Chapter 42: A Single Leaf Suppresses the Demon

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At the same time, inside a military command center.

The clatter of keyboards filled the entire operations hall as dozens of people worked with machine-like precision and speed.

On the enormous screen before them, satellite imagery had been divided into tens of millions of pixels. Under the calculations of high-performance computers, the target area—one ten-millionth of the whole image—was rapidly marked out.

“Level Three SOS signal confirmed. Remote strike authorized.”

“PX-17 thermobaric warhead loading. Launch calculations in progress.”

At the front, a technician’s fingers flew across the keyboard, the blue glow of the screen reflected in his eyes.

“How is it?” the officer beside him asked in a low voice.

“We’ve located the target. Coordinates: 1173, 925. Estimated deviation: 1.7 percent.”

In any other context, 1.7 percent might have been small enough to ignore. Here, however, it was an intolerably large margin of error.

The enemy was only a dozen or so kilometers from the county seat. On a satellite’s scale, that distance amounted to no more than a few pixels. The slightest deviation could, at best, expose the strike and cause panic among civilians; at worst, it could drop the warhead directly onto their heads.

“Adjust it. The deviation must not exceed 0.5 percent.”

Dozens of computer cases gave off a deep, muffled roar. The people’s heavy breathing pressed down like storm clouds, mingling with the rapid, rainlike tapping of calculations. The targeting marker crept slowly across the screen, converging on a single pixel within the vast map.

“Coordinates locked. Scanning the target environment...”

The tapping suddenly stopped.

One of the technicians at the front jerked his head up. “A high-energy spiritual reaction has been detected at the target location!”

His voice was sharp with alarm. The commander standing nearby paused for a fraction of a second, then issued a decisive order.

“Bring up the satellite feed!”

A window opened on the screen. The overhead image rapidly magnified, revealing a scene of utter chaos. At the center stood a dharma body surrounded by peach blossoms, an empty expanse swept clear around it. Farther away, gunfire stretched in every direction, interwoven with flickering spiritual light, while tiny human figures—like ants—ran back and forth.

Had the image been enlarged several hundred times further, they would have seen that the people surrounding the battlefield had all suddenly raised their heads, gazing toward a certain point in the sky.

Within their field of vision, a crimson-golden star hung suspended there, drifting lazily toward the ground.

At first, it was no larger than a grain of rice, floating in the air like a tiny shard of diamond. But as it descended, the radiant star rapidly expanded in their sight, swelling until it became a blinding sun.

The entire scene froze.

All the surrounding noise seemed to recede into the distance. Everyone appeared to have turned into clay figures and wooden statues in an instant. Even the peach-blossom-clad figure at the center stood frozen in place.

It was as though heaven and earth were bearing down upon him. An irresistible force descended slowly, its pressure leaving him unable to make the slightest movement. Almost dazed, he could only watch as that sun fell from the sky and drifted toward him.

At the instant it reached the top of his head, he finally saw the sun’s true form.

It was a half-yellowed leaf.

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Flames surged into the sky. Blinding fire illuminated the heavens, while the rapidly expanding air became a wave of hot wind that swept through the surroundings, forcing everyone to shut their eyes lest the searing brilliance injure them.

Yet outside the screen, every eye had widened.

“What is this...?”

The technicians at the console stared blankly at the display. They possessed a godlike view of the entire battlefield, yet even they had not clearly seen what had happened.

On the satellite feed, all they had witnessed was a ball of light rising from the ground. Within the span of a few seconds, it dimmed, and the formidable enemy who had been standing there had simply evaporated.

Yes—evaporated.

The sphere of light had produced no violent explosion and no devastating shock wave. All its power had been compressed into a mere radius of several meters, reducing the enemy to ash in the blink of an eye without affecting the operatives around the perimeter in the slightest.

It was as though someone had lit a fire at that exact spot. Once the thing had burned away, the fire went out.

A deathly silence descended over the hall. The only sound was the repeated beeping of the words Target Lost flashing on the screen.

After a long moment, the commander at the desk was the first to recover.

“Trace the source of that spiritual energy!”

The technicians came to themselves as if from a dream. The keyboards began clattering again, and a curved line was drawn across the screen. It wound its way onward, pointing toward an inconspicuous corner of the image.

The camera moved in. The scene in the corner gradually came into focus.

It was a small hill, barren all around, with only a few scattered trees. A figure in a hoodie and jeans stood there, his relaxed posture making him look as though he had merely come out for a stroll.

The technician slammed a button, attempting to zoom in further. But the person on the screen turned around. His shadow flickered, and in the very next instant, his entire body vanished from where he stood, leaving everyone outside the screen staring at one another in stunned silence.

Several full seconds passed before someone in the room finally spoke.

“...Who was that?”

At the same moment, at a bend in the Liangzhou Expressway.

The scorching air was swept away by the wind. Lu Zhenhai slowly opened his eyes.

Before him, the sunlike blaze had already gone out. The humanoid figure that had stood at the center was nowhere to be seen. Only a smoking heap of ash remained on the ground.

The gunfire all around had ceased. Operatives from every direction stood wide-eyed, staring at the heap of ashes before them. More than a hundred gazes held nothing but bewilderment.

Only a very few wore complicated expressions. Lu Zhenhai was among them.

This was the second time he had seen such ashes.

The first had been inside the Yiyuan Power Plant, when the Peach Blossom Spring cultivator who had come to attack them had been transformed in an instant into a human-shaped pile of ash.

This time, the opponent had been different, but the ashes were the same. Before that flame, a ratlike ambusher and a mountainlike master seemed to make no difference at all.

“Director Lu...”

A hoarse voice came from nearby.

Lu Zhenhai turned and saw Jiang Ruifeng, who was sitting and half-lying on the ground.

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He had been nearly unconscious moments earlier because of his injuries, yet now he had suddenly awakened, his entire face filled with indescribable excitement.

“You... you managed to bring him here?”

The corner of Lu Zhenhai’s mouth twitched as he gazed at the ashes. For a moment, he was utterly speechless.

If only he really had invited him...

...

At the same time, outside the antique market in Liangzhou City.

A figure in ordinary clothes walked up to a candy-art stall. The vendor, who had been bending over his work, raised his head and realized that the young man who had bought a sugar painting earlier had returned.

“Boss, is my sugar painting ready?”

“Ready, ready. Here you are.”

The vendor handed him the bamboo skewer resting to one side. “You came back at just the right time. The sugar was poured only a few minutes ago, so it’s still warm.”

Zhou Qing took the skewer. The pale-brown syrup had been repeatedly drawn across it, forming a soaring dragon, with wisps of heat still rising from its surface.

“Take it home and eat it quickly. I’m getting ready to pack up too.”

The vendor glanced toward the horizon. “The sky’s been flashing white nonstop. Looks like thunder. It may rain soon, so I’d better get moving.”

As he spoke, he busied himself putting his tools back into his bag.

Zhou Qing said nothing. He merely turned and walked out with him, nibbling at the sugar painting as he went.

In the modern age, industrial processing had greatly improved the taste of food. Even with something as simple as a sugar painting, the sugar used was far more refined than it had been in ancient times. A slight lick filled his mouth with delicate sweetness.

If certain rats were allowed to run rampant, he might never get to eat sugar like this again.

When he reached the market entrance, the road outside was already packed with traffic. The weekend was nearly over, and the avenue leading back into the city was jammed with cars, while crowds clogged the sidewalks.

With so many people out during the evening rush, the area was not well suited to a cultivator who wished to move freely.

Still chewing on the sugar painting, he let his gaze fall upon the shared bicycles parked by the roadside.

He would ride home today.