Chapter 163 — Confusion and Bewilderment, This Poor Daoist Raises Fire to Burn the Heavens!

The Star Official almost immediately strode forward, leaping to stand before the jade bi that symbolized the stars of the Heavenly Cycle. There he saw a thread of radiance flare forth—only to swiftly extinguish. He hesitated, yet still extended a hand to touch it, finding only the faintest trace of scorching heat. The Star Official’s heart was filled with doubt and alarm: “This… what in the heavens has transpired?”

Beside him, someone inquired: “What is it, has the divine office of the Huoyao awakened?”

The Heavenly Official replied: “It has not.”

“But the power within Him has indeed been stirred…”

“An anomaly has arisen.”

“Is it chance or …”

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A furious roar resounded, swelling into a bellow of rage. At the moment Qi Wuhuo drew upon the radiance of the North Star, that demon born of vile miasma seemed to act by instinct, unwilling to allow that starry brilliance—imbued with the intent of exorcism and slaughter—to descend. At once, it stretched forth a hand, five fingers splayed wide, seeking to block the star’s light. Yet the Qi of the Big Dipper descended with utmost swiftness—how could it be halted?

A second hand thrust forward as well, two enormous palms pressing down viciously toward the young Daoist.

A dragon, more than a thousand zhang in length, raised its head and uttered a thunderous cry. Suddenly, it surged forward once again, rending away a portion of the demon’s body. Lord Lingmiao too struck out, cleaving through the creature’s form. Yet the miasma did not disperse; instead, it gathered with violent force. Flesh and blood knit together in an instant, re-forming into a body clad in armor, arms spreading wide. In the blink of an eye, it had transformed into a figure of three heads and six arms.

Its faces bore expressions—some twisted with ferocity, some burning with wrath, some even suffused with false compassion. In its many hands, it gripped weapons of every kind. Then, with two claws, it seized the true form of Ao Liu. Its palms, hideous and cruel, sprouted talons that shone with a ghostly light. As they clashed against the dragon’s scales, sparks of thunder-fire burst forth. Yet the dragon’s armor—able to withstand divine lightning—shattered beneath its grasp. Ao Liu roared in fury, struggling violently.

Meanwhile, with another pair of arms, the fiend hefted a battle-axe radiating a blazing black glow, and brought it crashing down from above.

The divine blade of Lord Lingmiao was struck aside, its force dissolved, sliding away helplessly.

The two Earthly Deities’ assaults could not hinder the fiend; instead, they only provoked its savagery further. Its arms overlapped, pressing down with ruthless might toward Qi Wuhuo. And facing Qi Wuhuo directly was one of its faces—originally serene and compassionate, yet now twisted into the countenance of wrath. Yet, in the very moment of striking, it seemed to sense that something was amiss.

A single spark of fire descended before him.

It pierced straight through the demon’s interlaced palms.

Scarlet flames blazed fiercely—and then that great devil, which had by guile assumed the form of three heads and six arms, suddenly erupted in a shrill and agonized scream, as though enduring torment beyond bearing. Its colossal body shuddered violently, releasing the Old Dragon King, no longer able to bar Lord Lingmiao. Those twin palms, once pressed together to crush Qi Wuhuo outright, now bore a vast and gaping void!

Flesh, blood, bone, and miasma—

all had vanished!

Upon the edges of that hollow, golden-crimson firelight could still be seen slowly burning.

Ao Liu was struck dumb. “This… what is this?”

Lord Lingmiao’s voice was low and heavy: “Fire…”

“Is Judge Qi unscathed?”

Lowering their gaze, they beheld the young Daoist, yet his form had already undergone change. Upon his Daoist robe, the water-cloud patterns shifted—first into thunder sigils, and now dyed with blazing flames. From the drooping sleeves emanated a starry aura, dense beyond compare. The blessing of the Northern Dipper’s Seven Stars and another unspeakably fierce current of qi merged together, driving away with overbearing might the Heaven’s Eye mark left by the Judge’s power.

The youth’s hair-tips had already been tinged with crimson-gold; at his brow bloomed the mark of a burning flame.

Black hair bound by a wooden hairpin, Daoist robe traced with scarlet fire-patterns.

His brows were clear, his aura profound.

Between his brows glowed a crimson sigil, while the ends of his hair bore fiery hues.

The power of the stars and the aura of flame now coexisted within him. Lingmiao Gong and Ao Liu exchanged a glance, doubt arising in both their hearts. The Northern Pole Exorcism Court stood above both the Thunder Division and the Dipper Division—how could it summon forth such a star-force? Moreover, this appearance clearly revealed the birth of some other transformation.

Qi Wuhuo himself was bewildered. Clenching his five fingers, he murmured: “So this is the empowerment of the Northern Pole Exorcism Court…”

By instinct, he tightened his grasp. From the resonance of the starry force, fire surged and shifted in his palm. Though it was but a one-time effect, akin to borrowed Primordial Qi lent by another, at this moment, it yet remained within his control. Lord Lingmiao let out a faint breath of relief. With a ripple, his towering form shifted to Qi Wuhuo’s side, vast and solemn, saying: “Young friend, be wary.”

“You have borrowed the power of the Northern Pole Exorcism Court, yet what you possess is but strength.”

“Without a proper method, you cannot wield the true subtleties of this force.”

“Remember this well—take care, and do not squander it in vain.”

The young Daoist inclined his head. Lord Lingmiao was not one to cling to formality—he merely answered with a calm “Good,” and then exchanged a glance with Ao Liu. At once, each chose his foe: one struck to the left, one raised a long roar that summoned thunder as he clashed to the right. Though Lord Lingmiao was usually of gentle mien, in this moment, his killing intent surged sky-high. His body towered a thousand zhang; each swing of the blade in his palm drew forth gales that howled unceasingly.

Ao Liu, for his part, summoned boundless storms and thunder, lashing ceaselessly against the face to his right.

Thus, on one side, weapons raged, crashing to the ground and carving countless fissures, reshaping the very terrain. On the other hand, the heavens themselves transformed—wind and thunder crossing in tumult. Formerly, these chaotic currents of Primordial Qi churned so violently that Qi Wuhuo could not even approach, let alone join the battle. But now the stellar power woven into his Daoist robe repelled the disorder.

Qi Wuhuo was able once more to call upon Primordial Qi and wield his arts.

He stepped forward—instantly, a wild gale swept outward. Where once he could only use small tricks, like darting upward to snatch the little Daoist’s flying wooden sword from the air, now all was utterly changed. Riding the tempest as though treading upon a dragon’s spine, he flashed across the void, arriving directly before that wrathful visage whose twin hands had been pierced through and could not heal.

That face, once serene and compassionate, now twisted in fury. The wounds in its hands were grievous, resisting recovery. 

So instead, it gripped Vajra Pestle and sword, and brought them crashing down upon Qi Wuhuo.

It was as though a mountain were falling upon him.

The gale alone sufficed to keep mortal bodies from moving; the sweep of its arm resounded with such force as to shake one’s spirit. Yet the Big Dipper’s starlight flowed from the Daoist’s hairpin, steadying his heart beyond former days. His body carried a trace of thunder, and his speed exploded forth, soaring as he slipped cleanly through the hollow between those pierced hands.

In his grasp, the Lianyang Sword sang with a piercing cry.

Now that Qi Wuhuo bore the power of the stars, he was capable of withstanding the full force of the Lianyang Sword.

The young Daoist drew his sword.

His strike was sharp as frost, perfectly channeling the might of the Big Dipper stars. Thus, the force of Yaoguang and Pojun streamed forth, the sword’s light surging violently.

The demon-god formed of foul qi and devilish miasma bellowed in fury and dread, its massive body shifting aside. On the Vajra Pestle it held, clear fissures spread, one after another, as thunder ran rampant upon it. The long sword exulted, ringing with delight. Qi Wuhuo, blade in hand, slashed once more through the sky, cleaving downward—then turned and blocked the enormous sword the fiend’s other hand swung crosswise against him. 

The power of the Jumen Star granted him immense strength, enough to withstand such assaults without being shaken back.

Lord Lingmiao beheld the young Daoist advancing with sword in hand, matching blades with this mighty demon-god without yielding the slightest ground. At last, the worry in his heart eased. With great force, he swung the weapon in his hand, slashing downward, and laughed aloud: “Good swordsmanship! Judge, from where did you learn such art?”

The young Daoist replied calmly: “I created it myself.”

Lord Lingmiao was taken aback.

Then, at once, his laughter grew all the more hearty and unrestrained.

Yet far away, the mortals whom Lord Lingmiao had forcibly displaced and sheltered from the battlefield lifted their eyes, still able to glimpse the war raging in the distance. The Old Pine Tree stood stupefied, gazing at the sword-wielding youth who scattered radiance across the skies. Turning its head, it murmured in disbelief: “Ah—it is him. I mean, it is…”

But the spirits of the mountains beside it had no mind to reply.

They could only watch with grave concern the clash unfolding yonder—wind, rain, thunder; the towering true bodies of earth deities, sword-light sweeping forth to stir both wind and flame. In their collision, whole mountain ranges shifted, trees were sundered and burned, lightning ran rampant both across the heavens and upon the earth, and the oppressive clouds pressed down, ceaselessly lit by fire and thunder.

This was no longer a struggle they could hope to join.

Qi Wuhuo, through that single sword debate with the black-robed Great Dao Sovereign, had gained insight into the upper limits of swordmanship. Thus, he could now wield star-force as though his own arm, guiding it seamlessly through the sword’s edge. Lord Lingmiao’s sweeping blade forced the colossal demon back, only for Ao Liu’s thunder to seal its path. The fiend was compelled to half-kneel, and as its body struck the earth, even the ground trembled faintly.

The force of qi burst out, storm-like, tearing across the land—trees that had stood a hundred years were ripped up by the roots, boulders shattered into dust.

Seizing the chance, the young Daoist darted forward. His sword-light blazed forth, shattering outright the two weapons of the fiend—blades wrought of the highest essence!

The ferocity of this sword was so great that even Lord Lingmiao and Ao Liu were moved to astonishment.

Qi Wuhuo closed in, seeking with sword-seal to cleave this demon-god outright.

But at that very moment, the young Daoist, Ao Liu, and Lord Lingmiao all beheld a twisted smile curl at the fiend’s lips. Their faces changed at once, crying out in unison: “Not good!!”

“Young friend, withdraw at once!!”

Lord Lingmiao swept his great blade in a wide arc, while Ao Liu sought to coil about the fiend to restrain it—but it was already too late. The demon opened its maw and let loose a furious bellow.

From its mouth, streams of blackened flame surged forth, rushing to devour Qi Wuhuo.

This demon’s body was vast beyond reckoning, like ranges of mountains piled high. In the heavens, there is a divine spirit known as Jùlíng, yet even that one’s might and form were no greater than this. Now, in its frenzy, it could clash head-on against the foremost Earth Deity of an entire province—Lord Lingmiao, already ranked among the exalted—and against Ao Liu, Dragon King of the thousand-li Jing River’s Water Palace, and still not fall into disadvantage.

And now it unleashed its killing stroke. The sheer scale was immense.

The flames spread wide enough to melt down a whole mountain. Qi Wuhuo’s speed was far too meager to escape.

Lord Lingmiao’s face darkened: “Tribulation Fire?!”

This was one of the Three Calamities most dreaded by cultivators of Dao or Buddha.

Qi Wuhuo clenched his teeth. The stellar force he bore was already dissolving away, about to vanish; his body was returning to its mortal state, and he could feel the searing heat drawing near. After all, this power was but borrowed, a single transmission. Yet the young Daoist did not retreat. In his gaze flashed a thread of stubborn resolve—here, at last, the mark of those years fleeing the calamity of Jinzhou revealed itself in his nature.

He formed a sword seal with his fingers.

The sword rang out, resounding.

At once, the Lianyang Sword appeared before him, swift as lightning.

He invoked the sole defensive technique within the Hunyuan Sword Canon directly.

To guard as attack!

To kill and to protect—both lie but within my single thought!

Boundless sword-light unfurled, sheltering his body, rending open the sea of flame. That river-long blaze of Tribulation Fire was torn apart, and a path was forced into being.

The young Daoist hurled himself forward through the inferno.

Sword-qi howled. His sleeve fluttered. He landed upon the demon’s colossal face, right hand pressing against its brow.

For a breath, he paused.

Then, the fire-mark at his own brow suddenly blazed with dazzling brilliance.

Ao Liu and Lord Lingmiao, who had meant to rush forward, suddenly felt a searing heat surging against them, halting their great bodies in mid-motion.

Before their eyes, that river-like black Tribulation Fire abruptly froze in place—stifling, oppressive, unbearable to behold.

Ao Liu was struck dumb with disbelief.

The Tribulation Fire… has stopped burning?!

The young Daoist’s gaze was calm. His palm pressed down with quiet force. He poured forth the last of his strength—one push.

And then the Tribulation Fire collapsed!

In its place, a new blaze surged up, fierce and overwhelming.

From afar, the Earth Deities who watched with anxious hearts were suddenly struck dumb. What they had seen until now was a sky heavy with cloud, as though endless rain were about to fall, pressing so oppressively that one could scarcely breathe.

Yet now, the heavy clouds did not fall as rain, but for some reason began to swell outward—expanding, transforming.

In the next instant, they tore apart, shattered, and from within burst forth light of gold and crimson.

The Old Pine murmured: “The sun…?”

“No… this is—the heavens themselves… set aflame?”

Blazing radiance pierced through the sea of clouds, burning, whirling, dancing.

The scorching heat made it nearly impossible to draw breath.

That vast mantle of cloud that had long smothered the earth was in that moment wholly ignited. Boundless flames surged, as though to burn all the firmament itself. The monstrous demon, hideous Fiend God of three heads and six arms, let out a wail of agony as it fell, aflame, to the ground. Beneath that dreadful firelight, it was consumed into ashes.

And in that instant, all the gathered earth deities seemed to behold a vision: the very heavens set ablaze, and all creation hushed into silence.

Beneath the burning sky, the demon of a thousand-zhang height plummeted, consumed in fire.

On one side stood the Earth Deity, towering like a mountain.

On the other coiled the divine dragon, circling in majesty.

And in the midst of the void stood the young Daoist. As though from the extremity of his exertion, his hair lifted slightly, catching the glow of molten gold. His right hand rose, forming the sword-seal; behind him, the heavens themselves were aflame, scarlet-gold radiance layering and spreading outward without end. At his brow glimmered the faint, flowing mark of fire. With a downcast gaze, he looked below.

This was the scene that the Old Pine, even in the final years of his long life, would still recount among the mountain spirits of that age—an image that his endless years could never erase.

But Qi Wuhuo himself only felt as though his strength had been wholly drained, his body quivering, nearly falling from the sky. Lord Lingmiao stretched out a hand to catch him.

The youth exhaled slowly.

Lord Lingmiao spoke: “Calm your spirit swiftly! Do not let your Primordial Spirit scatter. Accepting a foreign power bears such hidden dangers—it stirs your vital qi and true spirit.”

“One misstep, and it may wound your Dao Foundation.”

“That is why, save in direst necessity, none dare to employ such means. Compose your mind at once.”

Ao Liu, meanwhile, lifted his voice in a long chant. The river waters rose to the heavens, quenching the burning firmament. This fire was exceedingly difficult to extinguish, yet with its source now severed, and with the old Dragon King sparing no cost to drown it, at last it faded away—so that the world was spared the calamity of countless firebrands raining down upon the mortal realm.

When the young Daoist opened his eyes again, he saw both the Old Dragon King and Lord Lingmiao before him. He said quietly:

“You two… that demon…”

Lord Lingmiao replied: “It has already been slain.”

Then, his expression grave, he continued: “Its methods were already on par with the celestial vanguard general, the Giant Spirit God himself. Were it not for your intervention, young friend, either I or this old dragon would surely have fallen in order to subdue it. I had originally intended to stake myself and hold out until reinforcements could come from the Northern Pole Exorcist Court. Yet why have you come to this place?”

The young Daoist pondered a moment, then explained the reason for his coming. Earlier, when he had drawn upon the power of the starlight, this location had already been marked and recorded by the Northern Pole Exorcist Court. He asked quietly: “Then… has the root of this calamity already been broken?”

His spiritual intuition whispered otherwise: this tribulation had indeed arisen here. The mortal cities, however, were shielded by the qi of Humanity. That qi was the gathered breath and spirit of countless lives, fused into one, and so long as the city walls stood, no common demon or monster could run rampant within. What was more, Zhongzhou was vast—far greater than Jinzhou of old, with a multitude many times its number. By reason alone, there ought to be no danger.

And yet, for some reason, the youth could not quiet his heart.

The sea of clouds, burned away and then scattered by the rainfall, left the skies clear and far-reaching. Weary in spirit, heavy as though after a great battle, the young Daoist raised his head and cast his gaze afar. All at once, he started in shock, eyes widening—

For he beheld an endless tide of black radiance, a sea of shadowed clouds, surging toward the direction of the Central Province’s capital city.

Before, the presence of the filth here—whose strength rivaled the Celestial Vanguard Giant Spirit God—had served to conceal it. But now, with that miasma burnt away, the flow of qi became all too clear.

The youth’s pupils contracted. “…Luring the tiger away from the mountain?!!”

“The true target—was always the Zhongzhou City, where Humanity’s fortune dwells? But the Humanity Fate should ward off all evils.” Suddenly, he recalled what he had once learned from the Crown Prince about the true nature of that force: it was wrought from the myriad spirits of the common people, each one contributing a strand of primordial spirit and a wisp of vital breath, gathered together and sealed within the Vessel of Humanity’s Fortune.

Yet, who had ever said that demonic qi could only taint demons, and never men?

And who could know—

If the one holding the Vessel of Humanity’s Fortune were not human, what would come to pass?

The young Daoist rose to his feet. Now he could see it with his own eyes: by reason of the pressing clouds, even mortal sight could glimpse the protective canopy of Humanity’s fortune over the city. Yet that light was faltering, crumbling away. The black clouds at last seeped into the capital. From that nexus, the shadows streamed outward. And the Daoist saw that each wisp of black cloud was no cloud at all, but a demon, countless beyond reckoning—viewed from afar, they resembled rolling thunderclouds!

“The Human Fortune has been tampered with?”

A chill understanding struck him. Who could possibly possess the authority, the means, to lay hands upon Humanity’s fortune itself?

Once more, the firelight of Jinzhou’s catastrophe blazed within his eyes.

“You Thief…!!”

Meanwhile, in City Lord Mansion of the Zhongzhou City: “General, General, I beg you to listen! Today, the City Lord is unwell and cannot receive visitors. Pray, show some forbearance—come again on the morrow!”

“Tomorrow?!”

“This concerns the fate of the nation and the lives of the people—how can there be a tomorrow?!”

“Where is the City Lord? I must see him at once!”

The military general shoved past the steward, flinging open the door. “City Lord! Outside the walls, demonic qi is rising—perhaps the [Year Beast] has emerged. The city itself may yet hold, for most common folk are outside. You must dispatch the troops… hmm? City Lord?”

He saw the City Lord, who had previously received the Crown Prince, sitting inside, head bowed, body trembling.

Frowning, the general strode forward, pressing a hand upon the City Lord’s shoulder: “You…?!!” He turned the man around and froze. The lord’s face was pale as paper, his eyes void of light. Cold sweat oozed from his brow, and an unmistakable aura of evil clung to him. Instinctively, the general’s concern surged—but in the same instant, a sharp pain erupted in his chest and abdomen.

He looked down in horror: a branch had pierced his heart.

And the branch, alive with writhing, breathing vine, extended from the body of the City Lord himself.

The general swung his sword, cleaving the vine that had impaled him. With a kick, he sent the now-corrupted City Lord sprawling and spun to flee, striding hard. Behind him, the lord knelt, head bowed, already dead. From within his body, a demon crawled forth, stretching its limbs.

The general tried to escape, only to be blocked by more writhing vines. Sword after sword he struck them down, even slaying the steward who had tried to intervene. He reached the door—just a step away—but his body froze. Looking down, he saw the vines curling around him, ready to consume him.

He struck at the door with all his might, roaring in defiance: “The City Lord is a demon!!!”

“Everyone, run!!!”

And then, he too fell—unwillingly, violently, consumed by the evil.

The sky darkened. Layers upon layers of clouds unfurled, pressing down. Those who had been celebrating just moments before now stared in disbelief. At the Lianyang Tempo, the elderly Daoist who had warned others to remain inside returned to see the scene below. He let out a heavy sigh. The little Daoist disciple, Mingxin, clutching the three-yellow chicken, asked with worry: “Master, is it going to rain heavily?”

“Hmm…there will be a heavy downpour.”

“Then what of Junior Uncle?”

“Haha, he is safe. Master is going out for a while. I have an umbrella, but the common folk have none; it is right that I descend the mountain.”

“You two stay here. Do not wander off. Master will return soon. Behave.”

The old Daoist patted his disciple’s head with a smile, then turned to Yue Shiru, who bowed politely. The elder, clad in a plain Daoist robe, wearing straw sandals, with a sword on his back, closed the gate and stood at the mountain’s edge. From this vantage, he gazed down, eyes flickering with a sharp, piercing light. Miasma stirred everywhere below.

“Supreme Heavenly Venerable…”

And with that, the elder Daoist of the Lianyang Temple descended the mountain.