"The Arts of Creation number seven: the Innate Art, the Earth-Origin Art, the Heaven-God Art, the Heaven-Demon Art, the Human King Art, the Ghost-God Art, the Spirit Art. All of them touch upon creation. Is there a connection among them?

" Shen Mu read them one by one. The skinning and garment-making of the Creation Heaven-Demon Art was no more than an outer path; the art's true strength lay in strengthening one's own soul.

The Creation Heaven-God Art excelled at imitating other arts, yet as Shen Mu read closely he felt that what the Heaven-God Art meant to express was that power has no constant posture and form has no constant shape; the imitation of other arts and divine powers was only its outward show. The Innate Art reversed the infant state, and this art could preserve one's youth forever; what the young Patriarch of the Nether-Demon Sect cultivated must be the Creation Innate Art.

The Nether-Demon Sect's Perfect Innate Art was likely a branch of the Creation Innate Art. The Earth-Origin Art refined the yang spirit; the Human King Art refined the kingly way; the Ghost-God Art refined communion with the netherworld; the Spirit Art refined shapeshifting. Each of the seven Arts of Creation had its own subtleties, yet they were obscure and hard to grasp. Shen Mu read on, entranced, comprehending their mysteries, and before he knew it the night was deep; outside, all sounds were still, and only the sound of the night watch came to him.

Just then a cold wind blew in at the window and the candle flame wavered. Shen Mu hurriedly raised a hand to shield the light, when suddenly a soft creak came from the street, clear in the silent dark.

Startled, he covered the candle with one hand and put it out, slipped to the window, and closed the lattice, leaving only a crack.

The youth spread his five fingers, and the threads that the Great Nurturing Nether-Demon Scripture had become flew to him at once, hissing as they wove themselves upon his palm into a glove thin as cicada wings. Shen Mu looked out through the window.

Moonlight poured down on the streets of Dijiang County; coffin after coffin stood along both sides, and from the far end of the street the night watchman came, striking his gong. Suddenly the watchman seemed to see something and stopped in his tracks.

Creak, creak.

That strange sound came again. One coffin was pushed half open, and a figure sat bolt upright inside it.

Clang. The brass gong fell from the watchman's hand in his fright.

In a flash the figure in the coffin moved like a ghost and came to stand before him; it moved with a stiff, rigid body, thrust both hands forward, and struck the watchman's head from his neck.

Shen Mu's heart quivered.

Creak, creak, the sound went on without cease; coffin after coffin opened, and floating corpse after floating corpse sat up inside.

Then a door on the street opened, and several dozen Daoists filed out.

The leading Daoist wore a yellow robe embroidered with the eight trigrams, a whisk draped over the crook of his arm, a Daoist crown on his head, and cloud-treading shoes on his feet. The Daoists behind him wore black robes, each carrying a sword case, silent and soundless. From the yellow-robed Daoist's sleeve sheet after sheet of yellow paper flew out, floating in the air and joining into a long bridge.

That bridge of yellow paper stretched from one side of the street all the way to the county magistrate's yamen! Then one floating corpse after another leapt up and flew out of the coffins, running stiffly through the air with their feet upon the yellow paper, straight for the yamen. Shen Mu watched intently: the floating corpses rushed into the yamen, and at once more yellow paper flew from the yellow-robed Daoist's sleeve and bridged the air, this time spreading toward the four city gates, east, south, west, and north.

Behind him, one black-robed Daoist after another rose into the air, trod the yellow paper, and sped toward the four gates. "Bad!

" Shen Mu's heart gave a leap.

He spun about like a whirlwind, gathered up his clothes and made them into a bundle, woke the white fox, and said swiftly: "Say nothing.

We slip out of the city quietly. Ling'er, you take the wind!

" Snowfox, uncomprehending, blinked her sleepy eyes, not yet come to her senses. Suddenly a tremendous crash came from the direction of the yamen, and a voice cried out in shock and fury: "Flying zombies!

Flying zombies!

The Corpse Immortal Sect is attacking, protect the magistrate!

" "Your magistrate is already dead. His head is here!

"