7: The wind longs to rest, yet the trees refuse to be still.

Entering the rear courtyard, they arrived before a tightly shut side chamber. A few sturdy servants guarded the outer door; upon seeing the visitors, they bowed respectfully, then were sent off to watch over the estate. Yet Yifan noticed several yellow talismans pasted around the entrance.

“What are these?” he asked.

Master Chen offered an embarrassed smile and explained, “The city has been unsettled lately, demons and monsters causing trouble. We invited some spiritual masters to draw talismans to protect the household.”

Yifan understood, but merely smiled without comment. He sensed no spiritual power from these talismans—most likely the work of charlatans—but perhaps they offered some peace of mind.

Pushing open the door, a thick, medicinal aroma assaulted his senses, prompting him to frown and peer inside. The windows were tightly sealed, letting in neither air nor light. The atmosphere was stifling; anyone staying long would feel suffocated and uneasy.

“Master Chen, please open the windows. Keeping a patient in such a closed environment will only worsen his condition. There’s no benefit.”

“Is that so? I’ll have someone open them at once.” Master Chen ordered a servant to unseal the windows, then led the group inside. Two lovely maids stood by a bed, occasionally dipping cloths in water to wipe the sweat from the man lying upon it—Fish-Eye.

Half a month had passed, and Fish-Eye was even thinner, his face pale, lips tinged with purple. Sensing visitors, he opened his eyes and recognized Yifan, a flicker of delight breaking through the dullness.

“Brother Yi, save me,” he pleaded.

Yifan was surprised; his mind seemed clear, nothing like someone haunted by ghosts. Looking closer, he instantly understood.

Seeing Yifan remain silent, Fish-Eye’s expression crumpled. “Brother Yi, am I going to die?”

He turned to Master Chen, “Father, I don’t want to die!”

At this, Master Chen’s tears flowed, panic overwhelming him as he grabbed Yifan’s arm. “Master Yi, I beg you, save my son—he’s still so young.”

“Don’t worry, Master Chen. Chen Lei isn’t possessed by any demon. He’s simply exhausted his vitality through indulgence. With proper treatment and rest, he’ll recover in a few months.”

Yifan smiled wryly. Upon examination, he found no trace of evil influence on Fish-Eye; his weakness was merely the result of excessive debauchery, compounded by his own fear, which had made things worse.

No doubt the physician had mentioned as much, but anxiety had blinded Master Chen to reason.

Everyone was taken aback. Fish-Eye’s delight shone through. “I’m not haunted by ghosts? Wonderful! I knew it—I still feel strong, nothing like someone possessed.”

Yifan was speechless; the fool was at it again.

Master Chen’s tears dried, his face darkened with anger, shame burning hot. Embarrassed beyond measure, he snatched a teacup and hurled it at Fish-Eye.

“Father, you’re trying to kill me!” Fish-Eye cried.

Master Chen, furious, advanced to strike him. “Kill you? I’ll beat you to death, you ungrateful brat! Always out carousing and neglecting your studies—see how I deal with you!”

Chen Yi hurriedly intervened. The maids pleaded, and after a while, Master Chen calmed, his face flushed with shame. “A misfortune for the family—Master Yi, forgive our disgrace.”

Yifan waved it off, offering polite words. At last, he added, “If you truly care for Chen Lei, Master Chen, you must forbid him from chasing after women for the next six months, lest he further harm his vitality.”

Master Chen snorted coldly. “If he dares go out again, I’ll break his legs.”

Fish-Eye groaned, not daring to protest, casting a resentful glance at Yifan. If only he hadn’t spoken up—now he was confined for half a year.

Without women, how could he bear to live? Fish-Eye felt the world had turned bleak.

“Brother Chen Lei, have you lately been visiting Purple Flower House to see Miss Simeng?”

“How did you know?” Fish-Eye exclaimed.

Yifan said nothing, deftly changing the subject.

Busy as they were, evening soon fell. Lanterns lit the courtyard, and several gathered in the parlor. The maids served tea, and Master Chen spoke first.

“Master Yi, has the magistrate sent you an invitation?”

An invitation? Yifan was puzzled and asked for details. Only then did he learn the extent of the demon trouble plaguing Guobei County.

Recently, while common folk knew many deaths had occurred, they were unaware of the true circumstances or how dire the situation had become.

The Chen family, as one of the local gentry, naturally had access to insider information—and even participated in the efforts.

It turned out that the county had long suffered from sinister disturbances, which the authorities suppressed and concealed. But the truth could not be hidden forever; as the monsters grew bolder, even killing in broad daylight, control was lost completely.

Even more terrifying, merchants traveling the county’s main roads encountered strange events, with many perishing. Some merchants began detouring around Guobei County, others switched to river routes to avoid it altogether.

If this continued, Guobei County would soon become a haunted wasteland. The greatest losses would fall upon the local gentry.

The clans united to petition the magistrate, who was already troubled. If he failed to resolve the crisis, losing his official hat was the least of his worries—he feared for his very life.

As for requesting imperial aid—how could he phrase it? Reporting that monsters and demons were murdering people would only invite ridicule from the literati and accusations of incompetence or, worse, claims that he was spreading superstitious rumors.

Since outside help was impossible, they had to rely on themselves. Those with money contributed funds; those with influence lent their efforts. The Lanruo Temple, being the largest monastery in the region, was naturally the first choice. Unfortunately, it had suddenly closed its doors, catching everyone off guard.

To make matters worse, the monsters began targeting noble families. Just days ago, a clan in the northern part of the city was wiped out in a single night—fifty-eight souls, not even chickens or dogs spared.

To prevent panic among the populace, the news was suppressed. The authorities summoned all available spiritual masters—whether Daoists or monks, genuine or otherwise—to convene and seek solutions.

As for not receiving an invitation, Yifan was not surprised. His reputation was obscure; he seldom descended from the mountain, and most only knew of Lanruo Temple on the front slope, unaware of the Daoist shrine behind it.

Perhaps some had heard of the old Daoist priest, but he had died six months ago, fading from memory.

That night, after a lavish dinner and a few cups of fine wine, Yifan followed a maid back to his room.

Once inside, his expression grew grave. He retrieved the Demon-Slaying Sword from his bundle and checked his collection of minor demon-slaying talismans—a thick stack, over fifty in all.

No matter how fierce the monsters, so many talismans would surely overwhelm them.

With this thought, Yifan’s heart steadied somewhat, though he dared not be careless. He closed his eyes to rest and gather his energies.

Tonight would not be peaceful.