Volume One: The Journey of the Useless, Blazing Demon-Slaying Chapter Forty-Two: The Great Array Shattered, An Impulsive Act

Chang Yu felt a wave of grievance rise within her. No one had actually wronged her, but tears slipped down her cheeks uncontrollably. The more she thought about Yang Chengzi’s insistence on sending her back, the more she cried, her sense of injustice mounting until her sobs grew louder and louder, eventually bursting forth in wails.

The others, hearing her cries, looked up. Chen San, who was closest, squinted blearily at Chang Yu and asked, “Why are you crying now? We’re catching monsters here, don’t make a fuss.”

To Chang Yu, his words were devoid of warmth—indeed, they only deepened her sense of injustice. She sat up abruptly and cried even harder.

Yang Chengzi, seeing her distress grow, frowned and kicked Chen San. “Stop provoking her. Switch places with me.”

He hunched over and crawled past Chen San to lie down beside Chang Yu. Chen San wriggled away to the other side. When Chang Yu saw Yang Chengzi approach, she immediately burrowed into his arms.

Yang Chengzi was helpless—he’d only come over to stop her crying, so he let her hold him. He spoke gently, trying to comfort her. “I’m a Daoist priest. Days like this are my life—eating in the wind, sleeping in the dew, hunting ghosts and monsters. No matter what happens, now is not the time to cry. If you’re scared, just hold on to me.”

Chang Yu clung tightly to him, looking up at his resolute, handsome face. She wished he could always speak to her this gently. She nodded, murmured an assent, and buried her face in his chest.

Yang Chengzi closed his eyes and silently chanted a mantra to calm his mind, carefully sensing every blade of grass and leaf around them. Nearby, Chen San looked on with disgust. Out here in the wild, these two were snuggling as if nothing else mattered. He glared at the moon, his mind wandering back to Chen Xin, remembering her shy face as he left.

He and Chen Xin had grown up together, childhood sweethearts. But as they grew older, she became shy, and they no longer played together. He wondered if his sister-in-law would someday betroth Chen Xin to him. With his parents gone early, he had no one to arrange a marriage for him, and the thought filled him with a bitter ache. He affected a pitiful sob.

Yang Chengzi, hearing Chen San cry, kicked him hard enough that he nearly rolled out of their protective circle.

Chen San gaped at Yang Chengzi. “Hey, what was that for? I’m not clinging to you. Are you a donkey, kicking people like that? Traitorous priest, just wait—I'll tell your master!”

Before Yang Chengzi could respond, a rapid rustling, as swift as galloping horses, came rushing toward them.

Yang Chengzi instantly clapped his hand over Chen San’s mouth, closed his eyes, and held his breath, focusing on the approaching presence.

Chen San, hearing that fierce, rushing sound, froze.

In an instant, a powerful demonic aura surged into Yang Chengzi’s soul. He snapped his eyes open, withdrew his hand from Chen San’s mouth, formed a mudra, and chanted to open his heavenly eye, slowly turning his face toward the source. But with Chen San and the master lying in front, he couldn’t see what was coming—he could only wait for the Eight-Armed Arhat Formation to ensnare the ghost before acting.

What hurtled toward them like a gale was the nearly thousand-year-old Illusion Demon. Yang Chengzi’s guess had been right—the demon was after their bodies. But he’d missed one detail: it hadn’t come in its true form, but had possessed a dead man instead.

Judging by the clothes, the corpse was male—emaciated to the point of falling apart, yet incredibly fast, eyes fixed greedily on Yang Chengzi and the monk’s robes.

In a high leap, the demon’s spirit detached from the corpse, lunging toward the two sets of clothes. As it left the body, a giant golden arm reached out from the formation, seized the corpse, and dragged it to the ground, trapping it instantly.

Another golden arm snatched toward the Illusion Demon, whose ethereal form drifted in midair. Just as it was about to be caught, it abandoned the clothes and, like a wisp of mist, flowed back into the corpse, now pinned to the earth.

Yang Chengzi looked up and shouted, “It’s noticed us! Stay put—don’t leave the circle!”

He released Chang Yu and leaped to the corpse. Up close, he saw it was a shriveled mummy, its flesh and blood long withered, now writhing grotesquely.

Yang Chengzi drew his finger across his Qing Sword, flicking blood onto the corpse. The mummy convulsed in agony as the blood bored through it. Yang Chengzi readied his sword, intending to strike.

Suddenly, the corpse swelled rapidly, as if inflating. Yang Chengzi quickly retreated. With a loud bang, it exploded, scattering the protective script on the ground.

The Arhat Formation was broken. The demon, though now without a body, was also freed from the formation’s constraints. Its form flickered between solid and ethereal, issuing a piercing, shrill laugh.

Seeing the formation fail, Yang Chengzi swung his sword at the demon. The blade sliced through empty air—its incorporeal form could not be harmed.

He turned and struck again, once more passing harmlessly through the demon.

Biting his finger, Yang Chengzi chanted a spell. Seeing it was the Heavenly Thunder Seal, the monk quickly formed mudras and slammed his palm to the earth. Thunder crashed down as a golden bell, shimmering with light, descended to cover those within the great formation.

Lightning struck the bell with a thunderous roar, sending shockwaves through the ground. The noise was so deafening that Chang Yu covered her ears and cowered behind the master.

Chen San was petrified, legs too weak to stand. The thunder left a crater in the earth, but the demon remained unharmed, its form unchanged, as if the thunder had not touched it.

This could only mean the Illusion Demon was immune to thunder. How could it be subdued? Yang Chengzi considered using the Soul-Returning Technique to send his soul out to slay the demon, but if the demon seized his body first, even the gods could not save him. That method was too risky.

With no other choice, he stepped back, glancing at Chen San. Thinking of a Daoist forebear, he formed the Fire Seal. Instantly, heavenly fire poured down like rain. Yang Chengzi bit his finger again, flicking blood at the demon while casting a sealing spell.

As the flames crashed down, a molten hand appeared at the demon’s feet, seizing it. Yang Chengzi swept his palm over the Qing Sword, drawing the fire into the blade.

Though the seal grasped the demon, its smoky form dispersed and re-formed, slipping free of the restraint. Yang Chengzi struck with his sword; an image of the Great Dipper Deity’s mantra flashed forth, piercing the demon’s phantom body, leaving it even more faded.

Seeing the mantra was effective, Yang Chengzi summoned heavenly fire again. Suddenly, a golden Vajra image appeared, lunging to grab the demon. Sensing mortal danger, the demon scattered into white smoke, attempting to flee.

The wrathful Vajra hurled two demon-subduing sceptres, piercing the smoke. Yet the smoke re-formed, golden light barring its escape.

The demon turned to face the wrathful Vajra. Though nearly a millennium old, its only skill was illusion—like all its kind, it knew no other magic, not even the powers of the most fearsome demons.

The wrathful Vajra, conjured by the monk’s Buddhist spell, could grasp illusions made of spiritual force. Yet if the demon kept dodging, the monk might not hold out much longer.

Yang Chengzi swept his blade again, drawing fire into it, and struck. The Great Dipper Deity’s mantra, carried by his blood, pierced the demon. The Vajra charged at it as the mantra struck.

This time, the demon held its ground. Its form shifted, a dark red Vajra image appearing, pushing back against the monk’s conjuration.

Yang Chengzi’s eyes widened in shock—the demon could conjure an illusory Vajra of its own. The monk was stunned as well. Truly, a thousand-year-old demon; it could counter his spell with illusion and match its strength.

Both formed additional seals: the wrathful Vajra grew two more arms, as did the demon’s red counterpart.

The two Vajras clashed, fists smashing together. The demon’s Vajra countered, repelled the strike, and returned the blow, forcing the wrathful Vajra to one knee with a crash. The monk’s nose began to bleed.

Yang Chengzi, frowning, yanked the trembling Chen San from beneath the bell and quickly stripped off his shirt. Chen San, legs shaking from fear, barely protested.

When he realized he’d been stripped bare, he stared, outraged. “There’s a demon—why are you undressing me?”

Yang Chengzi pushed his face away. “Don’t move. Whether we get out of here depends on you.” With that, he bit his finger and drew a blood seal on Chen San’s back.

The two Vajras, arms locked, wrestled for supremacy.

Yang Chengzi began chanting. Chen San, seeing the two evenly matched Vajras, grew anxious. As he opened his mouth to speak, Yang Chengzi pressed a point on his back—not hard, but it hurt so much Chen San was left speechless.

Yang Chengzi called, “Master, withdraw the Vajra—I’m going to seal it with the Great Soul-Sealing Spell!”

The master, blood on his face, froze in shock, then hastily withdrew the wrathful Vajra into his soul.

At that instant, a phantom darted from Chen San’s mouth—his own life soul, which shot forth like lightning and bound the Illusion Demon.

The demon, turning to white mist, tried to flee. But Chen San’s life soul swelled like a tidal wave, engulfing the demon and swallowing it whole, then snapped back into Chen San’s mouth.

Overwhelmed by the demon’s essence, Chen San dropped to his knees in agony.

Yang Chengzi quickly wiped away the blood seal on his back and pressed the hot Qing Sword to the spot.

A searing sound and the smell of scorched flesh filled the air. Chen San’s expression eased, the feverish flush fading from his face.

A loud belch escaped him.

Yang Chengzi, about to check on him, heard the burp and laughed. “Looks like you’ll live. We owe you this time.” He patted Chen San’s shoulder.

The master, watching, intoned a Buddhist prayer. “Amitabha. That was reckless, Daoist Yang. Reckless indeed—perhaps not wise.”

“The road! The road is back—we can go home!”

Chang Yu suddenly shouted, running to Yang Chengzi and sobbing in his arms.

Yang Chengzi looked at the reappearing road and the vanished city. “Master, don’t worry. If we hadn’t sealed it, we’d all be dead. Now, with two Great Dipper Deity seals on it inside Chen San, it won’t escape for a while. Once we reach Chen Family Town, we’ll deal with it for good.”

The monk nodded, eyes closed.

A heart-rending scream tore through the night—Chen San, of course.

Earlier, he’d nearly burst from being stuffed with the demon’s essence. Yang Chengzi had pressed a second seal into him with the Qing Sword to suppress it.

Though the crisis had passed, the Great Dipper Deity’s seal, branded with the enchanted sword, burned like a red-hot iron. The first time, it had been to ward off wandering spirits, and Chen San’s legs had nearly buckled. This time was just as agonizing, though on a different spot.

As the pain returned, Chen San collapsed to his knees, screaming for a long time before falling silent, exhausted and ignored, casting a resentful look at Yang Chengzi.

“You—you—you—what did you do to me this time? That hurt like hell!”

Yang Chengzi grinned. “Nothing to worry about—the demon’s sealed now. Look, the road’s back. We can head to Chen Family Town.”

Chen San craned his neck at the road and cursed. “But it hurt so much! Couldn’t you be gentler?”

Yang Chengzi shrugged. “No time for gentleness—a moment too slow and the demon would have escaped, and we’d have been doomed, along with the townsfolk. Sacrifice a little, will you? Stop whining. Once it’s over, I’ll give you Maoshan’s Nine-Turn Rejuvenation Pellet—you’ll be as good as new.”

Chen San eyed him suspiciously. “Would you really? Nine-Turn Rejuvenation Pellet?”

Yang Chengzi patted the pouch at his waist. “Yes, Nine-Turn Rejuvenation Pellet. Saved both the master and me from death—it’s real.”

Chen San stood unsteadily, legs still trembling, and staggered over. “Don’t you cheat me. If you do, I’ll complain to your master.”

“The night’s not over. Let’s rest—tomorrow we still have to travel. You all sleep; I’ll meditate. Two hours till dawn—don’t waste time.”

Yang Chengzi looked at Chang Yu, who still hadn’t let go. She gazed up at him, eyes blinking.

He finally looked at her. “You should sleep too. It’s wild out here, but it should be safe now.”

Chang Yu shook her head. “I’m cold. That useless Chen San bought me such thin clothes. I’m not sleeping—I want to hold you for warmth.”

Chen San scowled at the two of them, feeling utterly disgusted. “Don’t—don’t—don’t look at me. I’m in pain, can’t wear clothes. You take mine, it’s warm.”

Before he finished, Chang Yu retorted, “I don’t want yours. It’s no better, and it stinks of sweat—you haven’t changed it in ages.”

Chen San protested earnestly, “Not that long—just over ten days.”

Now it was Chang Yu’s turn to be disgusted. “Men are so careless.”

Chen San bristled. “Hey, the one you’re hugging is a man, too. He’s no better—hasn’t changed in ten days either.”

“Too bad for you—this young lady gets what she wants, and it’s none of your business.” Chang Yu turned away with a huff.

A cold wind blew, leaving Chen San choking on her words, feeling utterly forlorn.

Yang Chengzi said, “This isn’t proper. Men and women shouldn’t be so close. I’ll give you my robe. You can lean on my back, but you can’t hug me.”

Chang Yu, feeling a bit wronged, nodded, but her heart was full of joy. Compared to the old Yang Chengzi, who was always trying to send her away, this one was more gentle and caring. She obediently leaned against his back, warm and sheltered from the wind.

The group settled by the torch, some lying down, others sitting, all too tired to speak.

The monk, fortunately, had not suffered serious injury. But as for Chen San, the demon’s essence was now sealed within him. His three souls instinctively suppressed it, though at times his spirit would surge and roil.

Chen San himself had no idea the demon was sealed inside him. Yang Chengzi feigned ignorance, glossing over the matter, while the master kept silent, fearing Chen San’s questions would force him to break his monastic vows against lying.

Still, it was a stroke of luck that the Illusion Demon, who had claimed so many lives, was now trapped by their unwitting efforts; otherwise, who knew how many more would have died.