Volume One: The Journey of a Useless Talent Blazing Demon Slayer Chapter Sixty-Seven: Trading Life for Money The Mark on the Forehead

Although Wucheng was garrisoned by soldiers, once the city gates were closed at night, the guards would stay inside the walls, leaving beggars outside with nowhere to go. These beggars couldn’t enter the city, so when the gates shut, they would simply find a spot outside and sleep wherever they could, waiting for the next morning when those queuing to enter the city might give them alms. If they were fortunate enough to meet a generous patron who gave them enough silver to pay the entry tax, they too could enter the city.

Qu Lao’er specifically targeted these beggars outside the city. In the deep of night, most of them had already fallen asleep, curled up in corners near the city walls. Qu Lao’er and his two young accomplices, each wielding a club as thick as an arm, stealthily inspected the area. They spotted an old beggar, alone and huddled at the edge. Qu Lao’er instructed the two youths to drag the old beggar onto their cart with a single blow, then hurried back to their village under the cover of darkness. The old beggar was still clinging to life when they arrived; they dragged him into a room prepared beforehand, a room indistinguishable from any other household. They changed his rags for clothes set aside by the villagers, and Qu Lao’er killed him with his own hands.

Following the instructions of the man in the black robe, they affixed a talisman to the old beggar’s forehead, pricked a finger and let a drop of blood fall onto the talisman. Thereafter, they checked on it every day. Just as the black-robed man had said, the souls absorbed each day would manifest on the talisman, and the more it consumed, the paler the talisman became. After seven days, the black talisman faded to gray. If even a day was missed, the blackness would not fade completely—it was obvious at a glance. Those versed in the occult could even see traces of the soul on the talisman.

One day, two days, three days... until the seventh day, the talisman gradually faded to gray. With the gray talisman in hand, Qu Lao’er and his young men were elated. A complete soul fetched a hundred taels of silver. Digging out the old beggar’s heart earned them another hundred—two hundred taels, gained with far less effort than grave robbing and corpse dissection.

If a black-robed man happened to want other organs, they could make an extra thirty or fifty taels. The other villagers continued as before: whenever they had the chance, they dug up graves for hearts, or if they stumbled upon a freshly dead woman, they’d bring her straight back. When the black market reopened, there would be plenty of corpse matchmakers wanting these bodies.

And so, five or six years slipped by, and Zhufeng Village transformed into Zhufeng Town. There was no end to the beggars—kill one, another would come from elsewhere, and so the cycle continued. These beggars became Qu Lao’er’s money tree. After the place was renamed Zhufeng Town and a main road was built, travelers occasionally passed through. Should an opportunity arise, Qu Lao’er and his men would show no mercy.

Suspicion was almost never aroused. The villagers who dug up graves would carefully refill them, leaving no trace—no one ever noticed. These shameful trades flourished under Qu Lao’er’s leadership, carried out by villagers who had long abandoned their humanity. The black market, like an undercurrent in the ocean, could not be detected.

There were those in the village who opposed the killings for souls. One villager named Liu Dachang insisted that grave robbing was one thing, but murder was another. Qu Lao’er, no longer the man who cursed and raged, didn’t argue. Overnight, Liu Dachang’s family of four vanished without a trace. The villagers suspected a grim fate, but the lure of silver was too great; human nature cannot withstand such temptation. From then on, no one in Zhufeng Town, young or old, uttered a word of dissent.

The next destination for Chen San and his companions was this very Zhufeng Town—a place where lives were traded for silver. It was easy to guess what fate awaited them there, but Chen San and his group were ignorant of the situation. Though Yang Chengzi would travel from village to village to slay demons and banish evil, this was his first time in these parts; he had never been to Zhufeng Town and knew nothing of its horrors.

Like lambs to the slaughter, the group hurried unwittingly toward Zhufeng Town.

Beixian Village lay thirty or forty li from Zhufeng Town. With stops and starts, the journey would take almost a day. They set out at dawn, and by then Chen San’s soul power had nearly recovered—he was once more lively and energetic. Yang Chengzi, too, had rested well for two nights and was in much better spirits, and with regular breathing exercises, the wounded soul among them had largely healed.

The only one who recovered slowly was Monk Suichang. He had been wounded by the Shangqing Sword, and external injuries healed slowly—“it takes a hundred days to mend bones and tendons,” as the saying goes, and though that might be an exaggeration, a mere ten or so days was not enough. He could only limp along; during the fight with the sorcerers, his wounds had reopened, so now he had to rest in a reclining chair.

Changyu, quick-witted and sharp-tongued, could never sit still. Bored, she would always bicker with Chen San. Chen San, slower of wit, would frequently be at a loss, but he never minded; in fact, he found the journey more lively with Changyu around—much better than trudging along in silence with a bunch of men.

The scenery along the road was far more pleasant than the desolate places they had passed before. The mountains were clear, the waters pure, the trees offered deep shade; walking through the woods, the sun rarely touched them, making this the most comfortable stretch of road so far. By a small lake, even Monk Suichang, except for Changyu, took a dip to refresh themselves. Days of travel in the heat had been exhausting, and they could not let such an opportunity pass.

Changyu, bored, sat alone on the shore, fiddling with a blade of foxtail grass and pouting as she watched the men bathe in the water—though her gaze was mostly fixed on Yang Chengzi. Their thin clothes, soaked through, revealed clear muscles beneath, which was precisely why Changyu stayed out of the water.

After a short while, the men climbed ashore. They hadn’t undressed, and in the summer heat, their clothes dried in no time.

As they reached the shore, Changyu stared at Chen San’s forehead in astonishment, her eyes wide and round.

Chen San, looking askance at Changyu, touched his own face. “You’re the ugly one. I know what you’re about to say, and this time I won’t bother with you, hmph.” With that, he turned away in mock arrogance, straightening his hair as he walked past her.

Changyu didn’t retort, which made Chen San all the more certain he’d guessed right, amusing himself in secret.

Suddenly, Changyu said to Yang Chengzi, “It looks like there’s a red mark appearing on Chen San’s forehead. Shouldn’t you take a look and see if there’s a problem?”

Chen San’s heart skipped a beat; his hand paused mid-motion, and his face twitched as he slowly turned around. Yang Chengzi, startled, quickly wrung his clothes dry, strode over to Chen San, and examined him closely, even rubbing his forehead with his thumb. Sure enough, as Changyu had noticed, a red marking had begun to appear—not very clear, but already visible, like a flame.

Monk Suichang hobbled over, grabbed Chen San’s head and scrutinized it, frowning deeply.

This nearly drove Chen San to despair. What now? Why was it always him? Judging by the grave expressions on Yang Chengzi and Monk Suichang, this was surely another troublesome matter.

Clinging to a sliver of hope, he squatted by the lake, gazing at his reflection. Sure enough, a faint red marking had appeared on his forehead, with subtle ripples visible through the water’s surface.

He stood up, face drawn, and approached Yang Chengzi and Monk Suichang. “Wha–what is this? Could it just be a birthmark? Maybe it’s just a late-blooming one!”

Changyu covered her face, stifling a laugh. She didn’t really want to laugh, as Chen San’s predicament was not amusing, but his remark was so absurd she couldn’t help herself.

Yang Chengzi, hand covering his eyes as if he couldn’t bear to deal with him, said nothing. Monk Suichang shook his head. “A birthmark, perhaps, but it looks more like a mark—a seal.”

Yang Chengzi lowered his hand and looked at Chen San with a helpless sigh. “If I’m not mistaken, this is the mark of the Three-tailed Spirit Fox. Its soul has lingered within yours for so long, helping you suppress the phantom demon, that the two souls have begun to merge.”

Chen San froze, swallowing hard. “Isn’t that just like what happened to Changyu? But she never had a mark like this.”

At the mention of the Three-tailed Spirit Fox, Changyu’s heart quailed. Memories of those days, worse than death, flashed before her, and her smile stiffened.

Yang Chengzi shook his head. “It’s different. Back then, Changyu only had a fragment of the fox’s soul entwined with hers. In your case, the entire soul of the Three-tailed Spirit Fox is in your body, which is why the mark appears.”

Suddenly, Chen San seemed to have an idea and burst out laughing. “No big deal, don’t worry! When we get back to Chen Family Town, you can draw a talisman on me and help separate the souls. You’ve done it before—it’s not difficult at all!”

Yang Chengzi hadn’t reacted yet, but Changyu blushed and turned away.

Yang Chengzi’s expression remained flat. “It may not be possible to separate them.”

Those simple words nearly made Chen San collapse on the spot; his forced smile faded instantly.

“What do you mean, it can’t be separated? Wasn’t she here to repay your kindness? You have to help! I can’t go around with a fox spirit’s soul in my body—and look, there’s a flower blooming on my forehead! What kind of man does that make me?”

Yang Chengzi was grim. He spoke the truth: Chen San’s situation was fundamentally different from Changyu’s. If he guessed correctly, part of the Spirit Fox’s soul had already fused with Chen San’s. There was a spell for soul division, but once merged, it could not be undone.

Monk Suichang shook his head as well. “Unless you separate them now, there might still be a chance. But you know we absolutely cannot release the phantom demon at this moment. You know the consequences—if it emerges, who knows how many will suffer. You’ll just have to accept this.”

Chen San was bewildered. How could he accept blooming like a flower on his forehead? But Monk Suichang was right—were the phantom demon released, whether they would even make it back to Chen Family Town was uncertain, and countless others would likely perish. The thought filled Chen San with guilt; if he let it out, every subsequent death would be on his conscience. He simply could not make that choice.

With a wry smile, he heard the sound of cloth being torn. Yang Chengzi handed him a strip torn from his own garment. Chen San stared at it, then accepted it with a smile, tying it around his forehead.

Seeing his forced grin, Changyu felt a strange surge of emotion, but at the sight of him with a strip of cloth tied foolishly around his head, she couldn’t help but burst out laughing again. Chen San waved it off unconcerned, signaling to continue on their way. As they passed a pond full of lotus leaves, he picked a large one to cover the cloth, which at least made him look a little less ridiculous.