Volume One: The Journey of the Useless, Fiery Demon-Slaying Chapter Sixty-Three: A Sky Filled with Corpse Qi, Favorable Time and Place

Yang Chengzi was startled—had someone accidentally entered the formation? There was no time to worry about that. He flung the entire bucket of chicken blood at the corpse creature’s back. The undead, sensing Yang Chengzi behind, swung the deer it had been biting in its mouth straight at him. The carcass flew directly into the path of the thrown blood, absorbing it all.

Now things had gone awry—not only did the blood miss its target, but the corpse creature also absorbed the vital essence of the deer. Yang Chengzi struck the airborne deer with his palm, sending it flying back. Within this formation, a Daoist whose spirit resonated with the array could display power strong enough to move mountains and uproot trees. His palm strike was so forceful it nearly shattered the deer, the impact transferring directly to the corpse creature. With a resonant thud, the deer collided into the undead, but for a body as solid as stone, it was nothing. Before the deer hit the ground, a single swipe of the creature’s claws cleaved it neatly in two.

Only now did Yang Chengzi see the creature’s true face. It was indeed unlike the other undead: agile and powerful, a stark contrast to the usual lumbering corpses. Its entire body bore the wounds of talismans, oozing viscous, ink-green fluid that, on contact with the grass, corroded it instantly. Its long claws resembled those of a beast, harder and sharper than those of ordinary undead. Its skin was desiccated and petrified, cheeks sunken, eyeballs protruding, yet its gaze was disturbingly sentient—clearly an undead with intelligence. No foul fluid dripped from its mouth as with other corpses, and though its black garments were in tatters, there was a palpable aura of evil about it.

At once, Yang Chengzi confirmed his suspicion: the corpses in these two coffins must have been refined by some sorcerer. One experiment had failed, but the other—this one—had succeeded, at least partially. It had been unearthed by villagers before its transformation was complete; even so, it was far more formidable than a common corpse.

Why had it been buried here and not in a place thick with baleful energy? Yang Chengzi could not find a reasonable explanation and could only surmise that this dark magic did not require an abundance of such qi.

The corpse creature stared at Yang Chengzi, ink-green liquid dripping from its body. After feeding on the blood, its sunken cheeks looked even more lifelike, making Yang Chengzi’s scalp prickle with dread.

Since all other exits from the formation were sealed, he resolved to slay the creature here. Drawing the Shangqing Sword, he ran his finger along the blade, smearing his own blood upon it. The blade gleamed crimson as he swung it at the undead. The creature did not attempt to flee but raised its hand to block the strike. Within the array, Yang Chengzi’s strength bore down like Mount Tai. Though the undead parried, the weight of the blow was immense; with a thunderous bang, the sound echoed to the heavens.

The impact was so great that the corpse’s feet were driven straight into the earth, yet it remained unscathed—a body not just as hard as stone, but even more so. Yang Chengzi was astounded.

The undead did not remain passive. It batted the Shangqing Sword aside, leapt nimbly from the ground, and lunged at Yang Chengzi with its claws. Yang Chengzi dared not be careless, parrying with his sword as he retreated step by step. The creature grew faster and stronger, the deer’s blood having taken effect. The relentless attacks forced Yang Chengzi onto the defensive; being scratched and infected by corpse poison would be a dire problem.

Spotting an opening, Yang Chengzi thrust his sword into the undead’s body. If slashing would not work, perhaps piercing would. Sure enough, there was no resonant clang—the Shangqing Sword pierced the corpse, causing corpse vapors to boil forth.

The undead seized the sword, attempting to wrench it free. Green fluid gushed out, splattering onto Yang Chengzi’s clothes and sending up plumes of white smoke.

This is bad, Yang Chengzi thought. He yanked out the sword, only for more fluid to spurt out, droplets falling on the back of his hand and burning his flesh. He kicked the undead away, sending it sprawling.

Jamming his sword into the earth, Yang Chengzi hastily shed his outer robe and wiped off the corrosive fluid from his hand. The discarded robe still smoked faintly.

“I can’t risk close combat again—I’ll have to find another way.”

With that, he leapt from the Li position, frowning at his scorched hand as he considered his options. The undead was wounded; perhaps it could be sealed directly. He pricked his finger, flicked a droplet of blood, and recited an incantation. Stepping forward, a magma-covered ghostly hand emerged from the ground beneath the creature, piercing the yet-unrisen corpse and grabbing hold to drag it downward.

As Yang Chengzi expected, this undead would not be subdued so easily. Before long, the ghostly hand began to smoke and then melted into a pool of magma, seeping into the earth.

The corpse stood up, locking eyes with Yang Chengzi, who had retreated from the Li position. Ink lines spiraled before him, forming a barrier the undead dared not cross—at great cost if it tried.

For now, Yang Chengzi had no other solution but to try the Meteor Fire Incantation. He began the chant, and though the sun blazed high, countless points of light shimmered in the sky and began to fall. Sweeping his hand over the Shangqing Sword, Yang Chengzi prepared to absorb the meteoric fire, but things did not go as smoothly as planned. Sensing imminent danger, the corpse creature hurled itself at him in a frenzy, slamming straight into the ink line.

“Bang! Bang! Bang!” The chicken blood and pine soot ink on the line reacted with the undead’s body, sending it hurtling backward in a cloud of corpse vapors. Yang Chengzi was alarmed—not by the undead’s assault, but because the ink line had lost its original color; another impact would surely break it.

No sooner had he realized this than the corpse charged again. As expected, the battered ink line snapped, and the creature lunged at Yang Chengzi, who hastily retreated to the Kun position. The meteor fire absorption was interrupted; the meteors pierced the thick corpse vapor above the array, thudding into the wasteland below.

At the Xun position, a tree trunk was snapped by a falling meteor, but fortunately, the stake was not uprooted entirely—otherwise, the entire formation would have been broken.

Yang Chengzi felt the undead was truly savage, willing to destroy its own body to escape the array. He grew uneasy. Suddenly, the idea of the peachwood stakes flashed into his mind. Fortunately, he had prepared for the worst. He pulled out the sharpened peachwood stakes from his back, aimed the pointed end at the oncoming undead, and struck it with all his might. The stake pierced the corpse’s body, sending it flying backward with a resonant thud, where it was pinned to a tree trunk. The power of the grand formation had been a great help.

Impaled by the stake, the undead fell motionless, but Yang Chengzi dared not approach. Forming a sword-finger and chanting, he invoked, “Heavenly thunder, descend!”

Under the blazing sun, a bolt of lightning crashed down where his sword-finger pointed. With a deafening boom, the accumulated corpse vapor above the array was dispersed, but aside from being a little charred, the undead seemed otherwise unharmed—its body truly as hard as stone. From then on, Yang Chengzi never again used heavenly thunder against corpses.

But the creature before him had to be dealt with. Whether it was truly dead or merely feigning, its body could not be left intact. With thunder useless, Yang Chengzi drew out his last talisman. With a thought, the talisman ignited in his hand, and he hurled it at the corpse. With a roar, the talisman set the emerging corpse vapor ablaze, but the fire soon went out—the talisman couldn’t even burn it?

This stumped Yang Chengzi. Pinned to the tree, sealing spells were useless. What now? As Yang Chengzi fretted, white corpse vapor began to seep from the undead’s body, more fluid oozing out as it shriveled.

Suddenly, Yang Chengzi smacked his forehead. He really had been too exhausted lately—even forgot what corpses feared most. He’d been fixated on using chicken blood, yellow talismans, and the peachwood sword. As the corpse vapor dispersed, the blazing sun pierced through and shone on the undead. The withered body shrank further, green fluid pooling on the ground and sending up hissing white smoke. Soon, the corpse melted into a puddle, sliding off the tree trunk and leaving nothing behind.

Relieved, Yang Chengzi wiped the sweat from his brow, cut down the ink lines from the tree trunks with his sword, and exited the formation.

Outside, Lu Qichang was anxiously waiting. Seeing Yang Chengzi emerge, he hurried over to inquire about the outcome. Learning that the corpse had dissolved into a puddle, he let out a long sigh of relief. Following Yang Chengzi’s instructions, he pulled out the wooden stakes at the Qian and Dui positions, breaking the formation. Only ten bare tree trunks remained standing in the ground—the dense forest of stakes was gone.

Sheathing his sword, Yang Chengzi watched as Lu Qichang, thinking all was settled, prepared to leave. But Yang Chengzi asked him to gather some young villagers to move the coffin that had not produced a corpse. They reburied it in the auspicious site previously chosen, so that the body within, unable to become a corpse, might rest in peace.

By the time the odds and ends were finished, the sun was nearly down. Fortunately, the undead had been discovered early, and Yang Chengzi was present in the village. The location was remote, and the Eight Trigrams formation had been set in advance. It was as though heaven itself aided him—he was blessed with the right place, time, and people.

Had this occurred elsewhere, or a few years later, the undead might have become something truly fearsome—Yang Chengzi alone could never have slain it. It was a great stroke of luck.

Returning to Lu Qichang’s home, he found the chimney already wafting with smoke. Chang Yu was wiping the table and arranging bowls and chopsticks. For a moment, Yang Chengzi felt weary—this kind of life seemed pleasant, if only for a fleeting instant.

As he entered, Chang Yu rushed out as usual, throwing herself into Yang Chengzi’s arms and hugging him tightly. He could only shake his head.

The master emerged slowly from the house, palms pressed together. “Amitabha. All is well at last. It must have been another fierce battle. The corpse vapor clings heavily to you—let me dispel the evil.”

Yang Chengzi nodded. Chang Yu, displeased at being ignored, pouted again.

Yang Chengzi found a small river to bathe in, took some pills his junior brothers had given him, and soon the corpse vapor dissipated. Normally, his Daoist blood would protect him from such corruption, but this creature was truly strange—its corpse poison and baleful energy overwhelmed even Daoist blood.

Before long, dinner was served. The meal was all vegetarian, but out in the yard, several young men had lit a fire and were roasting a wild pig. After an entire afternoon, they’d caught only one small pig. They’d meant to keep it, but since Lu Qichang was a vegetarian, there was no point. In the end, they roasted it. Chang Yu and Master Suichang, who did not strictly keep to vegetarianism, grabbed a few pieces of meat to eat.

It was a pity that Chen San, still lying in bed, showed no signs of waking—nearly two days without food. Only Chang Yu and Master Suichang had kept him alive, dripping water into his mouth so he wouldn’t die of thirst; eating was out of the question.

After dinner, Yang Chengzi discussed the undead with the master, who frowned deeply. Ordinary corpses were not a major problem, but if this one had been refined by a dark sorcerer, then it was a grave matter.

In their youth, Master Suichang and Old Taixuan had traveled the world together, subduing demons and monsters. Over time, they discovered that ghosts themselves were not so terrifying; far more dreadful were the evil sorcerers who created them. Their ruthless arts defied all conscience, and any ghost associated with such a sorcerer was never easily dealt with. In the end, the two made it their mission to hunt down and eliminate any evil sorcerer they encountered.

The last time the brothers joined forces was in Chen Family Town—a place neither wished to revisit. Had it not been for the appearance of a great demon, they would never have set foot there again.