Chapter Sixteen: Bai Anpin

Fanged Dagger: Profound-grade, middle-tier weapon, forged from the refined essence of a wild boar demon. Its tip is razor-sharp, and its blade unyielding. No other materials were added, nor were any runic formations engraved upon it. The blade was elevated to the middle tier solely through the essence drawn from a pair of boar tusks and the boar’s own skeleton—just barely meeting the standard. Ji Xun dared not send the dagger out to have inscriptions or formations added; after all, the feat of channeling so much of the boar demon’s essence into its tusks was beyond his current cultivation.

The short blade was bone-colored throughout, suffused with demonic energy. Ji Xun’s own demonic aura contained the power of a hundred beasts, allowing him to resonate deeply with the weapon. The blade was scarcely the length of a palm, and even with the hilt, it was but a short dagger, ill-suited for head-on combat. Yet, he had no choice. To ensure the dagger reached middle-tier quality, he had to fuse both tusks into a single blade, sacrificing length for potency.

Beside him, the scholar beamed when Ji Xun readily agreed to meet his friend. “Very straightforward. The rest of the books total seventeen taels and four coins of demon-silver; I’ll let you have them for seventeen taels.”

Ji Xun took out seventeen spirit stones, making the scholar’s eyes light up—he hadn’t seen spirit stones in a long time. “Ah, I am Bai Anpin. May I ask your name, brother?”

“I am Wang Tiezhu.”

“What a fine name,” Bai Anpin replied, taking the “Tiger-Crane Twin Form Fist” and locking up his bookshop. Together, they ventured deeper into the alley.

...

“How much farther?” Ji Xun suddenly asked.

“Not far now,” Bai Anpin replied. “My friend lives at the foot of the mountain, just outside the town.”

“Let’s stop. The road is so deserted—there’s not a single demon in sight. If you’re planning to kill or harm me, just say so.”

Bai Anpin hung his head in silence.

“You’re not human, are you?” Ji Xun pressed.

“No, I do possess demon blood. Strictly speaking—”

“No need to explain. I never said you were a demon.”

At these words, Bai Anpin looked startled, then burst into a bitter, mirthless laugh. “So easily seen through. I’m truly useless. Me, Bai Anpin, who studied for over twenty years, failed every exam, and was finally turned into a corpse-ghost by that tiger demon. Feeble in both the civil and martial arts—how utterly laughable!”

At that moment, Bai Anpin seemed deranged, his laughter bleak and broken. Had his body not taken on the pallor of death, tears might have welled in his eyes. In the next instant, chilling winds swirled around him, his face twisted into a ghastly visage. Corpse-ghost energy coiled about his hands as he lunged at Ji Xun.

Ji Xun, prepared for such a turn, raised the fanged dagger in his left hand to parry, while gathering his vital yang energy in his right fist. His blood surged, demonic aura roiled, and faintly, the forms of a hundred beasts flickered around his fist.

Now half-corpse, half-ghost, Bai Anpin was hypersensitive to yang energy, squinting against the piercing vigor before him. With a thunderous “bang,” Ji Xun’s fist crashed into Bai Anpin’s chest, and the sound of breaking bones echoed out. Yet corpse-ghosts were more fiendish than demons; despite the grievous blow, Bai Anpin was barely affected.

Ji Xun did not press the attack but asked directly, “That tiger demon—what is its cultivation?”

At this, Bai Anpin cooled, a sneer twisting his lips. “And if you knew, what then? Would you become a young hero from those chivalric tales and rid the world of demons?”

Ji Xun shook his head. “I’m no demon-slaying hero. I simply want its body parts.”

“You?” Bai Anpin scoffed. “Barely at the entry level of the Profound Realm, ninth rank—your cultivation is lower than mine, let alone the tiger demon’s sixth rank!”

His gaze turned icy, tinged with hatred. “Do you know what fills my heart now? Hatred! I hate that I studied the wisdom of my ancestors, always clear-headed among the demons. I hate that, in my youth, I foolishly tried to reform the demon clans with a noble heart. I hate that I wasted my years buried in books, neglecting cultivation. I hate that my weak skills can’t avenge me upon the tiger demon. I hate that, having lost my resolve, I now use these worthless books as bait to lure fools for the tiger demon. And I hate that today, I tried to lure you but was unmasked.”

Hearing this, Ji Xun felt as though he were witnessing a life’s tragedy—a man beset by endless obstacles, who finally bowed his head, lost his youthful passion and conscience, and toiled away his spirit, worn down by survival. Though full of resentment, he could change nothing.

Yet, he could not truly empathize. After all—

“The sorrows of men are not shared; to me, you just sound noisy.”

Bai Anpin fell silent for a long time. “I don’t want to harm you anymore. Go.”

But Ji Xun shook his head. That book, his spiritual anchor, was something he must obtain. The methods of Yi Xuan did not entirely suit this world; he needed to draw upon the wisdom of others. Who knew when he’d encounter the next artifact that could help him trace his origins? He had to seize this opportunity.

“I want that book.”

“Impossible. The tiger demon left it with me as bait. It carries a trace of martial will—only those with some talent can sense it. If I lose it, the tiger demon will blame me.”

Ji Xun found this absurd. So it was a fishing scheme—to select demons with potential but lacking sense, and turn them into the tiger demon’s pawns.

“I’ll exchange something for it.”

“What could you possibly offer?”

“A secret art that might sever your bond with the tiger demon.”

Bai Anpin laughed. “Do you take me for a child?”

But Ji Xun calmly recited a secret technique once developed by Yi Xuan and a tiger demon together. Yi Xuan had first let the tiger demon turn him into a minion, then used the secret art to sever their connection, and finally spent considerable time transforming his own form as a pawn.

It wasn’t that Ji Xun couldn’t defeat Bai Anpin, but ridding himself of this corpse-ghost would be too troublesome. Better to win through wisdom than force—best to conquer without fighting.

As Bai Anpin listened, he was initially skeptical, but gradually grew more alarmed. He stripped off his garment, bit his finger, and using his pale purple corpse-blood as ink, wrote the secret art upon his clothing. After reciting it, Ji Xun added, “This is annotated from an ancient text I once found, but it may not be flawless. Many adjustments will likely be needed.”

“It’s enough—more than enough. Give me some time, and I’ll surely perfect it.”

Bai Anpin stared at Ji Xun, dazed. His broad reading told him the technique was indeed feasible. In the next moment, he knelt in deep obeisance, head pressed to the ground. “Benefactor, you have repaid hatred with kindness and given me new life. Words cannot express my gratitude. Please, take the book. If ever you need Bai Anpin, I will repay you with my life.”

He placed the “Tiger-Crane Twin Form Fist” on the ground, then rose and stepped back, putting distance between himself and Ji Xun as a show of sincerity.