Volume Two: A Time of Turmoil, Twists and Turns Chapter 85: Chen San’s Betrothal, Hidden Ambush

Laifeng possessed no intellect and would never do anything dangerous to harm them, so she simply clung to the edge of the well, gazing into its depths. But why did she do so? Yang Chengzi pondered this question the entire day, apart from performing rituals and eating; he could think of nothing else.

Night fell, and when the rituals were nearly complete, Yang Chengzi wandered into Chen Xin’s small courtyard and stood by the well to see for himself. The darkness was impenetrable; nothing could be seen, not even the water, only an unnerving void. What was there to look at? Only when the slender crescent of the moon slowly appeared in the well’s reflection did Yang Chengzi suddenly realize—was that what Laifeng waited for all this time? The moon in the water?

He had his answer. For a remnant soul like Laifeng, perhaps light in the darkness was worth waiting for all night, or perhaps she had simply loved gazing at the moon in life.

In truth, Yang Chengzi’s guess was not wrong. Though Laifeng had been born simple-minded, she always loved the moon. The solitary glow against the dark night was especially beautiful to her. Sometimes at night, she would not sleep, but lean over the bed to look at the moon, or spot it in the puddles by the roadside. She was foolish, but she knew there was a moon in the water, too.

Three days later, Yang Chengzi found a place of good fortune and buried Laifeng. Her mother had wept until her tears ran dry; her voice was hoarse and silent during the burial, the pain of separation from her child now an unbridgeable divide between the living and the dead.

Aunt Nian and the others ceased their talk of nonsense. They no longer visited the well at night. Wang Dafu fell ill and lost much weight, but was otherwise unharmed.

When it came time to leave the village, Chen Xin looked longingly at Chen San. Aunt Nian also came to see them off, pressing some dried rations into their hands for the road. Chen San, always timid, wanted to ask Chen Xin to go with him, but when the moment came, not a word could he manage.

Yang Chengzi smiled and said to Aunt Nian, “These two are fated, there’s no need to rush. Chen Xin is a good girl; Chen San will surely come back to marry her.”

Chen Xin was indeed clever, but she was also a shy girl. Yang Chengzi had, in effect, proposed on Chen San’s behalf to her mother. She blushed and lowered her head, waiting for Chen San’s reply.

For all his timidity, Chen San was not stupid. With Yang Chengzi speaking up for him, he understood his cue.

“I want to marry you. I’ve wanted to for a long time.”

This made Yang Chengzi and Aunt Nian both laugh. Aunt Nian was fond of Chen San; though he was a bit of a rascal, in her eyes he was a good child, simply lacking guidance. His sense of responsibility had been clear when he helped carry the old man’s coffin.

She agreed to the match with repeated words of approval. Though Chen Xin kept her head down, her smile was bright with happiness.

On the way back, Chen San was practically bouncing like a monkey, unable to contain his joy. He never expected Yang Chengzi to help him propose; he could hardly resist hugging him out of gratitude.

Yang Chengzi had seen Chen San try to cling to Daoqing like a monkey, demanding a kiss, so whenever Chen San so much as looked ready to pounce, Yang Chengzi would hold him back by the head. After a few failed attempts, Chen San gave up, but his delight could not be hidden.

Their journey home was much lighter, and so they walked more slowly. Though Grandmaster Taixuan and the Real Master Taiyuan were both gravely wounded in spirit, they had awakened before departure; recovery would only be a matter of time, given proper rest.

On the road, as they discussed the demon sealed within Chen San, Yang Chengzi suspected he had tampered with the Eightfold Golden Lock in his dreams, beguiled by the demon’s influence.

Chen San felt it was strange as well. When he awoke, he was suffused with demonic energy, yet the demon showed no sign of emerging. The three-tailed spirit fox was supposed to keep the demon in check, so why did the demonic aura still seep out?

Just before dawn, Chen San and Yang Chengzi returned to Chen Family Town. Before they even reached Chen San’s house, a surge of baleful and fierce energy assaulted them, startling Yang Chengzi. He dashed toward Chen San’s home, forgetting all else. Chen San, sensing the same chill, raced after him in alarm.

The houses around Chen San’s home had already collapsed. They had not run far before Yang Chengzi saw the scene outside: Daoqing, Daoming, and Daoyi, all in white robes, swords in hand, faces drawn and breathless, stood their ground, defending Chen San’s house.

The surge of fierce energy just now must have come from the breaking of their Maoshan Threefold Sword Formation. Yang Chengzi frowned deeply, raised his hand, and summoned the Supreme Purity Sword, swiftly forming hand seals to open his celestial eye, followed by a thunder curse.

A silver dragon descended from the sky, striking where Yang Chengzi pointed. Without pause, he leapt high and swung his sword down. With a thunderous crash, the three black-robed figures before him scattered instantly, the thunder splitting the paving stones to pieces.

One black-robed figure sprang at Yang Chengzi, who met him mid-leap, sword slashing for the head. Simultaneously, Daoqing, Daoming, and Daoyi engaged in battle with the specters.

Daoqing and Daoming, brothers and disciples of Elder Chang Kong, were his top students. Compared to Yang Chengzi, they were more adept at using their swords and sealing arts, having long reached the sword-soul mastery—a key reason Yang Chengzi had left them to guard their master and Grandmaster Taixuan while he and Chen San went to Chen Xin.

“With my sword, I cleave the nether and the sky, cut souls in all directions in honor of Supreme Purity—depart!”

Daoqing and Daoming intoned the incantation together, and as their seals were completed, their sword souls burst forth, soaring from their blades like hunting falcons at the three specters.

Daoyi, second disciple of Elder Jing Kong, specialized in Maoshan talisman arrays, much like Real Master Taiyuan. He was more skilled with talismans than with swordplay or spells. Master Taiyuan’s Chaos Array was famed for its unpredictability, a match for all manner of fiends. Though Daoyi was no grandmaster, his one hundred and eighteen talismans flew through the air, displaying formidable might.

As soon as his soul power appeared, dozens of talismans to break evil and seal spirits shot toward the specters.

The two black-robed figures tried to dodge, but Daoqing and his companions formed a tight ring around the house—there was no chance of approach.

Chen San arrived just then. Seeing the black-robed figures, he realized that with three against four, there was no need to invoke the God-Summoning Art yet. He circled around the edge of the town and slipped in through the back window.

Though Master Taiyuan was awake, he was barely able to move, lying on the bed with eyes closed. Chang Yu was by the door, watching outside, and jumped when she heard the window. Seeing it was Chen San, she relaxed and muttered her complaints.

“You’re finally back. If you’d delayed any longer, they might not have held out.”

“How’s Old Taixuan? Is he alright?”

“He’s alive, but awfully weak.”

Chen San relaxed—weakness was better than death. He crouched by the window with Chang Yu, watching the fight, pondering: what were these three dark sorcerers after?

Outside, Yang Chengzi clashed with a black-robed sorcerer. The instant he struck, Yang Chengzi realized this sorcerer was shrouded in ghostly mist—certainly not something a living man should possess.

But it didn’t matter if he was man or ghost; he would cut him down all the same. Although his sword was blocked by the opponent’s magical artifact, he gave no quarter, sending a rain of sword strikes upon him, leaving the black-robed figure helpless.

Chen San noticed the other two black-robed figures lurking too close to Taixuan’s house. Deciding to act, he summoned the spirit tiger, which leapt at them, claws outstretched.

Daoqing and Daoming formed seals, controlling their sword souls by will, using their mastery to fend off the specters.

The three specters, summoned by the black-robed sorcerer, were like brothers: identical in appearance and murderous in expression, fast and strong.

They had already broken the Maoshan Threefold Sword Formation. Now, relying on the sheer number of Daoyi’s talismans and the sword souls of Daoqing and Daoming, the three disciples began to gain the upper hand, wearing down the specters’ strength with each blow.

Just as Chen San was feeling triumphant, everything changed. With a heavy thud, Chen San’s heart leapt—the sound had not come from the spirit tiger’s direction.

Sure enough, a purple talisman was stuck to the spirit tiger’s forehead. Through his ghostly sight, Chen San saw its spiritual energy streaming into the talisman. The tiger lay limp and still, as if dead.

Chen San rushed outside, but the two black-robed figures were too close to the tiger for him to approach. They were forming matching seals—clearly, something dire was about to happen. The only solution was to recall the tiger.

He closed his eyes, but could sense nothing from the spirit tiger, though it lay right before him. Could it really be dead? It had survived many dire ghosts and monsters, how could it die at the hands of two black-robed men? Panic gripped Chen San’s heart.

At that moment, Yang Chengzi leapt back. Though he held the Supreme Purity Sword and had the upper hand, he had not managed to injure his opponent.

The black-robed man’s ghostly aura grew thicker. Seeing Yang Chengzi retreat, he let out a sinister laugh.

The two other black-robed men finished their seals, and a black-violet talisman floated into the air. The one facing Yang Chengzi began forming a seal as well.

Daoqing and Daoming gave him no chance, their sword souls exploding with energy, stabbing toward the black-robed man. If struck, his soul would be gravely damaged.

The black-robed man only laughed, making no attempt to evade. As the sword souls neared, the three specters vanished, appearing before the black-robed man.

Daoyi’s talisman array arrived as well, but two of the specters seized Daoqing and Daoming’s sword souls, black mist coiling around the blades, the specters’ faces twisting between agony and bloodlust, their grip unyielding.

Daoqing and Daoming changed their seals, stepping into the Heavenly Star formation, their sword souls trembling as if forced, ghostly energy seething across them.

Dozens of talismans rushed at the third specter, enough to annihilate it utterly.

But as the two specters gripped the sword souls, the black-robed man completed his seal. The third specter was almost instantly absorbed into his body.

Yang Chengzi formed seals swiftly. “Heavenly Thunder, descend!”

A bolt of thunder crashed down upon the black-robed man, talismans swirling around him. But instead of obliteration, a surge of baleful resentment poured forth from the black-violet talisman as the thunder struck.

No sooner did the talisman touch down than it burst into flames, and from within emerged a ghostly blade, which soared into the sky like the Supreme Purity Sword.

The thunder crashed upon the ghost blade, and as its light faded, a pale, blood-veined hand stretched from the talisman, dragging out an entire ghostly body.

As the ghost emerged, the two black-robed men retreated. In an instant, the ghost dispelled Daoyi’s talismans and Yang Chengzi’s thunder, descending lightly to the ground.

Yang Chengzi was alarmed—this was no ordinary ghost, but a corpse possessed by an evil spirit. Judging by the attire, it was likely a master of some martial sect. If it was a skilled fighter, possessed by such a spirit, they would be hard pressed indeed.

The two black-robed men had left the spirit tiger. Chen San planned to rip the talisman from its brow, but before he could reach it, the ghost blade swung at his head. The Qiantian Bagua Formation appeared at his feet.

“Xun is the wind; the sparrow seizes the Northern Dipper.”

With a deep rumble, the formation shifted. Yang Chengzi appeared before Chen San, blocking the ghost’s strike with his sword, spiritual and ghostly energies clashing. Chen San tumbled back in terror.

“Heaven is Qian; with strength, seize the Celestial Pivot.”

Yang Chengzi’s sword slashed upward, sword energy tearing through the air at the ghost, who dodged and countered with a blade of his own.

A resonant hum shook Chen San’s ears as the energies clashed and spread.

Yang Chengzi, forming seals, said, “Chen San—summon the gods!”

Chen San was about to slip into the house, but Yang Chengzi’s words gave him pause. Their tacit understanding told him that Yang Chengzi would never call for this unless the ghost was beyond his power—and it was Chang Yu who forced him to stay.

Chang Yu blocked the door, muttering, “Grandmaster Taixuan is still in the next room. What are you doing coming in?”

Her words sobered Chen San. No one else could help them now; the two masters had been gravely wounded sealing the great demon.

Not a single enemy, sorcerer or ghost, had been slain. If any hope remained, Yang Chengzi would not have called for the God-Summoning Art. Thus resolved, Chen San took a deep breath.

“At worst, I’ll die, but before I do, I’ll take two of them with me. Just you wait.”

He closed his eyes and began reciting the spirit-calming incantation, entering the spiritual realm.

Daoqing and Daoming seemed to have the black-robed man under control, but they knew their sword souls were nearly spent, the strain on their spirits warning them of imminent collapse.

They could not recall their sword souls, for the two specters risked dissolution to keep their grip.

Daoyi’s talismans, over a hundred at first, now only a handful remained. He tried to help, but the last few sun talismans barely reached the specters.

With a thunderous crash, Daoqing and Daoming’s sword souls shattered. Both spat blood and staggered back.

Daoyi’s remaining sun talismans, with the specters gone, drifted to the ground, their targets vanished.

Daoqing and Daoming’s spirits were wounded, their sword souls destroyed. Daoyi’s talismans were spent, and he recalled his sword to hand.

The black-robed man, by some secret sorcery, had absorbed all three specters, his ghostly power swelling as he charged at Yang Chengzi.

Yang Chengzi finished his seals, his Supreme Purity Sword slicing his fingertip, a drop of blood flying forth. A magma-stained ghost hand burst from the earth, seizing the evil spirit.

Yang Chengzi knew that simple sealing spells would not suffice, so he changed his seals. Meteoric fire rained down, but before he could absorb the flames, something darted at him. He barely parried in time.

A palm strike crashed onto his forearm. Thanks to the Supreme Purity Sword, the blow was blunted. Before Yang Chengzi could counter, the black-robed man’s arm flickered with a spectral shadow, which seized Yang Chengzi’s soul.

He was appalled—the pain of having his soul torn from his body was excruciating. The spectral hand was drawing his soul from his arm.

Yang Chengzi mustered all his spiritual strength to drive the Supreme Purity Sword between them. The sword trembled violently, its righteous energy billowing out, instantly dissolving the specter.

A second, third, and fourth spectral hand shot from the black-robed man, clutching at his soul. Yang Chengzi slashed them all apart.

“Heaven is Qian; with strength, seize the Celestial Pivot.”

The formation shifted beneath him. He struck the black-robed man with his palm, a thunderous impact shaking all present.

Daoyi’s eyes widened—the force of that blow was plain to hear, enough to move a thousand pounds, but the black-robed man did not fly as expected, only slid back a few steps.

The ghost seized by the magma hand struck down, the ground rippling like water. The ghost hand vanished, leaving only a pool of darkening magma.

Daoyi, sword in hand, leapt forward and slashed at the evil spirit. Yang Chengzi seized the moment, absorbing the meteor fire, which wrapped around his sword like chains.

Behind Yang Chengzi, Chen San had begun the God-Summoning incantation, forming the seals: Chou, Shen, Zi, Hai, You, Mao, Wei.

“Let the god come, swift as the wind, his soul traversing a thousand miles of sky.”

A golden wisp of divine thought shot into Chen San’s body, sending ripples of power outward.

Yang Chengzi was startled, but had no time to react as the black-robed man attacked, weapon in hand, shrouded in ghostly aura. Yang Chengzi had not yet absorbed all the fire, but the ghostly energy was upon him. He could wait no longer, and abandoned the rest, slashing at the black-robed man.

A phantom of the Northern Dipper God’s curse pierced through the black-robed man like a sword soul. The attack was too swift to dodge, striking him and nearly dispersing his ghostly aura.

Yang Chengzi leapt and kicked him hard. This time, without the shelter of ghostly energy, the black-robed man was sent flying, tumbling far across the ground.