Volume One: The Journey of the Useless, Blazing Demon-Slay Chapter Twenty: Devastated Soul, Narrow Escape from Death

Yang Chengzi had only watched halfway, but it was clear that Chen San was using Maoshan sorcery. Chen San formed seals with his hands while stepping through the ritual paces, and as soon as he began chanting, the two ghosts flew towards him.

The ghost servant drew a pitch-black long knife from behind and slashed at Chen San, while the resentful spirit turned into a mass of dark red ghostly energy and charged at him. The spirit tiger leapt forward, blocking the ghost servant’s path.

In the blink of an eye, as Chen San completed the last ritual step, a giant figure emerged from his body, growing ever larger. Though only a half-body apparition, it expanded in the blink of an eye to a size that seemed to dwarf all living things. As Yang Chengzi watched in astonishment, the white half-body phantom bent down, reaching for the resentful spirit and the black-robed figure.

Seeing the enormous phantom grab at him, the black-robed figure’s eyes widened as he unconsciously retreated half a step, but showed no intention of fleeing. He pulled out a black talisman from his robes and hurled it into the air, chanting as he raised his fingers. The talisman ignited with a ghostly blue flame and floated overhead.

The resentful spirit was already at Chen San’s side, and the giant hand swooped down, grabbing it and pressing it to the ground. The white phantom’s other hand reached the black-robed woman, but from the black talisman, a massive ghostly hand suddenly sprang forth, snatching the phantom’s hand and parrying the attack mid-air.

Meanwhile, the spirit tiger fiercely bit the ghost servant’s hand, but was kicked away and slammed into a tree. Seeing the unfavorable turn, Yang Chengzi prepared to cast the Heavenly Thunder Spell, stepping into the ritual paces, hoping to strike down at least one foe. The ghostly hand gripping the white phantom was now almost fully out of the black talisman.

Chen San rapidly changed hand seals, his gaze fixed on the black-robed woman and the ghostly hand emerging from the talisman. The giant hand gripping the resentful spirit hurled it at the black-robed woman. The resentful spirit shot back like a stone, passing through her and reforming behind her, seemingly unscathed.

With the white phantom’s hand free, it reached again for the black-robed woman. Thunder rumbled overhead; Chen San looked up and recognized celestial lightning. He changed hand seals, causing the white phantom to vanish, and formed the Heavenly Thunder Spell seal.

In an instant, two bolts of lightning crashed down—one struck a tree, the other slammed into the giant ghostly hand. The black talisman burst into flames, burning with ghostly fire, and as it burned, the ghostly hand dissipated into ashes.

The black-robed woman glared at Chen San with murderous fury, wishing nothing more than to devour him alive. At this moment, Chen San—the old man’s soul now inhabiting him—felt no fear. The ghost servant charged, swinging his long knife, while the spirit tiger leapt at the black-robed woman.

Chen San pushed off with both feet, biting his finger, and slapped a palm thunder at the ghost servant. The servant blocked with his knife, recoiling with a “boom” but quickly resumed his charge.

The resentful spirit rushed at Chen San as well. The black-robed woman nimbly dodged the spirit tiger’s claws and struck the tiger’s head with her rod. With that blow, the tiger lost consciousness and fell to the ground, sliding forward and lying motionless.

It wasn’t that the spirit tiger was weak—it simply had bad luck following Chen San. The rod in the black-robed woman’s hand was infamous: the Soul-Scattering Lantern, passed down through generations for centuries. It could not only stun the tiger, but with a few more strikes, utterly destroy its soul. Yet her eyes were only for Chen San; she cared nothing for the tiger’s fate.

Yang Chengzi saw the dire situation and knew he could no longer hold back. Alone, Chen San might not be able to defeat this dark sorcerer. He closed his eyes and sensed his divine consciousness. A familiar presence appeared in his mind—could it be…?

Without hesitation, he stepped into the ritual paces and invoked the god to descend.

For ordinary people like Chen San, without a foundation in Daoist arts, inviting a god meant their own consciousness would be temporarily sealed, and after the god departed, they’d have no memory of the event. But for a Daoist like Yang Chengzi, whose spiritual roots were strong, his own soul would remain conscious and aware.

A pale golden divine presence rushed in from afar, entering Yang Chengzi’s body. He was right—the familiar presence was none other than Grandmaster Guangyuan, who had brought him to Maoshan. Yang Chengzi opened his eyes, and the scene before him made even Grandmaster Guangyuan’s brow furrow.

Nearby, Chen San gripped the ghost servant’s slashing knife in both hands, while the resentful spirit pulled at his soul, trying to drag it free. Chen San traced a talisman with his foot, chanting, then stamped hard, forming another seal, causing golden light to burst from his body.

The resentful spirit’s grip was burned, forcing it to release Chen San’s soul. Using the ghost servant’s body as leverage, Chen San kicked away, retreating several steps and escaping the danger for the moment.

The earth beneath the ghost servant’s feet began to flow, slowly swallowing the entire ghostly form. But empowered by ghostly energy, the servant broke free swiftly, and the resentful spirit, never pausing, pounced at Chen San again.

Grandmaster Guangyuan bit his finger, and in an instant, drew a Soul-Calming Talisman in midair. With a palm strike, he sent the blood-drawn talisman flying.

The resentful spirit dodged, but the talisman continued on, striking the ghost servant behind it. The servant had no time to evade; the Soul-Calming Talisman branded him, rendering him instantly motionless.

The black-robed woman realized things were going badly. With another seal, she summoned a short-statured ghost from her rod, then turned and fled without hesitation.

She could see both men had invoked divine possession—killing Chen San wouldn’t be easy. She’d have to wait for another opportunity.

Grandmaster Guangyuan watched her escape into the depths of the forest and cast a Heavenly Thunder Spell. A bolt of lightning fell, but dense trees blocked its path, striking a trunk instead. He could only watch her vanish into the darkness.

Before him, the ghost servant was immobilized by the Soul-Calming Talisman, while the resentful spirit retreated to the side of the short-statured ghost.

Grandmaster Guangyuan and the old man both stared at the short ghost, frowning. This creature radiated ghostly energy and ferocity, its skin black-purple, eye sockets empty and oozing black mist, mouth slashed from lips to left earlobe, stitched closed. Its clothes were tattered beyond recognition, impossible to tell from which era.

The leaves nearby began to wither under the ghost’s aura. The old man clenched his fists in astonishment—the ghost was corporeal.

Chen San had no magical implements; even his peachwood sword had broken in Fuxi Village and was never recovered. Yang Chengzi had no magic sword either. For a Daoist of his cultivation, having or not having a peachwood sword made little difference, but the lack of a true magical sword was a major disadvantage.

Both men now had no implements suitable for battle. Yang Chengzi had some talismans, but to Grandmaster Guangyuan’s divine consciousness, it was as good as fighting bare-handed—especially against a ghost so saturated with ferocious energy.

As they watched, the ghost raised its hands like a corpse, toes dragging on the ground as it charged. The resentful spirit mimicked its movements, following closely.

Chen San focused on the resentful spirit, Yang Chengzi faced the ghost.

The ghost was faster than the resentful spirit. After reaching the center, it vanished with a flicker, reappearing with its sharp claws aimed at Yang Chengzi’s face.

Yang Chengzi kicked back, forming seals quickly, biting his finger so a drop of blood fell to the earth. As it landed, his left foot traced a half-circle on the ground, and instantly, a magma-veined hand shot out from the arc, grabbing the onrushing ghost and dragging it down.

Yet before the hand could pull it fully underground, the ghost slashed, severing the magma hand with its claws.

He knew this wouldn't suffice, so his left fingernail gashed his right palm, forming a seal for the Thunder Summoning Spell. But without a magic sword, how could he channel the lightning?

The spell completed, thunder rumbled overhead, but no lightning appeared. Yang Chengzi pointed ahead, sending a drop of blood flying, landing on the ghost. Before it could react, a silver lightning bolt struck.

With a thunderous crash, trees splintered and the ghost was struck solidly. Yang Chengzi, too close, was caught in the blast and thrown against a tree, coughing blood.

Chen San struggled against the resentful spirit; apart from sealing arrays, only thunder could destroy it, but in this dense forest, it was hard to aim lightning. Without a magic sword, he couldn’t guide the spell, and the resentful spirit was swift—celestial thunder likely wouldn’t hit.

Watching the resentful spirit charge, Chen San’s brows never relaxed. He formed seals, stepped through the ritual paces, and the white phantom overlooking all beings appeared behind him once more, reaching for the resentful spirit. Seeing the phantom, the spirit scattered as dark red resentment energy.

Soon, the sound of Yang Chengzi’s thunder spell echoed. Chen San dared not relax, keeping his gaze fixed on the resentful spirit, directing the white phantom to press ever closer. Yet Chen San’s soul was comparatively weak, and the phantom moved slowly.

Just as it was about to capture the spirit, the dark red energy seemed drawn by something, drifting toward Yang Chengzi. The white phantom grasped only air.

Startled, Chen San watched the direction in which the resentment energy floated—a mass of black ghostly energy hovered, condensing in midair. This black energy was absorbing the resentment. How had he not noticed this before? The old man wondered silently.

Suddenly, realization struck: was this black ghostly energy the true form of the ghost, and had the thunderbolt only shattered its body, not its soul? Was this black mass its true essence?

In moments, the black energy had absorbed nearly all the resentment. The resentful spirit vanished, and the black energy slowly took on a humanoid shape. Before the old man could see clearly, three ferocious ghostly faces burst from the black phantom, charging at Chen San.

Chen San hastily directed the white phantom to intercept, but it was pierced through by the concentrated ghostly energy, which barreled straight at Chen San—three solid blows landed.

Chen San was thrown, crashing against a tree and collapsing, unable to rise.

The white phantom vanished, and the old man’s soul was severely wounded by the ghostly energy, forced from Chen San’s body and returning to his meditative form in the house.

His soul was tumultuous; his three souls and seven spirits surged outward. Having recently used secret soul-control techniques on Chen Wan’er, his souls had already been forcibly separated. The blows forced him into unconsciousness, and when he awoke, two days had passed.

With the divine possession broken, Chen San naturally fainted. His soul simply wasn’t strong enough; otherwise, the ghostly energy couldn’t have penetrated the white apparition.

Earlier, facing the black-robed woman, the old man knew it wouldn’t be easy—her ghost servant and resentful spirit alone were formidable. So from the start, he had used Chen San’s soul power to invoke Maoshan’s forbidden spell: the Phantom Heaven God Curse.

This spell required soul power to activate, and its use consumed vast amounts of it. The phantom god’s form would vary according to the caster’s strength.

As an ordinary man, Chen San could only summon a half-body phantom. Its size was impressive, but its features were vague, and its power consequently weak.

The Phantom Heaven God Curse was forbidden precisely because of its soul-draining nature. At worst, it could damage the soul, causing days of unconsciousness; at worst, it could utterly destroy the soul. There was never a good outcome.

Fortunately, Chen San lacked the Daoist foundation to fully channel his soul power. If a true Daoist master used this spell and it was broken, their soul would be annihilated.

Now, the black ghostly energy was still morphing, its form growing clearer, no longer short-statured—the lower body had formed, suggesting an adult woman’s figure.

Yang Chengzi slowly stood, weakened by the thunder spell’s proximity, which had damaged his soul foundation.

Luckily, Grandmaster Guangyuan’s divine presence remained within Yang Chengzi’s mind. He rose, glanced at the motionless Chen San, then lifted his gaze to the slowly condensing ghostly energy.

“Yang Chengzi.”

Within his consciousness, Yang Chengzi called out sentimentally, “Master Ancestor.”

“You have been gifted since childhood, your soul powerful and domineering. At such a young age, you have reached the soul realm; you are destined for greatness. Meeting this demon today is fate. I entrust you with the Supreme Sword and the Eight Great Spells; may you guard the world’s people in times to come.”

With that, Grandmaster Guangyuan swiftly formed hand seals, chanting the Northern Dipper Great Spell from the Eight Great Spells. His green Daoist robe billowed upward with the surging Daoist energy, brows tightly furrowed. With a furious shout: “Sword, come!”

Atop Maoshan, in Grandmaster Guangyuan’s chamber before his ascension, the Supreme Sword lying upon the bed trembled fiercely. With a sword’s cry, it flew from the room, rushing straight for Yang Chengzi.

In the blink of an eye, with a thud, the sword’s scabbard embedded itself in the tree beside Yang Chengzi.

Grandmaster Guangyuan looked at the Supreme Sword, touching its scabbard and said, “This is your new master.”

With another cry, the Supreme Sword slid from its scabbard, its blade reflecting the Northern Dipper Great Spell in the moonlight, radiating heroic energy.

As soon as the sword was drawn, the nearly formed black ghostly energy retreated, seemingly oppressed by the Supreme Sword. Yang Chengzi leapt, thrusting at it.

The black ghostly energy didn’t dodge, and Yang Chengzi’s sword pierced it. Grandmaster Guangyuan frowned—the ghostly energy had already fully condensed. From within, a hand seized the Supreme Sword.

Its black eyes showed no whites, long hair flying wildly. One hand gripped the Supreme Sword, black energy seeping from the blade, a mocking smile at its lips.

Yang Chengzi abandoned the sword and retreated, chanting the Northern Dipper Great Spell. The incantation resonated with the sword, its blade burning as if forged in fire.

In an instant, the ghostly hand released the Supreme Sword, which fell, embedding itself upright in the earth. The glowing Northern Dipper spell shone vividly upon its blade.

No respite was given; faces of ghostly energy multiplied around Yang Chengzi, swarming together and charging, withered leaves marking their passage.

Grandmaster Guangyuan knew this couldn’t continue—if the ghost possessed the nearby youth, disaster would follow.

He told Yang Chengzi, “Yang Chengzi, use the Thunder Summoning Spell—Ninefold Celestial Lightning.”

As soon as he finished, a divine presence left Yang Chengzi’s mind, transforming into golden light that wrapped around the charging ghost and dragged it skyward.

Now, the ghost’s mocking smile vanished, replaced by frantic struggle. Ghost energy spilled, flooding the divine presence, but it was too late.

With the divine possession broken, Yang Chengzi’s weakness swept over him, but his consciousness quickly returned. Watching his master ancestor’s divine presence drag the ghost into the sky, he gritted his teeth, summoned the Supreme Sword into his hand, and slashed his palm, blood pouring forth, the weakness instantly dispelled.

He closed his eyes, stepped through the Seven Stars ritual paces, and with his blood-soaked hand rapidly formed seals, feeling an indescribable emotion.

In a flash, the seals were complete. The final step of the Seven Stars paces required the power of the stars. Yang Chengzi channeled his soul power; golden light radiated from his body, and with a roar, he stamped his foot.

As he stamped, soul power rippled outward, his soul surging inside, and he bellowed:

“Celestial Thunder, descend!”

With Yang Chengzi’s Supreme Sword slashing at the ghost, nine bolts of thunder followed. The first struck, shattering Grandmaster Guangyuan’s divine presence and sealing the ghost in midair.

The second thunder, the ghost energy resisted; the third, the ghost energy dissipated; the fourth, the ghost’s body broke apart, black energy scattering.

The fifth thunder, four ghostly hands emerged from the ghost’s back to defend, but were shattered, and the ghost’s body began to disintegrate.

The sixth, seventh, eighth, and ninth bolts struck, annihilating the soul; no trace of ghost energy remained in the sky.

The forest, battered by the ninefold thunder, was unrecognizable—trees toppled or snapped, dust billowing.

Yang Chengzi, utterly exhausted, knelt, barely conscious, vision blurring, gasping for breath. To unleash the ninefold thunder, he’d spent too much soul power, his soul surging and threatening to escape his body.

He glanced at Chen San, gritted his teeth, and sat cross-legged, chanting the Daoist soul-stabilizing spell. After two hours, his soul finally calmed.

By then, dawn was breaking. He opened his eyes to lingering haze, slapped Chen San’s face, but Chen San lay as if in deathly sleep, unresponsive.

Yang Chengzi could only rise, pull the Supreme Sword’s scabbard from the fallen tree, and sheathe the blade.

He looked at the Supreme Sword, his heart heavy. Though it was only a fragment of his master ancestor’s divine presence, after so many years, their “reunion” had ended thus.