Chapter Forty-Three: The Banishment of Evil

After being struck by beams of golden light, the monstrous hand withered and shrank, and the skull that had been restraining the flying sword was recalled. The smaller skull spewed streams of black smoke, gradually trapping the talisman of warding. Grinding and twisting, it shattered the golden light produced by the talisman. Zhou Qian and Tong Yuan exchanged startled glances. Tong Yuan hurriedly summoned his sword with a spell and resumed the fight with the skull, while Zhou Qian seized the moment. He gathered a surge of true energy from his dantian, embedding ten talismans into his own sword, which instantly gleamed with dazzling golden light. The light now contained the power of ten warding talismans; Zhou Qian hurled it at the monstrous hand, and the sword grazed the skull before embedding itself in the palm of the hand—his aim was impeccable.

The monstrous hand let out a beastly howl, then writhed and twisted, dissolving into a wisp of green smoke. The skull, for reasons unknown, turned into a streak of red light and merged into the flying sword, which immediately carried a trace of dark, baleful energy, clearly increasing its power. Tong Yuan, delighted, summoned his sword back; the white blade was now marked by a thin black line, giving it an odd appearance.

Zhou Qian frowned and said, “Your sword was forged to banish evil, so how could it be tainted by this dark energy? I think you’d better expel it from the blade as soon as possible.” Zhou Qian had studied the method of refining swords: after repeated rituals with blood, the sword would become as an extension of the owner’s body. The sword would absorb the essence of moonlight and sunlight, eventually forming a demon-slaying seal. Though it was the most basic of the celestial arts, for mortals it bestowed wondrous abilities, and banishing dark energy should be trivial.

Unexpectedly, Tong Yuan had other intentions. ‘My flying sword is still unfinished. According to the celestial art of sword refinement, it should be infused with demon souls, various forms of baleful energy from heaven and earth, and layered with formations to gradually increase its power, eventually enabling its master to command it at will and roam the skies. Alas, I haven’t even reached the threshold. Though this dark energy is peculiar, it’s possible my sword could refine it, making it a nourishing force—how could I wastefully expel it?’ He replied, “Brother Zhou, you worry too much. This baleful energy has been refined by my sword and now nourishes it—no need to make a fuss.”

Zhou Qian frowned again; the marvels of celestial arts were beyond his understanding, so he said nothing more.

Just then, Yang Sanlang, having heard the commotion in the ancestral hall, rushed over. Seeing Zhou Qian and Tong Yuan locked in battle with the dark energy, he knew he could offer no help. He quickly found the village elder, slaughtered three black dogs, and led a group of stout villagers carrying buckets of black dog blood. By the time they arrived, the struggle was already over. Zhou Qian offered a few words of comfort, while Tong Yuan boasted, “This dark energy is nothing special! Wait here—I’ll go to the burial ground and eradicate its source!”

Yang Sanlang was dumbfounded. How could Tong Yuan speak so lightly of such a fierce battle? And to claim he would destroy the source of the dark energy in the burial ground—did he know how many corpses lay there, how many had been turned into demon zombies by the energy’s origin? Was he courting death?

Tong Yuan took a few steps forward before realizing the enormity of his boast. This was like bedding down beside a cesspit—asking for trouble! The black line on the sword flickered and shrank slightly, and he hastily turned back, saying, “I spoke too soon—this matter needs more discussion!”

Zhou Qian and Tong Yuan left the ancestral hall. The village elder, hearing the story, was overjoyed and quickly arranged a banquet. Coincidentally, several villagers sent by the elder had brought over a few so-called “celestial masters” and “ghost hunters.”

One was a drunken monk from the nearby Mercy Temple, another a corpse-herder from Western Hunan, and a third, said to have received teachings from a god in a dream, was Master Li. Their demonstrations amazed the villagers, but Zhou Qian wondered, ‘These men are indeed eccentric, and their methods are effective against demons and ghosts, yet their bodies are frail, even weaker than ordinary folk. If my master were here, he could crush them with one hand. But even my master couldn’t destroy the dark energy—he never mastered true energy. Aren’t the legendary immortals supposed to burn mountains and boil seas, destroy heaven and earth? Why are these men so lacking? What’s missing?’

After feasting, the “celestial masters” decided that at midday, when the sun was strongest, they would attack the burial ground at Sanlitun to destroy the source of the dark energy. Yet their words were evasive, and it was clear they had other motives.

Zhou Qian watched coldly, saying nothing. His true purpose was to find the corpse of Sister Zhao’s brother. Now, having learned the blood-tracing spell himself, he need not worry. The dark energy held no interest for him; he planned to find the burial site at dawn and leave the demon-slaying to the others. Early the next morning, the “celestial masters” led a band of villagers, armed and full of spirit, out to the burial ground. Zhou Qian used his blood to draw a talisman, which indicated a smaller cemetery. Following its guidance along a path strewn with withered grass, Zhou Qian moved swiftly and reached the cemetery within half an hour.

He followed the talisman’s indication to a small mound in the southwest corner. Zhou Qian bowed, dug up the earth, and tested it with bone and blood magic. After confirming the location, he marked it, stood up, and looked around, but saw no corpses or skeletons. Alarmed, he thought, “Could the dark energy have already absorbed the corpses from the other two cemeteries? If so, when the group enters Sanlitun, they’ll be caught in a deadly trap.”

Just then, a beam of golden light, three feet long and two wide, flew toward Zhou Qian, transforming before him into an ancient mirror. An elder’s voice resonated from within: “This mirror is called the Celestial Escape. It can unleash demon-destroying golden light. Take it and rescue those people.”

Startled, Zhou Qian grabbed the mirror. Instantly, secret Daoist incantations flooded his mind, and he dashed toward Sanlitun. His heart raced, ‘So there truly are immortals in this world!’

As Zhou Qian hurried away, an old Daoist appeared, carrying a wine gourd. He took a swig and burped, saying, “Daoist Tianping, what do you think of this boy? How does he compare to those other children born at the precise hour in the year of Bingchen?”

A hundred-foot sword beam flashed from the sky and landed, transforming into a stern-faced middle-aged man. “Does this boy have a talent for cultivation? His aptitude is average, not worth training. But Wine Daoist, why let him wander freely? And now he’s trespassing in my Emei sect’s territory!” His tone was clearly reproachful.

“Heh! The boy has legs—where he goes isn’t my concern. But your Emei Sword Sect is awfully arrogant these days, fighting the Demon Sect in mortal cities and causing tens of thousands of deaths. Heh, heh!” The Wine Daoist mocked.

“If demons are not destroyed, what is righteousness? Heaven and earth are indifferent, treating all things as straw dogs. We who follow heaven’s will fear no sacrifice. If the demon spawn were allowed to run rampant, even more would die!” Tianpingzi replied coldly, devoid of human emotion.

“Enough, you two!” A breeze swept through, transforming into a woman in palace attire. Her skin was like jade, her beauty rivaling peach and plum blossoms. She frowned slightly and advised, “The seven sects have always stood together, with Emei, Qingcheng, and Tianyi as allies. This time we unite to break the Supreme Yin-Yang Soul-Devouring Formation. Don’t let infighting spoil our purpose.”

“Hmph!” Tianpingzi flicked his sleeve, becoming a streak of thunderous sword energy and vanishing into the distance.

“Heh!” The Wine Daoist chuckled, “Emei has grown more arrogant these past decades, producing a few outstanding disciples and presuming itself the leader of the righteous path!”

“Wine Daoist, do try to restrain yourself,” the palace lady sighed. “The prophecy of Emei’s revival—‘Seven streams converge, Emei rises’—was left by Master Dayue, heir to the Fuxi Eight Trigrams. His divination should not be wrong.”

“Ha! Lady Changyue, if Dayue were truly infallible, how was his primordial spirit destroyed by Lu Mingzi’s Yin-Yang Demon God, leaving only a fragment to reincarnate? He was a two-fold tribulation expert!”

“Oh, you!” Lady Changyue sighed, “You and Tianpingzi are both at the peak of the first tribulation, pillars of the righteous path. Why quarrel so endlessly?”

“It’s not I who quarrel, but some who push too far!” Wine Daoist slapped his gourd, which instantly enlarged, and he sat on it leisurely. “I’ll go check on the boy—don’t let him get himself killed.”

“If it comes to a contest of cultivation, Tianpingzi’s thunder secret arts are no match for my gourd technique!” His voice echoed in the sky.

Lady Changyue gazed westward, her expression complex, as if she could see a grand palace atop endless rolling black clouds. “Demon Lord, oh Demon Lord, why must you choose this moment for your grand performance? Wouldn’t another five hundred years of peace be better?”

Zhou Qian raced onward, soon arriving at Sanlitun. He saw a vast, unending sea of corpses surrounding a group of people—the same villagers from Yang’s village. Four figures stood out: the drunken monk, hands forming lion seals, each strike felling a demon corpse; the corpse-herder commanded two blue-faced, tusked zombies, who carved out a space amid the horde through brute strength; Master Li struck with purple talisman papers, immobilizing any demon corpse touched; Tong Yuan’s sword gleamed, clearly more powerful than before. The Yang villagers had formed a defensive formation, holding their ground for now.