Volume One: The Journey of the Useless, Fiery Demon-Slaying Chapter Eighteen: The Maoshan Daoist Temple and the Azure-Robed Elder

Chen San felt a bit embarrassed. At that moment, the Spirit Tiger turned around, scrutinizing itself from head to tail. After confirming there were no wounds, the tiger spat out a bamboo slip it had been holding in its mouth and lay down on the ground, half reclining.

Chen San picked up the bamboo slip. Carved upon it was a small bamboo hut. He understood immediately: the old man had sent him a message—Sister Wan’er had returned to the bamboo hut. Relieved that Wan’er’s soul had not been scattered, he breathed out a long sigh.

Glancing at the Spirit Tiger, he embraced it and burst into laughter. The tiger let out a roar, sounding slightly displeased with Chen San, but its confirmation allowed Chen San to continue his journey with peace of mind.

The Spirit Tiger did not leave immediately; instead, it accompanied Chen San until dawn. Only then did it transform into a streak of silvery light and vanish into the distance.

When the first light of dawn appeared, Chen San was still a couple of hours’ walk from Mount Mao. He decided not to sleep, planning to rest well once he reached the mountain. With this resolve, he pressed on without pause.

As he drew closer to Mount Mao, the number of people increased—coming from all directions, some were Taoist priests, others ordinary villagers.

Traveling had become routine for Chen San; he walked several hours every day. At first, his legs ached, but gradually he became accustomed, and now two hours of walking left him neither flushed nor breathless.

Finally, he stood at the foot of Mount Mao. Raising his eyes, he saw the peaks soaring into the clouds—he could not see the summit, only most of the mountain, but the Taoist temple of the Mao Mountain Sect was nowhere in sight. A long staircase led upward, flanked by two thick iron chains stretching straight up to the skies.

Those ascending, except the martial Taoists, clung tightly to the iron chains. Even the porters from Niujia Village, who had made the climb hundreds of times, still held onto the chains.

Chen San was timid; gazing at the endless steps, his legs felt weak. There was no way he would not grab the chain. However, his left hand was injured during a ritual for the Taoist ancestors, so he could only climb holding the chain with one hand.

Lacking the strength of both hands, his pace slowed considerably. Impatient travelers passed him on the other side, some muttering under their breath—Chen San didn’t catch their words, but guessed they weren’t friendly. Nearing halfway up the mountain, he found another path, less steep.

It was a winding trail, circling the mountain and passing several caves. It wasn’t as shaky, but the road was long.

Chen San, unable to use both hands, chose the winding path. No need for the iron chain, but the detour took nearly a whole day. He wandered through caves, peering here and there, and only as the sun was about to set did he finally reach the temple atop the mountain.

The Mao Mountain temple was truly vast; Chen San alone could not push open its massive gate.

He knocked and knocked for a long time until two young Taoists opened the doors. They asked about his purpose, then let him in with the others.

The two young Taoists thoughtfully prepared dinner and a room for Chen San to sleep in, promising he would meet Master Taiyuan the next day. After nearly a day and night of travel, Chen San was exhausted. Hearing he would meet the master tomorrow, he felt a weight lift from his shoulders.

The meal was simple, but it filled him. When it was time to sleep, the room was crowded with others—some seeking Taoists to exorcise demons, others hoping to learn magical arts. Chen San naturally slept among them in the large room.

There were no monsters or evil spirits on Mount Mao, and for Chen San, this night was the most restful sleep he’d had during his journey. Though the summer heat was oppressive, the room felt cool and pleasant.

Early the next morning, the young novice came looking for Chen San, who was still groggy. After a quick wash, he followed the novice through winding corridors to a meditation chamber, where he met Master Taiyuan.

Master Taiyuan was already in his sixties, yet he radiated vitality; his eyes shone bright, his brows were sharp, his features noble and righteous—more energetic than Chen San himself. His simple robe was nothing like what Chen San had imagined for the Head of Mao Mountain.

On tedious journeys, Chen San had often speculated about the appearance and attire of the Mao Mountain master and the monk in contemplation. In his mind, the head of Mao Mountain should be dressed in ornate robes, hair gathered in a ritual crown, holding a whisk, exuding immortal dignity. The man before him was quite different.

Upon seeing Chen San, Master Taiyuan rose and invited him to sit. The novice poured tea and retreated to wait.

Master Taiyuan spoke first: “Young man, I hear you’ve crossed mountains and rivers to seek me. What is it you desire?”

Before even sipping the tea, Chen San began to recount the events in Chen Family Town. He had never studied, so his story rambled, but at least he managed to explain.

Master Taiyuan listened, his brows knitted. “Dense fog in the height of summer? So many deaths? Does Chen Family Town have a rear mountain?”

“You know our town, Master? Yes, there’s a rear mountain. The old Taoist lives there—he sent me to invite you and a meditating monk from Han Mountain Temple to slay the great demon.”

“Do you know the name of this reclusive Taoist master?”

“I don’t. He never said. He especially likes knocking me on the head, so I never dared to ask. He’s lived in our rear mountain for over ten years, never left, but he sent me to find you—you two should know each other.”

Master Taiyuan stroked his beard and nodded.

“This matter is grave, young man—it concerns the lives of the people. If my guess is correct, Chen Family Town is in increasing danger. I must set out at once. Han Mountain Temple is not far from here, but I cannot accompany you there. You must go yourself and invite the high monk.”

“No problem, I’ve been traveling alone anyway. But a couple of days ago I ran into a man in a black robe—almost got killed. I’m afraid something might happen; if I fail to invite the monk and lose my life, Chen Family Town is doomed. Could you arrange for someone to go with me?”

“Black robe? Where did you encounter him?” Master Taiyuan frowned.

“In a small village earlier. There was a strange thing beside him—it scared me so much I can’t recall what happened next.”

Master Taiyuan pondered. This young man was not a cultivator; more words would mean little. He nodded and spoke to the novice: “Lingfeng, go bring your senior brother here.”

“Yes, Master. I’ll go now.”

Chen San continued discussing Chen Family Town with Master Taiyuan. Before long, a young man in a green Taoist robe entered, saluted Master Taiyuan: “Master, may I ask why you summoned me?”

Master Taiyuan gestured for him to sit.

“This young man is from Chen Family Town, which has suffered a disaster. I am going to investigate.”

“He is our senior brother at Mao Mountain. With him to protect you, there should be no problem.”

Yang Chengzi nodded to Chen San, who replied with a silly smile.

“Master, what happened in Chen Family Town that requires you to go yourself?”

“Catastrophe.”

Yang Chengzi was startled.

“I’ve heard from my master about that region. Hundreds of years ago, a great demon was sealed there, though its location was unknown. Now that disaster has struck, surely the seal has loosened.”

Yang Chengzi was at a loss for words. His master, Taiyuan, was considered an earthly immortal—no exaggeration. He wielded the eight great Taoist incantations, the celestial talisman array, and the soul of the Frost Thunder Sword, powerful enough to split mountains and rocks. To slay the great demon, another earthly immortal would be required. Was that place the seal of the legendary demon of calamity?

“Master, why not let me accompany you down the mountain? Daoqing and the others can escort this young man.”

Taiyuan shook his head. “No, you shall go with him to Han Mountain Temple; I will go alone to Chen Family Town. You three will meet there afterward.”

“But—”

“No need to say more. I have decided. This matter cannot be delayed. Go quickly and return swiftly.”

“Yes, Master.”

“Well, young man, is it settled?”

“Settled, settled. Let’s go. The sooner I bring back the master, the sooner we can deal with the demon, and Chen Family Town will have peace.”

“Good. Be careful on the road. We’ll meet in Chen Family Town.” With that, Taiyuan exchanged the Taoist salute with Chen San. Chen San, not stupid, mimicked the gesture. Without delay, the three descended the mountain together.

At the foot, they parted from Master Taiyuan and headed for Han Mountain Temple.

Yang Chengzi was the master of Wang Daoist, who performed rituals in Chen Family Town. Though younger than Wang Daoist, his abilities far surpassed him.

Orphaned young, Yang Chengzi was always handsome; by fifteen or sixteen, he was strikingly elegant. From then on, wealthy maidens came to Mao Mountain specifically to see Yang Chengzi.

News spread quickly that Mao Mountain had a particularly handsome young Taoist, but Yang Chengzi seemed utterly indifferent to women, never giving them a serious glance, his mind steadfastly focused on the Taoist path.

Perhaps those worldly beauties simply did not catch his eye, or perhaps Yang Chengzi’s heart was truly free of distractions.

Women traveled from far and wide just to catch a glimpse of the famed Taoist, but he never paid them any mind.

Eventually, to avoid the disturbance, Mao Mountain established a rule forbidding the wealthy maidens from visiting.

Time passed swiftly—seasons changed, flowers bloomed and fell. Yang Chengzi was now twenty-seven or twenty-eight. He rarely descended the mountain, only doing so when his fellow disciples could not vanquish a demon or evil spirit.

In truth, Yang Chengzi should not have been the senior brother—the age didn’t fit; a junior would be more appropriate. Yet he was brought back by Grandmaster Guangyuan and counted as his disciple, so his status was high. Moreover, his comprehension and talent far exceeded his age, leading Master Taiyuan to appoint him as senior brother.

One reason was that Yang Chengzi was the only one among the younger generation recognized by the Taoist famed sword, the Shangqing Sword. The sword was three feet three inches long, its forging unrecorded, with the North Star incantation from the eight great Taoist spells engraved on its blade.

No one had truly wielded this incantation; the hilt and blade were forged as a single piece.

Its last master was Grandmaster Guangyuan. After his ascension, the Shangqing Sword was sealed in his former chamber.

Being recognized meant Yang Chengzi had a destined chance—he might become the next master of the Shangqing Sword.

Formal disciples of Mao Mountain, once they cultivated beyond mastery and entered the soul realm, could sense the soul of a sword in the sword tomb, finding the one most suited to them.

If a sword soul lacked a master, it would resonate. When a disciple sensed their destined sword soul, they would take a peachwood sword, draw their own blood across the blade, recite the soul-binding incantation, and the sword soul would fly from the tomb and attach to the peachwood sword.

Over time, the peachwood sword would shed its body and transform into a new weapon—a magical sword, composed of sword and soul, greatly enhancing the Taoist’s powers.

Yang Chengzi reached the soul realm at twenty-three, earlier than all his senior brothers by a dozen years. Yet, instead of sensing a sword soul in the tomb, he was recognized by the Shangqing Sword itself.

But this sword belonged to Grandmaster Guangyuan, so though Yang Chengzi was accepted, he never used it; Master Taiyuan said the time was not yet right.

...

Meanwhile, Chen Wan’er was brought back to the old man by the Spirit Tiger. The old man was shocked; though Wan’er was not especially powerful, anyone capable of injuring her so badly was terrifying indeed.

Ordinary ghosts were no match for ghost spirits, especially with the Spirit Tiger present. For Wan’er to flee in such disarray, Chen San’s fate was likely grim. The old man dared not delay, hurriedly riding the Spirit Tiger through the night up the mountain. Only after saving Wan’er would he understand what had happened.

He placed Wan’er in the previously prepared ritual array and used the King Ming Soul-Calming Incantation to stabilize her soul. When she was brought back, her soul was unstable, her form faint, and she had lost consciousness—she was on the verge of soul dissolution.

But the soul-calming incantation was of little effect, and her soul continued to show signs of collapse.

Finally, the old man had to use the secret “Soul Control Technique,” forcibly expelling two souls and three spirits from his own body and stuffing Wan’er’s nearly scattered soul into himself.

He let Wan’er’s soul nurture within his body, while his own soul hid in the Spirit Tiger’s sea of souls. Without a body, his soul was fragile, unable to withstand even sunlight, let alone demons or evil spirits.

After two days of nurturing, Wan’er gradually regained consciousness. The old man returned to his body, learned from Wan’er about Chen San, and carved a bamboo slip for the Spirit Tiger to deliver to Chen San—the very one in the tiger’s mouth.

Though Wan’er was saved, her damaged soul would need time to heal within the ritual array; it would be a while before she could return to Chen San.

The Spirit Tiger, thick-skinned and resilient, had taken several blows without even a scratch and fled swiftly. Had it not brought Wan’er back, her soul would have been scattered beyond recovery.

After saving Wan’er, the old man hurried down the mountain again. The seal in Chen Family Town, though reinforced, was only a temporary measure—the Eight Gates Golden Lock could only be strengthened repeatedly. He could only hope Chen San would quickly bring Master Taiyuan and the meditating monk, so the three could join forces to slay the demon.

Chen San and Yang Chengzi descended Mao Mountain together. Yang Chengzi was quiet and stern, while Chen San was talkative; together, they made an ideal pair.

After half a day’s journey, Yang Chengzi sensed something unusual about Chen San—a heavy, dark presence, restless and oppressive. When he tried to sense it with his soul, he found nothing. Though suspicious, he kept his thoughts to himself, merely staying alert.

Climbing up was hard; the descent was easy. The three took less than half a day to descend. After parting, Chen San and Yang Chengzi headed south toward Han Mountain Temple.

During the day, everything was uneventful; the sun blazed overhead, the heat oppressive but unobjectionable.

They walked along the main road nearly a whole day before coming to a small stream. Chen San, overheated, quickly took off his outer garment and waded in, sitting down in the middle of the stream—water just to his navel, but cooling nonetheless. Yang Chengzi merely washed his face and drank a few mouthfuls.

“Brother Chen San, ahead lies a village. It will be dark in an hour. Let’s hurry—perhaps we can get something to eat, and at worst, find a place to stay.”

“I can’t walk anymore. After a day’s march, I’m exhausted. It’s so hot. Besides, where would there be a place to sleep in the village? Better to cool off here a while.”

Yang Chengzi said no more, perhaps feeling tired himself, and joined in cooling off.

Actually, Yang Chengzi meant that there would be food and lodging. As a Mao Mountain Taoist, wherever he went, he was treated as a distinguished guest. Not only would he be offered a place to stay, but whatever the village had to eat would be served without hesitation; villagers would compete to present their best, hoping that should disaster strike, a Mao Mountain Taoist would come to exorcise demons.

Every village had strange occurrences; when their own Taoist couldn’t solve it, they always invited Mao Mountain Taoists to intervene. Thus, Mao Mountain Taoists were more beloved than one’s own parents.