Chapter Fifty-Seven: Effortless Action, Boundless Accomplishment

Hearing that the visitor was a Taoist, the county magistrate rushed out to greet him, not even having time to put on his shoes properly, his boots half-slipped on his feet. In this place, everyone revered Taoism; the status of Taoist practitioners was even higher than that of officials. Those who had formally entered the path of immortality possessed abilities that could shake the heavens and earth. The magistrate, being merely a mortal, dared not neglect them.

The Taoist was welcomed into the room with countless thanks, waved his horsetail whisk, and unceremoniously took the seat of honor.

“This case is actually quite simple,” the Taoist began directly.

The magistrate, full of anxiety, bowed and said, “Please, enlighten me, sir.”

The Taoist spoke succinctly: “The crime was not committed by a single person. There were at least two or more involved. No one could possibly move the belongings of more than ten households in such a short time alone.”

The magistrate suddenly realized his mistake; he had been misled by the note left by 'Chivalrous Thief Chu Liuxiang', thinking only one person was responsible.

But the most crucial problem remained unresolved. Even with many accomplices, they would need to hide the stolen goods somewhere. With so much loot, it was impossible for it to be concealed flawlessly and unnoticed.

The county bailiff had already led men to turn the city upside down, but not a trace of the stolen goods had been found. Inspections at the city gates had also been intensified many times over; smuggling the loot out was impossible, unless they had done so on the very night of the theft.

But how did they manage that?

The Taoist sipped his tea and continued, “The method was quite simple. I investigated the losses at each household and found that five wagons were missing, and one ox cart was stolen from the county office, making a total of six carts.”

The magistrate was startled, nearly forgetting that an ox cart had been stolen from the county office.

“He stole the wagons along with the loot?”

“Yes,” the Taoist replied.

“So he loaded the stolen goods onto the wagons and drove them out of the city overnight?”

“That’s correct,” said the Taoist.

“How did he do it?” the magistrate asked.

“Quite simply. The thieves moved the carts from the courtyards over the walls, loaded them with the loot, and had another accomplice drive the carts out through the city gates.”

The magistrate gaped, silent for a long moment. “Is it really that simple?”

“It is just that simple.”

In a faraway world, a television was echoing, “Step one: open the refrigerator door. Step two: put the elephant inside…”

---

The magistrate shook his head. “How did the thieves move the ox carts and wagons over the walls? That day, even my county office was guarded. An ox cart is so heavy—how did they move it out without making a sound? Ordinary people couldn’t do that.”

The Taoist replied, “That’s why this ‘Chu Liuxiang’ is no ordinary person, but a cultivator.”

That statement struck the magistrate like a bolt from the blue, shattering his heart and enlightening him at once.

Indeed, if a cultivator took on such a task, it would be effortless.

“But… why would cultivators steal mortal wealth?”

Cultivators were renowned for their purity and detachment. They were forbidden from coveting mortal pleasures, lest it disturb their pursuit of the Dao; those who mastered the fasting arts did not eat grain, living on wind and dew; they cut off worldly ties, having nothing more to do with the mortal realm; the treasures they sought could not be produced by mortals or bought with money.

Even if, for argument’s sake, a cultivator wanted gold and jewels, a single word would have countless wealthy families offering them freely—why resort to theft?

Furthermore, if a disciple of a reputable sect was caught stealing, they would likely be expelled. Why would a cultivator risk such disgrace for mere theft?

There was neither need nor necessity, and the risks were enormous. Why would he do it?

“There are many possible reasons,” the Taoist said, sipping his tea. “Perhaps he’s a rogue cultivator, or… hmm.”

He guessed the culprit was either a rogue cultivator or a fallen disciple. Every year, the righteous path produced a few such failures, but among mortals, they hardly mattered. The Taoist quietly drank his tea.

“May I ask your title, sir?”

“Ah, yes,” the Taoist put down his teacup. “I am Lü Wuji, a Daoist of the Myriad Laws Peak, Myriad Laws Temple, on Mount Boundless.”

Hearing the word “Daoist,” the magistrate finally relaxed.

Even as a mortal, he knew the ranks among Taoists were strictly defined. To call oneself a Daoist meant one had reached the Foundation Establishment stage; otherwise, one could only claim to be a Daoist novice.

If one could not pass the Foundation Establishment barrier, even as a gray-bearded elder, one remained a novice.

But with Foundation Establishment achieved, one possessed strength many times, even hundreds of times, greater than ordinary mortals, and no petty thief could escape.

The magistrate bowed. “May I ask, Daoist, how should we proceed?”

Lü Wuji drew a sheet of white paper from his sleeve and tossed it onto the table. The paper floated down flat. With a wave of his hand, a brush on the table rose as if guided by an invisible hand, dipped itself in ink, and began to write swiftly across the page.

---

Witnessing this miraculous display, the magistrate was so frightened he threw himself to the ground. When he raised his head, Lü Wuji had finished writing and handed the paper to him. “This is the ‘Edict to Eradicate Evil,’ jointly issued by the righteous immortal sects. If you encounter an evil cultivator, you may strike without mercy. Simply press your fingerprint on the page, and I will be free to apprehend the criminal.”

The magistrate asked in surprise, “My fingerprint counts?”

The Taoist smiled. “Once your fingerprint is on the page, every detail of today’s events will be recorded. It can serve as evidence for the righteous sect alliance in the future.”

Among cultivators, there was no true friendship, nor true justice in the immortal world. But one thing was certain: the alliance strictly forbade killing and plundering.

Therefore, even to kill a rogue cultivator, one must prepare ample evidence, or else the alliance’s enforcers might come for you, ending your life and Dao.

Nowadays, eliminating a fallen disciple of the righteous path was tantamount to striking it rich—a legal opportunity to kill and seize treasures. One could be both heroic and gain wealth; why not? Righteous cultivators vied to punish and eradicate evil. If the culprit were not a cultivator, Lü Wuji would never have bothered.

These days, a fallen disciple was worth a fortune.

The magistrate, trembling, pressed his fingerprint onto the paper. With a sweep of his sleeve, Lü Wuji made the paper vanish. “Gather all the soldiers who have been on duty at the city gate in the past month.”

Though unsure why, the magistrate summoned them as instructed. The soldiers lined up—eleven in all.

The Taoist stepped forward, meeting each soldier’s gaze. They felt his eyes were like a bottomless, clear spring. What they didn’t know was that with each glance, their memories from the past days flooded into the Taoist’s mind.

In other words, every face that had entered the city in the past month was now in the Taoist’s memory.

He closed his eyes, seeking those who had newly entered the city in the past month and had frequently left on the night of the crime.

“Hmm, just as expected—the memories from the night of the crime are very fuzzy; the faces can’t be seen clearly,” the Taoist muttered.

This meant that on the night of the incident, those leaving the city had used a spell to confuse perception, otherwise the soldiers’ memories would have been clear.

“In that case, I can only search for all suspicious newcomers from the past month.”

Soon, a face appeared in the Taoist’s mind.

“Ox cart? Peddler? Young master?”

The Taoist mused.

“Interesting.”