Chapter Seventeen: Prisoner Rescue

Among the official spiritualist organizations of the Summer Kingdom, the Six Gates was undoubtedly the most grounded. Unlike the Brocade Guards, who only established branches in major cities, the Six Gates had outposts throughout the country—even small towns bore their presence. The Six Gates station in Shanghai was situated on the eastern side of the city, nestled among other official institutions. Its architecture imitated the Han Dynasty, with nine steps symbolizing dignity and solemnity.

Yet, at this moment, the entrance to the Six Gates was as lively as a marketplace. Spiritualists streamed in and out—some to collect assignments, others to report their work. There were those “invited” due to disputes, brawlers, criminal suspects, victims… A kaleidoscope of people converged here, the clamorous voices rising and falling.

Suddenly, a burst of sound snapped everyone’s attention. Bai Yujing appeared out of thin air, robes billowing, hands tucked into his sleeves. He had deliberately retained the sound effect of his arrival, believing it added to his presence. Stealth? How dull. What mattered most was flair.

Under the surprised and curious gazes of the crowd, Bai Yujing strode calmly through, approaching the reception desk. After a brief exchange with the attendant, he was directed to a small door on the west side of the Six Gates compound. The contrast with the bustling hall was stark; here, it was so silent one could hear their own heartbeat.

Nineteen prisoners stood in a neat row, each wearing handcuffs that sealed their spiritual pressure and dressed in identical prison uniforms, faces gloomy.

“Hello, my name is Wang Hua,” a young man greeted him, his eyes brimming with the vigor of someone new to the field.

“I’m Bai Yujing,” he replied simply.

“Looking forward to working with you,” Wang Hua said, flashing a bright smile. Clearly freshly graduated from Shanghai Spiritual Arts Academy, his gestures still carried the awkwardness of a student.

Wang Hua slipped into the driver’s seat, but Bai Yujing did not choose the passenger side. With a light leap, he settled atop the transport vehicle. The view from here was wide, perfect for observation—and, more importantly, stylish.

…

The prison transport rolled smoothly down the road, surrounding traffic thinning out. Bai Yujing sat atop the vehicle, the wind bringing a cool edge. His senses were locked onto the road ahead, where four figures concealed their spiritual pressure, lying in ambush for someone.

“Could they be targeting the prison vehicle?” Bai Yujing wondered silently, yet made no move. He wanted to see what these people intended.

The vehicle stopped at a traffic light. At that moment, a low shout rang out: “Go!” An oval-shaped orb rolled to the front of the vehicle, its surface etched with scriptures. Bai Yujing recognized it as a mid-tier Scripture Red Mist. The orb exploded in the next second; blood-red smoke enveloped the entire vehicle, not only obscuring vision but interfering with the perception of spiritual pressure.

Four figures sped in from the side, moving so quickly that ordinary eyes could not catch their actions. But Bai Yujing was no ordinary man. He leaped from the roof, his right index finger flashing like lightning to strike the leader’s neck. The man collapsed before he could even cry out.

“Big brother!” another shouted, hand already on the sword hilt. But Bai Yujing was faster; with a twist, he appeared behind the man like a phantom, tapping his finger on the back of his head.

“Second,” Bai Yujing murmured, his tone calm as if counting.

“Spell Fifty-six, Explosive Flame!” came a hurried, abbreviated chant from the distance. A fireball gathered in the enemy’s palm, then burst into countless fiery meteors, streaking toward him. Bai Yujing swept his sleeve, summoning a wild wind that sucked all the flames into his robe; with a single-handed squeeze, the fire vanished.

“Third,” he said, already appearing before the spellcaster, finger extended.

The last attacker, seeing this, let out a furious roar. His bones and muscles crackled, rushing forward like a raging elephant. Bai Yujing did not dodge, merely reached out a finger and gently tapped the man’s forehead.

“Fourth.”

The man’s fierce charge halted abruptly; his eyes rolled back, and he fell stiffly to the ground.

Inside the prison vehicle, Wang Hua stared blankly at his radio, finger pressed to the transmission button, unable to release it. Everything had happened too quickly. He hadn’t even managed to call for backup before the attackers outside had all been subdued.

“This… was way too fast…” he muttered, gazing through the window as Bai Yujing dragged the four unconscious attackers beneath a streetlamp. They lay side by side, looking remarkably peaceful in sleep.

Wang Hua rubbed his eyes and pinched his cheek, confirming he wasn’t dreaming.

The radio crackled with urgent voices from the command post: “311278, what’s happened?”

“N-nothing,” Wang Hua replied quickly. “There was an attempt to hijack the prisoners, but the escort subdued them.”

“Where are you?”

Wang Hua swiftly reported their location and hung up. He poked his head out, excitement brightening his face. “Brother Bai, you’re amazing! I hadn’t even reacted, and they were already down.”

“They weren’t particularly formidable,” Bai Yujing answered mildly.

“Brother Bai, don’t be modest,” Wang Hua shook his head. “If they weren’t skilled, they wouldn’t dare try to hijack the transport.”

He knew that their precise ambush meant they’d already obtained the convoy route in advance. Whoever was behind this had sent capable people.

Bai Yujing said nothing further, pushing off to resume his seat atop the vehicle.

Inside, one prisoner’s face turned pale, sweat glistening on his brow. He stared desperately at the four fallen attackers, lips trembling.

A fellow prisoner sneered, “Were they here to rescue you?”

Another joked, “Or maybe to silence you.”

The man’s face darkened; he said nothing, lowering his head.

Bai Yujing, listening from the roof, had already taken note. Later, he would discuss this with Wang Hua.

…

The journey continued without further incident, the transport arriving smoothly at the prison for handover. The unconscious attackers by the roadside were taken away by the Six Gates for evaluation; all four were seventh-rank spiritualists. The bounty for hijacking a prisoner ranged from fifty thousand to one million yuan—not a particularly high sum.

What made official orders most attractive, though, was the benefits offered: every spiritualist who took on official assignments received guaranteed support. Lower sums were understandable.

“Brother Bai, I hope we can work together again next time.”

“There will surely be another opportunity,” Bai Yujing replied politely, though he doubted their paths would cross on future assignments. “Remember to report what I told you.”

“Of course.”

Wang Hua nodded, recognizing this as an opportunity for credit.

Bai Yujing did not linger, heading off to his next assignment.