Chapter 109
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In the wilderness, snow slipped silently from the branches, falling to the ground without a sound.
Before the solemn and silent ritual procession, Pudu Cihang held up the Fearless Seal, his expression devoid of emotion as he gazed at the dozen or so cultivators across from her—especially the one at the front, who held in his hand a broken piece that had once belonged to him.
He inclined his head slightly and chanted a verse of the Buddha.
“Shanzai! Shanzai! The people of this world are mired in the sea of suffering—”
“Still preaching that nonsense?!”
Just as Pudu Cihang intoned those words, a furious roar echoed from across the field. Zhu Ziyi bellowed: “Break this illusion!”
At his command, over a dozen cultivators raised their hands. Crimson-headed short staves flashed with red light, and tongues of flame shot forth toward the opposite side.
“…The Immortals and Buddhas take compassion as their vessel…”
Pudu Cihang’s voice continued, but was abruptly cut short as the dozen fire tongues surged forth. The air rippled and quaked, and the shockwave from the blast sent the branches of nearby trees trembling violently.
Rustle rustle…
Snow scattered through the air, the atmosphere filled with thunderous rumblings.
“Hm? Why hasn’t the illusion dispersed…?”
Zhu Ziyi lowered his spirit sword, lifting his other hand to signal his followers to halt. The dozen or so spells they’d cast were like a child’s fists striking an ancient tree—ineffectual. Not even a flicker of shattered illusion light could be seen.
“Could it be…” The middle-aged cultivator’s eyelid twitched involuntarily. “…Could it be real?”
Across the field.
As the snow and dust settled, the figure of a gaunt, aged monk slowly reappeared, still standing there. His face remained expressionless, though blue veins now bulged across his forehead.
“Shanzai! Shanzai!”
Pudu Cihang intoned again, his gaze falling upon the group of cultivators. Though his voice was that of a woman, it rang out with clear and tranquil tone.
“Too many in this age can no longer discern right from wrong. You cultivators carry far too much wrath—it harms your cultivation. Only by laying down the butcher’s blade may one become a Buddha on the spot.”
Not far off, the old donkey lying in the snow gave a shiver of its ears. Sensing danger with the instinct of a beast, it hurriedly pushed itself up. In the motion, the bookrack tied to its back slipped off and crashed into the snow with a thud.
The old donkey bolted, hooves kicking up snow as it fled.
At the same time, Zhu Ziyi’s voice rang out, roaring with fury:
“A man’s form with a woman’s voice… how outrageous!”
Just as he was about to raise his sword, a wave of serene, peaceful energy suddenly blossomed from the old monk. The monk’s eyes drooped slightly, lips moving in silent rhythm as a low Sanskrit chant began to echo from his mouth.
“Lay down the butcher’s blade, and become a Buddha upon the spot…”
“Lay down the butcher’s blade, and become a Buddha upon the spot…”
“Lay down the butcher’s blade, and become a Buddha upon the spot…”
The Buddhist chant drifted ethereally, as though it came from all directions at once. Zhu Ziyi and the dozen or so cultivators under his command were momentarily stunned. At first, it seemed nothing—until one of them grew dazed, eyes losing focus. He dropped his magical implement and staggered toward the monk, one halting step at a time. A companion, recognizing something was wrong, rushed forward to pull him back.
“This Buddhist chant confounds the mind! Circulate your spiritual power to resist—fall back!”
Zhu Ziyi stabbed his spirit sword into the ground, spreading his feet wide in a half-squat stance. Forming a seal with his fingers before his chest, he urged his spiritual power to resist. But by now, the ones who had already fallen under the spell began to emit golden radiance, as though they were attaining enlightenment.
Boom! Boom!
BOOM!
The sound of flesh and blood exploding echoed through the snowy air. Those few who had stepped forward went stiff for a breath, then vanished completely into the air.
The remaining cultivators were drenched in sweat, necks flushed red, their fingers and arms trembling as they clumsily formed defensive seals. In the face of the unrelenting, soul-piercing Buddhist chant, they struggled with every ounce of will.
Pudu Cihang’s gaze remained tranquil, his lips moving even faster now, the chant flowing like an unbroken stream.
“Ah… ahhh…”
At last, eight of the cultivators could resist no more. Their bodies burst forth with golden light, and with bloodcurdling cries, they twisted violently—only to vanish behind Zhu Ziyi within the span of a few breaths.
Zhu Ziyi’s eyes were bloodshot, and his horse-stance trembled uncontrollably. Blood seeped from the corners of his lips. At a certain moment, his mouth twisted open in desperation. With a sudden motion, he reached into his robes and drew forth a round jade talisman, carved with the image of a divine figure.
“Sacred Flame Sovereign, save me!”
A flash of red light burst from the jade, unleashing two streams of fire that shot behind him, coalescing into a half-bodied figure wreathed in flame. With one blazing palm, the apparition struck forward.
“Where did this fiend come from!”
Pudu Cihang halted his chant. His eyes lifted slightly, and with a slight movement of his raised hand, the Fearless Seal struck out as well.
Boom!
The air split open with a thunderous roar. The flaming figure was instantly shattered, crumbling inch by inch into nothingness. A crisp crack rang out—the round jade in Zhu Ziyi’s hand fractured, splintering into several broken pieces.
Below, the heavily wounded Zhu Ziyi glared with wide, bloodshot eyes, unmoving. A gust of wind blew past, and his body slowly tilted backward. With a dull thud, he collapsed onto the ground, already lifeless.
The slanted daylight gleamed faintly. Snow shimmered under the sun, the desolate wilderness bathed in alternating shades of ashen gray and glistening white. All returned to stillness. A sudden creak broke the silence.
The lopsided book rack on the ground shifted slightly. Then, a small partition door opened with a squeak.
The Toad Daoist yawned loudly as he lazily stepped out.
“What’s all this noise?”
He paused, startled—those wide toad eyes lifting. In the distance, the emaciated old monk turned his gaze over.
Toad and monk locked eyes in silence.
The Toad Daoist swiftly turned around and walked back into the compartment. With his webbed hands folded behind his back, he said offhandedly:
“Cold day, isn’t it?”
As soon as he stepped inside, he slammed the twin doors shut with a bang. Snoring soon followed.
Pudu Cihang seemed wholly uninterested in that toad demon. He turned and walked back toward the lotus palanquin with its crane-head decoration. As the curtain lowered, his right hand quietly retracted—it bore the faint scorch mark of a burn.
Not long after, the sounds of wooden fish, bronze cymbals, and chime bells once again rang out. The stationary procession turned and changed direction, vanishing into the snowbound wilderness.
Some twenty-odd zhang away, hidden within the forest, two gnarled trees suddenly shimmered and twisted, transforming into Lu Liangsheng and the Daoist.
The two withdrew their spiritual power from one another, releasing their illusion and concealment arts. Both let out a long, heavy breath.
“Good thing we stayed far enough away—we almost got drawn in too.”
Lu Liangsheng dusted off the snow clinging to his scholar’s robes and gave a sharp whistle. From the woods, the old donkey trotted over playfully, tail swaying as it fell into step behind the scholar.
“I hope Master is alright…”
As he spoke, he cast an annoyed glare at his companion. “You really had to take a piss on that centipede demon’s feeler? We only got out because we ran fast enough—another moment and we’d have been done for!”
“How was I supposed to know if you didn’t say anything?!”
Emerging from the woods, Lu Liangsheng was the first to reach the spot where the book rack had fallen. He knocked on the small partition door.
“Master?”
Creak—the door swung open. The Toad Daoist was bundled up in a small cotton-padded coat, peeking out. “What is it?”
“Earlier, did you—”
“No.”
The Toad Daoist folded his webbed hands behind him and turned back inside, muttering as he went:
“Your master’s cultivation is profound beyond compare. I’ve seen greater scenes than this many times over—what’s there to panic about? That centipede demon couldn’t do a thing to me. Back in the day…”
As he spoke, the Toad Daoist once again drifted into reminiscence. He gazed up at the winter skies and began speaking at length, lost in his own tales. Turning around, he took a deep breath, his face full of nostalgia and sentiment. But when he opened his eyes, there was no trace of his disciple.
“Eh… Liangsheng?”
Lu Liangsheng had gone to check on the painting. Inside, Hong Lian reported her safety with a calm voice.
“So long as you’re alright.”
After that, he busied himself gathering the scattered books. When he turned back, he spotted Sun Yingxian rifling through Zhu Ziyi’s corpse, gleefully flipping through a small booklet and a longsword he’d taken. Seeing the scholar approach, Sun Yingxian chuckled and tossed the booklet his way.
“This book’s for you! The sword—I’ll be keeping that for myself.”
Lu Liangsheng casually flipped through the tossed booklet. A smile slowly crept across his face. The handwriting was a mess, but the content was just what he needed.
It was a sword manual—Myriad Laws Sword Intent.
A name that sounded like the most dime-a-dozen thing in the world… Still, Lu Liangsheng closed the booklet. Now wasn’t the time to study. He tied the bookshelf back onto the donkey’s back, then walked over to drag Zhu Ziyi’s body into the forest.
That drew an eye-roll from the Daoist still swinging his spirit sword nearby.
“The man’s already dead—why bother? Grudges should end with death, no?”
The sounds of digging echoed through the woods for a while. Eventually, Lu Liangsheng emerged, clapping the dust off his hands. He smiled and said:
“Besides, leaving a corpse out here in the wild—what if someone passes by and gets scared half to death?”
He waved the sword manual in his hand with a grin. “Think of it as payment for giving him a proper burial.”
With that, he took the old donkey’s reins and walked up to the little partition again, giving it a knock.
“Master, we’re heading off now.”
From inside came the muffled voice of the Toad Daoist: “Mm… Once you reach the capital, call for your master again.”
In the snowy white wilderness, Lu Liangsheng lifted his sleeve and snapped his fingers toward the Daoist.
“Let’s go!”
