Volume One: The Outcast Sets Forth – Fiery Demon-Slaying Chapter Sixty-Nine: Venting Wrath, Turning the Tables

Chen San furrowed his brow in disbelief. What? They really were exchanging lives for silver. When the man had been carried in just now, he'd caught a hint of this but thought he must have misheard. Now, hearing Qu Lao'er admit it himself, Chen San clenched his teeth so hard they nearly shattered, his fists tightening, waiting for Yang Chengzi to finish his questioning so he could act. Even if he didn’t beat him to death, crippling him would be the lightest punishment.

Chang Yu, too, could hardly believe what he was hearing. Killing for silver—killing beggars, no less—was unheard of, a cruelty beyond measure. He frowned deeply alongside Monk Suichang, a sense of foreboding welling up in his heart; he already suspected the matter was entangled with practitioners of forbidden arts.

“Who do you exchange the silver with? How does it work?” Yang Chengzi’s voice grew heavy, echoing through the cellar.

Qu Lao’er, seized by his living soul, though not drawn from his body, was already trembling—not from fear, but as a sign of his soul’s energy being drained. He gasped, struggling for breath.

“The black market—the black market in Laiwu Town. A heart fetches a hundred taels, a soul another hundred. They want them, and I find them.”

Even though Yang Chengzi had already guessed who might want these things, he pressed on, “Who exactly wants them? When does the black market open next?”

“I don’t know who they are. They all wear black robes and cover their faces. I don’t know when the market opens, but someone named Ma Youcai does. Please, let me go—I’ve told you everything I know!”

Yang Chengzi stopped questioning and released Qu Lao’er’s soul, letting it return to his body. Then, with a swift kick, he sent Qu Lao’er flying, the man crashing to the ground and writhing in pain.

Chen San, unable to hold back any longer, had been waiting for this chance. Like a mad dog, he rushed over and rained kicks and punches on Qu Lao’er. Back in Jingyao Village, Chen San had already come to loathe these beasts who treated human life like grass. The rage burning inside him had nowhere to go until now.

All his fury was unleashed on Qu Lao’er. Yang Chengzi ignored the battered man and turned to discuss matters with Monk Suichang.

Monk Suichang nodded, having guessed it was the work of dark arts practitioners, though he hadn’t expected they would employ ordinary people to gather hearts and souls for their sinister cultivation, using such cruel methods—killing outright, then seizing entire souls, leaving the dead with no chance for reincarnation. Shaking his head in sorrow, he joined his palms and began chanting prayers for the dead.

Yang Chengzi tore up the talismans; without them, the deceased at least had Monk Suichang’s prayers and a chance at rebirth. The black talismans, however, were unfamiliar to both men—they had no idea how to release the trapped souls within, so those unfortunate enough to wear them would have to reincarnate with incomplete souls, hoping to become whole again in the next life.

It was not the best solution, but it was the best they could do. Looking back, Chen San had nearly beaten Qu Lao’er to death—if Yang Chengzi hadn’t intervened, the man would likely be dead by now.

Chen San, eyes red with rage, barely held himself back. Spitting at Qu Lao’er, he finally let him go. Gazing at the kneeling villagers, hardened into murderers, he felt no urge to save them. But Yang Chengzi knew full well he was neither judge nor king of the underworld; he had no right to decide life and death. Reluctantly, he drew blood sigils on each villager’s back, sealing their souls back into their bodies one by one.

With their souls wounded, these villagers might not awaken for a day or two, so there was no need to deal with them for now. Yang Chengzi dragged the bloodied, unrecognizable Qu Lao’er to his feet, his words cold.

“Spare your miserable life, and your death might be less painful. How you die depends entirely on your next answer. You’d better understand what I’m telling you.”

Barely clinging to life, Qu Lao’er nodded weakly, and Yang Chengzi threw him back to the ground.

“How many people in this village are involved in killing for silver?”

Normally, there was no need to ask—such sordid deeds weren’t widely known. But seeing the dozen or so young men lying around, Yang Chengzi had his doubts. If so many had come, there must be more involved.

Sure enough, Qu Lao’er, in a daze, replied, “Pretty much everyone knows. Those who don’t kill dig up hearts from the freshly dead—they’re worth money too.”

Yang Chengzi’s frown deepened. It was worse than he’d thought. According to this, the whole town was complicit in this heartless trade. He drew a sharp breath.

Chang Yu, too, could not believe it—the entire village preying on the dead? The very thought sent chills down his spine. Glancing at the corpses nearby, he shrank into the corner in terror. Qu Lao’er coughed, spitting blood.

Yang Chengzi, showing no pity, pressed on, “Tell me everything about this black market. If you hide anything, your death will be a mercy.”

Seeing the murderous look in Yang Chengzi’s eyes, Qu Lao’er dared not withhold a word. “Five or six years ago, I met a black market contact named Ma Youcai in Laiwu Town. He brought me in. Inside, you could buy rare treasures—and there were people buying hearts and souls.”

“Where is the black market?”

“It’s never the same place….” He coughed blood again.

Qu Lao’er continued, “Every entrance is different. Ma Youcai always takes me in. Inside, it’s all darkness, except for the lamps or ghostly lights at each stall. I don’t know anything else.”

From this, it was clear the issue lay not with the black market itself but with Ma Youcai. If they found him, they might gain access to the market.

Yang Chengzi glared. “How did you meet Ma Youcai? Where can he be found?”

Fear contorted Qu Lao’er’s face. Everything else was easy to say, but he dared not speak of Ma Youcai. He had seen the man collecting souls in the black market; whatever his business, Qu Lao’er knew he was no ordinary villain.

Yang Chengzi sensed this and kicked Qu Lao’er hard in the ankle. With a dull thud, Qu Lao’er nearly fainted from pain and begged for mercy.

“I’ll tell, I’ll tell! I forget where we met—he always finds me whenever I come to Laiwu Town, and he brings me to the black market.”

Seeing that Qu Lao’er dared not lie but could provide nothing more, Yang Chengzi stopped questioning. Chen San then asked how they should deal with Qu Lao’er and the cursed town.

Yang Chengzi fell silent. He considered handing them to the authorities, but feared that if even a few were released, it would spell endless trouble. Who knew whether these people colluded with officials? Releasing them was out of the question. Even if they promised to change, he doubted they would ever abandon such heartless deeds. He pondered long, but found no suitable solution.

Monk Suichang, however, proposed a plan. Killing them was not the answer—though their crimes were grave, deciding life and death was not their right. After consulting with Yang Chengzi, they decided to use a mystical formation to seal all of Zhufeng Town, preventing anyone from entering or leaving. This way, no more innocents would be harmed.

The town had land and water—though just a trickle from the mountain, it was enough for drinking and farming. So long as they could not leave to harm others, this was the greatest mercy Daoism and Buddhism could offer.

Except for Chen San, who grumbled that it was too lenient for these murderers, everyone else found the solution reasonable. Chen San’s complaints were mostly bluster—he hadn’t the nerve to kill. Looking at the villagers sprawled on the ground, Yang Chengzi shook his head and left the cellar with Chen San and the others.

Those in the cellar would not awaken for a day or two. Qu Lao’er, beaten nearly to death, his face a bloody mess and likely with many broken bones, could hardly move. This was retribution, albeit too mild, but at least it vented some of their anger. His condition was far worse than the others—whether he could move in half a month remained to be seen, and he would have to rely on the others to save him when they woke.

The group left the cellar and returned to one of the small houses. Monk Suichang set up an illusion array outside, using a mantra and prayer beads as its core, fueled by his own soul power. With his cultivation, the array would last two days—ineffective against skilled sorcerers, but more than enough to keep the villagers in check.

Ordinary people caught in the array would wander in circles, unable to escape unless they broke the formation.

Away from the stench, Chang Yu’s spirits lifted. A few young men sat in a corner, dozing against the wall. Chang Yu lay on the bed, her wide eyes blinking as she watched Yang Chengzi and the others discuss how to seal Zhufeng Town. Yang Chengzi, Chen San, and the monk deliberated on how to set up the formation.

In fact, this time Yang Chengzi’s group should have had no chance; the food had been drugged, and no outside help would come. But fate is never certain. Before entering Zhufeng Town, Yang Chengzi had cast a divination—not an ordinary one, but a secret Maoshan Daoist technique: the Six Coins Divining Heaven.

This divination, powered by Daoist cultivation and incantation, gathered the energy of heaven and earth into the coins held in the palm—just like the coin Chen San carried. Though held upright, the coin would not fall, as the spiritual energy of the five elements held it fast. The arrangement and the coin that shot into the soil determined the omen.

When Yang Chengzi brushed his fingers over the coins, the sound resonated as metal among the five elements. The fourth of the six coins flew out, embedding itself in the earth. The first two coins were Qianheng Tongbao, the third Xianfeng Tongbao, the one that landed in the ground was Tianjuan Tongbao, and the last two were ancient founding coins of Qin.

This arrangement was one of the Six Coins Divining Heaven’s omens: The Qilin Trapped in the Celestial Mountain.

For Yang Chengzi, this was neither a good nor a bad sign. The fourth coin flying out foretold danger and possible mortal peril, but as it lodged in the earth, it indicated a sliver of hope. Life and death were fated, but there remained a chance.

The Celestial Mountain is said to be a sacred mountain in legend, the qilin a mythical beast. The beast trapped in the mountain—the omen was one of confinement, not death. That was why Yang Chengzi’s face was so grim: perhaps their lives were not forfeit, but they risked being trapped in this place.

Knowing this, Yang Chengzi took every precaution. Already uneasy, the dire omen made him doubly wary.

Upon entering Zhufeng Town, they encountered several villagers. Years of killing and grave-robbing, digging up fresh graves, had left their faces subtly changed by the taint of death. Locals, seeing each other daily, might not notice, but outsiders like Yang Chengzi’s group found the red-eyed, deathly villagers immediately suspicious.

Even Chang Yu and the others sensed something amiss. On the way to the inn, Chen San asked Chen Wan’er to keep watch. The little fox, having temporarily sealed the illusion demon with her three tails, maintained the great formation’s absorption of spiritual energy. Since the supply was abundant, she need not simultaneously suppress the demon—a fact Chen San had known since the events at Beixian Village.

At the inn, they found the attendant much like the other villagers—red-eyed, deathly. After the food was served, Chen San gave a signal. Chen Wan’er slipped out, veiling the attendant’s senses with spiritual energy, clouding his mind and inducing hallucinations.

Chen San and the others wanted to unravel the town’s secret, so they staged this act to draw out those in the shadows. Only when Qu Lao’er and the villagers took the bait did they finally uncover the truth.