Volume One: The Journey of the Worthless, Blazing Demon-Slaying Chapter Twenty-Three: The Gates of Spirits Wide Open, Sacred Incantation Imprinted

Just as the thought crossed his mind, Yang Chengzi suddenly widened his eyes, raised his fingers to form a seal, and opened the Heavenly Eye. A hundred paces away, a fierce ghost rushed toward Chen San. In three swift strides, Yang Chengzi reached Chen San and pulled him up.

“Be careful, a big one is coming. You deal with these wandering spirits; I’ll take care of the main threat.” With that, he formed a hand seal, and the Shangqing Sword slid from its sheath.

Yang Chengzi swung his palm, sending the Shangqing Sword hurtling toward the approaching ghost like an arrow released from a bow, swift as lightning.

He charged after the ghost without slowing, his hands rapidly shifting through seals. “Thunder Seal of Heaven’s Wrath.”

This sealing spell was designed to counter those quick-moving ghosts. As three bolts of heavenly thunder struck, the ghost would be slain; even if it managed to avoid the thunder, the seals at earth, water, and thunder positions would trap it. His hands moved deftly, and the spell was cast.

Yang Chengzi then bit his fingertip and pressed another seal. “Heavenly Thunder, descend.”

In an instant, three bolts of thunder descended, silver-white ripples spreading outward. The ghost was struck by the ripples, its form becoming faint, but the effect quickly faded. Before the ghost could recover, another bolt of thunder crashed down with a tremendous roar, unobstructed by trees, striking the ghost directly.

The Shangqing Sword pierced forward, but the ghost had already vanished, leaving the sword embedded in the earth.

Yang Chengzi remained vigilant, watching the traces left by the thunder’s strike. It was clear the ghost had not been utterly destroyed.

At that moment, beneath the ground, as Yang Chengzi sensed something amiss, something surged toward him from not far below. Dust flew as he stepped back, his mind focusing through raised fingers. “Sword, come.”

The Shangqing Sword soared into the air, embedding itself before him, blocking the ghost’s path.

He pulled out the sword, his fingers sliding along its blade. The Great Northern Dipper incantation inscribed on the sword ignited like a burning flame.

Yang Chengzi leaped into the air and plunged the fiery sword straight into the soil beneath his feet. As the sword entered the earth, fiery red mud rippled outward, spreading waves of scorching energy that forced the ghost out from underground. The ghost emerged as a mass of black vapor, reconstituting its form midair.

It seemed nearly destroyed by the surging vital energy, and at this moment, Yang Chengzi finally saw the ghost clearly. No wonder its speed was so astonishing, that even thunder couldn’t reach it.

It was a mountain ghost native to this land. Yang Chengzi was startled—was the purpose of luring these wandering spirits to suppress the three flames of Chen San’s soul, so the mountain ghost could take possession of him?

Last time, I used the True Martial Seal to scatter those wandering souls. If I’d been a moment slower, this mountain ghost would have arrived.

Mountain ghosts feed on wandering souls, which is against the natural order, so every seven days, heavenly thunder descends to slay them. Those who evade the thunder are naturally swift. If it possessed Chen San, it would first devour his soul.

So that’s it. These evil sorcerers’ methods are indeed vicious. If I hadn’t followed, even immortals couldn’t save him; this isn’t something the summoning ritual can resolve. He might not even realize before possession occurs.

Meanwhile, Chen San grew accustomed to the wandering souls. They weren’t aggressive, and after seeing enough of them, he grew indifferent. Besides the summoning ritual, he knew no other spells.

Using the summoning ritual against these souls seemed unnecessary, and he wasn’t sure of the old man’s current situation. He closed his eyes to sense the spirit tiger—a silver-white radiance appeared in his mind, accompanied by a tiger’s roar. The spirit tiger leapt out from behind.

Before Chen San could see the tiger clearly, it had already torn apart a soul with one swipe. Another earth-shattering roar sent the remaining spirits fleeing in panic.

In moments, the area was clear, leaving only Yang Chengzi gazing skyward not far away. It was Chen San’s first time seeing a mountain ghost—the black vapor roiled swiftly, soon reforming its body.

A mountain ghost is a mountain sprite before it becomes a mountain spirit. Originally absorbing the essence of sun and moon, a sprite transforms into a mountain spirit at a certain stage, becoming an immortal entity. Through the Heavenly Eye, a mountain spirit appears as a pale green spiritual body. Where mountain spirits dwell, rare herbs for longevity and healing are found.

But if a mountain spirit absorbs excessive filth and miasma, it becomes a mountain ghost. Through the Heavenly Eye, it appears as a black ghostly form, with pale green cracks emitting faint light, enveloped in black miasma.

Its head is shaped like a flame, black miasma burning like dark fire, devoid of intelligence.

Mountain ghosts do only two things: evade the thunder that descends every seven days, and devour wandering souls.

Soon the mountain ghost finished reforming and returned the way it came.

Chen San blinked and called out to Yang Chengzi, “Did my heroic might scare it off?”

Yang Chengzi sheathed the Shangqing Sword. “It’s scared off for now, but it’ll come looking for you again.”

Chen San, startled, hurried over. “Don’t scare me—why would it come back?”

Yang Chengzi brushed dust from his clothes. “It’s a mountain ghost, transformed from a mountain sprite, acting against heaven, feeding on wandering souls. You summoned the spirit tiger just now, cleared all the souls—mountain ghosts feed on souls, not humans, so it fled.”

“If it doesn’t eat people, then why’s it after me? Has it fallen for my good looks?” Chen San’s face twisted in disdain.

Yang Chengzi laughed. “You’re thinking too much. Your shameless beauty doesn’t appeal to mountain ghosts. I just pieced the situation together—think about it.

You said you entered a village while traveling, encountered a ghost, and used the summoning ritual. After the fight, you passed out, the villagers brought you home, and your peachwood sword was lost, right?”

Chen San nodded in confusion. “Yes, that’s right. But what does that have to do with wandering souls and mountain ghosts?”

“I suspect there’s a connection. Look, you’re standing here fine, alive. The deity you summoned likely destroyed the evil sorcerer and the ghost. Why that sorcerer was there, I don’t know, but one thing is certain.”

Chen San’s eyes widened. “Certain of what?”

“You’ve been cursed or marked somehow. That’s why wandering souls gather when the yin energy rises. It explains why, every time we’re in the wild at night, a group of ghosts surrounds us.”

“So why do they come? To watch the show?”

“I didn’t figure it out at first, not until I saw the mountain ghost. That sorcerer probably wants to use the yin energy from the souls to extinguish your soul’s three flames.

Mountain ghosts, drawn to wandering souls, would come for them. Once your soul flames are snuffed out, the mountain ghost would possess you and devour your soul. You wouldn’t notice until it’s too late—even summoning deities wouldn’t help; not even immortals could save you.”

Chen San’s heart skipped a beat, muttering, “Lucky I have a strong fate. Got myself a bodyguard on the way down the mountain—just two people, but it’s so dangerous. Should’ve asked for more, what a mistake.”

“So what do we do now?”

Yang Chengzi smiled. “We need to keep moving. My master wouldn’t send me for something trivial. We’ll head to Cold Mountain Temple to find the eminent monk. As for the mountain ghost, we’ll sleep by day, travel by night. If wandering souls gather, we’ll deal with them. If not, the mountain ghost won’t be interested in you.”

Chen San thought it over—wandering souls gather at night, but daylight is strong with yang energy, so no ghosts disturb them.

“Let’s get moving, then. When we’re back in town, you’d better sort this mess out for me, or I’ll never sleep again.”

“Of course. If I can’t resolve it, my master or the monk surely can. Don’t worry; we’ll rest at Cold Mountain Temple.”

Chen San sighed, “Why did the old man send me to find people anyway…”

All the way, Chen San kept muttering. At dawn, they arrived at Pan’an Village.

Pan’an was small, close to Mount Mao. Yang Chengzi had previously rid the village of evil spirits, so he was well-known and planned to ask the village chief for a place to sleep once people started their morning chores.

They rested on a stone bench for a while until the chief’s door opened. The old chief, hunched over, carried a hoe, ready for the fields.

Yang Chengzi greeted him, and the chief, delighted to see him, hurried over. Hearing they needed rest, he warmly invited them to his home.

The chief once had a son and daughter; the daughter married long ago, the son died of illness a few years back. His wife, grief-stricken by losing her child, had cried herself blind.

Yang Chengzi introduced Chen San to the chief, and they followed him into the courtyard and house, exchanged a few words with the old wife, and settled in the son’s old room.

After days on the road, they slept deeply. The chief, seeing they were resting soundly, didn’t wake them for lunch.

Past noon, the sky grew darker, as if rain were coming but not quite. The chief wondered, with two hours until supper, why was it already so dim? Working in the fields, he muttered to himself.

A cool breeze began to blow, unusually refreshing for midsummer. Taking advantage of the light and breeze, he turned the rest of the soil.

Back at the chief’s house, Yang Chengzi and Chen San slept like the dead.

Mount Mao had its rules—when sleeping outside, the Soul Alarm Bell must be placed outside. Not long after dusk, the bell began to ring.

“Ding ding ding ding ding ding.”

Yang Chengzi awoke at the sound, grabbed the bell and tucked it into his bundle. Looking at the gloomy sky, he muttered, “Is it evening already? Why does the sky look like this?”

He pushed the door open, stepped outside, and frowned. The sky wasn’t merely nightfall, and wandering souls had begun to gather. Something was wrong.

Yang Chengzi calculated calamities with his fingers, then slapped his forehead and cried, “This is bad—the Ghost Festival has arrived! How could I forget such an important day? We can’t stay here.”

He rushed back inside and pulled Chen San up.

Chen San, groggy and confused, sat up with bleary eyes. Yang Chengzi explained things to the old wife, left a talisman on the table, and departed with Chen San.

After so long without sleep, they felt even more exhausted upon waking. At the well, Yang Chengzi drew a bucket of water and splashed it in Chen San’s face, nearly knocking him over. Then he drenched himself.

Chen San wiped the water from his face, grumbling, “Could you be a little gentler? How will you ever marry?”

“I’m a Daoist priest—why would I marry? Still not awake? Want another bucket?”

“All right, all right, you win. I won’t argue with you.”

Chen San dug water from his ear, squinting at Yang Chengzi. “It’s not even dark yet—why drag me out? Aren’t we eating? Why so rushed?”

“Let’s go. Look carefully at the sky; we can’t stay here. Didn’t your ghost eyes see anything? If we stay, we’ll drag the villagers into trouble.”

Chen San scratched his head, exasperated. “The sky’s a bit dark, but it’s not night yet; what am I supposed to see?” He looked around and spotted several grayish figures gathering.

Before Yang Chengzi could speak, Chen San exclaimed, “You jinx, you can summon ghosts in broad daylight. Is your mouth blessed? Let’s go, let’s go—hit the road!”

Yang Chengzi smiled and explained, “It’s not my words; it’s the fifteenth day of the seventh month—the Ghost Festival. The gates of the underworld are open; yin energy is strong. These ghosts aren’t wandering souls; we can’t destroy them. If we tried, we’d bring disaster on ourselves.”

“So what do we do? The sky’s getting darker, ghosts will gather, and if we don’t deal with them, the mountain ghost might come again.”

“Not necessarily. According to ancient texts, spirits from the underworld carry marks from the nether realm; mountain ghosts aren’t interested.”

Chen San paused and turned to Yang Chengzi. “So why are we running? If mountain ghosts don’t care for these spirits, why not sleep until nightfall?”

“Forget sleeping till night. Though mountain ghosts aren’t interested, when enough ghosts gather, their yin energy will attract wandering souls. Then mountain ghosts will come anyway. We have to leave.”

“Talking to you Daoists is exhausting.”

“You’re the one asking.”

Silenced, Chen San rolled his eyes and followed.

As they walked, more and more ghosts began to follow. Chen San kept glancing back, growing anxious.

“Can’t you do something? With so many following, if the mountain ghost comes, it’ll be a mess.”

Yang Chengzi regarded the ghosts behind them. “I’m thinking, but nothing seems quite right.”

“Who cares if it’s perfect? Just do something—quick!”

“You said it.”

“Stop dithering. Hurry up—I don’t want to see that ghost again or be eaten.”

Yang Chengzi nodded with satisfaction. “Fine, then take off your clothes.”

Chen San frowned and glanced at Yang Chengzi. “Take off my clothes? Should I take off my pants, too? We’re in the wild—why undress?”

“How else can I draw the talisman on your skin? If you want to take off your pants, I won’t stop you—just keep your distance if someone sees.”

With a grimace, Chen San stripped. “All right, all right, just hurry.”

“But you have no pen or ink—how will you draw?”

He hadn’t finished when a sharp sizzling sound rang out.

Chen San cried out, his voice echoing to the heavens. He leapt and writhed, finally kneeling, biting his clothes. After a while, he looked at Yang Chengzi, who was sheathing the still-glowing Shangqing Sword.

He glared, nearly grinding his teeth to dust. “Are you slaughtering pigs? Are you trying to kill me with pain? Did you just carve me with a sword?”

Yang Chengzi remained calm. “How could I? The Shan