Chapter 24: Keeping Watch (Part One)

Compared to the anxious face of the innkeeper, Fang Yue was in rather good spirits. The inn was left with only the two of them, and all the vegetables and meat prepared for dozens of guests were now theirs for the taking. Although this meal wasn't as lavish as the one at noon, they still ate enough for three or four people.

"As the saying goes, 'poor scholars, wealthy warriors.' Without substantial wealth and family backing, one simply cannot afford the expense of martial training." Fang Yue sighed softly, stood up, and walked to the center of the inn's main hall.

He had just learned a new boxing technique but hadn't had a proper chance to familiarize himself with it; the entire day had been full of events. Regardless, in this nightmare-ridden world where monsters and ghosts roamed and danger lurked everywhere, borrowed power was fleeting; true strength lay in improving oneself.

He possessed divine abilities—that was his confidence.

The dim oil lamp stretched his shadow long across the floor, while gusts of wind outside seemed to echo the cries of ghosts and gods. Fang Yue focused intently, slowly clenched his fists, and stepped forward.

This boxing style was based on the essentials of internal martial arts Fang Yue knew, combined with a few fighting techniques. Balanced and harmonious, it blended hardness with softness.

Each punch he threw was precise, adhering perfectly to the principles of the art, as if it had been hammered into shape through countless hours of practice. This was the formidable power of his divine abilities: when a technique was deduced and passed on through the consumption of merit points, it became second nature, as if he'd trained for years, seamlessly integrated and etched deep into his mind.

In the silent, empty hall, his shadow flickered—sometimes light and graceful, drifting like wind; sometimes steady and imposing, unmoving like a mountain. Every punch sent gusts of air whistling, matching the winds outside, creating a strange yet harmonious resonance.

"Still, to advance further, I need to practice relentlessly, delve into new martial truths through daily training or combat, and thereby deduce the next tier of this art. Alternatively, I could study new martial manuals, learn fresh principles, and add them as fuel for further progress."

After a long while, Fang Yue finally stopped, stood with his fists lowered, wiped the sweat from his forehead, and mused quietly.

The innkeeper had finished clearing the dishes and returned to see Fang Yue practicing. He watched for a long time—though he didn't understand martial arts, he found Fang Yue's movements captivating, and so assumed they must be formidable.

Seeing Fang Yue finish, he couldn't help but sigh, "Master Fang, you truly excel in both culture and martial arts. With such impressive skills, those demons and ghosts surely wouldn't dare approach."

Fang Yue shook his head. "These skills are sufficient against people, but against those strange and inexplicable monsters, I fear they won't suffice. Should such creatures appear, it's best that everyone flees for their lives."

He thought of the red-clad corpse that had lain at the bottom of the Wang family's well—if all monsters were as terrifying as it, he was still far from prepared.

The innkeeper glanced fearfully at the shadowed doorway, then up at the darkened room labeled "Chen" on the second floor. "They say good luck never comes, but bad luck always does. I never feel safe at night."

In truth, Fang Yue felt much the same, though his unease was rooted in his own judgment. He too looked up at the "Chen" room, suspecting something might still happen there, even though the bodies and remains had been cleared away by the magistrate's men during the day.

"Tonight, we'll take turns keeping watch. You guard the first half; I'll take the second."

...

Fang Yue walked down the street, moonlight hazy, smoke curling in the distance. The surrounding houses faded in and out of view, not a single lamp shining from within. His mind was muddled—he wasn't sure why he was out on this road.

At the end of the street, where the smoke thickened, footsteps approached. Figures emerged—not just one, but several.

"Master Fang, Master Fang!"

The voices called out from afar. The footsteps grew closer, the figures clearer. Soon, Fang Yue could see them: each wore a long knife at their waist, dressed in red-and-black official uniforms, their heads capped with dark hats. The leader carried a set of official robes.

Fang Yue frowned, his haze lifting, clarity returning.

"Is it happening again?" He stopped, a trace of fierceness flashing across his face.

"Congratulations, Master Fang! Lord Wen admires your talent and laments your misfortune, finding it a great pity. He has petitioned our noble ruler to appoint you, breaking with convention, as the county registrar. These are the official robes of the ninth rank, bestowed from above. Please change into them and accompany us to meet the magistrate."

The speaker's tone brimmed with envy.

The county registrar assisted the magistrate, holding a ninth rank, overseeing county records and paperwork. Though a minor post, it was nonetheless an official one. To attain it meant entry into the bureaucracy, a transformation from commoner to official.

Yet Fang Yue showed no joy, only a cold sneer. "Alive, you're but a band of traitors; dead, nothing more than wandering ghosts. How dare you offer titles and promises like men?"

At his words, the faces of the four constables changed, their stiff, unnatural smiles vanishing, replaced by grim expressions.

Fang Yue sensed something was amiss, but felt no fear. These restless ghosts had come again and again, clearly fixated on him; avoidance was futile, and since this was a dream, he was determined to test their strength.

Without another word, he seized the moment as their faces changed, stomped forward like a tiger pouncing from a mountain, and lunged at the leader holding the official robes, driving his fist toward the man's head.

First strike the horse, then capture the king.

Fang Yue didn't know if his skills could handle four armed men at once, but striking first—taking down their leader before they could react—could only work in his favor.

"Bang."

His punch landed squarely, full force, on the leader's head.

What happened next startled him: the leader's head flew off, sailing far away, rolling across the ground. Yet the corpse remained upright, still clutching the official robes, unmoving.

Fang Yue didn't believe his punch could have such destructive power, especially since the severed neck was clean and even. In a flash, he understood.

"I heard these constables were executed alongside Magistrate Wen, dragged to the market square and beheaded as rebels."

The other three constables quickly responded, drawing their swords and slashing at Fang Yue.

Fang Yue swiftly drew the leader's sword from the corpse.

"Clang."

Steel clashed, sparks flew.

He kicked one constable aside, pressed forward instead of retreating, and slashed at the one on his left.

The sensation through the blade was not that of flesh and blood, but more like striking dead wood.

The constable he struck was unharmed, merely swaying a little. He, too, possessed some martial skill, and soon counterattacked with his sword.

Caught off guard, Fang Yue hadn't expected the blade to have no effect. He dodged the vital point, but was still wounded in the left shoulder by the sword—pain seared through him.

Gritting his teeth, he pressed in close, closed the distance, and punched at the constable's head.

"Bang."

The head flew off, landing far away and rolling across the ground.