The Inch Thread was something Su Lingxi had developed herself.
Bai Xiao glanced at it a few times, then walked over to Tian Jiang, who also came closer for a look.
Turning back, she met Su Lingxi’s gaze—her expression was one of complicated understanding that only those truly close could comprehend.
Su Lingxi’s Incense Ignition Technique was probably no longer functional. I
f it still worked, who would use such a crude method to track and lock onto enemies?
The Incense Ignition Technique was known as the ancestor of all arts.
Its exalted status came from the fact that once cultivated to a certain level, it could encompass the strengths of countless disciplines.
When the incense burner appeared, and one silently chanted their desires in the curling smoke, nearly anything could come true: paper animals would leap about like real ones, tiny ponds could surge into towering waves, and skyscrapers could rise from flat ground…
It allowed for tracking across a thousand miles, killing with a single thought, and even escaping danger through illusions and decoys.
Within one’s capabilities, most dilemmas could be resolved with ease.
The Grand Preceptor had once said that only at the most advanced levels would the true mysteries of the Incense Ignition Technique be revealed.
From the realm of “absolutely impossible” to “perhaps possible,” incense was the only and indispensable medium.
But students at the Academy often only heard half the lesson.
To most of them, the Incense Ignition Technique had another name: wishcraft.
More bluntly, it was the “daydream technique.”
Every so often, someone would persuade their friend who practiced the technique to light incense.
Back then, Yu Lin’an often did this sort of thing—Su Lingxi would lazily hold the incense while he would bathe, burn offerings, and sincerely pray.
As soon as he opened his mouth, he would plead, “Let this humble believer Yu Lin’an immediately master the Planchette Divination Technique.”
Su Lingxi would look at him like he was a fool.
Her incense rarely extinguished, but that time, it went out instantly with just a puff of smoke—likely because even the smoke had nothing to say.
After a moment, she asked:
“Are you praying to a Bodhisattva?”
Yu Lin’an responded with a disappointed “Ah…”
“Hope,” he said.
Truthfully, this happened a lot.
What began as grand dreams—“I hope to stay youthful forever,” “I hope to be invincible,” “I hope to painlessly become one of the Twelve Witches next year”—gradually turned into humbler wishes like
“I hope the Grand Preceptor doesn’t teach tomorrow,”
“I hope he doesn’t check our homework,”
“I hope he doesn’t kick us into the Water Mirror again, because we really can’t climb back out.”
Of course, none of them came true.
Instead, because the technique was overused and had a high failure rate, those students were punished and no longer dared to light incense at others’ requests.
But no matter what, using the Incense Ignition Technique to track a demon should never have been a problem.
After all, this was Su Lingxi.
She was the only one who could use the technique without even needing an incense burner.
In the tense atmosphere, Su Lingxi said to both demon-hunting teams, “If they make a move, be ready to assist.”
Dozens of people nodded in agreement.
The Inch Thread showed the demon had appeared on the outskirts of the capital.
Su Lingxi quickened her pace.
A wounded demon fleeing Chang’an to hide in another city could bring endless trouble.
The capital’s nobles liked to buy villas in the suburbs, and the thread finally pointed to one such estate.
It covered a large area and had been abandoned for years.
The wooden signboard at the entrance was damp and rotten, sunken into the wet mud.
In summer, when plants grew rampant, a few rains had made the grass taller than a person—perfect for concealing the sign.
The Jinwu Guards and demon-hunting teams quickly surrounded the place, flames lighting up the sky.
Sang Chu and the others hovered in midair, overlooking the estate.
He nocked an arrow, its black shaft gleaming coldly. Bai Xiao pulled out a stick of incense.
Yu Lin’an performed a divination on the spot, spinning the divination stone in his hand again and again, along with his eyes.
Tian Jiang nudged him and asked, “What’s going on with you?”
Yu Lin’an replied with a helpless look and uncertain words:
“Great fortune.”
???
What did “great fortune” mean in planchette divination?
It meant absolutely no trouble, no accidents, and not a single injury.
Even if you divined before going to the Academy and stubbed your toe on a rock, it wouldn’t count as “great fortune.”
Bai Xiao glanced at the divination stone a few times, then silently put her incense back.
“Maybe it’s because…”
Yu Lin’an found an explanation for himself.
He looked at Ye Zhuxu, standing alone by the ruined bridge, then at the divine weapon Jingmie in his hand, and said, “Even misfortune becomes fortune, right?”
“You’re overthinking it,” Lin Yu said bluntly.
“You think he’ll act against a regular demon? Even if it’s not a regular one, unless it offends him directly, even if you were on your knees begging, he might not even glance at you.”
In fact, ever since the ironwood tree began growing in the Northern Yard, Lin Yu’s dark circles had visibly faded.
Still… Yu Lin’an wondered, how had her temper only gotten worse?
Su Lingxi raised her hand, and one team of demon hunters silently ducked and infiltrated the estate from all sides.
Summer cicadas were startled, screaming hoarsely.
Transmission talismans lit up one after another before her eyes.
She scanned them intermittently until she noticed something, doubled back, and pushed through the underbrush to retrieve the sunken signboard.
Who knew how long it had been buried—reeking and rotting, the wood had softened and grown moss.
The writing on it was hard to make out.
Su Lingxi crouched and ran her fingers across the warped carvings, frowning as she read.
Her movements were swift and calm, and even as rot clung to her fingers, her expression never changed.
Yu Lin’an stared in disbelief.
Even though he kept trying to convince himself, it was hard to reconcile this with the Su Lingxi he once knew.
It really was…like she had become a different person.
The plaque bore a common blessing: “Leave Room for More”, a wish for family prosperity and promising descendants.
Her fingers finally traced a small word in the lower-right corner—Wei.
There were many officials named Wei in the current dynasty, even more wealthy merchants.
But given the situation today, only one name came to Su Lingxi’s mind.
The Minister’s Residence—Wei Residence.
Wasn’t this a bit too coincidental?
Su Lingxi stood up and said to Xi Liu, “Look into this.”
Xi Liu responded immediately and opened a talisman scroll.
Su Lingxi turned back to the desolate courtyard and slowly wiped her hands with a handkerchief.
No one liked sticky, stinking filth—but in moments like this, there was no time to care.
You get used to it if you just keep bearing it.
She noticed that Ye Zhuxu still hadn’t joined the people from Floating Jade.
Tilting her head, she saw him standing silently in the night, far from everyone—as if merely observing a huge farce that had nothing to do with him.
He was so still, it was hard to even see him breathing. Detached, lonely, and strange.
A flicker of unease passed through her heart, but before she could grasp the feeling, a loud grinding noise erupted in the distance.
The dozen transmission talismans around her all lit up at once with red flame.
She turned sharply toward the sound.
Unlike the tightly packed inner city, the countryside had more space—there were gardens, groves, even a small canal.
The grating sound came from the canal—so harsh it made one’s teeth ache.
The sound echoed like a divine chorus, growing louder and clearer.
It was like hearing, magnified a hundredfold, the cracking of a giant snake shedding its skin.
Something gripped the edge of the canal and slowly hoisted its upper body out.
Su Lingxi saw eyes as large as lanterns, pupils glowing like wildcats in the night, filled with deep hatred.
Then came a writhing waist and multiple tails branching from its spine—by the time it fully emerged, it was as tall as a three- or four-story building.
It was the first demon Su Lingxi had seen that didn’t take the form of an ordinary beast.
Not a skull-faced skeleton, not a fox, not a toad—this was a true primordial monster, something unseen since the mythical ages.
Any creature of this form ranked high among demons—at least in the top twenty.
It was just like they’d said: speak of the devil, and he shall appear.
Su Lingxi’s eyes narrowed instinctively.
Her face turned grave as she gestured and ordered: “Form ranks.”
The demon-hunting teams quickly formed an airborne square formation.
As ripples expanded outward, Yu Lin’an descended from above, even more bewildered—this was a containment formation to prevent collateral damage.
Su Lingxi’s first thought when battle broke out was—
“I can’t let civilians get hurt.”
Even though… the nearest neighborhood was still far away.
Can the responsibility of the Imperial Preceptor really transform a person?
Su Lingxi pressed her hand down again, her voice calm:
“Take it down.”
Another demon-slaying team, under her command, bravely attacked the demon.
The sword lights, blade lights, and talismans formed a massive net that enveloped the demon.
This was quite a stunning sight, at least temporarily changing the impression Floating Jade had of the three major sects.
In terms of attack power and elegance of posture, they were naturally inferior, but the two teams had an extremely strong tacit understanding and high coordination.
Their powerful and agile bodies were remarkably flexible.
Su Lingxi hesitated, her gaze flickering.
When a demon ranks in the top thirty, each position is a huge leap in combat power.
By the time it reaches the top twenty, a single demon-slaying team would be insufficient.
She had originally wanted Floating Jade’s people to act, but seeing the demon appear frightening yet not showing much impressive offensive power—only rolling and twisting while emitting a thunderous hiss—she temporarily decided to stay put and observe further.
After a brief pause, Yu Lin’an wasn’t anxious and came over to chat with Su Lingxi:
“Didn’t I hear that the three major sects don’t get along well and have grudges against each other? They seem pretty harmonious now.”
“Trained them for a while,” Su Lingxi replied, carefully observing the demon that had crawled out.
She mentally compared it to the demons in the top ranks, running through possibilities in her mind, while casually responding to Yu Lin’an’s words:
“When I first joined the Demon Suppression Bureau, they didn’t get along, it was quite chaotic.”
Yu Lin’an went silent for a moment:
“Did you personally train them?”
“Of course,” Su Lingxi replied.
“What for?”
Su Lingxi glanced at him, her tone seemingly casual:
“Can’t just wait for Floating Jade to save us. What if you all don’t come?”
At this, she paused and turned her attention to the demon, which had raised its long neck.
She muttered in confusion:
“The legend says the pigeon demon has three heads and six tails. Why does this one only have one?”
Ye Zhuxu didn’t respond. He barely glanced at the demon in the sky, occasionally casting a fleeting glance.
Once the fierce killing intent faded from his sword strikes, a chilling silence swept over the scene, like an overwhelming nightmare draining every emotion.
The familiar pain quickly climbed from his forehead to his brow.
Since emerging from secluded meditation in Zhongnan and coming to Chang’an, Ye Zhuxu had hardly rested.
Upon arrival, even less so.
He rubbed his left wrist bone in a circle.
The sharp pain he caused himself served to suppress everything else, as was his usual method.
Su Lingxi stepped back a few paces, intending to change her angle of view on the enormous demon.
These steps happened to bring her close to Ye Zhuxu, with a dried-up riverbed separating them.
She observed for a moment, confirming it was the pigeon demon, though she wasn’t completely sure.
She voiced her doubts:
“The legend says the pigeon demon has three heads and six tails. This demon only has one head. Could it be…?”
Ye Zhuxu remained silent, offering no answer, and didn’t seem to pay much attention to the demon in the sky.
Occasionally, he glanced at it, but quickly withdrew his gaze.
After his intense killing intent subsided, the eerie silence came back, bringing memories of a past he couldn’t shake, like an inescapable nightmare, draining all his emotions.
This place, so loud and chaotic, only made the familiar pain more intense.
After leaving his secluded training at Zhongnan, Ye Zhuxu had not rested.
Since arriving in Chang’an, the same.
He rubbed his left wrist bone, the sharp pain in it helping him suppress everything.Su Lingxi observed carefully.
The pigeon demon had only one head, unlike the rumored three.
She had to revise her understanding of it again.