Volume One: The Useless Sets Out, Blazing Demon Slayer Chapter Nineteen: Wandering Spirits and Wild Ghosts, Inviting the Gods

Chen San and Yang Chengzi soaked in the water for more than half an hour, and only climbed ashore when they saw the sky gradually darken. Having grown up in a temple, Yang Chengzi had always eaten vegetarian food, and by nightfall his stomach was painfully empty. They hadn’t had a proper meal for two days; from dawn to dusk, they’d been traveling without finding a place to rest. They’d brought some dry rations, and now, after lighting a fire, they began to eat. It wasn’t that they refused lunch—rather, the heat of the day had made it impossible to stomach food.

Now, sitting by the creek in the cool evening breeze, both found their simple fare surprisingly delicious. Afterwards, the two decided to spend the night on the riverbank among the pebbles, mostly because it was cooler there. After eating, they each lay down.

Chen San and Yang Chengzi spoke of the events of the past few days. The more Yang Chengzi listened, the more excited he became. He couldn’t believe that Chen San, an ordinary man, had reached the realm of the spirit—surely Chen San was boasting. He insisted that Chen San summon the spirit tiger for him to see. Having never seen a silver-white tiger, Yang Chengzi’s curiosity was piqued. Chen San, however, refused to do so without compensation, demanding that Yang Chengzi catch a ghost for him to examine. Neither would yield, and after much banter, they agreed to sleep.

It wasn’t that Yang Chengzi didn’t want to catch a ghost; it was just that, in the wild mountains at midnight, it was difficult to find one. If spirits and evil entities didn’t wish to show themselves, they were nearly impossible to locate. Chen San himself was eager to witness Yang Chengzi’s techniques, for since learning about the arts of yin and yang, his curiosity had never abated. Each lay pondering his own thoughts, and soon sleep overtook them.

But only a few hours passed before the sound of a bell—“ding ding ding”—rang out. Yang Chengzi was startled; he did not immediately open his eyes, but sensed his surroundings. Chen San, confident in Yang Chengzi’s protection, slept like the dead, oblivious to the noise.

The sound came from the Soul Alarm Bell, which Yang Chengzi had placed on a stone by the river before sleeping. This bell had no clapper and did not ring in the wind; it was nourished by daoist spiritual energy, countering the aura of ghosts and demons. Whenever it rang, it meant that ghostly entities were present within thirty paces.

Yang Chengzi carefully sensed his surroundings, then suddenly opened his eyes. A dense swarm of spirits was converging, and even more were gathering by the moment. Why were so many ghosts drawn here? He wondered, but made no move, continuing to lie quietly. Soon, the bell began to shake violently on the stone, clattering loudly. He could not wait any longer; disregarding Chen San, he sprang up from the ground with a single hand.

These wandering souls were a menace; if allowed to gather, they might become something truly sinister. Yang Chengzi began forming the seals for the True Martial Incantation. The spell was powerful—only those with strong souls could unleash its mountain-splitting force, though it required a lengthy preparation. The twenty-four hand seals shifted rapidly in his hands; his feet swept, scattering the river pebbles and clearing a large patch of sandy ground.

As he formed the twelfth seal, he began drawing incantation symbols on the ground. The sound of stones being swept into the creek grew louder, finally waking Chen San. Rising groggily, he saw Yang Chengzi leaping about and thought he’d gone mad. But then, glancing around, he saw the mass of ghostly entities encircling them.

Seeing nothing would have been fine, but the sight of so many spectral figures terrified Chen San; half-risen, he collapsed against a tree, his legs scrambling in panic. He realized at once that Yang Chengzi probably wasn’t crazy.

Reaching behind him, Chen San fumbled for his peachwood sword, but it had been lost back in Fuxi Village—his panic rendered him momentarily dazed.

In the time it takes to brew tea, Yang Chengzi completed the True Martial Incantation. Only the final imperial seal remained; the incantation symbols on the ground were finished. Yang Chengzi braced himself for the last seal—it appeared easy, but upon completion he nearly coughed blood from the strain.

The imperial seal carried the righteous energy of the Three Sovereigns, its momentum surging heavenward. With his hair slightly disheveled and his brow furrowed, Yang Chengzi finished the spell, hurriedly retreating from the incantation symbols.

The instant he leapt clear, a pale yellow column of light shot down onto the symbols, striking with a thunderous crash. Ripples of yellow spread instantly outward.

Chen San, being nearby, was thrown violently by the impact. At that moment, he felt his soul leave his body, only to return in an instant—the emptiness was unforgettable. The surrounding ghosts were annihilated by the expanding ripple.

When the ripples faded, Yang Chengzi came over to help Chen San up. Chen San coughed heavily, muttering, “Was that really necessary? These ghosts... The eldest disciple of Mount Mao isn’t exactly subtle.” He coughed again.

Yang Chengzi brushed dust from his clothes and explained, “Most were just wandering souls. I’m wondering why they gathered here.”

Chen San stared at him wide-eyed. “Aren’t you Daoists supposed to guide wandering souls? You just scattered them all. Are you a fake Daoist?”

Yang Chengzi laughed. “Guidance depends on fate. Though these were wandering souls, so many gathering like this could only mean trouble. If we’d noticed late, we might not have survived the night. If ordinary people encountered them, disaster could ensue. Destroying them is saving others. Besides, if we die, it doesn’t matter, but you still need to find the high monk from Hanshan Temple. If he doesn’t come to your town, many will die.”

Chen San nodded in admiration. “If you find guiding souls troublesome, just say so. I’ve lived more than twenty years and never met someone who talks like you. Impressive, impressive.” He made a mock gesture of respect.

Yang Chengzi went to the riverbank to retrieve the Soul Alarm Bell. Chen San, now fully awake, said, “Let’s get moving. I usually sleep by day and travel at night. Though I’ve only been out a few days, experience tells me nighttime travel means peaceful sleep.” He picked up a torch.

Yang Chengzi frowned thoughtfully, ignoring Chen San and following him onward. After a few hours’ rest, their spirits were much improved.

Seeing Yang Chengzi’s pensive expression, Chen San asked curiously, “Daoist Yang, you look troubled—what are you thinking?”

“Don’t you find it odd that those ghosts gathered around us? Wandering souls usually drift randomly. Either someone cast a spell to control them, or something here attracted them. But I saw nothing at our campsite that could lure them. Any thoughts?”

“Daoist Yang, you’re overthinking. It’s obvious—they came for me.”

Yang Chengzi was astonished. “Why you?”

“I’m not sure, but think about it: I’ve only been out ten days, yet I’ve encountered groups of malevolent ghosts several times. Where else would so many appear? They must be after me.”

After hearing this, Yang Chengzi looked at Chen San with newfound admiration. “Brother, you have sharp eyes. It feels a bit odd, but somehow it makes sense.”

Chen San raised his brows proudly. “Next time, let me handle it. Your spell is too fierce—not even the ghosts could withstand it, and neither could I.”

“I had no choice. With so many ghosts, only this spell could disperse them.”

“What’s it called, and can I learn it?”

“True Martial Incantation. It channels the righteous energy of the Three Sovereigns, but it consumes a great deal of soul power. If you wish to learn, join Mount Mao, study the arts for ten or twenty years, and your master will teach you.”

Chen San balked at the thought of decades of study and joining Mount Mao, shaking his head. “No, no, no. Forget it. I’ll go home, marry, and live a good life. I can’t bear the weight of saving humanity.”

They chatted as they walked, growing more familiar with each other.

Before dawn, they reached a forest and paused in unison—though for different reasons. Chen San hesitated out of fear. He hadn’t minded snakes much before, but after seeing so many in the inn, he was now wary, especially at night when visibility was poor. The forest likely harbored snakes; in the summer heat, their numbers would only increase.

Yang Chengzi stopped because the forest felt unnaturally quiet—too quiet.

Chen San looked around; it seemed they had to pass through, as there was no other path. He swallowed nervously. “I—I’m afraid of snakes. There must be lots here, right?”

“No need to fear snakes. I have realgar powder—sprinkle it on your shoes and clothes and you’ll be fine. But isn’t this forest a bit too quiet?”

“Isn’t quiet good? Too much noise would disturb our conversation. Besides, this is the only way; we have no choice. Should I shout to make it livelier?”

Yang Chengzi looked at him awkwardly. “If you must shout, I won’t stop you. But if you draw a demon, I won’t help.”

Chen San muttered, “You’re the one who said it was too quiet.”

They sprinkled realgar powder and entered the woods. After only a few steps, the sound of rustling stopped Chen San in his tracks. But Yang Chengzi, unperturbed, continued forward without looking back.

Seeing Yang Chengzi ignore him, Chen San scurried after, chilled to the bone.

The deeper they went, the colder it felt. Perhaps the forest blocked sunlight, but a gust of wind made Chen San shiver. Yang Chengzi stopped and looked around. Though called a forest, a path ran through the middle—follow it and they’d exit.

When Yang Chengzi stopped, so did Chen San, waiting for him to proceed. The torch flickered in his hand.

Yang Chengzi looked around and said, “Didn’t you say you have ghost eyes? See if there’s anything unusual here.”

Chen San, pleased to be asked, replied, “You should have said so earlier. What should I look for?”

“See if there’s any mist ahead, or if anything is watching us. I haven’t opened my celestial eye; I can sense some things but not see them.”

Chen San began scanning their surroundings. There was a faint mist ahead, but nothing alarming. The trees on either side were clearly visible, none particularly thick, and he saw nothing unusual.

“Nothing much, just a bit of mist. We can keep going.”

“Look again.” Yang Chengzi bit his finger and smeared his blood on Chen San’s forehead, sealing his ghost eye.

Chen San frowned. “What did you put on me? There’s nothing to see—wait...” He stopped mid-sentence, staring blankly into the depths of the forest. A shadowy figure stood far away, motionless.

Startled, Chen San rubbed his eyes. “Everything seems brighter—I think someone’s standing over there.”

The ghost eye granted him the ability to see spirits, but also made his vision darker, shortening his range. Now, with the seal, he saw further.

Hearing this, Yang Chengzi’s brow furrowed and he dashed toward the shadow. Before Chen San could react, Yang Chengzi was already far ahead. Not wanting to be left behind, Chen San sprinted after him, his spine tingling with fear.

As they neared, Yang Chengzi saw clearly: the figure wore a black robe, with a rod at her waist adorned with feather-like ornaments. Her movements were nimble but she lacked stamina.

Yang Chengzi bit his finger as he ran, drawing a thunder spell in his palm and casting it at the black-robed figure. With a boom, it struck nearby; the figure rolled away, stood, and drew the rod from her waist. Yang Chengzi stopped and faced her.

Chen San arrived, panting, and hid behind Yang Chengzi, watching.

Up close, Yang Chengzi realized the figure was a young woman, striking and ethereal. He asked, “Why are you following us?” His tone was accusatory. Chen San, amazed, looked her over, his gaze lingering where it shouldn’t.

The woman glared at Chen San with hatred. “I’m here to kill you. You can die together.” She formed a hand seal and touched her rod, from which a tall, shadowy figure emerged.

Yang Chengzi, without his celestial eye, could not see it, but his Soul Alarm Bell rang and he sensed a powerful ghost nearby. He shouted, “She’s a sorceress—be careful! Wipe off the blood on your forehead!”

Chen San, startled, wiped his forehead, and his vision darkened. Seeing the tall figure, he exclaimed, “What the hell is that?”

Yang Chengzi pulled two ancient coins from his robe, slicing his palm to reveal faint blood lines, and hurled them at the sorceress. As he cast, a thunder spell shot toward the black-robed woman. She dodged, and as she landed, Yang Chengzi struck with his palm. Unable to evade, she swung her silver-black rod, and the tall figure blocked the blow.

With a thunderous crash, the figure was knocked into the woman, who was thrown against a tree and fell. Rising, she formed another seal, and from her rod emerged a long-haired ghost with an obscured face and dark red eyes fixed on Chen San. Dressed in crimson, it appeared sinister. Meanwhile, the tall figure stood again, both ghosts now menacingly watching Yang Chengzi and Chen San.

Yang Chengzi sensed the second ghost, formed a seal, and opened his celestial eye. His vision dimmed, and the two ghosts appeared before him. He was startled: “A ghost slave and a resentful spirit.”

Chen San scrutinized the crimson ghost, but its face was hidden. The more he looked, the weaker his knees felt. He drew a deep breath and glanced at the black-robed woman.

Seeing both types of spirits together unsettled Yang Chengzi. The ghost slave was no ordinary one—it had taken a thunder blow and remained intact, standing as if nothing had happened. Resentful spirits he’d only seen in Daoist texts; they couldn’t be guided, only struck down by heavenly thunder, but in this dense forest, lightning would hit only the trees.

Just as Yang Chengzi pondered his next move, a silver-white light leapt from behind. With a mighty roar, the tiger’s cry echoed through the sky, breaking Yang Chengzi’s concentration. He saw the silver-white tiger, exactly as Chen San had described, and turned to him.

Chen San raised his brow. “Leave this to me.”

He began forming hand seals, sensing the old man’s spirit. A familiar golden light appeared in his mind: Chou, Shen, Zi, Hai, You, Mao, Wei. He recited, “Wind steps without disturbance, invite the divine lord; across a thousand miles, the soul leads the way.” He stamped his right foot to summon the spirit.

Yang Chengzi was astonished—this young man wasn’t a Daoist, yet he truly knew the summoning art. He decided to watch, stepping aside.

The old man’s spirit entered Chen San’s consciousness. Chen San opened his eyes and berated, “You brat, how have you gotten into trouble with a sorcerer again?”

Yang Chengzi muttered in surprise, “What? He’s encountered a sorcerer before? How come he never mentioned it?” Before Yang Chengzi could gather his thoughts, Chen San was already forming seals.