Chapter 25: Beyond the Veil of Shadows—A Hundred Ghosts at the Outskirts of the Dark City (Part One)

Black Curtain City originally had only two gates—the South and the North. As the population grew, two more gates were added on the East and West sides for convenience, turning the city into a place with gates on all four sides. It was a classic example of a city that was hard to defend but easy to attack, essentially a freewheeling commercial hub.

There had been talk of renaming Black Curtain City, but after several days of consideration, it was ultimately decided to keep the original name. After all, if the city was to become a renowned place in the Immortal Spirit Realm, a long history was essential. Politically, the city remained without a lord; instead, it was governed by an elder council, composed of respected and venerable individuals.

Old Dao lived just outside the South Gate, which was also the site of the previous explosion. Monkey had dashed back in one breath across more than ten miles. Nearing the gate, he finally stopped to catch his breath, trying to calm his panic. What was there to fear? Wasn’t this normal? After all, he wasn’t an ordinary man.

Unable to resist, he pulled out a handful of pills. The moment he took them out, a strong metallic scent hit his nose. Just by sight and smell, he knew these were no ordinary remedies. Monkey sighed, pinching a red pill and studying it under the sun for a long while. Of course, he couldn’t discern anything significant, but after prolonged sniffing, whether real or imagined, he detected a faint sweetness beneath the blood-like odor.

He then examined the fewer black pills. Mixed with the red ones, nothing seemed unusual, but when isolated, the black pill had no scent. After a while, a cool sensation emerged, suggesting it might be good for relieving heatstroke. Monkey sighed again and pocketed the pills. He actually had no choice—whether poison or explosives, he had to swallow them.

Glancing again at the crow tattoo on his arm, Monkey felt as if it were alive, watching him. But even if he wanted to give it up, he wouldn’t; that black aura, saturated with power, was too intoxicating.

Adjusting his attire and clearing his throat, he was about to step inside—the South Gate was his domain. Suddenly, a cold splash hit his forehead. Instinctively, he reached up and found a splatter of bird droppings. Opening his mouth to curse violently, he recalled what happened earlier with Old Dao—wasn’t it all because of birds? So he swallowed the curse back down, muttering a few under his breath.

He hesitated—should he clean his clothes or save face? As he pondered, a man spotted him and hurried over, looking frantic, shouting, “Brother Monkey, something terrible has happened!”

“Bah! You’re the one with the big problem!” Without a second thought, Monkey slapped him hard. Strangely, the man’s terrified expression immediately steadied. Monkey cursed inwardly at the scoundrel, then asked, “What now? Didn’t I just take care of the Big Fish Gang? Who is it this time—the Swallow Sect or the Brotherhood?” Taking advantage of the distraction, he rubbed his forehead vigorously with his sleeve.

“No, no, it’s ghosts—haunted, there’s a haunting,” the man stammered, panic returning. Monkey gave him another slap to snap him out of it.

Ghost stories had been circulating around the South Gate for some time now. Some claimed that the great battle a year ago had stirred the spirits underground; others said it was the restless souls of innocents who died in that war. Opinions varied, but all agreed there was some connection to that battle. Indeed, since then, such tales had gradually emerged.

When the South Gate was rebuilt, the hauntings made a stir, even attracting some influential figures. A few cultivators came, performed rites, and chanted sutras, and the matter was seemingly settled. Yet the rumors never truly ceased. People still claimed to see ghosts, though thankfully, no direct harm was ever reported. Occasionally someone died, but Monkey suspected they scared themselves to death—after all, they had brought their troubles upon themselves.

Handling these matters was second nature to Monkey. If someone merely caught a fleeting glimpse of a ghost, a couple of slaps and a stern warning to get a good night's sleep usually sufficed—reminding them it was just a cat, a dog, or a cultivator, never the otherworldly thing.

When things escalated, like now—ghostly figures appearing in broad daylight, disrupting the workday, their frightening appearances murmuring about going home—then it required proper handling. The usual response was gathering people to bow, burn offerings, and then celebrate with a hearty meal and drink.

As for truly solving these issues? Ha! The cultivators claimed they had, so who was Monkey to question that? If they couldn’t manage it, then who could?

As Monkey pondered where to start calming the spirits, a sudden glare of sunlight struck his eyes sharply. He was about to curse but stopped abruptly—this was truly bad luck. His face turned ashen and twisted.

Hou Baiyu was still in Black Curtain City, watching it change day by day with a mix of awe and satisfaction. He was more resolved than ever not to leave. Why leave? Why venture out? From the moment he left Spirit Turtle Island, he had told himself he was here to enjoy life. So why depart? Here there was wine, meat, beauty, and no worries or enemies.

Recalling that day brought him joy—his two great enemies had perished decisively, as if fate had settled the score. No one knew it was him who had sent the tip-off to Wu Yue, and the Cloud Shadow Fortress had no idea he existed. With no enemies and no worries, why run? Life was short; enjoy every moment.

Of course, life had its trials—like not having money.

In truth, if he joined any faction, he would be instantly welcomed as a guest of honor. But after the Cloud Shadow Fortress incident, Hou Baiyu only wished for a quiet life. A small tree was useless, a big tree offered shade, but a tall tree drew lightning, and when it fell, the monkeys scattered. He dreaded crossing paths with the hot-tempered types who would destroy entire sects at the slightest disagreement. So he chose to remain a lone cultivator.

As for money, that was not unsolvable. Borrowing was always an option.

“Haha! Brother Hou, you’ve been putting on some weight lately! That calls for a celebration. Come on, let’s head to the Brocade Pavilion for a few drinks,” Hou Baiyu called out loudly. Sunlight struck his head, gleaming brightly and dazzling Monkey’s eyes.

Monkey thought Hou Baiyu was the biggest unexpected joy in his otherwise happy life. He couldn’t even recall how they had met. But he knew Hou Baiyu always found some excuse to drag him to a tavern—“Congrats on growing taller,” “Celebrate your weight gain,” or even once after a hard fall, which also became a reason to drink.

Of course, Monkey always paid the tab. Brothers should have a shared wealth, though he didn’t quite understand what that meant. Each time Hou Baiyu borrowed money, it was practically a given, more like a gift, since Hou Baiyu never showed any intention of repaying.

In terms of words, not even ten Monkeys could match Hou Baiyu, but in combat, that was a different story—no, even a hundred Monkeys wouldn’t stand a chance. Once, in frustration and shame, Monkey had attacked, activating the crow tattoo on his arm, but Hou Baiyu easily deflected the blow with a single finger. Only then did Monkey realize Hou Baiyu was a cultivator.

That revelation completely changed Monkey’s view of cultivators. Even the lowest Qi-condensing cultivators in Black Curtain City usually looked down on people like Monkey, let alone treat them as brothers. For a moment, Monkey even felt honored to lend Hou Baiyu money. Subsequently, he lent him double or triple the amount each time, generous to the point of recklessness.

But as days passed, Hou Baiyu’s borrowing grew more frequent, and Monkey’s admiration waned. He watched his purse visibly shrink until one day he found himself unable to afford a meal—a feeling he had not experienced in ages. Monkey began to reevaluate his relationship with Hou Baiyu and was surprised to find that knowing him and lending him money brought no benefit at all.

Words were useless, fighting was hopeless, so Monkey resorted to avoidance. Unfortunately, Hou Baiyu always appeared mysteriously nearby, with some outrageous excuse to drink, and Monkey had no choice but to join. Asking others for help never crossed his mind—not just because of doubt, but because he believed this was a cultivator’s matter; bringing outsiders in would spoil the fun.

Seeing no escape, Monkey forced a dry laugh and said, “There was another haunting at the South Gate just now. I’m afraid I won’t have time to drink with you, Brother Yu.”

To his surprise, Hou Baiyu patted his chest confidently and said, “More ghostly mischief? Don’t worry, Brother Hou has got this. Driving away ghosts is a small matter—leave it to me, and it’ll be done in a flash.” Hearing this, not only Monkey but even the man nearby wore a fearful expression. After all, the unfortunate soul who died of fright had passed away just after Hou Baiyu’s ghost-clearing.