Chapter 20: The Ten Killers Flower (2)

Di Jiang originally intended to brush off the hands grabbing her, but suddenly, a sword descended from the sky, landing before her and severing the ropes binding her. The force of the sword’s qi pushed the bailiffs back five or six steps, with one or two even falling to the ground. They had not anticipated this sudden turn of events and were left disheveled and stunned.

The next moment, Di Jiang saw a man dressed in green robes land steadily in front of her, shielding her from everyone’s encroachments.

She looked closely—it was none other than Zhong Xu.

“So many people bullying a woman and two children—how laughable,” Zhong Xu said. Then, drawing his sword, he traced a half-circle in front of him before resting it firmly in his right hand. The sharpness of his blade made the bailiffs holding ropes hesitate to approach.

Di Jiang was inwardly shocked. Zhong Xu’s personal sword had always been a peachwood blade, so why did it now appear so sharp and menacing?

Di Jiang pondered, recalling that every time Zhong Xu had wielded his sword in the past, it had been a peachwood blade. But the sword in his hand now was clearly forged from fine iron, its edge sharp and its qi eerie. Di Jiang sniffed carefully, detecting the faint scent of blood. Closing her eyes, she seemed to hear the mournful cries of those who had died under this sword in the past.

A shiver ran down Di Jiang’s spine, leaving her chilled to the bone.

Seeing Zhong Xu’s furious expression, the bailiffs hesitated, unsure of his true strength, and dared not make a move. The magistrate shouted: “Who are you?”

“I am Zhong Xu, the seventy-second-generation leader of Baiyun Temple on Qingyun Mountain,” Zhong Xu replied coldly, his piercing gaze intimidating the crowd into silence.

“So you’re a Daoist… My apologies, my apologies,” the magistrate, still hiding behind the bailiffs, tried to smooth things over. “We didn’t mean to bully her—we just wanted her to stay here.”

“With me here, you won’t lay a finger on her,” Zhong Xu said coldly, not even glancing at Di Jiang behind him, as if the “her” he spoke of had nothing to do with her.

Di Jiang was genuinely surprised. She had always thought Zhong Xu despised her deeply, yet here he was, coming to her aid at a critical moment. Unable to contain herself, she smiled brightly at him from behind: “Daoist Zhong, you’re truly tall, handsome, and mighty…”

After she spoke, Zhong Xu remained an icy mountain, seemingly unaffected, though Di Jiang distinctly noticed his lips twitch slightly.

Meanwhile, the magistrate’s face grew increasingly grim as he weighed Zhong Xu’s background and whether his men could subdue him.

Seeing neither side willing to back down, Di Jiang smiled faintly: “I’ll go with you.” Tonight, she had already gained unexpected treasures—things money couldn’t buy—and feeling pleased, she no longer wished to argue with them.

Hearing this, Zhong Xu abruptly turned to look at her as if she were a monster: “What did you say?”

Di Jiang gave him a wide grin, leaning her face against his shoulder and smiling: “I know you may say you dislike me, but deep down, you still protect me. I appreciate your intentions, but I don’t want you to risk yourself for me. Besides, the ritual is complete—I’m not afraid of anything they might do. Stay at the inn and rest assured; by morning, the real culprit will be revealed.”

“…” Zhong Xu stared fixedly at Di Jiang, his eyes seemingly saying: “I really want to cut open your head and see if there’s tofu inside!”

“Don’t worry—they can’t harm me,” Di Jiang emphasized again.

After she finished speaking, Zhong Xu studied her for a long while. Seeing her calm and carefree smile, he eventually trusted her words.

Zhong Xu sighed and sheathed his sword. As it returned to its scabbard, the blade transformed back into a peachwood sword, its original form restored. Intricate ancient inscriptions were carved into the hilt, which no one could decipher. The crowd murmured in awe, and some villagers even knelt, prostrating themselves and exclaiming: “A divine miracle!”

Only then did Di Jiang realize—the sword on Zhong Xu’s back could slay anyone or anything in its path, be it man or ghost.

“What if it encounters Buddha?” Di Jiang blurted out unconsciously.

“What did you say?” Zhong Xu asked, puzzled.

Di Jiang shook her head: “Just joking.” Turning to the magistrate, she said: “We’ll go with you. No need to bind me—I won’t run.”

The two men restraining Di Jiang exchanged glances, unsure what to do next. The magistrate, however, waved his hand decisively: “Release her. Take them to the stone room and guard them well!”

“Yes!” Following his orders, the group escorted Di Jiang and her companions to the stone room.

They were locked up in the same room where Sister Li had been held, located behind the ancestral hall.

Di Jiang gazed at the bloodstains scattered throughout the stone room, her heart heavy with melancholy. She remarked: “Sister Li’s case hasn’t even been resolved, and now we’ve become prisoners. Such a rapid twist in events is truly unexpected.” Di Jiang chuckled, not feeling particularly distressed—she simply found it amusing.

Wen Yao, however, wasn’t so relaxed. Already agitated, she now saw that the dried straw was soaked in large patches of black-red stains, making her feel nauseous.

“Boss, how can anyone live here?” Wen Yao looked at Di Jiang, her teeth chattering.

“Afraid?”

“It’s not fear—it’s disgust,” Wen Yao spat. “It’s Sister Li’s blood. I’m afraid touching it will give me boils.”

“Do you still think Sister Li is guilty?”

Wen Yao snorted: “Even if she didn’t kill Old Pan, it’s a fact that her behavior in life was questionable.”

“Whether it’s fact or hearsay, we’ll know by morning,” Di Jiang said calmly.

Wen Yao pouted: “Then how are we supposed to sleep tonight?”

“Shu Xiang seems to be sleeping fine,” Di Jiang pointed to Shu Xiang, who was leaning against the wall. “Why can he sleep and you can’t?”

“He’s tough-skinned. How can you compare me to him?” Wen Yao muttered, mimicking his example by finding a relatively clean spot to sit.

Di Jiang chuckled: “Sleep early. If you don’t, you might not get any sleep later in the night…”

That night, after the villagers returned home, they encountered no more supernatural occurrences. Exhausted after two days, they quickly fell into a deep sleep. However, three individuals remained wide awake.

While the red dye on the villagers’ hands washed off with water, these three individuals’ hands remained stained crimson, growing even more vivid. By dawn, the fiery red deepened further, gradually forming into flowers. Moments later, a blood-red Ten Killers Flower erupted from their palms, eliciting screams that echoed across the countryside.

At the Pan family residence at the village’s edge, Pan Yuelang hadn’t slept well for three days. Since the day his father passed away, his heart had been tormented daily. He had rushed back to Zhuangyuan Village only to witness his mother confess, be whipped, and ultimately drowned. He had imagined his parents bickering their entire lives but never expected their family to end in such tragedy.

He no longer had the energy to dwell on everything. Returning home alone, he spent several days staring into space, finally collapsing into sleep only after his mother was drowned. Though he didn’t wish for his mother’s suffering, he himself believed she was the one who killed his father—he had no doubts. Over the past decade, all he had seen was his mother treating his father with disdain and indifference.

He slept for two days straight, waking only at sunrise when blood-curdling screams pierced the air of Zhuangyuan Village.

“It was I who ordered Old Pan’s murder! It was me!” the magistrate wailed loudly, his voice clear to all.

“I was just following orders! Don’t come after me! Don’t come after me!” A bailiff screamed in agony, clutching his head as stars danced in his vision, shouting until he collapsed unconscious.

The third voice was filled with venomous resentment. The speaker, her left hand clawing furiously at her right palm, shrieked: “All I wanted was for you to marry someone from another village instead of flirting around in Zhuangyuan! What did I do wrong? What did I do wrong?! I didn’t kill anyone—I just passed along information! Why are you punishing me?” This woman was none other than the innkeeper, the famously kind-hearted widow Meng.

Pan Yuelang listened to their desperate cries, each one piercing his ears. His heart sank like a stone, and without bothering to put on shoes, he ran toward the source of the commotion.

On the cobblestone streets of Zhuangyuan Village, the magistrate, the bailiff, and Widow Meng were sprawled in the middle of the road. All three cradled their right wrists with their left hands, their faces contorted in agony as they stared at their palms.

In their palms bloomed a radiant Ten Killers Flower.

To Di Jiang, the flower appeared vibrant. To the three individuals, it was monstrous. Yet to the surrounding villagers, it was invisible.

The Ten Killers Flower was a manifestation of one’s inner demons—visible only to the bearer, unseen by others.

The villagers could only see the three individuals writhing in pain, their expressions twisted, but they could neither see nor feel the torment and mental anguish the three endured.

The truth was laid bare, shocking everyone.

The villagers didn’t understand what had happened, only that these three individuals had confessed to their crimes, while Sister Li and Zhang Quande, who had been drowned, were innocent!

They never imagined that a supposedly upright magistrate would commit such acts. However, this also explained why, despite the county seat being days away, they had arrived on the second day—they had known about Old Pan’s death all along because they were the murderers.

As for Widow Meng… She could never have dreamed that her plan to eliminate Sister Li to clear the way for herself and Old Zhang would backfire when Zhang was mistakenly accused of being Sister Li’s lover by Di Jiang. She had no one to blame but herself, unable to voice her grievances or shed tears.

“What should we do now…” The village head and township leader exchanged glances. Finally, Yan Sanqing waved his hand decisively: “Lock these three in the stone room and guard them closely. Write up their confessions and have them sign them as evidence for the court!”

“Yes!” Thinking of the unrest caused by these three over the past few days, the villagers were enraged, immediately tying them up and escorting them to the ancestral hall. The magistrate’s men, already terrified, dared not speak a word in their defense. They watched silently as the three were dragged into the hall.

The three criminals paid no attention to their surroundings—all their focus was on the blooming Ten Killers Flower. The flower was blood-red, as if nourished by the essence of their own hearts, causing their veins to bulge and leaving them in unbearable agony.

Their screams continued unabated, echoing through the air. Unable to bear it, the villagers eventually blocked the windows and sealed the doors of the stone room, leaving them to cry and scream inside without interference. They would wait for higher authorities to arrive before deciding what to do next.