Chapter 44: Title

"Greetings, My God." Michael entered and paid reverent homage with a deep bow.

"Michael."

"Yes, My God."

"We are aware of the affairs in Hell."

Michael inclined his head in deference, unsurprised by this revelation.

The Omniscient and Omnipotent left nothing beyond His perception.

The divine figure seated upon the Divine Throne detected Michael’s silent thoughts, a faint quiver passing through His brow. The angels—His own creation—could never escape His gaze should He will it.

"The Son shall be born after seven times seven days."

A flicker of astonishment crossed Michael’s features before he murmured, "My God, is this Son… the Messiah?"

"Indeed."

The Messiah—prophesied Holy Son from myths and legends.

"Deliver Our decree to the Pope in the human realm. He must safeguard the Son’s earthly vessel."

"Shall the Son return after His journey through the mortal world?" Michael ventured cautiously.

"The Son shall remain in the human realm."

"His rebirth there serves Our greater design."

"As You will."

Michael’s obedience flowed without hesitation, for divine commands required no mortal understanding.

"Through the duality of light and darkness, the Son’s emergence shall be mirrored by the dark child’s birth in Hell."

Dark child? Michael’s confusion thickened like temple incense, yet he maintained respectful silence.

The celestial chamber echoed with wordless eternity.

"Depart, Michael."

As the Grand Sanctuary’s gates parted anew, they revealed the long-absent Holy Son Messiah waiting beyond.

"Your will be done."

…

When Michael’s prophecy reached Vatican City, the Pope found himself adrift in theological perplexity.

Seven times seven days foretold—but no location specified? How were they to receive this divine infant? Surely the fault lay in mortal interpretation, not celestial communication. Thus began the pontiff’s fervent contemplations.

The published prophecy ignited fervor across nations. From state oligarchs to humble devotees, all clamored to partake in this holy proximity. Though the ensuing commotion warranted chronicles of its own, our tale flows elsewhere.

Days melted like sacramental wax.

Since Cain’s manifestation in America, demonic sightings multiplied—mostly lesser entities drawn like moths to the flame of human desires and lingering obsessions.

Eternal life—a word that drives humanity to madness. By becoming vampires, one could attain this twisted form of immortality, and many aging souls desperate for longevity had already embraced the dark pact.

Cain’s methods proved cunning. He targeted America’s corporate oligarchs, those either withering with age or terminally ill. After minimal deliberation, they surrendered to vampiric transformation.

These were no common blood-clan weaklings vulnerable to sunlight, holy water, or silver. Cain forged princes of the night, two already risen under his command.

Though the thirteen blood-clan dynasties had vanished from the human realm, the ancestor of the blood clan now bred replacements. His enduring presence guaranteed their eternal resurgence.

America.

The White House.

“Gentlemen,” Chua-T addressed the gathering of big shots in the meeting room, each capable of shaking the nation’s foundations with a mere gesture, “I require your counsel.”

Two volumes claim the title of world’s thinnest tome: England’s culinary traditions and America’s historical chronicles.

The Awakening of Spiritual Energy had battered America disproportionately. Built on plunder and arms trade, their supremacy over Blue Star stemmed from technological dominance rather than ancient wisdom.

Though their prized technology remained functional, the emergence of extraordinary power rendered nations without such capabilities obsolete.

America possessed extraordinary individuals—God-fearing zealots and mutated aberrations—yet none offered replicable templates. Thus, after deliberation, the technocracy resolved to birth its own legends through the “Superhuman Project,” fusing cutting-edge science with supernatural transformations to mass-produce enhanced soldiers.

Plans were drafted, personnel assembled—only funding remained.

The titans around the conference table pondered. Though seldom inclined to humor Chua-T, none dared obstruct this pivotal moment. The proposal passed unanimously.

Meanwhile, Atlantic Ocean.

A small American fleet conducted routine patrols, its accompanying nuclear submarine beginning its descent. Since the Awakening, neither terrestrial nor marine life had shown alarming mutations—until now.

For the submariners, this dive mirrored countless others. Until the depth gauge read 500 meters.

Radar alarms blared—a large marine creature approaching.

“We’re barely past the twilight zone,” a crewman frowned. “Since when do leviathans prowl these depths?”

Whales dominated surface charts, but this…

The surface control panel crackled to life as sonar resolved the threat—a 200-meter behemoth with writhing tentacles.

“Mother of God—an octopus?!” The operator’s screen displayed nightmare proportions. This colossal cephalopod dwarfed its kin yet matched their speed, hurtling toward the submarine.

“ABORT DIVE!” The control panel’s shriek sent crewmen scrambling. Engines roared as the vessel veered upward.

Zhongxia.

Ye Linlang surveyed her sparse dormitory, luggage at her feet. A month’s training awaited here.

“Self-inflicted purgatory,” she grumbled, dropping her bags.

Although she had agreed to join the Special Bureau, if the training proved too tedious, she might simply leave a cheerful goodbye and vanish.

The Phantom’s function resembled her alternate identities yet surpassed those immobile shells—this projection could act autonomously through her predefined mindset, with every memory perfectly transferring to her upon reintegration.

With no global crises anticipated for the coming month, humanity needed mental respite to process recent upheavals.

Perfect timing for her own sabbatical.

Yet absence of catastrophe didn’t equate to peace—minor disturbances would persist.

*

Yang Xingyu’s reassignment came when Xu Li proved more efficient at screening duties. Now he browsed the Special Bureau’s internal forum brimming with diverse anomalies awaiting resolution—select a case, solve it, reap rewards.

"Are these supposed to be genuine?" Yang Xingyu frowned at his laptop screen, perched on the bed’s edge. "Feels like bad fiction."

At his study desk, Hu Mei arranged cosmetic bottles with ritualistic precision. Her silence prompted his glance upward, provoking an eye twitch.

"Committing to the cross-dresser’s irreversible path?" He quoted internet wisdom: "Once you start, there’s no return."

"Skincare routine." She didn’t look up.

"Same difference." The steel-headed man squinted at glittering jars. "Why pamper heaven’s gift? Fox spirits get flawless complexions anyway."

His blunt observation held truth—the Bureau overflowed with beauty. Ghost in Red’s allure, the receptionist’s charm, even Daoist Priest Li and Young Monk Huixin possessed androgynous elegance… Not that he’d say this aloud.

True beauty lies in the bones, not merely the skin.

"Weren’t you choosing missions?" Hu Mei’s masked face swiveled, resembling a porcelain doll.

"Working on it!" Mouse scrolling intensified. "Division 5’s deputy chief said live streams need family-friendly content—no gore, just ‘positive vibes.’ Can you manage?"

"Possibly." Uncertainty tinged her voice. "Avoid perilous tasks. Maybe recruit Daoist Priest Li? He’s either meditating or whispering to antiques all day."

"Invite Young Monk Huixin too…"

"He returned to his mountain temple yesterday."

"Then Bai Ye?" Yang Xingyu rubbed his chin. "Rumor says his boxing’s nearing mastery—almost unlocked the Eight Extraordinary Meridians."

Hu Mei nodded. "More participants mean livelier streams. What about Qiao Feiyu?"

"That martial arts fanatic?"

In the training room’s lounge, Bai Ye chuckled into his water bottle. "Streaming? Nostalgic. Our supernatural broadcast first summoned Ghost in Red, remember?"

His grin faded. "Where are Daoist Priest Li and Taoist Priest Chen?"

“Taoist Priest Chen has returned to the mountains. Daoist Priest Li mentioned he’ll head back to Zhenyue Palace this afternoon. Neither came today,” Bai Ye explained, well-acquainted with their routines – these two were the training room’s most frequent visitors.

“Even Taoist Priest Chen left?”

“Yes, something about a cultivation manual,” Bai Ye confirmed with a nod.

“Daoist Priest Li hasn’t departed yet? Let’s intercept him! With the Sword Immortal’s help, we’ll face no fears,” Yang Xingyu declared and dashed off.

Ever since Li Canghai’s azure blade flash annihilated demons in Fusang, netizens’ playful nickname “Sword Immortal” had become their group’s recurring joke.

Yang Xingyu’s own moniker proved equally embarrassing – the painfully unoriginal “Spark” had subjected him to days of merciless teasing.

Hu Mei fared no better with her “Fox Spirit” and “Little Fox Fairy” titles, misleading outsiders into imagining some seductive enchantress.

“Aren’t you joining them?” Bai Ye inquired, eyeing the stationary Hu Mei.

“I… need to find Qiao Feiyu,” she stammered, fingers brushing the furry ears atop her head.

“Qiao Feiyu? You’re inviting him along?” Bai Ye’s eyebrows shot up.

The martial prodigy accompanying the masters of martial arts had achieved transformation-stage prowess at twenty-four – equivalent to the Innate Realm’s apex. According to Taoist Priest Chen, Qiao Feiyu’s ascension to the Innate Realm was inevitable, requiring only time or sudden enlightenment.

“Would he even agree?”

“Uncertain.” Hu Mei bit her lip. Her sparse encounters with the relentless cultivator always occurred in the training room’s sweat-soaked air.

“Brother Yang thinks field missions might interest him. Real combat accelerates breakthroughs.”

“Couldn’t he undertake missions solo?” Bai Ye tilted his head.

“No harm in asking! Cultivating bonds with future elite teammates is strategic.” Hu Mei’s vulpine grin widened. “Come with me, Bai Ye!”

“What? N-no!” Panic flashed across Bai Ye’s face. Recent sparring sessions with Qiao Feiyu’s iron fists still haunted him. Must he volunteer to go there?

Though undeniable benefits existed – his Tier Two cultivation and enhanced physical strength stemmed directly from those punishing drills.

“He won’t murder you,” Hu Mei scoffed, hauling him along. “If death’s off the table, why hesitate?”

Predictably, they found Qiao Feiyu mid-training, fists blurring through complex routines. Only after completing his sequence did he acknowledge them.

“Qiao Feiyu! Let’s play!” Hu Mei barged in, tail swishing mischievously as Bai Ye trailed nervously.

“Purpose?” The martial artist wiped his brow.

“Mission invitation. Daoist Priest Li’s joining.” Hu Mei’s eyes gleamed as she played her trump card. “Thought you’d relish sparring him?”

Indifference vanished from Qiao Feiyu’s face. “Confirmed participation?”

“Guaranteed. Otherwise, Yang Xingyu becomes your personal punching bag – er, training partner.” The fox-eared girl bartered allies without hesitation.

Bai Ye silently mourned for the betrayed Daoist Priest Li and Brother Yang. Foxes’ deceitful nature manifested perfectly in Hu Mei’s innocent facade.

“Deal.”

“But I have a team mission I’d like to accept. Are you all willing?” After a moment’s consideration, Qiao Feiyu nodded in agreement.

“What mission would even require someone like you to form a team?” Hu Mei tilted her head, puzzled.

“Feiyu… you’re not referring to *that* mission, are you?” Bai Ye cut in abruptly.

“Witchcraft and curses. Ever heard of it?”

“That sounds downright sinister—some kind of hexing ritual?” Hu Mei’s brows furrowed.

“Exactly.”

Bai Ye crossed his arms. “I’ve heard rumors. The authorities suspect a Practitioner’s involvement, yet the perpetrator remains at large.”

Qiao Feiyu’s voice tightened. “Mn.”

Hu Mei leaned closer. “But why take this mission? It doesn’t seem like your usual style.”

A heavy pause hung before Qiao Feiyu replied, “…One of the victims was my uncle.”

The Special Bureau’s chronic shortage of extraordinary individuals meant life-threatening missions required voluntary participation—a clause emphasized during recruitment.

Hu Mei slammed her palm on the table. “Let’s have Brother Yang register the mission right away! Some cowardly murderer hiding in shadows? Please—with our numbers, they’re as good as caught!”

Her tone softened as she stretched to pat Qiao Feiyu’s shoulder. “You should’ve told us sooner! Even if we’re useless, Daoist Priest Li would’ve—”

“—Then we’ll drag the bastard out, sentence them to death, and have them shot a hundred times over!” she added fiercely.

Bai Ye choked back laughter, coughing into his sleeve. “Since Feiyu’s onboard, we should find Brother Yang immediately.”

Persuading Li Canghai proved effortless for Yang Xingyu—the daoist had been contemplating mountain seclusion due to Special Bureau inactivity, yet hesitated to leave the playful duo unsupervised.

In a borrowed meeting room, five figures settled around a central workstation where Yang Xingyu’s fingers danced across the keyboard. The projection behind flickered with the Special Bureau’s live task board—missions blinking in and out as Zhongxia’s military, police, and branch offices claimed most, while extraordinary individuals’ pitiful completion rates haunted the margins.

“We’ll form the team first,” Yang Xingyu announced, submitting the application. “Confirm your participation.”

His gaze shifted to the silver-haired figure. “Daoist Priest Li? The leadership role…”

As the highest in cultivation present, the mantle naturally pointed to Li Canghai.

“Unnecessary.” The daoist waved a dismissive hand.

“Not interested,” Qiao Feiyu preempted.

Bai Ye raised both palms. “Don’t even look my way—leadership’s a streaming nightmare I’ve had enough of.”

“Me! Pick me!” Hu Mei’s hand shot up, nearly toppling her chair.

Yang Xingyu lobbed an orange from the snack tray. “Besides crossdressing on streams, what *can* you do? Sit still, mascot.”

“Hmph!” Catching the fruit, Hu Mei peeled it with exaggerated dignity. “Just you wait—I’ll be the first streaming Team Leader in Bureau history!”

The others watched their banter with amusement, finding their playful exchanges thoroughly entertaining.

"What kind of missions are you taking?" Bai Ye inquired.

"The orange cat case and the Immortal in the Painting both seem relatively safe. We’ll take these two," Yang Xingyu announced, selecting the tasks on the screen.

"The slightly riskier ones might be the rumored monster sighting and the Witchcraft and curses Old Qiao mentioned."

"But with all five of us together, there’s nothing to fear."

"Caution remains essential," Li Canghai advised.

"If danger arises, feel free to withdraw. I’ll manage alone," Qiao Feiyu stated. The mission had been accepted primarily for his sake.

"Old Qiao, that’s unfair!" Yang Xingyu retorted, arching an eyebrow as he finalized the mission acceptance. "Which of us looks like we’d abandon comrades mid-task?"

"Old Qiao?" The addressed man choked on the nickname.

"You appear significantly older. Feel free to call me Old Yang in return," Yang Xingyu countered, eyeing Qiao Feiyu’s weathered features that contrasted sharply with their group’s youthful appearances.

Though only twenty-four, Qiao Feiyu’s countenance mirrored that of a man in his thirties. His reserved nature compounded this impression, making them initially doubt he belonged to their generation during their first encounter.

"Where should we begin?" Yang Xingyu sought the group’s input.

"No urgency from me," Qiao Feiyu replied calmly. "I’ve no current clues about the curse master." Though vengeance burned within him, he understood the importance of timing.

"Then let’s investigate the household with the spiritual orange cat first."

"It’s in Qiantang City. With sufficient time, we might visit West Lake’s renowned shores," Yang Xingyu added, displaying location details that gave them immediate geographical context.

Despite their official travel budget, extravagance remained prohibited.

At Capital City’s airport lounge, five conspicuously disguised figures in hats and sunglasses drew repeated scrutiny from patrolling officers. Since the Awakening of Spiritual Energy, key transportation hubs had stationed police for rapid crisis response.

Had personnel not been scarce, extraordinary individuals might’ve been conscripted as security – a reality approaching fast. Within months, newly trained graduates would deploy to branch offices and low-risk supernatural sectors.

Fresh from academia, these recruits couldn’t be expected to save the world overnight. Focused cultivation remained their priority.

"They keep staring at me," Hu Mei whispered to Yang Xingyu.

"You’re our shortest member – naturally noticeable," he shrugged. Excluding her, their average height exceeded six feet with athletic builds. A petite figure amidst them inevitably drew eyes.

"Really? Those officers seem to eye us like potential criminals."

Bai Ye’s disguise proposal had been prudent. While Li Canghai and Hu Mei held public recognition, followed by Yang Xingyu and himself, Qiao Feiyu remained virtually unknown beyond sparse Spiritual Network profiles.

Memories of previous airport delays made Yang Xingyu and Hu Mei acquiesce silently. Daoist Priest Li endorsed the precautionary measure.

Their backpacks passed inspection only through Hu Mei’s illusion concealing Li Canghai’s sword – security would’ve otherwise detained them.

Boarding commenced without incident, their mission budget restricting them to economy class. The quintet occupied adjacent seats throughout the uneventful flight.

Upon landing, their prearranged Didi ride awaited beyond the airport gates.

Their outfits startled the driver.

"Should we go to the hotel first or visit West Lake?" Yang Xingyu turned from the front passenger seat to address the group behind him.

"West Lake first! Isn’t our hotel right by the waterfront anyway?" Hu Mei chimed in.

"West Lake it is," Yang Xingyu confirmed.

The others nodded in unanimous agreement.

Autumn’s crisp air greeted them as the driver dropped them at the sparsely populated lakeside – a weekday blessing. They strolled along the shoreline until reaching the Broken Bridge, where the crystalline waters reflected both the arched stonework and the iconic Three Pools Mirroring the Moon.

Clad in flowing Daoist robes, Li Canghai stood like an ink-wash painting come to life. The Awakening of Spiritual Energy had accelerated Zhongxia’s traditional clothing revival, transforming streets into rivers of fluttering Hanfu sleeves. Where Daoist attire once drew curious stares, it now blended seamlessly into the fashion landscape.

"Do you think the Madam White legend’s real?" Yang Xingyu broke the contemplative silence.

"Hard to say – that Southern Song Dynasty tale’s ancient history," Hu Mei replied, blowing a gum bubble. The high schooler recalled Lin’an’s status as the Southern Song capital mentioned in the story.

"Same era as the red-clad senior’s legend," Bai Ye mused. "Might hold some truth."

They gazed at the bridge immortalized in the tale of spirit-human romance.

"You really think a monk could contain a thousand-year-old spirit?" The half-spirit Hu Mei scoffed. "I’ve got my doubts."

Yang Xingyu leaned against the weathered balustrade. "Who knows what’s true after ten centuries? Some say it’s pure fabrication anyway." Below them, summer’s lush lotus fields had retreated, leaving skeletal stems poking through the glassy surface.

"Daoist Priest Li!" Yang Xingyu’s eyes sparkled with mischief. "Why not slash the water with your sword? Might summon a green-robed beauty!"

"You mean a dashing gentleman," Hu Mei corrected, recalling the green snake’s gender-fluid legend from the tale. "He only took female form to accompany the white snake."

"Since when do spirits cross-dress?"

"Interested in trying?" Hu Mei wiggled spell-charged fingers. "I could arrange a magical makeover…"

"No thanks! If I wore dresses, they’d call me Barbie!" Yang Xingyu backpedaled.

"Don’t be modest!" A flick of Hu Mei’s wrist sent glowing energy darting toward him.

Yang Xingyu yelped and yanked Li Canghai’s sleeve. The daoist’s eyes snapped open just as the spell arrived. Steel flashed – his blade intercepted the magic mid-air, sending combined energies crashing into the lake with a thunderous splash.

Unseen by the group, pale blue sword light spiraled downward through the water, trailing spiritual energy like comet tails.

Li Canghai sighed, torn between his cowering human shield and the sheepish spirit girl. His reproach died unspoken as Qiao Feiyu’s exasperated voice cut through:

"You all…"

"Quick, let’s go!" Qiao Feiyu urged suddenly.

The commotion disturbed other tourists boating on the lake.

Bai Ye’s face turned ashen – this being his first mission, he’d rather die than file a reflection report.

After exchanging glances, Yang Xingyu and Hu Mei took off running when they sensed trouble.

Li Canghai watched his heartless companions abandon him as rear guard, overwhelmed by bitter regret for joining this expedition.

Finding his escape route blocked, he vaulted over the bridge’s stone rail using one arm, descending to tread water through spiritual energy channeled beneath his feet. Though true sword-flight still eluded him, this elementary technique sufficed.

Half an hour later.

Hotel interior.

"Looks like we’re trending," Yang Xingyu chuckled nervously under Daoist Priest Li’s impassive gaze. "Our fault entirely! Please don’t hold it against us."

While the others’ swift escape spared them from cameras, Daoist Priest Li’s distinctive appearance – flowing robes, long sword, and imposing stature – had been captured by tech-savvy netizens who crowdsourced his identity onto the trending list.

"Modern netizens truly have excessive free time," Bai Ye muttered, cheeks flushing. He’d been first to bolt when Qiao Feiyu sounded retreat.

"Old Qiao’s the real MVP," Yang Xingyu grumbled. "Slips into crowds unnoticed while we take the heat."

Qiao Feiyu indeed moved through the throng like any ordinary tourist, even cheekily photographing his fleeing companions with his phone.

"Fewer live streams and less guest appearances on Hu Mei’s channel might preserve your anonymity," Bai Ye remarked drily.

"Retire early," Li Canghai sighed, secretly unsurprised. Partnering with Yang Xingyu and Hu Mei guaranteed mission complications – he’d known this from the start.

"Your magnanimity shines through, Daoist Priest!" Hu Mei raised three fingers in oath, landing a kick on Yang Xingyu’s backside. "Scram! Your blunder nearly got me bisected by spiritual steel!"

Recalling the rogue transformation spell that almost clad the priest in pink lace, Hu Mei shuddered. Only Li Canghai’s blade-work had shattered the enchantment before it manifested.

Their lodging comprised two doubles and a single room. Come dawn, the group departed for their mission location near West Lake’s villa area – an opulent neighborhood where properties commanded eight-figure prices, stirring vaguely hostile sentiments among the visitors.

"Who’s making contact?" They clustered outside guarded gates, invisible to passersby under Hu Mei’s negation spell.

"Let’s infiltrate physically," Hu Mei suggested, eyeing the low barrier. "Security’s oblivious anyway."

"Your half-baked enchantments concern me…"

"Fine! Make the call then!" she pouted.

Yang Xingyu’s brief exchange with a female voice concluded swiftly – their system automatically notified clients upon mission acceptance.

Soon a teenage girl emerged, scanning her surroundings anxiously.

"Target client?" Yang Xingyu verified against his documents.

"Confirmed."

"Bai Ye – approach."

The youth stepped forward. "Miss Lan? We’re here regarding the anomalous occurrence."

"You’re Bai Ye!" The girl blinked in recognition before peering past him. "Are there… others?"

Bai Ye gestured, dispelling their visual cloaks across the deserted street. Following brief introductions, Lan Xin led them through winding lanes to her villa.

The alleged spirit manifested as an orange long-haired cat sprawled across a sofa. Upon their entry, the creature extended one paw to switch the nature documentary to financial news.

Li Canghai entered last, immediately noting the feline’s peculiar energy signature – distinct from Hu Mei’s demonic aura.

"Absolute unit," Hu Mei declared, scooping up the massive cat.

"Fatty never tolerates being held!" Lan Xin gasped as the creature lay limp.

"Not sensing any yaoguai essence here," Hu Mei rotated the cat, noticing distinct anatomy. "Oh ho! An intact gentleman! I presumed you’d been… modified."

The orange demon erupted in yowls, raking claws across her face. As Hu Mei dropped it in shock, the offended creature vanished into shadowy corners.

"Neutering attempts always end… poorly," Lan Xin confessed. "Mentioning it triggers extreme reactions."

"Television preferences?" Yang Xingyu massaged his temples against the financial analyst’s droning.

"Rotates between financial news, nature documentaries, and that popular fantasy drama."

"Remarkably cultured," Bai Ye observed.

Li Canghai approached the vase where jade-green eyes watched unblinking. The orange cat remained transfixed as the priest drew near, its tail twitching with peculiar intent.