Chapter Fifty-Six: Doomed?

Wang Zhenling, after all, did not possess a truly ruthless heart. After a brief moment of contemplation, he proposed a more ingenious plan.
“Mr. Feng, these guilty spirits are mere rabble—now scattered and fleeing, at most they might trouble travelers and livestock, but they can cause no great calamity.
The City God, who had conspired with a few local deities, was already vanquished by us moments ago.
Why don’t we take this opportunity to disguise ourselves as guilty spirits and attack the local shrines, stirring up a grand uproar?”
Mr. Feng had not thought deeply at first, but upon hearing Wang Zhenling’s suggestion, he immediately saw the wisdom in it and declared, “Excellent! This time I’ll make sure that City God pays dearly!”
“Indeed, those deities who dared to side with the City God, setting themselves against Lord Wei—how can we let them off so easily?”
Wang Zhenling replied with a smile.
At once, Wang Zhenling led the ghost soldiers to hunt down the guilty spirits.
His plan was simple: since they were to masquerade as guilty spirits and assault Lili, the actual guilty spirits had become useless—better to deal with them quickly, lest they harm innocent townsfolk.
Yet, delayed for a moment, the guilty spirits had already vanished, their whereabouts unknown. Despite his efforts, Wang Zhenling managed to capture only two; the others were lost without trace!
As daylight waned, Wang Zhenling could only set aside the matter, resigned to proceed with the next stage of his plan.
In these times, townsfolk gathered within the city walls, protected by the City God and the magistrates.
Those in the countryside lived in their villages, guarded by tall ramparts.
Every village had a shrine, venerating a local deity.
Even the weakest of these deities possessed supernatural power, with three to five ghost soldiers under their command—hardly would they fear ordinary spirits.
But the guilty spirits were no ordinary ghosts; with seven or eight escaping together, they could easily overcome most village shrines.
Yet, Mr. Feng was still dissatisfied—he wanted to escalate matters further.
Wang Zhenling himself thought the spiritual vein of Blackwater Pool insufficient; it was difficult to gather enough spiritual water to fill a single gourd.
Now, with several public and private shrine deities slain, he could hardly be blamed!
Every public or private shrine gathered the earth’s spiritual energy.

Just like the City God, whose temple commanded the spiritual energy of a hundred-mile radius, the village shrines, too, accumulated the spiritual essence within their own bounds, channeling it into the altar, supplemented by incense and the people’s prayers, sufficient to sustain a local deity.
Wang Zhenling acted through the night—fortunately, it was still early, around the second watch, roughly nine or ten o’clock by modern reckoning.
Were it today, people would not yet be asleep, the city alive with bustle and lights.
But now, Wang Zhenling moved swiftly, first extracting the spiritual veins of three unfortunate private shrines.
Though these veins could not compare to Blackwater Pool in quality, their quantity filled Wang Zhenling’s gourd to the brim.
Fortunately, he had prepared additional gourds; through the night, he hurried onward to Guan Ju village, dozens of miles away.
Lili was a large village, home to over a hundred families and more than six hundred souls.
The village deity, though no match for Lord Hu of the Great Locust Shrine, lived a carefree existence.
But having sided with the City God and provoked Wang Zhenling, he met his end under thunder and fire.
Now, Wang Zhenling arrived with his spectral retinue, masquerading as guilty spirits, launching an assault on Lili.
Had the village deity survived, he might have used the shrine’s power to resist, awaiting aid from nearby villages or even the township shrine.
But with no deity present, the shrine’s power lay dormant.
Moreover, the shrine’s ghost soldiers had been taken out by the deity and perished under thunder and fire.
At this moment, Lili was virtually undefended.
Thankfully, Wang Zhenling had no intention to kill; his aim was to confront the City God, allowing the villagers time to flee. Otherwise, hundreds might have perished in a single night.
Even so, all livestock—cattle, sheep, chickens, dogs—were wiped out.
The spiritual vein of the shrine rivaled Blackwater Pool in strength, and since the deity had died away from the shrine, its spiritual reservoir remained nearly untouched, now seized by Wang Zhenling.
The accumulated spiritual water was enough to fill a gourd and then some—a wealth amassed through decades of the deity’s labor, now handed over for nothing, all to Wang Zhenling’s gain…
Yet Wang Zhenling had no intention to keep these spiritual veins; he planned to leave them all to the Hu family in the end.

As for Mr. Feng, Chen San, and the others, though mere guests and servants of the Chen clan of the river, they held themselves above such minor positions, being the equivalent of seventh-rank officials at a prime minister’s gate.
Having arranged and considered all these matters, Wang Zhenling finally felt some relief.
He traveled through the night, having fought fiercely, and despite the era’s poor carriage suspension and the jostling ride, he could not help but drift into a drowsy sleep.
In his hazy slumber, he suddenly sensed movement in the nearby woods; his eyes flashed open and he called out, “Who’s there…”
A figure emerged, strolling calmly, and spoke, “Heh, so it is the cultivator by Blackwater Pool. I never imagined it would be Wang Zhenling, the steward of Guangyang Village…”
Wang Zhenling’s heart trembled; he glanced around and saw that as the figure stepped forward, thick fog rolled in from every direction, sealing off the world so that only he and the approaching Daoist remained.
All trees, mountains, even the carriage vanished, shrouded by the mist.
It felt as if Wang Zhenling had fallen into a nightmare from which he could not awaken.
Just then, he tried to struggle, but found himself unable to wake.
As the Daoist spoke, he advanced with a sour expression—now aware, it seemed, of how Wang Zhenling had tricked him last time.
Wang Zhenling’s heart pounded; he recognized the Daoist as the same one he’d met at the Blackwater spiritual vein not long ago.
Previously, he had only sensed the man’s skill, never realizing he was a master of divine power!
“This is bad… This Daoist is likely a cultivator from Mist Valley. Could he be here to kill me?”
If so, his fate was surely sealed.
A master of divine power!
He heard the Daoist’s sinister laughter: “Well, Wang Zhenling, last time you dared to deceive me—and even tried to lead others to attack my Wujishan, ruining my spiritual vein. What do you say today?”
Wang Zhenling’s expression did not change; he smiled inscrutably. “You Mist Valley folk have suffered defeat several times, and still you dare to come courting death?”
The Daoist burst out laughing, evidently about to say more…