Chapter 190 — Reaping Lives, Funeral Procession

The green grass lay steeped in the last smear of crimson dusk, swaying in the gentle evening breeze. Amid the cicadas’ cry, the fluttering hem of a robe and a pair of cloth shoes bought from the market pressed the blades of grass flat, then passed on through.

As Lu Liangsheng extended his spiritual perception to track the Daoist ahead, the hand hidden within his wide sleeve below came together with two fingers. While walking, he continuously traced and inscribed in the air, using the Heavens and Earth Righteous Path to draw forth his spiritual power, writing out one talismanic seal after another in ancient script.

Beneath the other wide sleeve, the pine-branch scroll clutched in his hand flared again and again with spiritual light.

In truth, he knew that if he were to confront that National Protector Venerable Master head-on, his chances of victory were not great. Nor did he strictly need to come and make an enemy of the other party. Yet there was one matter he had long since seen through clearly in his heart—

Sooner or later, he would still face Pudu Cihang.

For the other party to transform into a dragon, there had to be a destined person to personally sever its demonic body—like a carp leaping the Dragon Gate, burning its tail as it surges skyward.

The daylight dimmed. Stars gradually appeared in the night sky. The scholar cast a somewhat cold gaze toward the distant direction where ten thousand household lights were burning.

“I originally came tonight to look for you, Chen Shubao. But it doesn’t matter. If all goes well, we should be able to meet in the latter half of the night.”

His tone was low, as though merely making an observation. After speaking, he looked on for two breaths’ time. Lu Liangsheng then withdrew his gaze, his sword-fingers still tirelessly inscribing talismanic characters.

Before long, his figure vanished into the forest. The Yin energy of the Netherworld’s Soul-Calling Burial began to spread, spiraling outward around the scholar.

Flap, flap, flap…

Birds returning to the woods sensed the drifting chill, beating their wings in panic as they scattered through the trees.

Outside the ritual altar, on the open plains—

Blazing light filled the sky as shattered stones flew about. One talisman after another was offered up and burned, drawing down heavenly thunder and splitting the earth. On that side, the Daoist produced a pill Lu Liangsheng had given him and fed it to Zuo Zhengyang. Then, before everyone’s eyes, he began stepping in strange patterns.

His face was drenched in sweat. Between his fingers, talismans kept flipping out without pause, and under the linking of incantations, waves of cultivation power surged forth.

“By command—spirits of the four directions, wandering deities of all quarters, come here at once and form the array with me!”

His fingers danced, forming hand seals. As he pointed forward, the six burning talismans suspended in midair instantly vanished.

Ahead, Pudu Cihang—draped in a golden cassock and wearing a long-eared monk’s cap—advanced step by step along the stone stairs engraved with the blood-red characters “Pu Du Ci Hang.” Facing the burning talismans that appeared from thin air all around him, he merely lowered his eyes and half-closed them, paying no heed at all.

“Shanzai, shanzai!” [TL_Note: Shanzai is a Buddhist term, roughly meaning excellent or good]

“Excellent your mother!” Sun Yingxian brought his hands together in sword-fingers and slashed left and right through the air with a sharp motion. “Demon-Suppressing, Devil-Subduing Formation!”

The six burning talismans flared with a thunderous blaze, lighting up the night. The guards, the Imperial Apprehension officers, and Min Yuerou all raised their hands to shield their eyes. Within the firelight, streams of Daoist techniques linked and shifted sideways, and six enormous glowing characters of “Imperial Command” rose into the air.

In a flash of talismanic radiance, the old monk walking at the center stalled for an instant.

Then, just like before, the monk’s lifted shoe met no resistance as it came down, and he continued striding toward the Daoist. A drop of cold sweat the size of a bean slid from the Daoist’s temple down to his cheek.

“Damn it! Why isn’t the Daoist technique my master left behind having any effect on this thing?!”

He hurriedly lowered his head to glance at Zuo Zhengyang, whose consciousness was fading. On his empty shoulder, he rapidly tapped several acupoints to seal the bleeding. “Old Zuo, hang in there!”

Immediately afterward, he dragged him backward. Over there, more than ten men with blades in hand tried to rush over to help, but the Daoist lifted his face and roared at them:

“Don’t come any closer! Even this Daoist can’t beat it—are you trying to throw your lives away?!”

In his blurry vision, the carefully arranged Demon-Suppressing Formation was completely ineffective. Pudu Cihang simply walked straight through the talismanic light and emerged. Wherever he passed, the wasteland grass carpeting the ground bent low of its own accord, falling away to both sides without any wind.

“I curse your mother…”

Staring at the ever-approaching old monk, the Daoist almost instinctively withdrew his hand from Zuo Zhengyang and turned to unleash an escape technique. After retreating half a step, his gaze fell once more on the faintly groaning unconscious figure, then swept over the dozen or so men not far away.

He clenched his teeth.

“How did I end up becoming like Old Lu….”

Dragging Zuo Zhengyang along, he shoved him hard to one side, sending him sliding several paces, and shouted toward Min Yuerou and the others: “Watch him for me!”

He hurriedly rummaged through his cloth pouch, pulled out his Demon-Subduing Bronze Mirror, and bit his index finger, using the blood to inscribe a Daoist talisman across the mirror’s surface.

“You demon monk with a man’s body and a woman’s voice—this Daoist will fight you to the end!”

As the talisman completed its final stroke, he spread his stance and planted his feet. The bronze mirror flipped sharply in his hand.

“By imperial command—spirits of the eight directions, there is nothing you cannot repel!!”

A pillar of apricot-yellow light burst from the mirror, instantly shooting toward the golden-robed figure. Several sharp chi sounds rang out as wisps of green smoke rose. Pudu Cihang slightly closed his eyes—and in the next instant, a violent gale swept across the plain, blowing so hard that no one could keep their eyes open.

The emitted radiant light seemed to be swallowed by the darkness. It flickered a few times within the blackness, then severed itself from the mirror.

The Daoist slapped the mirror twice with his hand, his heart immediately sinking.

“Screw your mother—what kind of worthless scrap did my master leave behind? How can it be this useless?!”

As he muttered, his peripheral vision suddenly caught Pudu Cihang closing to within nearly three zhang. He hurriedly lifted his hand and waved.

“Hey, hey, hey—this Daoist’s magic treasure has a small malfunction. Give me a moment, will you? Just stand right there and don’t move…”

Pudu Cihang stared at him expressionlessly. The monk’s shoe that had stepped forward suddenly halted. He tilted his head, looking off in another direction. A moment later came a clattering rush, as dense swarms of things flew out from the forest.

In the next instant, their powers collided. With a sweep of his monk’s sleeve, the densely flying objects all dropped to the ground. The Daoist hastily retreated two steps. Scattered across the earth were copper coins, which promptly stood upright one by one. Faint ‘whoosh, whoosh’, sounds rose as they rolled together into a line, blocking the old monk’s path.

“Universe Copper Coin Formation…”

Sun Yingxian naturally knew who had arrived. Opposite him, Pudu Cihang also sensed the scholar’s power from the coin formation. Still expressionless, he pushed forward a hand seal. The coin array seemed to suffer a heavy blow, caving inward toward the Daoist amid a crackling barrage, then exploding apart in all directions.

Standing a little farther back, Min Yuerou was nearly struck by one of the coins that came screaming through the air. A rock beside her shattered with a bang.

…This was merely the force of coins blasted away by compressed cultivation power. If one were struck directly by that power—

She did not dare imagine what would happen.

In just these few moments—from the Daoist setting up his formation to the copper coins bursting apart—everyone on this side stood dumbfounded. They had thought they might be able to help. Now, it seemed that even preserving their lives was in question.

Over there, Pudu Cihang lowered his monk’s sleeve. Within his gaze, the scattered copper coins rattled again as they stood themselves upright. With soft whoosh, whoosh sounds, they rolled across the ground, reforming a formation in front of the Daoist. And at the same time, the sound of hooves rang out upon the earth.

And then, the braying of a donkey.

Ah–ang, hem–ha—

Hearing the donkey’s cry, Min Yuerou instinctively looked over. The same old donkey she had seen back in the Lu Family Village came galloping over with hooves flying, cheerfully charging this way. Yet in the blink of an eye, it passed right by them—and then… lowered its head to graze on the grass.

The strangely appearing old donkey finally drew a trace of expression onto Pudu Cihang’s face.

That donkey was flicking its bald tail and leisurely chewing on grass, but under his demonic perception, what could vaguely be seen was an entirely different form.

A dragon’s head, a lion’s mane, deer antlers, the body of a elk… its bearing elegant and majestic, swaying an ox’s tail as it calmly grazed.

Sensing this sudden lull, everyone exchanged glances, unsure what had just happened. And at that moment, Pudu Cihang closed his eyes.

Namo Ami… Namo Ami… Namo Amitabha… Namo Amitabha…

“What’s going on?!” “Where is that Buddhist chanting coming from?!”

Faces abruptly changing, everyone tightened their grips on their blades and scanned their surroundings. The Daoist helped Zuo Zhengyang—who was gradually regaining consciousness—to his feet and shouted: “Careful! Cover your ears, quickly!”

From Pudu Cihang’s side came a cold yet serene female voice:

“All of you bear too much killing intent. You must know that by laying down the butcher’s knife, one may attain Buddhahood on the spot—cross the bitter sea of this floating world and reach the other shore.”

He lifted his gaze to the moon, now nearing fullness. Raising his Dharma seal once more, he bowed with palms together and closed his eyes.

“Lay down the butcher’s knife, attain Buddhahood on the spot…”

“Lay down the butcher’s knife, attain Buddhahood on the spot…”

“Lay down the butcher’s knife, attain Buddhahood on the spot…”

The Buddhist chant reverberated from all directions, as though seizing the hearts and souls of those present. The Daoist held his breath and focused his mind, hurriedly sitting cross-legged and circulating his cultivation energy. The remaining dozen or so people—including Min Yuerou—had their expressions instantly change. Swaying dazedly in place, they began to stagger step by step toward Pu Du Cihang.

“Don’t go over there—wake up—”

Ah–hem, ang–hem!

The old donkey drooped its long ears downward, blocking its hearing. Crackling arcs of lightning burst across its body, and with a loud bang, the electric arcs struck the crowd. Everyone convulsed violently, hair and beards standing straight on end as they collapsed one after another.

Huff…

Amid the twitching bodies scattered across the ground, the one-armed figure clenched his teeth and forced himself upright using his blade for support. Staring at the old monk chanting Buddhist verses over there, he leaned on his saber and slowly moved forward.

“Lay down the butcher’s knife, attain Buddhahood on the spot…”

The Buddhist chant spread outward, carried even farther by the raging wind. Startled birds circling in panic beat their wings and flew this way; in the blink of an eye, they gathered into clusters of golden light and vanished into the night sky.

Tap, tap, tap…

Dry leaves scattered through the forest as a figure sped forward. At a certain moment, his body jolted sharply. Stepping out, Lu Liangsheng burst through the dense branches with a crash, leaping onto the open plains.

Hm?

Pudu Cihang slightly opened his eyes. Lu Liangsheng’s figure hung in midair, his robes snapping loudly in the wind. The scroll in his hand unfurled with a rustling sound and was flung into the night sky.

“Yin and Yang reversed—Heaven and Earth, lend me your power!”

Strands of hair brushed across his brow in the gale. The scholar’s clear, resonant voice forced its way from his lips. As the painting spread open in the heavens, it revealed images filled with vicious ghosts and skeletons. Only one thing stood out as utterly incongruous—each of them was holding a suona horn, bronze cymbals, a great drum, a long flute, and other instruments.

Netherworld’s Soul-Calling Burial!

Spell-light burst forth. The surrounding yin energy surged against the raging wind, and in the very next instant, amid the life-reaping Buddhist chant, a different kind of music arose.

Di-di da-di… clang-clang chiang-chiang… di-la da…

Mournful, desolate music faintly echoed between heaven and earth—sorrowful and plaintive, bewitching the mind, leaving souls adrift, as though escorting them to the netherworld for reincarnation in hopes of a next life.

The two sounds collided and interwove. In the clash, Min Yuerou and the others, who lay twitching and dazed on the ground, let out heart-rending screams, clutching their ears and rolling about. Even the Daoist, who was circulating his cultivation energy to resist, grew dizzy and lightheaded, his ears buzzing violently.

The scholar in white robes and a cyan outer gown drifted lightly down from midair and planted his feet on solid ground. It was as though he could not hear the people rolling and screaming on the ground. With the two streams of Dharma sound colliding, though it was uncomfortable, at least he would not be lured into a place of death.

Pudu Cihang’s lips began to tremble even faster. The scholar formed hand seals as well, increasing the power of the magic treasures floating in midair.

“Lay down the butcher’s knife, attain Buddhahood on the spot…”

Di-di da-da… clang-di la-da-di…

After a moment, the opposing Dharma sounds intertwined, until the original tones could no longer be distinguished.

Lu Liangsheng clenched his teeth. Dark streaks of blood seeped from his nostrils, which he sucked back in. Staring at the old monk opposite him, he suddenly swept open his sleeve.

“Venerable Master, you might as well conserve your strength.”

The rapidly moving lips stopped. Pudu Cihang opened his eyes and casually waved the hand that was not forming a seal. At once, the life-reaping Buddhist chant around them came to an abrupt halt.

“Young Master Lu, your cultivation has advanced. This Venerable Master offers congratulations.”

“Advanced, my foot.” Lu Liangsheng smiled faintly, suppressing the tightness in his chest and the agitation in his qi. Calmly, he raised his hand and pulled out a pair of earplugs sewn from cowhide and cotton stuffing, spreading them across his palm. “Just a petty trick.”

Tossing the earplugs aside, he flipped his hand. Instantly, the copper coins on the ground rattled as they flew up into the air.

…The first step was complete. It was time for the second.

“It’s Young Master Lu!” “That’s great—he’s finally here!”

Min Yuerou pressed her lips tightly together. Watching the overlapping layers of copper coins gather in his palm and form into a long sword made entirely of coins, her eyes nearly filled with tears.

“Young Master Lu…”

She murmured softly—but in the very next moment, her voice was cut off by a furious roar.

Leaning on his blade and staggering forward, Zuo Zhengyang shouted, “Demon!!” and hacked down in rage toward Pudu Cihang’s head.

The broken saber struck flesh.