Chapter 57

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The cicadas’ cries echoed along the treetops, gently swaying in the wind.

Behind the window lattice, Honglian floated closer, gazing outside. Her eyes were drawn to the side profile of the man deeply focused behind the easel, her thoughts momentarily adrift.

Ink danced on the brush, as the blank canvas gradually revealed a vast outline in shades of green ink.

“…I wonder if that person’s cultivation is profound or not.”

While the tip of the pen moved across the paper, Lu Liangsheng’s mind wandered to other thoughts. If the opponent’s cultivation was profound, and they were a formidable figure, then facing danger alone would be the most foolish action. Considering this was his first time confronting someone with such cultivation, he didn’t dare to be careless.

“Hmm, let’s summon Sun Yinxian.”

With that thought, Lu Liangsheng paused his brush and pulled a yellow talisman from the sleeve pocket. With a flick in midair, the yellow paper ignited with a sudden flame.

As it floated down, at the exact moment it landed.

The ancient pine by the courtyard wall rustled. Its branches swayed wildly, and a figure dropped, leaves scattering as they dusted themselves off.

Lu Liangsheng’s mouth twitched as he eyed the Daoist, whose head was still tangled with a branch.

“…Were you nearby?”

“This Daoist…was just napping up there.” Sun Yinxian nonchalantly pointed to the ancient pine behind the courtyard wall.

He glanced toward the room twice, pulled out a pancake from his cloth bag, and washed it down with a big gulp of the tea nearby.

“Didn’t that old toad come out to bask in the sun?”

Lu Liangsheng tapped the brush against his head: “Is that an appropriate way to address him in front of his disciple?”

With a shift of his wrist, the brush dipped back into the inkstone. He resumed painting, his back to the Daoist while speaking:

“Master took his gourd and wandered off somewhere… Anyway, I called you here for tonight. I need you to hold off the one behind the scenes, while I go directly to confront him.”

“You want me to fight with him?” Sun Yinxian’s eyes lit up as he licked the crumbs off his fingers: “Not a bad idea.”

“Let me think—what should I prepare?”

“Cinnabar and talisman paper, I’m not sure if there’s enough… Hmm, and there’s also the black dog blood. If the opponent uses the Shadow Cutting Technique again, it could come in handy… but where can I find black dog blood?”

The Daoist stroked his short beard, then turned his head, spotting a large black dog with its tongue sticking out.

The black dog seemed to sense something. It opened its eyes and saw the shadow looming over it, and across from it was a sharp mouth and monkey cheeks, grinning wickedly.

The dog whimpered.

In an instant, it tucked its tail and trembled in fear.

Sunlight cascaded over the city, streaking across the densely packed rooftops. On the other side of the city, within a large estate, fragrant incense wafted through a side room, drifting out the window lattice.

Two figures passed beneath the eaves, and just then, a door creaked open. A maid tiptoed out and straightened her skirt, a blush still on her cheeks. Spotting the approaching pair, she quickly bowed to the slightly portly elder among them.

“Master.”

With a soft call, her gaze lowered. Gold-threaded shoes stepped closer, and she raised her head slightly to see the elderly man in a long robe adorned with square patterns.

The old man glanced at the maid, then cast his gaze toward the tightly shut door.

“Has the Zhenren been served comfortably?”

[TL_Note: Zheren = True Person]

Blushing, the maid nodded. “Yes.”

The old man waved his sleeve, dismissing her, then stepped to the door, knocking lightly twice.

Before the second knock landed, the door silently opened. Inside, the air was thick with smoke, and through the haze, a Daoist dressed in yin-yang robes, his hair bun tied high with a hairpin, sat cross-legged on the couch, forming hand seals while muttering incantations.

Seemingly already aware of the visitor, the Daoist stopped moving his lips and opened his eyes. “Patron Zhang.”

The old man’s demeanor shifted instantly, and he hurriedly stepped forward, cupping his hands.

“Zhang Dongming greets the Zhenren.”

Opposite him, the Daoist released his legs and stood, sweeping a whisk to the side. The door closed on its own. No matter how many times he saw it, the old man couldn’t help but feel awe at the sight.

But for now, his heart was filled with anxiety. Without waiting for the Daoist to speak, he blurted out his concerns.

“Zhenren, how much longer until the spiritual medicine is in hand? My son’s condition worsens by the day, and I fear we cannot wait any longer.”

The Daoist, though thin and gaunt, had a full beard. He stroked the tip of it, glancing at the old man.

“Your son’s vital energy has been drained by a fox spirit. His yin overwhelms his yang, but he can still hold on for another month or so. No need to worry, Patron Zhang. Yesterday, my spell was broken, meaning that the Zhou family has likely enlisted the help of a master. Once night falls, this humble Daoist shall engage with their practitioner.”

Zhang Dongming was at a loss for words.

He and the Zhou Manor are practically related by marriage, as the daughter of the well-known scholar from He Valley Prefecture is betrothed to his son. But three months ago, for some unknown reason, his only son, who often stayed up late reading at night, began to act strangely. Servants passing by his room would often report hearing the voice of a woman coming from inside.

At first, he assumed his son was merely engaging in romantic entanglements, which wasn’t a big deal. After all, which man didn’t have three wives and four concubines?

Later, they found that his son’s complexion worsened with each passing day. His body became emaciated, his cheeks sunken, and his eyes completely devoid of spirit. They called for a doctor to examine him, who diagnosed him with Qi deficiency and physical weakness, saying that his essence and vitality were severely depleted.

Despite taking medicine, his condition didn’t improve. One night, his wife, recalling the servants’ gossip, decided to check on him. She got up uneasy in the middle of the night and took a look. Through the window, she could hear the sounds of intimacy between a man and a woman. Peeking inside, she saw a beautiful woman by their son’s side—and on the wall behind her, the shadow of a tail swayed ominously.

They immediately called upon a Daoist priest from a nearby temple, who after inspecting the situation, declared that their son had lost a significant amount of yang energy. Only a rare spiritual medicine could restore him. Without it, even if he recovered, he might never father heirs in the future.

Zhang Dongming only has this one heir. If he doesn’t have any descendants, the Zhang family will be completely cut off.

A few days later, the Daoist named Mingyang returned, saying he had found the location of the spiritual medicine. Only then did they learn it was in the household of their relatives by marriage, and that this incident had occurred. Naturally, he didn’t dare reveal that his son had fallen under the charm of a fox spirit. It would be a small matter if the news spread, but he feared angering the well-known Zhou Zhen and causing the engagement to be called off. Left with no choice, he gritted his teeth and had the Daoist secretly cast a spell, which led to the current situation.

Sighing, the old man cupped his hands. “I must trouble Zhenren once again.”

“Patron Zhang, no need for such courtesy.”

The Daoist flicked his horsetail whisk, opened the door, and strode outside, instructing the steward waiting at the entrance to set up the ritual altar. His hawk-like eyes scanned the sky, and a grin spread across his face.

“… You dare to ruin my plan, hmph. I’ll make sure you know my power. That Renzhi  is mine, no matter what.”

He walked toward the courtyard at the back. As the sky darkened, the ancient trees in the courtyard swayed in the wind.

When Yangming arrived at the altar, the incense on it spontaneously ignited, illuminating his gaunt face. With a sweep of his wide sleeve, he commanded: “Let’s pay our fellow Daoists a visit!”

A white talisman flew out, riding on a gust of eerie wind.

As twilight descended, the side courtyard of the Zhou Manor grew dim. A black dog, its limbs bandaged, whimpered and curled up trembling in its corner. Sun Yingxian held a bowl of the black dog’s blood, wiping the sweat from her face.

Nearby, a figure at the easel continued to paint with fervor. Unable to resist his curiosity, he walked over and peeked at the paper.

The greenish-black ink flowed from the tip of the pen onto the paper, sketching a crouching, gigantic fierce beast. It had the body of a tiger and the face of a human, with a broad nose and a bloody mouth. Its fangs, like pitchfork prongs, were densely packed in both the upper and lower jaws. Its entire body was covered with unusually long bristles, like steel needles standing upright and leaning backward, giving it a ferocious and terrifying appearance, as though ready to devour anyone in its path.

“That thing looks terrifying…” Sun Yingxian remarked.

Lu Liangsheng closed the [Illustrated Records of the Mountains and Seas] and gazed at the fearsome beast drawn on the page, but he felt something entirely different. A wisp of green energy, invisible to others, floated out from the drawing and burrowed into his chest.

The Heavens and Earth Righteous Path began to circulate on its own, seemingly merging with that green energy.

As if acting on instinct, Lu Liangsheng paused his writing brush, and ignoring the Daoist’s objections, he immediately rummaged through the Daoist’s cloth pouch, took out some cinnabar, threw it into a teacup where it dissolved, and dipped the tip of the brush into it.

“Hey, hey! This cinnabar isn’t just ordinary stuff, don’t waste it like that!” Sun Yingxian anxiously picked up the teacup, cherishing the contents, while quickly pulling out yellow paper and a brush.

Before he could even begin drawing a talisman, he froze, staring at the scholar who had already raised his hand, the tip of the red brush glowing brightly.

“What are you trying to do?” The Daoist couldn’t help but ask.

Lu Liangsheng didn’t respond. The glowing tip of the brush seemed heavy, trembling slightly in his grip. Then, slowly, he touched it right in the center of the fierce beast’s eyes, painting a pair of blood-red pupils.

Opening the eyes!

In the next instant.

A faint growl echoed from the painting, a sound resembling both the low roar of a tiger and the grunting of a boar, squeezed from deep within its throat.

At that moment, a flock of birds outside the courtyard walls burst into flight, startled from the old pines, circling in the darkening sky but too afraid to land. Inside the house, Nie Honglian felt the air grow stiflingly oppressive, even the short figure scurrying under the bed paused, putting down its gourd and cautiously peeking out, glancing around the room.

Outside.

Sun Yingxian stood rooted to the spot, a chill creeping down his spine. His hand holding the bowl trembled involuntarily. The creature in the painting was nothing like any beast of this world.

“Wha… what… is that thing called?”

The scholar across from him flipped through the pages of his book. With a brushstroke in the corner of the painting, he wrote the word: “Taowu”. As the ink dried, a gust of chilling wind blew in from the distant sky.

The flowers and plants around the courtyard swayed wildly, and the two men turned their heads just in time to see a giant ghost with a green face and sharp fangs descending from the courtyard wall.

Lu Liangsheng rolled up the scroll and tilted his head toward the house, calling out.

“Honglian, come out for a moment.”
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