The Sword of the Taoist Priest

Zizhu Town, West Gate Market

The sky was just beginning to brighten, and the market was already bustling with activity.

In the corner of the live poultry section, a small stall barely three steps wide, a bright and sunny teenage boy, around seventeen or eighteen, was busy by the butcher's block and the hot water pot.

"Do you want the blood?"

"Yes."

"Do you want the feathers?"

"Yes."

Láng Qīng skillfully slaughtered the chickens. Though it was just him at the stall, his speed and precision were pleasing to watch.

"Want it chopped into pieces?"

"Yes."

Láng Qīng pulled out a cleaver, and with swift and steady movements, every chop was precise and flawless.

"Here you go, Auntie, five copper coins. If you think it's too small, three copper coins are fine."

The auntie grinned widely, repeatedly praising Láng Qīng.

The vendors around them couldn't help but glance over, especially the chicken sellers. A chicken typically sold for thirty or forty copper coins, but Láng Qīng's "swish, swish, bang, bang" method earned him just five copper coins.

They were jealous, of course, but they also had to admit: his skill was impressive. It wasn't just the speed—it was the fact that a bully once tried to force Láng Qīng to pay a "management fee" for the stall.

But after that day, the bully never came around to collect another copper coin. From then on, whenever they saw Láng Qīng, it was as if they were seeing that bully.

Time passed, and things changed. Who would have thought that Láng Qīng, just a year ago, was nothing more than a refugee?

With nothing but a borrowed kitchen knife, he had carved out a space for himself in Zizhu Town's West Gate Market.

Cheerful, polite, and kind-hearted, Láng Qīng quickly won the affection of everyone. Over time, the nickname "Chicken King of Zizhu Town West Gate Market" spread, though it was too long, so it was simply shortened to "King of Chickens".

Actually, it should have been just two words.

Just as Auntie was about to leave, she seemed to remember something. She looked around, leaned in slightly, and in a mysterious whisper asked:

"I remember when you first came to Zizhu Town, you said you were a Daoist?"

"Hmm... yes."

Láng Qīng nodded.

Before his transmigration, he had just entered a Taoist academy.

Summoning winds and rain, practicing divination, summoning soldiers with beans... all of these he didn't know how to do.

What he did know was to go with the flow—what people now call "lying flat."

Although he had memorized a few spells, they were no good for deceiving anyone.

"What exactly does a Daoist do?"

"Exterminate demons, banish evil spirits, exorcise ghosts, and make offerings to the heavens. Uphold justice and act on behalf of Heaven."

Auntie fell silent.

If this were before, she would have thought Láng Qīng was crazy.

In fact, a year ago, when he first said it, everyone thought the same.

"That widow, Little Wang, her baby just turned one. The poor kid has been crying non-stop for a whole day and night. The town's doctors are helpless; some even ran off after seeing the baby. Everyone's saying the baby might be possessed..."

"Possessed? What kind of dirty thing could be in this world?"

Láng Qīng scoffed.

Since his transmigration, everything seemed normal, except for him.

Auntie sighed. "You didn't hear that baby's cries... it's so hoarse now, it breaks my heart. Why don't you go take a look?"

Láng Qīng had initially wanted to refuse, but then the incantations he had memorized flashed through his mind.

"Alright."

He said, and with a quick motion, took off his apron, following Auntie closely.

"Xiao Qīng, you're closing up early today?"

"I have something to do, but I'll be back soon."

"Then I'll go buy some vegetables, hurry up!"

"Got it!"

Láng Qīng cheerfully waved to the others.

At the edge of town, in a dirty, narrow alley, the entrance of a courtyard was crowded with people. Several burly men, with fierce faces and armed with knives and clubs, stood guard as if expecting trouble.

Several elderly men from the town, holding their beards, shook their heads disapprovingly.

Curious onlookers shouted words like "dirty thing" and "unclean."

Many aunts and grannies peeked over to see what was going on.

When they saw Láng Qīng, the chaotic scene immediately quieted down.

The burly men looked visibly frightened and quickly tossed or hid their weapons with a clattering sound.

"The Chicken King is here, let's run!"

"Run? We're not the ones causing trouble!"

"Right..."

Láng Qīng pushed through the crowd and looked into the courtyard.

The place was a bit messy, clearly not cleaned for days.

Inside the hall, the light was dim, and the atmosphere was uncomfortably eerie.

Láng Qīng looked up at the bright sunshine outside and then at his own arms, which were covered in goosebumps.

He could vaguely hear the heartbreaking cries of the child, hoarse and pitiful.

"Broad daylight, clear skies... could there really be something dirty in there?" Láng Qīng frowned, about to step into the courtyard when a woman hurriedly grabbed his arm.

She glanced sideways at one of the burly men holding a knife, lowered her voice and said, "Be careful, his arm is all scratched up!"

Láng Qīng looked at the man, whose arm was wrapped in white cloth with a reddish stain seeping through. At first glance, it looked like he'd been cut.

"It's fine. If I can help, I'll do it."

Láng Qīng said, and stepped inside the courtyard.

As soon as he entered the hall, the temperature seemed to drop drastically.

He couldn't help but shiver. Following the cries, he entered the inner room.

On the bed lay a frail woman, her clothes barely covering her body, holding a one-year-old child in her arms.

Little Wang, the widow, rocked the child gently, trying to comfort it, but the baby only cried harder.

"Be good, don't cry. Don't cry..."

Little Wang comforted the child repeatedly, but no matter how she tried, the crying wouldn't stop.

Láng Qīng stood in the doorway, his gaze filled with confusion.

Little Wang's face was as pale as paper, and her beautiful face had odd gray-brown spots.

The room felt even colder, but Little Wang didn't seem to notice, letting the blankets fall from her shoulders.

Her fingers, as she touched the child, were thin and bony, with a faint blood-red tint at the tips—almost as if the fingers had been dipped in blood and then sucked on.

"Can I take a look at the child?" Láng Qīng asked.

Little Wang slowly lifted her head and looked at him.

Láng Qīng gasped in shock.

Her eyes were lifeless, murky, and empty—extremely eerie.

Láng Qīng gritted his teeth and moved closer, noticing a strange, foul odor in the air.

"Is the baby sick?"

Láng Qīng studied the child.

The child's face was a bluish tint, and its eyes were tightly shut.

Little Wang didn't respond.

The auntie who had led him in, still scared, came to the door and said, "That doctor who ran off said the child is very healthy..."

"Could it be from hunger?"

"No, Little Wang has plenty of milk."

"..."

Láng Qīng's face turned red, especially when Little Wang adjusted her clothes, seemingly about to breastfeed the child.

Láng Qīng quickly turned his head, muttering "What's unseen should not be looked at."

"Let me try."

Láng Qīng said, turning his back to Little Wang and murmuring under his breath:

"Heavenly dread, Earthly dread, there's a crying child in my house..."

As soon as his words finished, the child's cries stopped!

Auntie froze, and at that moment, Láng Qīng was also stunned.

Auntie's face lit up with joy as she looked at Láng Qīng with awe.

But at the same time, Láng Qīng's body broke out in a cold sweat.

Does this mean... there really is something dirty?