Chapter 24: Song Mu Takes Action

In just a moment, Song Mu finished composing the poem, and literary energy began to surge from it. Without Song Mu needing to do much, the poem transformed into a stream of white vapor, rushing toward the deranged individual. Such is the formidable power of original literary energy: if Song Mu chose to use this poem, it would not draw from his own reserves, but rather condense literary energy directly from the world, exerting its effect. All it cost him was a bit of ink and paper.

As the white vapor entered the madman's nostrils, the man suddenly froze, as if struck rigid. Song Mu immediately pressed forward, pushing through the crowd and shouting inside, "Quick, pull the old man out!"

The panicked townsfolk, hearing Song Mu's commanding voice and seeing his scholar’s attire, cried out, "We’re saved! A scholar is here! Hurry, hide behind him!" With one person shouting, the others quickly followed suit, as a few brave souls rushed forward and dragged the battered old man out. In the blink of an eye, no one remained before Song Mu. The people, seeing the scholar at the scene and witnessing his earlier actions, now treated Song Mu as their lifeline. Song Mu gave a wry smile, then hastily called out, "Lend a hand, everyone—let’s tie up that fellow."

Hearing that they were to subdue the possessed man, the townsfolk hesitated, reluctant to approach—even those who had helped rescue the old man shook their heads. There was a natural dread of demons among the common folk. Meanwhile, more deranged individuals continued to wreak havoc, screams and chaos persisting.

Song Mu could only smile bitterly: when it came to lending a hand, no one dared. "We’ll do it!" came a voice. Song Mu looked up to see three men pulling ropes from their bundles—the same trio he had met earlier at the bun shop. Song Mu quickly offered his thanks, joining them as they approached the immobilized man.

There was no movement from the ancient book in his mind, nor from the madman, allowing Song Mu a measure of relief. "Thank you, gentlemen. He’s been held fast by the poem; he shouldn’t pose a threat now," Song Mu explained. The leader nodded. "We trust a scholar’s word. Young master, how shall we tie him?"

Song Mu wasted no words, directing them in binding the man, then hurried toward the other side. With more ink and brushwork, white vapor emerged again, subduing several other deranged figures nearby. Whenever a possessed individual was immobilized, the three men swiftly secured them.

After four were bound, heavy troops arrived on Chenghuang Temple Street, and Ouyang Hong appeared as well. Armored soldiers surged into the crowd, quickly restraining all the madmen. Song Mu breathed a sigh of relief and turned to the three men with folded hands. "Thank you, brave sirs. My name is Song Mu, and I am deeply grateful."

"You’re too polite, young master. It’s nothing; we’ll be on our way," replied the leader. With a meaningful glance, the three prepared to leave with their bundles. But Ouyang Hong’s voice rang out nearby. "Song Mu, what are you doing here?"

Ouyang Hong’s voice was strong and full, and he soon joined Song Mu. In his red official robe, he stood out amidst the crowd; the three men, who were about to depart, paused, their expressions suddenly uncertain. "Greetings, Master Instructor. Today, I came with my family to offer incense at Chenghuang Temple, but never expected to encounter such an incident," Song Mu answered.

"Oh?" Ouyang Hong glanced at the bound figures and turned to Song Mu. "Did you tie them up yourself?"

Song Mu shook his head and pointed to the three men standing cautiously nearby. "You praise me too highly, sir. It was thanks to these three brave men that the task was accomplished." Ouyang Hong examined them closely, and the trio grew increasingly nervous under his gaze, unable to meet his eyes—regretting that what began as a simple act of assistance had led them to cross paths with a scholar who knew a jinshi, and not just any jinshi, but one familiar enough to be on such terms.

Sweat broke out on their backs, but Ouyang Hong smiled and asked, "You three don’t look like locals. May I ask where you’re from and your names?"

Song Mu also looked to them. The leader quickly raised his hands in salute. "Your honor, my name is Qiao the Elder. These are my two brothers. We work as porters, traveling north and south, earning a living with our strength."

His expression was stiff with nervousness. Song Mu sensed the situation and realized he may have acted rashly, quickly turning to explain to Ouyang Hong. "Sir—"

Before Song Mu could finish, Ouyang Hong waved his hand dismissively. "Enough. To act in a time of crisis is to be righteous. I, Ouyang Hong, thank the three of you here and now."

"Not at all, sir; it’s only right," replied Qiao the Elder, still uneasy. He folded his hands again, saying, "Sir, we still have work to do, so we’ll be off." Ouyang Hong waved them away, and the three hurried off with their bundles.

Ouyang Hong then turned to Song Mu, shaking his head with a smile. "Just three illicit salt dealers—let them go this time." Only then did Song Mu realize the three were salt smugglers; in the Great Wen Dynasty, salt and iron were state monopolies, and smuggling salt was a serious crime.

Since Ouyang Hong had spoken, Song Mu simply nodded and said no more, instead surveying the scene and asking, "Sir, what about here?"

Ouyang Hong sighed, his brow furrowing as he examined one of the bound men, his expression growing more grave. "Clearly, someone is scheming. These men have demon seeds within them—not lethal, but enough to drive them into temporary madness, making them extremely violent and aggressive."

"In places once ravaged by demons, such events were common—hundreds would slaughter each other, the scenes gruesome beyond measure. But how could it happen here?"

"Demon seeds?" This was Song Mu’s first time hearing the term, and he hurriedly asked, "Sir, what are these demon seeds, to cause such harm?"

Ouyang Hong shook his head and explained, "Demon seeds are plants nourished by demonic energy. But once deprived of that energy, they do not last long—their effects dissipate completely in a few hours. So..." His gaze grew distant as he surveyed the surroundings. "The one who released the demon seeds may still be here."

Song Mu was shocked and looked around as well, but Chenghuang Temple Street was now in ruins from the chaos, the townsfolk scattering in haste. In such disorder, how could the true culprit be found?

Ouyang Hong plainly understood the difficulty. He shook his head and turned to Song Mu, saying, "These days, we rely much on your ancient poem. Don’t let today’s events trouble your mind. The academy exam is near—once you become a xiucai, you’ll be able to do far more in situations like this."

Song Mu nodded repeatedly.

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