Volume One: The Journey of the Useless, Fiery Demon Slayer Chapter 28: The Real and the Fake Taoist—Something Is Amiss

Although Yang Chengzi was unwilling to marry Chang Yu, she had come all this way for him. Whether he liked it or not, he had to take care of her for the time being and bring her back to explain everything to Master Chang. As a cultivator, his resolve had never wavered.

This whole ordeal took over an hour. By the time they reached Fu Family Village, the sky was nearly dark, and the sun had set. Once inside, they saw the village ablaze with torches, but it bore no sign of people preparing to sleep.

Chen San found this odd. “That’s not what the abbot told me,” he said. “He said there were two coffins in Fu Family Village that couldn’t be lifted, and something sinister might be afoot. That’s why he sent Master Wuchan down from the mountain to take a look. But the villagers don’t seem scared at all.”

Chang Yu interjected, “You haven’t even spoken with the villagers. How do you know they aren’t afraid?”

Yang Chengzi said nothing, scrutinizing their surroundings. Monk Suichang added, “This place does feel different from others. We should be cautious and find some villagers first to understand the situation.”

The monk’s words made sense. Chen San nodded and looked to Yang Chengzi, who finally said, “There’s definitely a chill here, but I can’t tell where it’s coming from. The master is right; let’s find the villagers first.”

After their discussion, Chen San scanned the area and spotted the flicker of torchlight moving outside a house not far ahead. They hurried over and found villagers heading south with torches.

Chen San stepped forward and greeted them, asking where they were going so late. After a brief exchange, he learned that a Maoshan priest had arrived an hour earlier to help lay the two coffins to rest. He had summoned all the villagers to witness his ritual at the ancestral hall. This villager had just returned from outside the village, so he was running late.

After a few words, the villager went on his way. Listening to the conversation, Yang Chengzi frowned but remained silent. He looked at Monk Suichang, who said, “Since we’re here, we might as well go and see. I suspect something strange is going on. This Maoshan priest doesn’t act like those from the Maoshan sect.”

Chang Yu asked, “Isn’t it odd? Do Maoshan priests usually hold burial rituals at night?”

Yang Chengzi replied, “Absolutely not. I also suspect this one is a fake. Why would a real priest conduct burials just as the yin energy gathers, and invite all the villagers to watch? If he’s only after money, that’s one thing. But if he fails, he might endanger their lives. We should follow and see what he’s up to.”

So they all headed for the ancestral hall. When they arrived, the doors stood open. The cinnabar talismans previously stuck on the doors had faded, and the two coffins lay quietly inside. A priest in Daoist robes paced around them as if contemplating his next move.

Yang Chengzi and Chen San, being tall, managed to squeeze through the crowd and see the entire hall, including the circling priest. Suichang and Chang Yu stayed outside, watching the crowd and waiting for them.

Standing on tiptoe, Chen San peered inside. “Do you know him?” he asked Yang Chengzi. “He doesn’t look like someone from your mountain, more like the kind of priest from our town.”

Yang Chengzi frowned. “I don’t know him. I’d recognize all my fellow disciples—none of them wear robes like that. Looks like our guess was right. Let’s see what he does next.”

He fell silent, fixing his gaze on the priest. Chen San, seeing no further comment was forthcoming, turned his attention to the priest as well, then glanced back at Chang Yu and the master before slipping away to talk with them.

Yang Chengzi ignored Chen San, keeping his eyes on the priest’s every move.

Soon, the priest began his ritual. He drew several talisman papers from his robes and scattered them above the coffins. Then, unsheathing a peachwood sword from his back, he performed a few passes, pressed his fingers together, and murmured incantations. The yellow talismans suspended in the air ignited in a sudden blaze.

The villagers were awestruck by this display. Everyone knew Maoshan priests were powerful, able to exorcise evil spirits and subdue demons. Whenever trouble arose, the villagers would call upon these priests. But true supernatural disturbances were rare in their village; hiring a priest for a burial was already a big deal. Two coffins that couldn’t be lifted was almost unheard of, let alone witnessing a priest’s ritual firsthand.

The yellow talismans burned with a vigorous crackle. To these simple folk, the sight was nothing short of divine, and who knows how the story would be told later.

Yang Chengzi watched with unwavering attention. The priest’s movements and techniques seemed authentic, but these spells and talismans were basic—anyone could master them with some practice. Still, he couldn’t be certain, so he kept observing.

After the talismans and the sword dance, the priest took some cinnabar and a brush, then had two young men untie the thick red ropes binding the coffins. The ropes, as thick as a man’s wrist, were removed in no time.

At this, Yang Chengzi’s brow furrowed. The priest dipped the brush in cinnabar and drew symbols on the coffin lids. The lids were black and red; the cinnabar, a deep red, was visible only up close.

Standing tall, Yang Chengzi could see from afar. He hadn’t expected the priest to draw symbols directly on the coffins. Usually, if a coffin needed to lock in a soul or restrain a corpse, chicken blood or ink lines were used. Few would draw directly on the lids.

But with the crowd clogging the entrance, he couldn’t see clearly, only catching a glimpse of the tail of the symbol—not the whole design.

Before long, the priest finished drawing on both coffins, put away the brush, and took two copper coins from his pouch. In front of the villagers, he tossed them onto the coffin lids. The coins landed with a dull clatter, spun in circles, and came to a stop.

The villagers all stared, transfixed, at the two spinning coins until they ceased moving. When they finally stopped, the crowd erupted into excited chatter.

Yang Chengzi also stared at the coins in confusion. It was already strange that the coins didn’t fall off, but now, after stopping, both stood upright on the coffin lids—not something that could be brushed off as coincidence.

As the crowd broke into noisy discussion, Chen San, Chang Yu, and the master were chatting. Only then did Chen San realize that the refined young lady before him was the very Miss Chang they had rescued days before.

Curious about the commotion, Chen San squeezed through the crowd to Yang Chengzi and took a look inside. Seeing nothing unusual, he asked Yang Chengzi what had happened.

Yang Chengzi briefly explained. Chen San’s eyes widened as he looked at the coffins. Sure enough, two copper coins stood upright atop them.

“Wow, you priests really are something,” Chen San said. “Just a casual toss and the coins stand up—two at that! If you ever stop being a priest, you could make a living performing on the street. You’d definitely find yourself a wife.”

Yang Chengzi gave Chen San a look of disdain. “Why are you always so concerned with whether others can get married? Shouldn’t you be worrying about yourself?”

Chen San wanted to retort, but the truth stung—he didn’t have a wife, while Yang Chengzi seemed to have had one arranged by fate. He couldn’t think of a comeback.

Yang Chengzi continued, “Take a closer look at those two coffins. What do you notice? That priest acts the part, using simple spells and some odd techniques I can’t quite place, but he doesn’t seem like a real priest. Try using your ghost eye.”

“Not a real priest?” Chen San asked, puzzled. He looked carefully at the priest, then at the coffins, jostling for a better view. But he saw nothing unusual—just two ordinary coffins.

“I see nothing—no ghostly aura. The priest seems normal, just like any other person.”

Yang Chengzi said, “If there’s no ghostly aura, why can’t the coffins be lifted?”

That question left Chen San stumped. Yes—if there was no ghostly presence, why couldn’t the coffins be moved?

Meanwhile, the priest had two censers and incense brought over. The censers were placed at the head of each coffin, three sticks of incense in each. He told the villagers that if the incense burned without issue, the coffins could be buried at noon tomorrow. Until then, everyone was to stay home—no farming or wandering about, lest they attract misfortune or get taken away by the spirits.

The villagers nodded eagerly. After watching for nearly half an hour, they already regarded the priest as some kind of immortal. The warning to stay indoors until noon spread quickly.

Almost the entire village was present—only the elderly and infants, or the infirm, had stayed home. So the news reached everyone.

Yang Chengzi watched the priest, his brow never easing, mind deep in thought.

Before long, he said to Chen San, “When the crowd disperses, go find the village chief and ask for a place to stay. Tell him you and the master were passing through on your way to another village for a ritual, and need shelter for the night. Have the master and Chang Yu stay together—they won’t refuse the master. Then, send your Sister Wan’er to follow me, and afterward, have her bring you to me. There might be some excitement tonight.”

Chen San swallowed, seeing Yang Chengzi’s serious face. “And then?”

“Have Wan’er follow me, then bring you to me. Tonight should be interesting.”

Chen San stared in surprise. “You’re meddling in other people’s business again? We still have to get back to Chen Family Town—the old man’s waiting for the master.”

Yang Chengzi smiled. “What do you mean, meddling? This is the abbot’s instruction. That fake priest isn’t here to settle the matter of the coffins. If he were, there’d be no need to summon the whole village. By tomorrow, we’ll know what he’s really after.”

Chen San frowned. “He said not to go out before noon, to keep people from being taken by the spirits. Of course the villagers needed to hear that.”

“You’re the only one who’d believe that. I don’t know why the coffins can’t be moved, but everything he’s done was just for show. I sensed no ghostly or baleful energy coming from the coffins. The reason they can’t be lifted might not even be related to the coffins or the corpses. Cut the chatter—just remember to have your Sister Wan’er follow me, then find me later. I’ll tail the priest and see what he’s up to.”

Within half an hour, the incense had burned down without incident. The villagers, believing that if any sticks failed to burn it meant bad luck, finally relaxed when all the incense was spent. It was late, so they began to disperse and head home.

Chen San grabbed a passing villager to find out who the village chief was, then took the master and Chang Yu to see him. Following Yang Chengzi’s advice, he spun a story, and the kindly chief—seeing the master and Chang Yu looked nothing like troublemakers—readily agreed and led them to stay at Widow Fu’s house on the east end of the village.

Widow Fu lived alone, over fifty, good-natured and respected by all. Her husband had died over a decade ago, and her daughter was married off to another village. The house was spacious, and since Chang Yu was a young woman, she could share a bed with the widow—Chang Yu didn’t mind, knowing not to expect comfort out here. At least there was someone to sleep beside her, so she wasn’t scared. Alone in a strange house, she’d never sleep a wink. The master meditated in the outer room, accustomed to resting cross-legged.

Widow Fu had tidied up her daughter’s old room, intending for the master and Chen San to sleep there. The daughter had been married for years, so the room was unused, but in summer, a straw mat was enough. However, Monk Suichang politely declined, so Chen San slept alone in the room.

Once the chief left, Chen San closed his eyes and whispered, “Sister Wan’er.”

No sooner had the words left his lips than a voice replied, “I’ve been here the whole time.”

Startled, Chen San nearly leapt from the bed. Catching his breath, he said, “You nearly scared me to death. I need a favor.”

Chen Wan’er, cold as ever, replied, “I heard what the priest said. You want me to follow him and then bring you to him?”

Chen San nodded earnestly. “Yes… I don’t even know what Yang Chengzi is up to, dragging me along in the middle of the night. I’m not a priest, yet here I am chasing ghosts and monsters. Maybe Heaven will reward me for my troubles and send me a beautiful wife.”

Chen Wan’er remained icy. “You mean Chen Xin? Whether you can marry her, I don’t know. But if you don’t help me find my remains, I’ll stay with you forever.”

Hearing Chen Xin’s name lit Chen San up with joy, but her last words made his face twitch—he couldn’t manage a smile. After a few more words, Chen Wan’er floated away, found Yang Chengzi, and quietly trailed behind him.

Yang Chengzi was still near the ancestral hall, hiding atop a distant roof and watching the priest. The villagers had said the priest would keep vigil there through the night.

He sensed Chen Wan’er’s arrival, but his soul-chime didn’t sound. Surprised, he asked, “I know you’re here, but why didn’t my soul-chime react?”

Chen Wan’er answered coolly, “I’m a spirit, nurtured by the formation set by the old Daoist. Ordinary magical tools don’t affect me.”

Yang Chengzi nodded in understanding. “No wonder your aura is more spiritual than ghostly. So you’re Chen Wan’er?”

“Yes. My surname is Chen, given name Wan’er. In life, I was from Chen Family Town.”

“Very well. Then I shall call you Chen Wan’er.”

At that, the two fell silent. Yang Chengzi lay motionless on the roof, eyes fixed on the ancestral hall, while Chen Wan’er stood behind him, watching his profile.

Midnight passed in this way. The oil lamps in the village all went out, and the moon hung high and bright. Only the frogs in the fields sang, and the villagers were fast asleep.

Yang Chengzi remained motionless, eyes still locked on the priest. By now it was the second watch of the night—there were two hours until dawn. Yang Chengzi wondered why nothing had happened yet.

The priest simply sat in a grand chair beside the coffins, head propped on his hand, eyes closed as if resting. Suddenly, a dog barked at the village entrance, then fell silent.

The priest abruptly rose, took off his Daoist robe, picked up a bundle, and left the ancestral hall. Looking toward the village entrance, he soon saw three figures approaching from afar.

Yang Chengzi’s brow furrowed. Judging by their silhouettes, two were burly—not ordinary farmers. One was short and agile, all three carrying something on their backs, though he couldn’t see what.

The trio approached the priest and spoke quietly—Yang Chengzi couldn’t make out the words. After a brief exchange, they all headed west through the village.

Unfamiliar with the village layout, Yang Chengzi could only follow from a distance, waiting until they had gone some way before trailing them.

He followed them into the fields, and when the four left cover, Yang Chengzi stopped, watching from afar as they halted in the fields.

He turned to Chen Wan’er. “Go bring Chen San here—I’ll wait for you.”

Chen Wan’er looked at his weary figure and asked, “Do you want me to go and see what they’re doing?”

Yang Chengzi thought for a moment. “No, it’s too dangerous. I don’t know if any of them are true priests or practitioners of dark arts. That fake priest only used simple spells earlier, but I can’t be sure of his true strength. If he’s powerful, you could be in real trouble. Go fetch Chen San.”

Chen Wan’er said nothing more, simply assented, and floated away to Chen San’s room. Inside, Chen San slept like the dead, the room silent as a grave.

(End of Chapter)