Chapter Fifty-Eight: The Old Taoist’s Performance

The efficiency of the aristocratic family was astonishing; much of what they needed was prepared in advance. Within less than twenty minutes, a table laden with exquisite dishes was ready. Nangong Zhenyu invited everyone to take their seats. The old Taoist was assigned the position of honor, while Ling Tian was placed at the secondary seat. Nangong Zhenyu, Nangong Ye, and An Qi sat alongside them.

The other members of the Nangong family were seated at another table.

Ling Tian glanced casually at the food and drink, inwardly remarking on the extraordinary standards of such a distinguished clan. The presentation of dozens of dishes was meticulous, each a masterpiece worthy of admiration. There were no ordinary meats like chicken, duck, or fish, but rather a variety of medicinal cuisines, all crafted from precious herbs and rare animals.

Nangong Zhenyu picked up a porcelain bottle, broke open the wax seal, and a heady aroma of aged wine wafted through the air. The scent alone revealed it to be an exceptional vintage.

“This is a century-old fine wine I chanced upon, said to have been discovered in an ancient cellar,” Nangong Zhenyu explained, personally pouring a cup for the old Taoist. The liquor was thick, almost gelatinous, and emitted a rich fragrance. Clearly, it had aged for at least a hundred years, otherwise it would not have reached such a state.

The old Taoist’s eyes sparkled; he thought to himself that coming here had been the right decision. This wine alone was worth a fortune, and money could not always buy such treasures.

Nangong Zhenyu raised his cup and addressed the old Taoist, “Honored Immortal, this humble wine is but a token of respect—please accept it.”

After both finished their drinks, Nangong Zhenyu toasted Ling Tian with sincere enthusiasm.

Ling Tian’s thoughts were not on the meal. After a few cups of wine, he began to contemplate Nangong Xue’s condition. Prolonged exposure to corpse poison would disrupt the balance of yin and yang in the body, leading to an excess of yin and, ultimately, organ failure and death. According to Nangong Ye, Nangong Xue’s illness was already at a critical stage…

By the time the meal ended, it was noon.

Nangong Zhenyu led everyone to Nangong Xue’s room. As soon as they reached the door, Ling Tian sensed a dense aura of yin. This was after the use of spirit talismans; without them, Nangong Xue would not have lasted this long. The old Taoist was oblivious, believing himself unable to sense such things.

Nangong Ye opened the door, and the old Taoist and Ling Tian entered one after the other.

Ling Tian’s expression grew solemn upon seeing Nangong Xue—her face pale and bloodless, hair disheveled, eyes lifeless and dim. She was curled up at the head of the bed like a frightened kitten. Ling Tian swept her with his spiritual sense and was certain: Nangong Xue was infected with corpse poison, and within it lingered a fragment of the deceased’s soul.

This explained why Nangong Xue’s organs were failing, and why she appeared so terrified—the remnant soul was disturbing her mind.

Nangong Zhenyu’s eyes reddened at the sight of his daughter’s pitiable state, his voice choked as he pleaded with the old Taoist, “Honored Immortal, you must save my daughter!”

The old Taoist drew a Bagua mirror from his wide robe, circling the room in a show of ritual, then suddenly shouted, “Demon! Where do you think you’re going?” With a dramatic step forward, he shook the mirror vigorously and muttered incantations.

Nangong Zhenyu and the others were tense, watching the old Taoist with anxious faces.

Ling Tian, meanwhile, looked on with open disdain, curious to see what tricks this charlatan would play.

“Demon, now that I am here, you’d best depart at once, or I will shatter your three souls and seven spirits!” The old Taoist bit his finger and swiftly smeared blood on the Bagua mirror.

Ling Tian mused, “The old fellow puts on quite an act. But to bite his finger and draw blood—he’s truly committed.”

Suddenly, the old Taoist staggered back two steps, feigning resistance. He thrust the mirror forward, and a flash of golden light accompanied by a shattering sound filled the air—the Bagua mirror splintered into countless pieces. The old Taoist clutched his chest, panting heavily, his face twisted in pain.

Nangong Zhenyu dared not approach, fearful of disturbing the ritual. He called from the doorway, “Honored Immortal, what has happened?”

The old Taoist, still grimacing, replied, “Your daughter’s illness is caused by a millennium-old fox demon. I trapped it with my Bagua mirror, but its powers are formidable—it destroyed my artifact, and I suffered a minor injury.”

Upon hearing this, Nangong Zhenyu grew even more anxious. “What should we do?”

The old Taoist’s true aim was to make Nangong Zhenyu believe the matter was not easily resolved, thus securing more payment. His psychological tactics were masterful, and his performance worthy of an Oscar—he even fancied himself a movie star.

“Rest assured, Master Nangong. Even if it costs me these old bones, I will subdue this demon today and prevent it from harming the world!” The old Taoist suddenly spat a mouthful of blood, feigning severe injury. He brandished his whisk in the air, and in the empty room, a faint human figure appeared, flickering before vanishing.

This spectacle stunned everyone present. In truth, it was merely a magician’s trick.

Yet, in this setting, even someone like Nangong Zhenyu was fooled, believing the room was haunted by a millennium-old fox demon. The others were so frightened they retreated to the doorway, afraid of being possessed. One person’s reaction was odd—Nangong Mei, Nangong Xue’s cousin. Though her face showed fear, it seemed forced. Ling Tian even detected a hint of schadenfreude on her face.

“Honored Immortal, if you can save my daughter, I am willing to donate ten million to restore your temple,” Nangong Zhenyu announced loudly. When the old Taoist had first negotiated payment, he claimed it would go toward temple repairs, for the benefit of the people.

Thus, not only did he secure the money, but he also gained a good reputation—truly a win-win.

The old Taoist took a deep breath and said slowly, “Though my artifact was destroyed, the fox demon was also wounded by it. If I do not subdue it today, I would be ashamed before my ancestors.”

With that, he moved in a blur, stepping in a seven-star pattern. His whisk swept left and right, producing soft crackling sounds in the air. Faint blue arcs of electricity danced along the whisk, accompanied by deep, beast-like growls.

“I borrow the power of thunder to eradicate you, millennium-old fox demon!” the old Taoist roared, spraying blood onto the whisk and swinging it fiercely. Lightning flashed like a storm, the spectacle grand and imposing. His immortal robes made him seem like a celestial descending to vanquish evil.

Such a magnificent display awed everyone in the room—except Ling Tian.