someone asked.

"Not sure—seems they're talking, but it's too far to hear."

As they whispered, things changed outside. The Daoist finished speaking with the bandits, raised his long staff with a cold smile, and with a step that seemed to defy gravity, lunged forward.

The first bandit, still mounted, had no time to react before the staff struck his chest. Instead of being knocked aside or impaled, his body split open.

The Daoist's staff danced with no discernible pattern—just sweeping and smashing, but none dared meet him head-on. Anyone touched by the staff was either crippled or exploded on the spot.

In his fervor, the Daoist swung his staff at a horse's head, killing it instantly. Its rider, still stunned, saw the Daoist's foot fly toward his own head—

Bang!

Like a watermelon bursting, the bandit's skull shattered, scattering brains and blood, leaving the villagers aghast.

The remaining bandits, enraged, drew their curved blades to attack, only to see the Daoist fling a talisman that ignited in midair. Their movements immediately slowed.

Then, as if taking attendance, the Daoist methodically shattered one bandit's head after another—over a dozen fell, left headless in the dirt.

The survivors, unable to withstand such terror, spurred their horses to flee.

But the Daoist only sneered. He picked up a fallen curved blade, hurled it out—not aiming for vital spots, just to hit them. Those struck by the blade's edge died whole; those hit by the hilt exploded with the weapon.

After another round of killing, only three managed to escape. The Daoist refused to let them go. He slapped two talismans on his legs, then shot off faster than a galloping horse, catching up to the three in a few strides.

He leaped up, kicked one bandit off his horse, shattering his body upon the ground.

Landing on the horse's back, he swung his staff, cleaving another bandit in half—not so much cutting as smashing him apart.

The last bandit tried to flee in a different direction. The Daoist hurled his staff, and the man's body exploded into fragments.

Then the Daoist rode back, returning to the previous spot. Suddenly, he shouted, "Friends hiding over there, why not come out and greet me?"

The villagers exchanged glances. Unsure how he had discovered them, but since he had, they dared not hide any longer and stepped out.

As they approached, they finally saw him clearly: the man in black and white robes had striking brows, star-bright eyes, and a handsome, dignified face. Had it not been for the blood covering half his body, their impression would have been even better.

"Greetings, everyone. I am Ling Xiaozi, seventh-generation heir of Green Azure Palace. May I ask who you all are?"

At the mention of his name, someone exclaimed, "You are Daoist Master Ling Xiao?"

He nodded with a warm, sincere smile. It was Shen Chang'an.

"So it is Daoist Master Ling Xiao in person! Forgive us, humble villagers, for our lack of hospitality," the chief said, bowing.

In recent days, Shen Chang'an, under the name Ling Xiaozi, had gained some renown in Qingzhou for slaying demons and monsters.

Seeing the villagers about to bow, Shen Chang'an quickly waved his hand and chuckled softly, "It's so late at night, I'd be more worried if you all had come out earlier. If you all had been waiting here, I'd have wondered if you were demons in disguise."

The villagers laughed nervously, and the chief quickly said, "We haven't yet thanked Daoist Master Ling Xiao for ridding us of these bandits and saving our village."

Shen Chang'an paused, and after the chief explained, he finally understood.

"It was just a coincidence. There's no need to worry about it. But, is there a spare room in the village where I might rest for the night?"

The villagers nodded, assuring him there was space and inviting him to stay.

Shen Chang'an smiled. "By the way, I have something to ask, but... never mind, it's late. Let's talk tomorrow."

Seeing how exhausted everyone looked, Shen Chang'an knew they were running on nerves after the battle. Now, seeing him calm and friendly, they relaxed and immediately began to droop.

Not wanting to disturb them further, Shen Chang'an followed them into the village and took lodging in the chief's house.

It had been about a month since he had entered the world of the book again.

During this time, he had first tried to find the little fox, only to discover she had left for cultivation elsewhere. Then he tried to find his master, Wu Youzi, but learned he too had departed.

Finding no one, Shen Chang'an had no choice but to continue using the name Ling Xiaozi, slaying monsters and evildoers in the area, hoping his friends would come find him upon hearing of his deeds.

The powers he relied on to fight demons and evil had been his reward from slaying the wandering vengeful spirit—

The Seventy-Two Earthly Fiend Arts, Great Strength!