Volume One: The Wastrel Sets Out—Blazing Demon-Slaying Chapter Sixteen: At the Foot of Mount Mao, a Black Robe Conceals the Face

Seeing Chen San’s startled appearance, the woman spoke, “Haven’t you seen me before? Why are you so frightened? Is it that I look too hideous, or is there something wrong with your eyesight?”

The moment Chen San heard her voice, he realized it was the ghost spirit’s. He kicked his legs, rubbed his eyes, and stood up.

“I—I—how can I see you now? You—you almost scared me to death. If you kill me with fright, who will help you find your body? Really, you should at least say something before appearing behind someone in the middle of the night. You scared me so badly I wet my pants. Are you going to help me wash them?”

His words grew increasingly agitated, grumbling as he spoke. The ghost spirit listened quietly, her ethereal blue aura intensifying. Her long hair floated around her as she stared at Chen San with cold eyes.

Chen San took a deep breath, forcing a smile. “I—I was wrong, okay? Please… don’t be angry. A noble spirit shouldn’t hold grudges against the likes of me. I’m just a foolish child; please, calm down, calm down.” His voice grew weaker with every word.

“The ghost eye is gradually merging with your spiritual consciousness. Soon, you’ll be able to see me.”

“You just put it in? No wonder my vision was so blurry just now.”

“Let’s go. We have a long journey ahead. The sooner we return, the sooner you can help me find my corpse.”

Chen San slowly got up, dusted himself off, and picked up the torch.

“Heh, it’s not so dull at night with you to talk to. If anything happens, we can discuss it together.”

“Speak as little as possible. If you can avoid talking, then do so. After more than a hundred years, I’m already used to being alone.”

“Alright, alright, I’ll keep quiet. But at least tell me your name—shouldn’t I know who’s following me?”

The ghost spirit replied indifferently, “Chen Wan’er.”

“Chen Wan’er—what a lovely name. I’ll call you Sister Wan’er from now on.”

“Call me whatever you like. Even if you call me ancestor, I can handle it.”

“…Ancestor.”

“Call me sister.”

They walked along, exchanging occasional words. With such a ‘peerless beauty’ for company, Chen San was much happier.

...

After three days of hurried travel, their provisions ran out—two copper coins had only bought four buns, which were gone in a few bites. Chen San was so hungry he saw stars and could barely walk.

The ghost spirit, sustained by the essence of sun and moon, had no need for food. Seeing Chen San dizzy with hunger, she offered advice.

“You’re starving like this. Forget finding my corpse—you might not even reach Mount Mao.”

Chen San collapsed on the ground, sprawled out, barely able to move.

“I can’t help it. There’s no one on this road but you—not even a ghost in sight. I’d beg if I could, but there’s no one to give alms. There’s nothing as far as the eye can see. Even if there were a rabbit, I couldn’t catch it.”

“Can’t you have the Spirit Tiger hunt? Aren’t your souls connected? Call it forth—let it catch a rabbit or wild dog for you so you can fill your belly and we can keep moving.”

Chen San’s eyes lit up instantly. He sat up, slapped his thigh.

“Sister Wan’er, you’re so clever. Why didn’t I think of this? Had I realized sooner, I wouldn’t have starved.”

With a thought, a silvery-white light leapt out from behind him and landed before him. The Spirit Tiger let out a roar as it landed. Chen San, excited, began winking and making faces at it.

The Spirit Tiger, connected to Chen San’s mind, knew exactly what he wanted. Though reluctant—a king of beasts reduced to chasing rabbits!—it couldn’t resist Chen San’s persistent pleading. With a disdainful growl, it dashed off. Watching the tiger’s majestic form, Chen San was delighted, thinking his meals were secured from now on.

Before long, the Spirit Tiger returned with a wild dog in its jaws. Chen San had already prepared a fire and sharpened a stone knife. When he saw the wild dog, his eyes widened. He quickly skinned and cleaned it, then roasted it over the fire, filling the air with a delicious aroma.

The Spirit Tiger lounged nearby, showing no sign of leaving. Chen San guessed it wanted to eat, so they shared the meal. It was a feast.

After that, the Spirit Tiger got a taste for it. At mealtimes, it sometimes came out on its own, racing into the woods without a backward glance, returning with something new each day: rabbit, deer, fox, wild boar, antelope—they tried them all.

Sometimes Chen San wondered if the Spirit Tiger was actually human, given its love for roasted food, but he didn’t care. He ate well these past days, and nothing went wrong. He arrived safely at a small village at the foot of Mount Mao. It was there that Chen San realized the ghost eye was no trivial thing.

After more than ten days of travel, Mount Mao was finally within sight. Though it was pitch dark, he had only a torch in hand, the moonlight revealed the distant, towering peaks with unusual clarity.

...

The mountain ahead was Mount Mao. In half an hour, they’d reach the last small village at its foot. Though called the foot of Mount Mao, the village was still a day’s journey from the mountain itself. But as many travelers headed to Mount Mao, everyone described this village as being at its foot.

Mount Mao is one of the true centers of Taoist sorcery. On the mountain reside many Taoist priests who cultivate and study the arts of yin and yang.

Each day, people ascend Mount Mao to seek masters, learn yin-yang sorcery, geomancy, and divination. Others hire Taoists to descend the mountain to subdue monsters and evil spirits.

The Taoists of Mount Mao dedicate themselves to protecting the people and all living beings. The Grandmaster, Taiyuan Immortal, wields the Frost Thunder Sword and two of the Eight Great Taoist Spells, keeping order in the region.

By rights, such a village at the foot of Mount Mao should be peaceful, with so many skilled Taoists, no demon or evil spirit should dare make trouble here. Yet, strangely, this small village was anything but tranquil.

The sun had set. Chen San slept comfortably against a stone in the forest, unaware that the Spirit Tiger, punctual as ever, had just caught two rabbits and dropped them before him.

Chen San slept soundly, oblivious to the rabbits. The Spirit Tiger circled him a few times, and, seeing no reaction, let out a roar that echoed across the sky.

Chen San, startled, flailed his arms and legs. When he came to his senses, he saw the Spirit Tiger. He was about to scold it, but, intimidated by its fierce expression, swallowed his words and forced an awkward smile.

“You’re more punctual than I am. But you can’t make a fire, right? See, you still need me.”

With that, Chen San proudly took the rabbits to the river to prepare them, soon roasting them over the fire. The delicious aroma filled the air. The Spirit Tiger watched the roasting rabbits hungrily. Chen San, seeing its eager look, gave it the first roasted rabbit.

The Spirit Tiger wasn’t greedy. After eating, it turned into a silvery-white light and vanished into the distance. Chen San devoured the second rabbit ravenously.

At night, when it was time to travel, Chen San would summon Chen Wan’er, pestering her for conversation. Wan’er was reluctant to engage, but the old Taoist had said her corpse could only be found with his help. After so many days, she and Chen San were no longer so unfamiliar.

Under the bright moon, Chen San summoned Chen Wan’er, who would quietly appear behind him. As usual, he was half scared to death.

It wasn’t that Chen Wan’er was frightening—only that in the dead of night, with nothing visible but the moonlight, a pale, bloodless face and long hair draped over one's shoulder behind you, the atmosphere was unnerving.

This time, as soon as Chen Wan’er appeared, she warned Chen San, “Be careful ahead. I sense a strong presence of yin energy. Though still distant, we must not let our guard down.”

Chen San thought she was joking. “Sister Wan’er, you’re kidding. I’ve asked around—the mountain ahead is Mount Mao. How could there be monsters or ghosts at its foot? Wouldn’t that be courting death?”

Wan’er remained expressionless. “I’ve never been here, so I don’t know the situation. But the yin energy is unmistakable.”

After half an hour’s walk, Chen San began to feel chilly.

“Sister Wan’er, does yin energy feel cold? Why do I feel so cold? Isn’t it summer? Why does it feel like autumn?” He rubbed his arms as he spoke.

“I don’t know if yin energy is cold. I can only sense it because I’m dead. Without a body, I can’t tell if it’s cold.”

Chen San gave a wry smile, realizing she wouldn’t know—she was an ordinary person when alive.

Just as he was about to say more, the village appeared before them—a large village, rows of small houses neatly arranged.

Chen San was so excited he forgot what he was about to say. Pointing at the village, his tone was full of joy.

“Look, Sister Wan’er, the village—we’ve arrived!”

Suddenly, Chen Wan’er darted in front of him, blocking his way.

Chen San hadn’t reacted yet. He was about to ask her something when he was stunned by what he saw.

Ever since gaining the ghost eye, his vision had been a little blurry. Under the moonlight, he saw faint, gray shapes drifting near the edge of the village.

He rubbed his eyes and looked again. The more he looked, the more he saw.

Shadowy figures, insubstantial yet present, drifted everywhere. These were the souls of those who died far from home, or unjustly, unable to reincarnate—the wandering ghosts.

Chen San stared at these drifting spirits in disbelief. He didn’t have the courage for such things. He wanted to grab Sister Wan’er, but she had no physical form—his hand grasped nothing.

“Sister Wan’er, I think I see something floating there—not just one. Are those ghosts?”

“They are. Now that you have the ghost eye and can see me, you can see them as well.”

Chen San’s eyes widened in shock. “Maybe I should give it back to you. I can’t handle a scene like this.”

“I told you before—once given, it can’t be taken back. You insisted on seeing. Now it’s too late to regret.”

Chen San was full of remorse. Sure enough, one should not be too clever. He wanted the ghost eye not just to see Chen Wan’er clearly, but to admire her beauty. Now, he could see much more than he bargained for.

...

“Call the Spirit Tiger out. There are more than wandering ghosts here.”

Naturally, Chen San didn’t hesitate. He was already timid, and now even more so. He summoned the Spirit Tiger at the fastest speed of his life.

The Spirit Tiger, upon seeing the drifting spirits, was equally shocked. Chen San patted its haunch, “I—I’m scared. You—you walk ahead. If we need to run, take me with you…” The Spirit Tiger was deeply annoyed, flicking its tail at Chen San’s hand. Chen Wan’er moved behind Chen San. Together—man, ghost, and tiger—they slowly entered the small village at the foot of Mount Mao.

The village was called Fuxi, larger than most. The villagers farmed for a living, and because of their proximity to Mount Mao, some worked as porters for wealthy travelers, carrying people up the mountain.

It was a good business. By day, Fuxi Village was like any other, except more populous.

But at night, things changed. Fuxi Village sat near Mount Mao—a place of spiritual energy, with nine peaks, nineteen springs, and twenty-six caves, each gathering the essence of heaven and earth.

Taoists often came and went. There were no monsters or evil spirits, but wandering ghosts from hundreds of miles around were drawn to Mount Mao’s spiritual energy.

Driven by instinct, they drifted toward Mount Mao. But with Taoists always present, they dared not approach the mountain itself, instead congregating in places with spiritual energy nearby—the only such place was Fuxi Village.

Where there are many people, spiritual energy increases. These wandering ghosts rarely harmed villagers and caused no trouble; the villagers were unaware of their presence.

This balance of yin and yang had lasted for centuries, never broken. But when Chen San entered the village, the equilibrium was shattered.

He, the ghost spirit, and the Spirit Tiger arrived in the dead of night. Immediately, Chen Wan’er sensed danger—not from the wandering ghosts, but from something hidden in the darkness.

The Spirit Tiger strode ahead, fearless and imposing, its silver-white fur and massive body making it even more majestic.

Chen San, obeying Wan’er’s warning, was so scared he hardly dared breathe, cowering behind the Spirit Tiger and glancing nervously at the surrounding ghosts.

These wandering ghosts appeared as they had at the moment of death—most had died far from home, victims of violence, plague, disaster, or misfortune. Their appearances were ghastly: headless, missing limbs, bodies covered in wounds with flesh turned inside out—disturbing in the extreme.

It was Chen San’s first time seeing such things with the ghost eye, and the sheer number nearly made him vomit up the rabbit he’d just eaten.

Wan’er, behind him, remained calm, always watching their surroundings.

The houses in Fuxi Village lined the winding main road, which twisted due to streams and groves. To reach Mount Mao, one had to pass through either the dark woods or Fuxi Village.

As they reached the village center, Chen San noticed the ghosts had thinned out—where once there were crowds, now it was almost empty.

The Spirit Tiger sensed something amiss and stopped. Chen San, peering around, pressed his face to the tiger’s haunch, which the Spirit Tiger shook off in annoyance.

Wan’er’s long hair floated, her body radiating a ghostly blue aura as she prepared for battle.

The silence was absolute. Chen San held his breath, not daring to make a sound. Suddenly, a mournful wail, like a sound wave, struck his ears. He clutched his ears and fell to his knees in agony, nearly rolling on the ground.

The Spirit Tiger, too, was shaken by the wail, letting out a roar that echoed across the sky. It turned to face the source of the sound.

Wan’er immediately darted in front of Chen San, staring intently at the same spot, not daring to relax.

Suddenly, a dark red ghost drifted out, appearing before them. Long hair floated in the air, black clothes, red embroidered shoes, exuding a dark red aura. It was terrifying—enough to make one’s flesh crawl.

The ghost fixed its gaze on Wan’er. Though Wan’er was herself a spirit, she showed fear under its stare.

Chen San retreated in terror, collapsing to the ground, unable to get up. Only the Spirit Tiger showed no fear, staring at the ghost.

Before they could recover, a black-robed figure appeared behind the ghost, face obscured. He slowly stepped forward and said quietly, “Devour her.”

As soon as the words were spoken, the ghost lunged at Wan’er. Wan’er, shocked, unleashed her aura in defense. The Spirit Tiger, unable to restrain itself, charged ahead, swiping its paw at the dark red ghost.

But its claws hit nothing. Undeterred, it roared, leaping and swiping at the black-robed man. Just as its paw was about to strike him, the man dodged with a swift movement.

He then drew from his back a staff carved with strange patterns, spinning it in his hand, apparently preparing to toy with the Spirit Tiger. Meanwhile, Wan’er and the dark red ghost had already started their fierce battle.