A Pawn's Passage

The Holy Xuan wanted to make the Daoist Order a model institution, but the results were far from ideal.

He had desired a unified Daoist Order, but due to the conflict between the Buddhist Sect and the Daoist Order, his plans to merge the three major sects came to an abrupt halt. By the time the conflict ended, the best opportunity for integration had already passed.

The Holy Xuan sought to abolish many outdated practices, such as the master-servant system. While he officially succeeded in abolishing it on paper, many prestigious families still had servants. These prestigious families were deeply rooted in the major Daoist sects but not entirely subordinate to them, with many family members roaming outside the Daoist Order. This created loopholes, allowing many prestigious Daoist families to continue keeping servants, including highly skilled staunch fighters.

He also wanted to abolish the sex trade but faced significant internal resistance. During his efforts to unify the Daoist sects, the Purple Immortal Mountain faction consistently stood by him. Thus, it complicated his decisions, leading to a compromise. The Purple Immortal Mountain was allowed to remain, but brothels were banned from Jade Capital.

Then there was the issue of torture. The Green Phoenix Guard of the previous dynasty was infamous for their brutal methods. There was a saying in official circles that anything could be obtained under the three wooden boards[1]. The meaning was simple—severe torture could extract any confession desired, regardless of the truth.

It could not be denied that torture was a double-edged sword. Its advantage lay in high efficiency in some cases, but its downside was the risk of wrongful convictions.

The Holy Xuan’s efforts to limit torture had nothing to do with kindness or compassion. Instead, it was about maintaining proper societal norms.

At first, torture might have been used when 90% of a case was already solved and only one key confession was needed to close it, justifying its use as a last resort.

However, people gradually developed a dependency on such methods. With this precedent, torture might be used when only 80% of the case was solved. This percentage would keep reducing, until eventually, the horrifying situation of killing the innocent to claim credit would emerge. After all, capturing cult demons from secret societies was certainly much harder than catching ordinary people.

Of course, the Holy Xuan also understood that water that is too pure has no fish. He knew it was impossible to eradicate torture completely. However, it had to be strictly prohibited in principle and law. Otherwise, granting it legitimacy, as the Green Phoenix Guard once had, would quickly turn a necessary evil into torture being justified and natural.

Some practices simply must be banned. Even if they could be completely eradicated, the general stance must be one of rejection—this was how proper norms were established.

To this end, the Holy Xuan made two efforts. First, he established rules that prioritized physical evidence over confessions, reducing the weight of confessions in case resolutions. Second, he explicitly banned all forms of torture.

As a result, Xu Kou was demoted for torturing a prisoner to death, even though the prisoner was a cult demon who had committed numerous atrocities.

However, there were always countermeasures to policies. The Holy Xuan had underestimated the ingenuity of his successors. While he explicitly banned traditional torture methods, which were primarily physical punishments, he did not prohibit intimidation tactics.

For example, pretending to apply torture to exert psychological pressure on prisoners was considered a normal interrogation method because it was a psychological tactic rather than torture.

Thus, Beichen Hall later invented the Soul-Hooking Whip, a tool that bypassed bodily harm entirely. After its use, there were no visible injuries, so it technically did not count as physical punishment. Since it did not fall under the Holy Xuan’s prohibition, it was permitted.

The Soul-Hooking Whip was essentially an illusion. It would only work if one believed in it. This was why Mu Jin spent a long time talking before actually using it, repeatedly deepening Ye Xiu’s fear and forcing him to believe it was real.

Since illusion was considered a form of deception, Beichen Hall classified the Soul-Hooking Whip as a normal interrogation method involving the pretense of torture. This classification became an accepted norm within the Daoist Order. Even Zhang Yuelu could not deny it.

Thus, the Holy Xuan’s incomplete reforms created a peculiar mindset among Daoists. On one hand, they prided themselves on being civilized and viewed outsiders as barbarians. On the other hand, they engaged in practices not much different from what they deemed “barbaric.”

It was, undeniably, a great irony.

Zhang Yuelu agreed with the Holy Xuan’s principles, so she refrained from abusing punishment. Instead, she patiently confronted Ye Xiu and only let Mu Jin apply such methods when he refused to speak.

After all, Zhang Yuelu was not inflexible. This was a life-or-death struggle. When the other side had begun silencing witnesses, sticking rigidly to rules would only ensure one’s defeat.

However, after the initial show of force, Zhang Yuelu refrained from punishing Ye Xiu further and focused solely on questioning.

“That’s what Sage Li said. Beggar King, you should understand one thing—no one is coming to save you. If someone does come, it will only be to silence you.” Zhang Yuelu sat opposite Ye Xiu, a desk placed between them.

This time, there was no Soul-Hooking Whip striking Ye Xiu, yet his eyes were even duller than when he had been whipped, devoid of any hope.

Zhang Yuelu glanced at him and continued, “Perhaps you suspect I’m fabricating this. But I won’t prove anything. I’ll just say one thing—you should know better than I do what Sage Li is like and what he’s capable of.”

Sweat beaded on Ye Xiu’s forehead. He opened his mouth as if to speak, but he failed to utter a single word.

Zhang Yuelu waited for a moment before continuing, “Beggar King, you now have only one path left. If you abandon darkness for light, you may still have a slim chance of survival.”

Elsewhere, Qi Xuansu leaned against a large tree outside the dungeon, holding the cigar Pei Xiaolou had given him under his nose, sniffing it, and debating whether to try it.

Although summer days were longer, it was now late evening, and the sky had turned completely dark. A large, brilliant moon hung in the night sky—perfect for moon-gazing.

Westerners enjoyed night banquets or evening feasts. At this time, Shi Luosi was hosting an evening banquet to entertain Lei Xiaohuan, so she had not yet returned.

Pei Xiaolou, temporarily free, came to inspect the progress of the interrogation. Not wanting the facetious Sage to interfere, Zhang Yuelu sent Qi Xuansu to keep Pei Xiaolou company.

In truth, Pei Xiaolou had no intention of meddling in the interrogation. He gladly chatted with Qi Xuansu outside the dungeon about various Western goods and handed the latter a cigar, inviting him to try it. He also mentioned that one cigar cost 30 Taiping coins.

As they spoke, a Daoist priest from the Chongyang Palace of Immortality arrived to report that they had received intelligence about a superintendent from the Jiangnan Daoist Mansion attempting to disguise himself and flee to foreign lands by sea. The superintendent, who happened to be a subordinate of Li Tianlan, had already left Jinling Prefecture under the cover of night.

Hearing this, Pei Xiaolou immediately grew interested. He stopped chatting with Qi Xuansu and led a team to apprehend the fleeing superintendent.

That was how Qi Xuansu was left alone with the cigar.

Qi Xuansu, uninterested in the interrogation and unwilling to return to the dungeon, decided to enjoy the scenery under the moonlight. Not far away was Zhenwu Lake, its surface shimmering with moonlight, reflecting a large and beautiful full moon.

Zhenwu Lake lay within the city, and Zhenwu Temple was built by it. The side of the temple facing the lake had no walls, only a lakeside embankment, with waterside pavilions, corridors, and gazebos extending outward.

On normal days, small boats could traverse the lake, offering the refined pleasure of sailing to the temple under the moonlight.

The dungeon was built in the deepest part of Zhenwu Temple. Since it was not a place of honor, it was not located in a conspicuous location. As Zhenwu Temple backed onto Zhenwu Lake, its deepest part naturally extended to the lakeside, with the dungeon partly above ground and partly submerged as a water dungeon.

At this moment, Qi Xuansu was gazing at Zhenwu Lake when a thought struck him. If someone attacked Zhenwu Temple, wouldn’t the lakeside lack defense?

However, he quickly dismissed the thought. Zhenwu Temple was within the prosperous Jinling, not outside the city. So it made little difference whether it lacked a natural defense or not. More importantly, due to the excellent lakeside views, the residences of the Deputy Hall Masters were all adjacent to Zhenwu Lake. Attacking from the lakeside would be far harder than a frontal assault.

Qi Xuansu and Zhang Yuelu had indeed considered the possibility that someone would try to silence the witness, but they were focused on guarding against lone infiltrators rather than large-scale attacks.

This was a cognitive bias, as one’s intuition was to think that secrecy was paramount when it came to silencing witnesses, and that the fewer who knew, the better.

But on reflection, why the secrecy? Was it still necessary? The key was destroying all evidence because, without it, nothing could be done even if the truth was known.

Although Qi Xuansu thought it unlikely for anyone to attack from the lake, he still felt something was off. Years of life-and-death experiences had honed his natural instincts for danger.

In fact, since Pei Xiaolou left, Qi Xuansu felt uneasy. As time passed, this premonition grew stronger. Something about the surroundings seemed wrong, but he could not put a finger on it.

Moments later, Qi Xuansu finally realized what was wrong.

It was too quiet.

There were no chirping insects or croaking frogs.

Frogs usually stayed quiet, hiding in the shadows and avoiding contact with their kind. But during breeding season, they would gather in bodies of water to reproduce, croaking actively day and night, especially on rainy days.

It was now summer, the peak of the frog breeding season.

The unease in Qi Xuansu’s heart finally peaked, as if an invisible hand was gripping his heart tightly, making it hard to breathe. Something’s wrong!

At that moment, a small black dot appeared in the bright moonlit sky.

The shadow grew larger and larger.

Someone was walking in the air.

At the same time, a figure rose from the moonlit reflection on the lake.

Qi Xuansu tensed, immediately whipping out his Divine Dragon Pistol.

Then, one after another, numerous shadows emerged from the water like ghosts surging toward the shore.

Seeing this, Qi Xuansu quickly fired his pistol as a warning.

Tonight was destined to be a sleepless night.

1. Ancient torture device to clamp down on the prisoner’s body parts, causing agonizing pain. ☜