Chapter 124: An Unsettled Night

Two cold blades suddenly appeared at the chest and throat of the White-Clad Demon, their sharp points shimmering with a thunderous momentum. The two ninjas were brimming with confidence, certain they could finish him off in one strike, and smiles began to spread across their faces.

But who was the White-Clad Demon? A peerless genius of the younger generation, a man who had reached the pinnacle of strength by the age of twenty. Even if those blades had been inches from his body, let alone currently hovering at a distance, it was unlikely they could have harmed him.

At this critical juncture, there was no way the White-Clad Demon would commit such a low-level error. The only explanation was that he had done it on purpose, intending to end this farce quickly.

Sure enough, just as the two ninja swords were about to strike his body, the White-Clad Demon suddenly arched backward. Supporting his weight with his hands, he kicked his legs upward, striking one of the black-clad ninjas with such immense force that the man’s head literally exploded.

It should not have been possible to burst a skull with a single kick, but a closer look revealed a sharp spike had appeared on the White-Clad Demon's shoe—the instrument behind the gruesome result. With one more eliminated, only the red-clad female ninja remained. Sensing disaster the moment he lifted his leg, she had already scrambled ten paces away.

"White-Clad Demon! Spare my life, and I will help you do anything you desire!" The red-clad ninja was terrified. She was human, and a beautiful woman at that; she felt fear. Even a specially trained ninja would experience a desperate urge to survive when faced with death. She gave up resistance and stood her ground, pleading.

Yet, she did not lower her sword. She had no leverage, and she knew nothing of the White-Clad Demon's temperament. Still, she clung to a shred of hope: someone dubbed a "demon" surely did not think like an ordinary man.

The White-Clad Demon walked over to the sword he had kicked away, hooked it up with his foot, and caught it. He looked at the red-clad ninja with a gaze that was almost mocking. "It's not impossible for me to spare you. Just answer one question. Simple, right?"

He looked her up and down with a smirk. To be fair, she was stunning—great body, beautiful face. He felt a flicker of interest, which prompted his next words.

Hearing a glimmer of hope, the red-clad ninja was overjoyed and readily agreed. However, her answer left the White-Clad Demon deeply, profoundly dissatisfied.

"Tell me, are you still a virgin?" was his question.

"No!" was her reply. But her next sentence filled him with vexation: "I have served many men; my bed skills are absolutely excellent. As long as you don't kill me, I guarantee to make you feel like you're in heaven, and I can also..." She never finished her sentence, for her head and body had already parted ways.

"Damn it. To treat such a thing as an honor—I really don't know what goes on in the heads of women in your country." He sighed with regret, "If only you were a virgin." His voice was so soft it was drowned out by the torrential rain.

Meanwhile, Song Nianqiang remained in deep sleep, unaware of the major event that had just transpired at Xiaowang Village. It was unlikely anyone else would ever know, for shortly after the White-Clad Demon vanished, a group of figures in black raincoats arrived. Their identity was impossible to discern from their clothing, but to any observant eye, their disciplined movements and strict adherence to orders spoke for themselves.

"Clear away all traces here. Before you leave, burn this patch of woods to the ground. Go to the village chief's house and tell him this was caused by lightning last night; I trust the chief will understand." A window rolled down on a green jeep, the occupant speaking to a man in a black raincoat. The man nodded and hurried away. Although the jeep lacked a license plate, the pass displayed on the dashboard betrayed them: they were men of the Senior Colonel.

It was destined to be a sleepless night. While these events unfolded there, a major incident occurred in the county where Song Nianqiang resided. The entire police department was in a state of chaos, and the county magistrate and the county party secretary were both alarmed. The Senior Colonel, however, did not intervene; it was inconvenient for him to do so.

The director of the Local Tax Bureau, his entire family of four, and his mistress had all died suddenly in a single night. The case was pushed to the provincial level, and the governor issued a strict order for a thorough investigation. Yet, the case was riddled with inexplicable contradictions.

Regarding the Tax Bureau director, surveillance footage showed him speeding down the road in a driverless Audi. That he died was hardly a surprise, but investigations revealed that he had indeed left with a driver—just not his usual one. The director hadn't cared, and as subordinates, they hadn't dared to question it. Yet, the footage could not lie: the Audi was empty.

This meant the Tax Bureau staff had lied. The police investigated through the night in the rain, but the results left the police chief stunned: at least five staff members had seen the director leave in a car with a driver. Had the driver jumped out halfway?

They continued the investigation, but the results were swift. The road leaving the bureau was a major thoroughfare where stopping was strictly prohibited. Even if that segment lacked surveillance, the surrounding area was filled with traffic circles and cameras. Stopping at a traffic circle would have caused a massive jam. Detailed evidence showed that someone had indeed followed the director's Audi until the accident occurred.

After a rigorous search, the police reached a conclusion that made them sick: the director had never left the car since he got in, and the car had never stopped. Was this the work of ghosts?

The police chief suddenly considered a possibility. Since the kidnapping case at the Hu Yang Forest months ago, the county had known no peace. Bizarre incidents occurred daily, leaving him exhausted. In all his years on the job, he hadn't seen as much trouble as he had in these few months.

Even if the director's death were the work of ghosts, his wife's death could not be. She had been getting her hair done when she suddenly dropped dead, without a single warning sign. Was that not suspicious?

Scarcely had the director died when the police chief received a call about the wife's death, breaking him out in a cold sweat. If someone was seeking revenge, all these officials were on the same sinking ship. But the chief’s greatest anxiety was that they hadn't seen a single shadow of the culprit—as if a death-dealing phantom had emerged from thin air to claim the director's family, and who knew who would be next.

They rushed the wife to the morgue for an autopsy, hoping to find a cause of death. But even a veteran forensic expert of thirty years could only shake his head and sigh. The body was perfectly healthy, save for the gallbladder. The expert sighed and uttered words that made the police chief's forehead break into a cold sweat: "She was scared to death. She should have done more good deeds; that is the only way to offset the karma of being an official who does not serve the people. Alas, cause and effect—retribution is never late!"

It was fortunate the police chief was no longer the man he had been months ago. Had this been months prior, that expert would have had his home raided or been silenced for such remarks.

The expert had seen everything in his thirty years—demons, ghosts, and spirits. He had dealt with the supernatural many times; sometimes, the spirits themselves would appear to reveal their cause of death. It was like the work of an embalmer, who might be visited by a spirit requesting to be prepared in a specific way.