Chapter One: Seeking the Drought Demon in the Land of Four Deadly Shadows

“Heaven, pure and clear; earth, spiritual and aware—guide me, let me seek the root and trace its source.” Liaochen stood atop the mountain peak, snapped off a pine branch, and chanted softly under his breath. Then he cast the branch outward, following wherever it pointed as he continued his flight.

After repeating this process several times, Liaochen finally arrived at a desolate ravine and stopped.

“I think I’ve found it,” he murmured, but dared not go any further. “Drought fiend runs rampant, burning as if with living fire…” Even before he prayed for rain, Liaochen had suspected the emergence of a drought demon was behind the parched lands of northern Shaanxi. Now, it appeared his fears were confirmed.

Though he had discerned the likely location of the demon, Liaochen had little confidence in vanquishing it. Such a vast, severe drought could only be wrought by a formidable creature. Drought demons all begin as the transformed dead; in their earliest stage, they may cause only a small area to suffer from lack of rain, and ordinary villagers might still fend them off. But once matured, they become a scourge beyond mortal means, rendering an entire county into barren earth. If, at this stage, the demon chose to hide its presence, restraining its aura, it would not provoke catastrophic disaster—at most, the harvest would be poor. In this way, the demon would avoid attracting attention and thus escape destruction, allowing the people to survive, never suspecting the true cause. Yet this also meant the demon had gained intelligence, with the potential to grow ever stronger, leading to even greater calamity.

By now, this drought demon belonged to the class that could soar through the skies—if not already, then soon. Otherwise, how could the disaster have become so widespread and terrible?

“It’s not the time yet,” Liaochen calculated that the demon had not been here long; the local earth god and City God must have known already, yet for some reason, had taken no action.

Liaochen could command ghost soldiers and spirit generals, but not the likes of earth gods or City Gods, unless he held an edict from the Three Pure Ones. Yet when he prayed for rain, he realized the Three Pure Ones would likely not intervene in this matter. He could only rely on himself.

He descended his flying sword and concealed himself near a county town, heading toward the city. As he walked, he found something amiss. This close to the demon, the drought should have struck here first and worst—yet there wasn’t even a single refugee in sight.

When he reached the city outskirts, he found the gates wide open, not a soldier in sight. Inside, all was deathly silent. The place was truly deserted.

“Alas, life is not easy…” Liaochen gazed wordlessly at the sky, then made his way to the City God’s temple.

As he expected, the temple doors were tightly shut; the priests must have long since fled. Liaochen vaulted the wall and entered. The temple, untended for ages, was in even greater disrepair.

Entering the main hall, he saw standing in the center a City God with the appearance of a Tang Dynasty official, flanked by subordinate spirits. Liaochen produced three sticks of incense, lit them before the City God, and said, “Beyond these walls, a drought demon runs rampant; the land is scorched red, the people in dire straits. I have come from afar to slay this fiend. I beg you, City God, to show yourself and aid me in ridding the land of this scourge.” Yet as the incense burned to ash, there was still no sign of the deity.

Seeing himself refused, Liaochen could only sigh, “A City God is the chief of his domain. To ignore the suffering of your people is dereliction of duty. Without the incense of mortals, how long can you hold your divine seat?” He shook his head and feigned departure.

"Hold, Daoist! Who says I feign ignorance? What do you know, truly?" Suddenly a great shout echoed through the hall, and from the altar descended a middle-aged man in Tang official’s garb—clearly the City God himself. With the city empty, he no longer needed to hide from mortal eyes and revealed himself openly.

“Greetings, Lord City God,” Liaochen bowed respectfully. When the City God had been feigning as a clay idol, a little sarcasm was permissible, but now before his true form, decorum was required.

The City God regarded him. “You, little Daoist—a restrained aura of clear light, certainly a scion of the Orthodox Way. And at your age, such attainment is rare. Whose disciple are you?”

“My Patriarch is Lü Chunyang, the True Man,” Liaochen replied.

“Oh, you are that old Daoist’s apprentice? I have met him before,” the City God said, surprising Liaochen.

“Ah!” Liaochen was taken aback. “Of course, you are from the Tang era—it’s quite possible you met my Patriarch in person.”

“Ah, the path of immortality is hard indeed. I once had the fortune to meet your Patriarch, back when I had just passed the imperial exams, brimming with youthful ambition. I even mocked him then, saying he played with the world, serving neither court nor people, seeking only his own liberation—what use was that to the nation? How laughable. And now, your Patriarch has soared to immortality, a celestial among the ranks, while I am left here, governing a small city, clinging to the vestiges of my mortal office as little more than a clay idol…” The City God sighed in melancholy.

“But Lord City God, you preside over this place, hardly unworthy of your former aspirations. For a thousand years, countless officials have come and gone, yet only you receive the endless incense of the people. Surely you may feel some pride,” Liaochen replied, his words carefully flattering.

The City God, seasoned by a thousand years of office, easily saw through the compliment, but since his departure from the mortal world, few had flattered him to his face, and so he was in good humor. “I know you’ve come for the drought demon in the valley. I was aware of it long ago. When I served as magistrate here, I even sent experts to exterminate it, but the creature escaped. Who would have thought, after a thousand years, it would return and grow so powerful? Alas…” The City God sounded genuinely frustrated. He was responsible for the people’s safety, yet could do nothing against the demon. He had reported it several times, but received no response. The last time, he was even warned from above that the demon’s emergence was a matter of fate, beyond the jurisdiction of the underworld; he was not to interfere.

“So even you are powerless, Lord City God?” Liaochen probed.

“Powerless,” the deity replied with frustration.

“Why not report it higher? No matter how formidable, even a drought demon cannot escape the thunderous wrath of heaven,” Liaochen pressed.

“It is ordained by fate—a tribulation to be endured. The gods must maintain the balance of heaven and cannot go against the mandate. What can be done?” the City God answered.

Liaochen fell silent, his unease deepening. Clearly, this drought demon was no ordinary spirit.

“In life, that demon bore the surname Huang—a kinsman of the infamous rebel Huang Chao. Yet his heart was not wicked. Though he also rebelled, he committed little evil, and even saved many. When Huang Chao’s army was defeated and retreated here, he seized many locals to grind into food for his troops. The man named Huang could not bear it, and at great risk, released the captives, enraging Huang Chao. He was forced to flee by night, hiding in the valley. After Huang Chao died, the court hunted the rebels; a traitor betrayed him. Some pleaded on his behalf, but the arresting officials, greedy for merit, ignored them and jailed the intercessors instead. In the end, no one dared plead. When the army surrounded the valley, Huang had no escape. He swore that one day, not a blade of grass would grow here, and the betrayers would know the pain of being eaten alive. He then took his own life. The officials brought his corpse back to claim a reward, but it vanished mysteriously. Since then, a drought demon has haunted the valley.” The City God finished the tale, at a loss for words.

“So that’s the truth… No wonder fate decrees it so. With such a grievance, it is no surprise he became a demon, nor that his oath was fulfilled. But a thousand years have passed; those involved have long since been reborn. What fault have the countless innocents here?” Liaochen sighed.

“Oh? Surely you didn’t seek me out just to hear this demon’s story?” the City God asked.

“I wish to rid the land of the drought demon, but my means are insufficient. Therefore, I beg you, Lord City God, to grant me a vial of water from the River of the Three Crossings and a few taels of Red Spider Lily sap, so I may lay a Ninefold Yin Array to suppress the demon’s fiery aura.”

“Oh, such things are nowhere to be found in the mortal world, but the underworld has them in abundance. I cannot slay the demon myself, but gifting you some items is no breach—after all, you are the disciple of an old acquaintance.” The City God laughed heartily, clapping his hands. Instantly, a ghostly attendant appeared bearing two flasks. Both the water from the River of the Three Crossings and the Red Spider Lily were treasures of the underworld, chilling to the extreme; yet the flasks contained them without a hint of escaping cold, clearly not ordinary vessels.

“All you need is within. These two flasks I won from Judge Lu in a wager, forged of the purest jade from the coldest depths of the underworld. They separate yin and yang, and are inscribed with a mustard seed formation—though not supremely advanced, they can easily hold tens of thousands of pounds of liquid. I give them to you as well,” the City God declared with a flourish.

Liaochen rolled his eyes inwardly: truly, the older the wiser—and the more cunning. Once given, such treasures would never be returned, so the City God feigned generosity to win favor. Outwardly, Liaochen maintained composure, offering his thanks with feigned embarrassment. The City God shot him a glance, saying, “Such a sly and shameless fellow—Lü Chunyang’s school has indeed produced a remarkable disciple. Go on, then; I won’t see you off. May you succeed swiftly and bring relief to the people.” With that, he vanished, returning to his divine domain.

Having obtained what he sought, Liaochen left at a leisurely pace. As he neared the temple gate, he glanced at the flayed portraits of corrupt officials from the early Ming, sighing softly. “The founding emperor can hardly be faulted for devoting his heart and soul to fighting corruption—yet even he could not prevent the realm from falling to corrupt hands in the end.”

Outside the city, atop a small hill, Liaochen set up his ritual platform. After burning incense and offering prayers, he poured the City God’s gifts—the water of the Three Crossings and the Red Spider Lily sap—into cinnabar, preparing for his journey into the valley the next day.