Chapter Thirty-Six: The Authority of the Magistrate!

This matter was of immense consequence, involving the Five Emperors and the Celestial Court.

It wasn't only the nine brothers of Misty Valley—any cultivator drawn into this web might well become nothing more than fodder beneath the wheels of greater powers.

For a moment, all present hesitated, uncertainty clouding their faces.

“We cannot kill a member of the Chen family lightly, but neither can we allow one of our own from Misty Valley to be slain without retribution.

This grudge must be avenged. Even if we cannot kill that Chen Buzhi, at the very least, we must cause him some trouble and let him taste our strength! Do you have a target in mind?”

The wealthy elder bared his teeth in a sinister grin. “I do. There’s a rural patrolman who has recently started working with Chen Buzhi—apparently a talent he’s taken a liking to, someone he’s trying to win over…

But even if we kill him, it won’t do much. The Chen clan of the Riverlands is vast and powerful—what talent do they lack at their disposal?

If you ask me, it would be better to kill the magistrate of Danling County!”

The men of Misty Valley, cold and ruthless as they were, looked momentarily stunned upon hearing this.

The magistrate had done them no wrong. What point was there in killing him?

The wealthy elder smiled. “Think about it: if the magistrate of Danling County is assassinated, would that county constable Chen Buzhi not be held responsible?

No matter how influential the Chen clan is at court, could they really shield him from all consequences?”

As these words fell, the old man understood, a bloodthirsty grin spreading across his face. “Is there an opportunity?”

“There is. Three days from now, the magistrate will be leaving the city…”

The magistrate’s carriage processed grandly along the roads, his retinue a spectacular display of authority.

A rural patrolman like Wang Zhenling would be lucky to have a single carriage at his disposal, but whenever the magistrate of Danling went out, a whole train of vehicles followed: carriages, war chariots, the works.

Dozens of county soldiers rode on horseback or marched alongside, standing guard.

Wherever they passed, commoners and travelers alike pressed themselves to the edges of the road, some even prostrating themselves in the dust, not daring to raise their eyes.

The Great Successor Dynasty’s laws were strict, and the court held official dignity in the highest regard, believing that without such awe-inspiring ceremony, the people could not be properly governed.

Thus, the magistrate’s procession exuded a splendor that brooked no challenge.

Within his carriage, Magistrate Zhou Lai sat with eyes closed, deep in contemplation, practicing the discipline of daily self-examination.

The current state of the court was chaotic: the emperor and his ministers were at odds, vying for power, the conflict escalating to the verge of open hostility.

Officials everywhere were forced to choose sides, but this only made them more vulnerable—any might be sacrificed at a moment’s notice, crushed by the ambitions of their superiors.

This was the chief reason why Zhou Lai, after five or six years as magistrate, still refused to return to the capital.

Now, having recently allied himself with Chen Buzhi of the Chen clan, he worried whether he might draw the emperor’s suspicion and provoke his wrath.

The thought made Zhou Lai’s head throb, despite his considerable skill in self-cultivation.

At that moment, a sudden commotion erupted outside—the sound of men and horses crying out as if thrown into chaos. Even his own carriage lurched violently and came to an abrupt halt.

“What’s happening?” he demanded.

A scholar and veteran official, Zhou Lai quickly cast off his troubling thoughts and focused, his cultivated calm reasserting itself.

“Sir, do not come out. There’s danger outside…” called a trusted retainer.

Even as the words left his lips, screams began to ring through the convoy.

The magistrate’s guests and county soldiers drew their weapons, bracing themselves for battle.

Zhou Lai’s heart sank. He lifted the carriage curtain and looked outside, only to see a pale blue mist had risen without warning. Within it hovered countless ghostly shadows, flickering and clawing, ghastly forms writhing in the fog.

His heart pounded. These were no ordinary spirits—it was clear he was facing lawless cultivators!

Ordinary ghosts, however fierce, instinctively feared the might of the imperial court and its officials, never daring to draw near. That was the first clue.

The second: just moments ago, dusk had only begun to fall. Now, a fog as thick as night had descended, shadows teeming with apparitions. Clearly, something was amiss.

This was the unmistakable work of a powerful cultivator at the “Divine Manifestation” level, laying in wait for him.

The “Divine Manifestation”—to be “divine and luminous”—described a stage of cultivation so profound that one’s powers surpassed all ordinary limits, approaching the supernatural.

No wonder such a one dared to attack an imperial official!

“What manner of specter dares assault the magistrate’s carriage? Such brazen insolence!” shouted a county official outside.

But from within the mist, laughter echoed—now far, now near. “Magistrate? Just a pitiful county magistrate—hardly worth mentioning. We can kill a magistrate as easily as swatting a fly.

If you must blame someone, blame that Chen Buzhi!”

As the voice faded, a ghastly pale flame shot forth, striking the county official.

The poor man, barely a minor functionary and lacking any official seal, could not withstand such an attack. He screamed, engulfed in ghostly fire, his body becoming a living torch. Death seemed moments away.

Suddenly, a voice rang out: “Stay your hand!”

A current of red and white light descended like sweet rain, dousing the flames on the official’s body. Not only was the fire extinguished, but even the wounds vanished without a trace.

Then Magistrate Zhou Lai stepped calmly down from his carriage, resplendent in tall hat and flowing robes, copper seal at his sash.

The copper seal within its pouch glowed faintly red, like a flame—its power derived from the rituals of court dress and official dignity, the majesty of the imperial office radiating from him as though he were a holy figure emerging from fire.

Though the shadowy assailant claimed to scorn mere magistrates, even he now hesitated, cowed by Zhou Lai’s presence.

The magistrate sneered. “You wield force in defiance of the law, use sorcery to disrupt order. You so-called cultivators, emboldened by your petty tricks, think nothing of breaking the laws of the realm.

And now, you dare to lay hands on an imperial official—truly reckless!

Today, you ignorant rabble will learn the true might of imperial law!”

As he spoke, he raised the magistrate’s great seal from its pouch.

In that instant, a crane’s cry pierced the heavens.

With a sound like shattering glass, the surrounding mist and shadows were blasted apart, collapsing like an avalanche.

Everything returned to normal. The last rays of the setting sun lingered on the mountaintops, struggling valiantly before their inevitable descent.

Zhou Lai gave a cold laugh, tucked the seal back into its pouch, straightened his hat, and said icily, “Onward. When we return to the county seat, send word to Constable Chen and have him hunt down these demonic outlaws.”

All the guests and county soldiers looked upon Zhou Lai as if beholding a god, responding in tones of deepest respect as the convoy set forth anew.

Meanwhile, the shadowy assailant, struck by a force beyond reckoning, was hurled through the air, coughing blood as he fled in terror.