Chapter Forty-Eight: The Illusory Formation

There wasn’t a soul in the grand hall. Tables and chairs lay toppled every which way, and a steaming hotpot still bubbled fiercely, sending out waves of heat.

“Changfeng! Changfeng!” Someone was calling me from outside the hall. I recognized Wang Yatou’s voice. The main doors were open, facing the heavy iron gate outside. But when we’d come down, that gate had already been closed.

Ren Tianxing was taken aback. “It’s Wang Tingting!”

Hearing it was Wang Tingting, a surge of gratitude welled in my heart. For this girl to appear at such a time truly was a stroke of fortune. Though the corpse miasma within the Black Fiend Array had been suppressed by an array I’d set, it was only temporarily subdued through cunning. The miasma was highly toxic; unless it was completely neutralized, just a flash of lightning or a rumble of thunder could shatter the Bagua array and release the foulness. The only solution was to return dust to dust, earth to earth: draw the miasma back into the ground, then cover it with lime to purify it fully.

Ren Tianxing picked up his phone and dialed several times, cursing under his breath. There was no signal here at all. He had wanted to call for help—after all, with so many deaths, ordinary police could never handle the situation, and secrecy was paramount. Yet no matter what, the call wouldn’t go through.

Nakamura’s accomplices must still be nearby. With Wang Tingting here, I could send her to fetch Old Gu. A hint of suspicion flickered in my mind, but Wang Tingting’s calls drowned it out.

Her voice came just beyond the door, filling us with hope. Ren Tianxing yanked at the door, but it didn’t budge—it was clearly locked from the outside.

Ren Tianxing called out, “Wang Tingting, it’s me, Ren Tianxing. Check if the door’s been locked.”

“Wait a moment, I’ll pick the lock. When I tell you to push, do it together.”

“All right!”

Ren Tianxing muttered, “Nakamura’s a sly bastard, but how did he manage to lock this door?”

As the words left his mouth, we all froze, realization dawning.

Nakamura’s accomplices were still outside!

“Tingting, there are members of the Nine Chrysanthemum Sect out there,” I warned, concern rising.

Wang Tingting rattled the door, replying, “There’s no one here. How did you get locked in? I called your phone but it said you were out of service—I could barely find you.”

“All right, I’ll count to three, then push with all your strength. This iron gate is rusty.”

Ren Tianxing and Yueyue braced themselves against the door, and I placed my hands upon it as well, preparing to push at the signal. Yet something still felt amiss, though I couldn’t say what.

Wang Tingting called out, “One, two, three—” As she counted the third beat, a sudden flash of insight struck me: the mobile signal! When we were trapped atop the building by Nakamura’s Black Fiend Array, the phones had no signal. After we came downstairs, if Nakamura had allies, they would most likely be lying in ambush below. When we captured Nakamura, they would have tried everything to free him. Yet, strangely, we’d seen no one at all when we reached the ground floor.

When Wang Tingting called out and mentioned the phones still had no signal, I knew something was terribly wrong. If there was still no signal, we were still inside their trap.

I hastily shoved Ren Tianxing and Yueyue aside, shouting, “Careful!”

Neither was an ordinary person. They were both pushing the door with all their might. Fearing my strength alone would be insufficient, I instinctively used my inner energy, sending them flying away from the door so they wouldn’t touch the iron gate.

With two cries of surprise, Ren Tianxing immediately sprang up, furious and about to lash out at me. Yueyue, meanwhile, had collided with a trash can by the door; a vile stench clung to her. Girls, especially those of means, are known for their love of cleanliness—her face turned green with rage.

I ignored their protests; this was no time for argument. I pointed out the situation outside.

After Wang Tingting’s count reached three, her voice vanished. Outside, all was silent.

I looked up at the sky, then around us. The open air was gloomy—not quite like rain was coming, but the clouds overhead were black as ink.

Ren Tianxing and Yueyue also sensed something was wrong. They exchanged a glance, then quietly moved behind me. Yueyue asked, “What’s going on?”

“An illusion array,” I replied gravely. “We’re trapped inside one.” I hadn’t expected Nakamura’s accomplices to have such a master among them. This strategist was truly cunning—using a pawn like Nakamura as a scapegoat to draw our attention. At that moment, Nakamura groggily woke, but was utterly immobilized—his spiritual energy sealed, his acupoints struck.

“Mr. Changfeng, you truly are formidable—so you’ve seen through the illusion array.” A sinister laugh drifted from outside the door.

Nakamura cried out, “Colonel Morita, save me! Colonel Morita, save me!”

Morita sneered, “I’ll save you after I’ve killed them.” Nakamura’s face changed; he realized he was nothing but a pawn to Morita—he too would perish in the illusion array. He began cursing in broken Chinese, then in English, and finally in his native Japanese—showing a remarkable talent for invective.

Morita ignored Nakamura, merely snorting coldly outside the iron gate. Wang Tingting’s voice cried for help.

Furious, Ren Tianxing raised his pistol and fired three shots toward the door. The gunshots echoed, ringing in our ears. Strangely, the bullets struck the door and sent out ripples, as if stones had been tossed into water.

“Tianxing, Yueyue, come here.” I called them over, placing Nakamura between the three of us to prevent him from escaping. I reminded them, no matter what happened, not to remove their clothes—each of their garments bore protective talismans. They might not be offensive, but they’d at least safeguard their lives.

Yueyue muttered, “This is a disaster. I never imagined Chinese arrays could be so powerful. It seems our understanding of the balance of power is just the tip of the iceberg.” She sighed softly.

I sneered at Morita, “A petty villain, only capable of striking from the shadows!” Even as I spoke, my eyes darted around, searching for the path of escape.

Morita laughed. “Back when your father, Wanyan Changfeng, was alive, even he wouldn’t have dared speak to me like that!”

I was stunned—he knew my surname was Wanyan, and even about my father. My father, Wanyan Duojie, wasn’t widely famous, but true masters always treated him with respect. Even Long Feitian, the leader of the Dragon Fang organization, addressed him as a junior.

The country’s policy was to protect those with extraordinary abilities and put them to use for the nation. The reason Dragon Fang never interfered with me, despite keeping an eye on me, was likely because my father had spoken with Master Long back in the day.

But as for Morita, I’d never heard of him. I asked, “Who are you?”

“Back in the day, when Master Wanyan was in Osaka, he helped us seal the Demon Eye. I’ve always respected him for that.”

Yueyue asked, “Aren’t you surnamed Chang? And what’s the Demon Eye?”

I recalled something my father once told me—his proudest accomplishment was sealing the Demon Eye. That Demon Eye opened once every five hundred years, in the place most saturated with yin energy. After the atomic bomb flattened Osaka, thousands of restless spirits lingered, gathering immense yin energy. Following Japan’s defeat in China, many soldiers returned home, tormented by nightmares and guilt, some ultimately committing suicide. Others, driven by militaristic fervor, took their own lives in collective ritual suicide. The Demon Eye was born and grew in such a place.

Japan’s feeble sorcery at the time was no match for sealing the Demon Eye. Out of humanitarian concern, my father intervened. If he hadn’t, not only Osaka but all of Southeast Asia, including China, would have been threatened—or so the ancient texts say. As cultivators, one must do what one can.

My father once mentioned that among those sealing the Demon Eye was a rising star of the Morita family.

Could the Morita before us be the very one he spoke of?

I said, “Since my father helped you, you ought to know the meaning of gratitude. There’s a saying in China: ‘A drop of kindness should be returned with a fountain of gratitude.’ But that only applies to humans—someone like you, well, you’re not bound by such things.”

I laughed coldly, implying he was less than human, otherwise he wouldn’t have dared lay traps for the son of Wanyan Duojie.

Morita replied, “As descendants of Master Wanyan, we should not trouble you. Unfortunately, we must take Li Feng, and you have involved yourself. Moreover, Miss Shar1y holds something of ours.”

Ren Tianxing instinctively patted the pistol at his waist, which Yueyue had recently returned to him. The only things Yueyue had were the gun and a stone she’d bought for eighty million yuan—the origin of the gun remained a mystery.

Suddenly, Ren Tianxing laughed toward Morita. Morita, baffled, asked what was so funny.

Ren Tianxing replied, laughing, “This is absurd—claiming something someone else bought as your own, right to their face. What’s the difference between this and robbery? Frankly, this is the most creative robbery I’ve ever seen—Morita deserves a trophy.” Yueyue shot Ren Tianxing a grateful look, then smiled, “You should ask the old gentleman in Xi’an how he was murdered.”

My heart sank. So those mysterious scientist deaths in Xi’an were their doing. The Nine Chrysanthemum Sect might not be directly tied to the Yamaguchi-gumi, but they shared the same backers. I glanced at Ren Tianxing and saw he was deeply agitated—I patted his shoulder in reassurance.

I ignored Morita’s words. Even if I didn’t intervene in Li Feng’s affairs, the Hongmen would do everything to protect him. If they thought Daoist arts alone could deal with Li Feng, they would be gravely mistaken. Qu Weiye once told me that though the Hongmen elders rarely involved themselves, if their interests were threatened, they’d return at once—and they were all masters of qi cultivation.

Qi cultivation is one of the most quintessential aspects of Chinese martial arts, capable of transforming a person’s constitution. It differs from innate psychic abilities, which are inborn, whereas qi cultivation is acquired and can yield astonishing results—some practitioners can reverse aging or even alter their physical form. Daoist cultivation is similar, though it relies on external forces.

Hongmen’s masters spent their lives cultivating qi, working in secret for the organization—one alone would be extraordinary, let alone several. The recent purge of the Yamaguchi-gumi by Hongmen, upon learning the Nine Chrysanthemum Sect was involved, must have seen some of these masters act; otherwise, the results wouldn’t have been so devastating. According to Ren Tianxing’s data, more than three masters from the Nine Chrysanthemum Sect had come, yet only three escaped.

I fell silent; there was no point in further words. The only option now was to sit down and break the array. This illusion array was particularly sinister—though I’d never encountered one quite like it, I could sense it produced a searing, restless wind, not blowing from outside, but as if rising from deep within our bodies.

The three of us sat together. Yueyue and Ren Tianxing said nothing, but the heat and agitation within the array grew steadily stronger, making it all too easy to lose one’s temper. Ren Tianxing and Yueyue’s breathing grew louder and heavier.