Chapter 62: Du Feng Bewitched (Please Bookmark, Please Keep Reading)

“Third Lady, what’s going on?” Shang Lu strode over, knife in hand, to stand protectively beside his young wife, shielding her behind him as he narrowed his eyes at the paper effigy hanging from the tree, his curiosity tinged with menace.

If Third Lady had shown the slightest sign of distress, Shang Lu would have lost all restraint and torn that paper manikin to shreds.

“It came with ill intent, sneaking into our house in the middle of the night. Uncle Locust Tree caught it,” Third Lady replied.

Uncle Locust Tree?

Shang Lu looked up at the ancient tree that had captured the paper effigy, realizing only then that it was an old locust tree. He could hardly tell tree species apart—willow trees were the only ones he could reliably recognize.

The locust tree, sensing Shang Lu’s gaze, gave its branches a gentle shake, as though bowing in greeting. Was it really this sentient? Shang Lu started in surprise and hurriedly returned the gesture, cupping his fists in respect.

It seemed that whether or not this tree had fully attained spirithood, it was not far off. No wonder the townsfolk called this estate a haunted house—could it be the locust tree’s doing? Yet, why had it never shown any supernatural signs before? Was it simply that his own cultivation was lacking and he had failed to notice, or was there another reason entirely?

Third Lady, however, was in no mood for such musings. She was displeased, feeling that this uninvited paper effigy had disrupted Shang Lu’s cultivation. For a wife who earnestly hoped her husband would achieve greatness, this was intolerable.

She raised her delicate hand and pointed at the effigy. Immediately, countless branches shot out from the old locust tree, lashing the paper figure like whips, filling the air with sharp cracking sounds.

Shang Lu clicked his tongue in wonder. The paper effigy looked fragile and light, yet it was unexpectedly tough. The branches, as thick as coins, struck so hard that they could split stone, but not even the paper shell of the effigy was damaged.

It was as if the effigy were not made of paper at all, but forged from copper and iron, utterly indestructible.

Suddenly, inside Shang Lu’s inner sanctum, wisps of blue smoke rose before the altar of the Liver Spirit. These threads of smoke streamed into his eyes, allowing him to see clearly: a faint black aura shrouded the paper effigy. The aura resembled ancient characters, but not those commonly used in the Ba Kingdom—these were twisted, obscure, and strange, their meaning unknown. This script-like black aura made the effigy as hard as iron, impervious to the branches’ blows.

A mocking grin split the effigy’s eerie face, and it let out a chilling laugh: “It’s useless. Your tricks are nothing more than a tickle to me!”

Though it was bound and immobilized, its ten fingers suddenly elongated, becoming thin, sharp daggers slicing at the vines and branches restraining it—cutting through a swath in an instant.

Shang Lu’s brows arched as he prepared to draw his blade, but then Third Lady waved her hand again. Immediately, blue light shimmered along every vine and branch. This light far outmatched the black aura; the effigy’s fingers could no longer cut through, and the once-invincible black aura was battered to tatters.

“How did you break my spell? Who are you?” the effigy shrieked in agony and outrage.

But Third Lady paid it no heed, merely commanding the vines and branches to continue their relentless beating. The black aura quickly dissipated under the assault. Without its protection, the effigy could no longer withstand the blows: its paper was shredded, its bamboo frame snapped.

Shang Lu now understood. The black aura was some kind of sorcery. He wondered whether his own cultivated life force would be as effective as Third Lady’s blue light against ghosts, spells, and demon power.

True, he had fought a strange serpent in the secret realm before, but while that creature had been odd, it was not particularly strong, nor had it shown any ghostly or demonic energy worth noting.

Seeing that the effigy was about to be beaten to pieces, Shang Lu hurriedly called out, “Don’t kill it yet—I want to interrogate it and find out why it came to our home in the dead of night.”

At his words, Third Lady waved her hand once more, and the lashing branches stopped. Yet in that instant, a spark of flame leapt from the effigy, instantly spreading over its body. With a howl of pain, it was consumed, reduced to ashes in moments.

The change was so sudden that Shang Lu had no time to intervene. He was astonished—was the effigy so proud that it would sooner immolate itself than be captured? Were all monsters and ghosts this resolute?

Behind him, Third Lady explained softly, “The spellcaster feared we’d trace him through the effigy, so he forcibly destroyed it.”

So that was it. Shang Lu nodded in understanding.

She continued, “The spellcaster is in the city—not far from here. Forcibly destroying the effigy will have caused a magical backlash; he should bear burn-like wounds.”

Hearing this, Shang Lu wasted no time. He hefted his ox-tail saber and headed out, determined to catch the culprit and discover who had set their sights on him—and why.

As he hurried along, Shang Lu thought to himself, “That effigy looked familiar, like something I saw at the funeral shop before.”

He decided to investigate the funeral shop first.

Third Lady’s figure flickered and vanished from the courtyard. The next moment, the oil-paper umbrella she inhabited floated to Shang Lu, settling into his hand.

“You want to come with me?” he asked. The umbrella nodded lightly. Satisfied, Shang Lu tucked it into its sheath and slung it over his back. Third Lady understood such supernatural matters far better than he did. With her at his side, he could rely on her counsel when encountering strange people and events.

As Shang Lu stepped out of the courtyard, every lantern and candle within was snuffed out at once, plunging the estate back into darkness. In that blackness, something moved, gathering and burying the ashes left by the burned effigy. Soon, the courtyard was spotless again, as though awaiting its next unlucky visitor.

Shang Lu made his way straight toward the funeral shop. On the way, he encountered a night watchman. He stopped the man and examined him carefully, finding no burns or injuries, then asked him some questions. The watchman said he had heard nothing unusual nearby, nor seen anyone suspicious.

Just then, several figures hurried over from the distance, lanterns in hand. Seeing Shang Lu’s constable’s attire, they called out, “Constable Shang! Is that you, Constable Shang?”

Recognizing them as his colleagues from the constabulary—men who had attended his promotion feast that very evening—Shang Lu called out, “Wei Hao!”

He addressed the lead officer, “What’s the rush? Has something happened?”

He assumed they had been patrolling and heard some commotion nearby. But Wei Hao, panting, said, “Constable Shang, something’s happened. Old Du—he’s been possessed!”

“What did you say?” Shang Lu was startled. “Du Feng, possessed? Have you summoned the shaman?”