Volume One: The Journey of the Outcast Fiery Demon-Slaying Chapter Seventy-Three: Fleeing in Panic The Art of Sealing

Although Yang Chengzi's Meteorfire Incantation had not been fully absorbed, the power of meteorfire within this sword was enough to split mountains and shatter stones, to make souls scatter in terror—how could a mere swarm of insects withstand such force? As expected, the insects caught in the sword’s aura were instantly incinerated, the yet-unformed ghostly energy dispersed in a flash, and the sword energy hurtled directly toward Dongfang Shaoyan.

In that instant, Dongfang Shaoyan felt the chill of death. Desperately, he raised his Soul-Loss Whip in defense, but the meteorfire struck his chest like a great blade. Blood spurted from his mouth. Had it not been for another talisman in his robes that absorbed most of the blow, he would have been utterly destroyed by that strike.

Qu Ling was startled, panic flashing in her eyes. In all these years, they had never been so battered and disheveled. They had faced formidable foes, yes, but the three of them had always worked together with seamless coordination and had never suffered such serious injury.

Now, seeing Dongfang Shaoyan’s condition, it was clear the wound was not only physical. She paid no heed to her lost insects and hurried to support Dongfang Shaoyan as he staggered; Tian Daqiao rushed over as well, catching him just in time.

Dongfang Shaoyan’s consciousness was already fading. He managed to mutter, “Go, quickly,” before losing all awareness.

Qu Ling glanced at the house, her eyes hardening with ferocity. Through gritted teeth, she spat out a single command: “Go.” Tian Daqiao hoisted Dongfang Shaoyan onto his back, and the three of them fled in utter disarray along the path they had come, Dongfang Shaoyan still coughing up blood, his fate hanging by a thread.

As Qu Ling retreated, the remaining insects vanished with them into the darkness. Only then did Yang Chengzi, watching them leave from within the house, finally breathe a sigh of relief.

Chen San, clutching his bruised eye, cast a resentful glance at Yang Chengzi and grumbled, “Could you please be gentler next time? Look at what you’ve done to my eye—will Old Master Taixuan even recognize me when I go back?” He removed his hand from his swollen face as he spoke.

Chang Yu had just lit the oil lamp and, turning around, saw Chen San’s eye swollen shut. Not only did he feel no sympathy, but he almost burst out laughing.

Yang Chengzi shook his head, responding coolly, “Was it really that bad? Just now, who was the one outside acting all fierce, only to end up howling after being beaten?”

Chang Yu was already amused by Chen San’s appearance. Hearing that he had been thrashed only made him laugh louder, nearly rolling off his seat as he insisted on inspecting Chen San’s injuries. With a face full of grievance, Chen San could only fend off Chang Yu’s probing with a series of half-hearted protests.

Yang Chengzi, weary from the ordeal, returned to his corner and sat down. The monk Suichang was as calm as ever, eyes closed in meditation; the golden bell’s phantom had already faded.

Suichang asked, “Who do you think those three were?”

“From what they said, they came to steal a magical artifact. They clearly mistook the spiritual energy around Chen San for some powerful talisman.”

“I sensed the aura of Miaojiang sorcery among them. These three are no ordinary folk.”

“Indeed,” Yang Chengzi replied, rubbing his tired eyes. “The leader was a Daoist from Dragon-Tiger Mountain, adept in their spell arrays. He seemed an inner disciple, though it’s unclear what connection they have to Dragon-Tiger Mountain itself.”

Suichang pondered for a while. “I’ll need to set up another illusion array.” With that, he rose and limped outside.

Chen San lay back down within the array the master had prepared. Chang Yu returned to his bed but couldn’t sleep, tossing and turning. With the master still outside, Chang Yu finally went to Yang Chengzi’s side, wrapped his arms around Yang Chengzi’s arm, and, resting his head on his shoulder, fell asleep. Perhaps this made Chang Yu feel more at ease. Yang Chengzi, weary to the bone, didn’t object.

When Suichang came back and saw Chang Yu curled up beside Yang Chengzi, he decided not to disturb the young people. The bed was empty anyway, so he lay down and soon fell asleep himself. The night passed peacefully and uneventfully until dawn, with everyone except Chen San getting a good rest.

Lying in the array on the floor, Chen San wasn’t uncomfortable, but the bruises from Qu Ling’s flute had left him mottled and aching all over, so he barely slept, tossing and turning in pain.

He was annoyed—how could a slip of a girl be as fierce as a martial arts master? Truly, one mustn’t judge by appearances; the old saying had some truth to it.

Early the next morning, Yang Chengzi took Chen San up the mountain, intending to survey the whole of Zhufeng Town from the summit. With Suichang’s new illusion array cast outside, there was little danger. The others waited in the house for their return.

The mountain was tall and the path unclear, making the climb arduous. But the two young men were strong and fit; scaling the mountain was no trouble. From the summit, though distant, the layout of the land became clearer the farther one gazed.

Yang Chengzi found it puzzling. In his eyes, Zhufeng Town was an impoverished place—a land of barren mountains and stagnant marshes, a setting usually found only among rocky cliffs and rarely inhabited, let alone capable of supporting a whole village. The mountain here should have scant soil, yet the land was lush and fertile, with no sign of scarcity.

Frowning, Yang Chengzi pondered for a long time but couldn’t figure it out. It was no fault of his; who would have thought that Old Qu, with the villagers, had spent two or three years hauling soil from outside the village, transforming this barren land into fertile ground through sheer effort?

Examining the town’s borders and the placement of its landmarks, Yang Chengzi began to form a plan. When he returned, he would discuss the most suitable array with Master Suichang, so they could seal off this cursed little town.

So many innocent lives had been lost here—a fact that could not be undone. But at least they could prevent more souls from perishing in Zhufeng Town; it was the least they could do.

Just as Yang Chengzi was lost in thought, Chen San pointed anxiously down the mountain. “Look! Over there—someone’s carrying off that damned scoundrel!”

Yang Chengzi was startled. Sure enough, a figure in black robes and a veiled face was hoisting the burly, piggish Old Qu over his shoulders and making for the outskirts of the village.

“What are we waiting for?”

Yang Chengzi dashed off at once, Chen San following close behind as they raced down the mountain. They expected that, burdened with such a heavy man, the black-robed figure could not have gotten far. But even though the path was long, by the time they reached the foot of the mountain, there was no sign of anyone.

Yang Chengzi glanced at the road out of town, then hurried to the cellar. Opening it, he saw the others still sprawled on the ground, faces pale as death.

Yang Chengzi’s heart sank. Checking their breath, he found that each and every one had died, their souls lost. Chen San, unaware of their deaths, looked at Yang Chengzi’s grave expression in confusion.

Shaking his head, Yang Chengzi said, “Not only did that person take their mayor, he killed everyone in the cellar—left not a one alive.”

Only then did Chen San grasp the gravity of the situation. They didn’t linger over the corpses but hurried back to the house where Suichang and the others were waiting. The illusion array outside was undisturbed. Inside, Chang Yu still leafed through Yang Chengzi’s Daoist scripture, Suichang was meditating, and the other young men were quietly chatting.

Yang Chengzi reported what had happened in the cellar. Suichang’s face clouded as he looked at Yang Chengzi.

“These villagers, including the mayor, deserved their fate. The blood on their hands was enough to warrant a hundred deaths—no pity there. But that mayor…”

Before he could finish, Chen San burst out angrily, “That mayor was the worst of them all! Every death was his doing. He should die a thousand times. Master, how can you speak for him?”

Suichang shook his head. “Let me finish. I’m not defending him. Though I am a monk and value compassion, I hope he falls to the eighteenth hell and never knows rebirth. What I mean is this: the mayor, beaten half to death by you, was the only one the black-robed figure spared. Why take a dying man away? What purpose could that serve?”

Chen San was stumped. Though he hadn’t seen clearly from a distance, the attire made it obvious—it was the same sort of dark sorcerer they had encountered before, face hidden by black robes.

Why had the sorcerer taken Old Qu? The more Chen San puzzled over it, the more uneasy he became. What good could come of it? Surely it wasn’t just to take him home for the New Year?

“Never mind that for now. Let’s seal this cursed town first. Whatever they plan, half the people are dead already—what more could happen? Didn’t you say that what’s meant to come will come? Why worry?”

Seeing Chen San’s impatience, Suichang shook his head and turned to discuss the sealing of Zhufeng Town with Yang Chengzi.

By Yang Chengzi’s estimation, the area of Zhufeng Town was too great to be sealed with a single Qimen array. Only by combining the Bagua Qimen with a Buddhist illusion array could they ensure nothing would go awry. It sounded simple enough, but ensuring that the remaining townsfolk could continue to live off the land inside the sealed area—without being trapped by the array—was a significant challenge.

Though the town was small, the terrain was complex. Yang Chengzi and Suichang spent a long time tracing patterns on the ground with two firewood sticks, unable to decide which two arrays would best suit the place, falling into deep thought.

Meanwhile, Chen San and Chang Yu discussed heading out to find food. Judging by the situation, they wouldn’t be leaving for another day or two. The sun was already high, and after not eating since the previous night, they were starving. Should anything happen, they wouldn’t have strength to fight—or even to run—without a meal.

Villagers were already moving about outside, several passing by their door but none entering the yard. The town’s business was clandestine, and strangers wandering about would arouse suspicion. If the previous night’s events were discovered, it could spell trouble for Chen San and the others. They might not get their meal, and might even bring calamity upon themselves.

After some thought, they decided to have Linghu go catch some pheasants or wild rabbits nearby and roast them behind the house. Smoke wouldn’t matter, for with Suichang’s illusion array, the villagers couldn’t get in. First, food—then everything else.

With a thought, Chen San summoned Linghu, who immediately understood his intent and, with a roar, bounded up the mountain to hunt. Fortunately, Linghu also loved roasted meat; otherwise, given their relationship, Chen San would never have persuaded him.

They had intended to go find firewood, but with Yang Chengzi and Master Suichang preoccupied with the sealing array and the appearance of a sorcerer, that idea was abandoned.

Chang Yu, sharp-witted as ever, noticed that all four rooms were furnished identically—with only beds, a table, and a few stools. Weren’t those tables and stools perfect firewood? Chen San had never thought Chang Yu so clever, and patted his own head in praise.

He found the hatchet from the night before and set to work chopping up the table and stools in one of the rooms. Before long, Linghu returned as well; the mountains yielded only wild rabbits and pheasants, nothing larger.