Volume One: The Journey of the Outcast, Blazing Demon-Slayer Chapter Three: The Taoist Ascends the Mountain, The Yin-Yang Incantation

The mountain behind Chen Family Town stretched across several hundred acres of forested hills, with beautiful scenery, rolling terrain, dragons soaring and tigers leaping—together forming a natural feng shui formation of a coiled dragon and crouching tiger. In the geomantic traditions of the Daoist sects, wherever such a configuration existed, it was said that a master must be living in seclusion there.

For the people of Chen Family Town, the mountain was their livelihood. Aside from the merchants, most men made their living by hunting in the woods. One could say this swath of forest fed the entire town. The forest bordered the town directly, while on the other sides were streams and sheer cliffs. The water was shallow, but the cliffs were steep and rose vertically, making them nearly impossible to climb. Thus, the villages scattered around grew grain, wove cloth, or fished, trading their goods with Chen Family Town for game and silver. This natural advantage made Chen Family Town far wealthier than its neighbors.

Daoist Wang set out from the town and climbed the mountain, his purpose clear: to seek out the hermit who understood the mysteries of yin and yang. Only by finding this person could the town below be saved, only then could Chen San survive. All hope was pinned on this hidden master.

Daoist Wang was trained in the orthodox Maoshan tradition. Maoshan sorcery had a long history, with many branches over the centuries: alchemy, divination, feng shui, fortune-telling, and the arts of seeking luck and avoiding calamity. Yet the true essence of Maoshan lay in the art of yin and yang—a discipline that could pierce the heavens, vanquish demons and evil spirits. But for mortals to master the art of yin and yang, they must first be attuned to the dual forces. And after learning these arts, they were destined to lose the most abundant fortunes in their fate—what the world called "the Five Impoverishments and Three Deficiencies."

Daoist Wang feared exactly this fate, and thus never learned the true core of Maoshan’s yin and yang arts. Seeing his disciple’s hesitation, his master did not teach him the secret techniques, only passing on the basics of divination, geomancy, and the arts of seeking fortune and avoiding disaster—enough to make a living once he left the mountain.

In truth, Daoist Wang was little more than an outer sect disciple of Maoshan.

His master, Yang Chengzi, styled himself the Blue-robed Daoist, always dressed in a long robe of azure cloth. In his adulthood, Yang Chengzi was a refined and composed man, hair tied with a coronet, a bearing as elegant as his robes.

Though called his master, when Wang became his disciple, he was already twenty-eight, whereas Yang Chengzi was just sixteen. Unlike Wang, Yang Chengzi had grown up in a Daoist temple. He was entrusted to the care of Grandmaster Guangyuan when the latter descended the mountain to subdue evil; Yang Chengzi was four at the time, and Guangyuan was one hundred and eighteen.

Grandmaster Guangyuan intended to entrust the child to a wealthy family who had lost their own son, but he quickly realized Yang Chengzi was no ordinary child. Though his parents had been slain by monsters before his very eyes, he remained calm, showing a detachment rare for his years. Held in the old master’s arms, his breath was deep and slow, and his heart already tranquil as still water.

Puzzled, the centenarian Daoist decided to take the boy up Maoshan.

There, Yang Chengzi studied alongside his fellow disciples, learning the basics of divination, alchemy, and self-cultivation. At fourteen, when Grandmaster Guangyuan passed away, he formally became a disciple of the Maoshan headmaster, the True Man of Taiyuan, and began to practice the arts of yin and yang.

Daoist Wang could have gone to fetch his master, the Blue-robed Daoist, to handle the crisis. But the journey was long, taking over ten days round-trip, and time was pressing. With no other choice, he climbed the mountain to seek out the reclusive master.

As for the origins of this Daoist, few knew the truth. At least, Wang did not know the master’s identity. He had only heard from the old men of the town that fifteen years ago, a wandering Daoist skilled in the arts of yin and yang, together with a Buddhist adept, came to this place to trap and kill a dark sorcerer. In that battle, the sorcerer, realizing he was no match, retreated for a hundred miles before being severely wounded by the Buddhist, fleeing in panic. Yet, in the process, the Daoist inadvertently caused the death of a couple from Chen Family Town, and the Buddhist master was gravely injured in his attempt to save them.

Afterwards, the wandering Daoist did not leave but chose seclusion in the forest behind Chen Family Town, withdrawing from the affairs of the world. All Daoist Wang knew was this.

Meanwhile, in deep slumber, Chen San’s soul had already drifted a thousand miles, separated from his body. He felt no pain, only a vague memory of seeing Chen Xin weeping for him before he lost consciousness, his hand reaching out to touch her face.

When he awoke again, he could see nothing, not even his hand before his face. All was black, silent—no birdsong, no water, no wind, no voices. In such utter darkness, Chen San was almost frightened out of his wits.

Suddenly, a light shone beneath him with a chittering sound, and he landed hard on his rear. Looking more closely, he found himself in a bamboo house—large and entirely crafted from bamboo. The floor was bamboo, the table held cups and a teapot made of bamboo tubes, and even the bed had a bamboo pillow and mat. The room was filled with little trinkets, children’s toys, and a small bamboo horse stood in the center. A spray of emerald leaves peeked in through the window, and beyond, the world was a boundless sea of green—a most exquisite bamboo house.

Turning around, Chen San was startled by a face that suddenly appeared right before his own—a golden snub-nosed monkey, staring intently at him. When he backed away, the monkey hopped up and sat on the windowsill without moving further. Only then did Chen San realize: the monkey could see him!

He was now but a wandering soul; neither Chen Xin nor Daoist Wang could see him, yet this monkey could. Did this mean the monkey was an immortal? For a moment, hope surged in his heart, and he was about to kneel and kowtow when an old man in plain but spotless robes appeared at the door.

Though his face was deeply lined and his hair mostly white—suggesting great age—his eyes were bright and clear, his brow radiating righteousness, his bearing the very image of a Daoist immortal.

Chen San rubbed his eyes—he hadn’t seen the old man just a moment before—wondering if he was imagining things.

The old man entered unhurriedly, sat down, poured himself a cup of tea, and sipped it with his eyes closed.

“You’re awake?” he asked.

Chen San, unsure, thought the old man was speaking to the monkey and didn’t reply.

The old man frowned and looked at Chen San again. “Did you sleep well?”

Only then did Chen San realize he was being addressed, and, flustered, stammered, “I… you… can you see me? What happened to me? Am I dead?”

The old man laughed heartily. “Dead? If you were dead, why would you come here instead of going to the Underworld?”

Delight flooded Chen San’s face. “So I’m not dead yet? You can save me?”

“You’re a clever child. Even with only a shred of soul left, you’re still so cheerful. In all my years, I’ve never seen anyone so easygoing in the face of death.”

Chen San scratched his head, unable to force a smile.

The old man poured himself another cup of tea and continued, “But you’re not dead—yet. From the age of five, I’ve lived in these woods and watched you grow up, getting into no end of mischief, haven’t you?”

“No, not really. At most I might’ve stolen a chicken or a duck—nothing serious.”

“You think that’s not bad? ‘Do not do evil, however small’—haven’t you heard that saying?”

“No!” Chen San shook his head solemnly.

The old man gave him a look of disdain. “Forget it, enough nonsense. Let’s get to the point. A few days ago, I observed the stars and saw ominous signs. I cast a divination and saw your town was about to face a great calamity.”

“A great calamity? You can predict that? There really is trouble—two people are already dead!”

“I then divined your own fortune. The result was dire—the second-to-last of the sixty-four hexagrams: the Death Hexagram of the Yin Spirit. I needn’t explain. It means certain death, with no way out.”

“I—I—” The words stuck in Chen San’s throat. Hearing his fate was so hopeless, he was struck dumb with terror.

“Don’t worry,” the old man said. “I’ve already summoned your soul here. Look at you, so frightened. It’s just a brush with death…”

“Old… old man, do you know me?”

The old man flicked his finger against Chen San’s forehead. The pain made Chen San roll on the floor, teeth clenched too tightly to cry out.

The old man squinted at him. “Didn’t your parents teach you to respect your elders?”

Chen San got up, rubbing his head. “How could they? My parents died when I was little. If they were here, maybe they’d have taught me…”

His voice faltered. Seeing this, the old man sighed. Chen San, sensing the old man’s sadness, ventured, “Old man, did you know my parents?”

The old man glanced at him, then turned away. “Let’s not speak of the past. Worry about yourself. Surely you know your own situation? You’ll have to stay here two days before you can return.”

“Two days? By then I’ll be gone! They might as well just bury me now,” Chen San grumbled.

“No, you won’t die in two days. While you remain here, your soul is safe. Such is the drawback of the arts I use—after the soul leaves the body, at least two days must pass before it can return and merge again. No magic is without its cost. Be grateful I could preserve your soul at all. Are you in such a hurry?”

Seeing the old man raise his hand to rap his head again, Chen San quickly waved his hands. “No, no, I’m not in a hurry. I just don’t want you to waste your efforts if I die anyway.”

The old man relented, smiling as he beckoned to the monkey. “Come here, little fellow, say hello to the boy.”

At once, the golden snub-nosed monkey bounded over, perched on the table, and grinned at Chen San, who could only smile awkwardly.

The old man said with a smile, “I’ve lived here alone for over a decade, meditating on the Dao. In my leisure time, this little monkey often comes for food. He never disturbs me while I meditate, and he’s quite clever—a true friend. And it was he who released you.”

Patting the monkey’s head, the old man gestured with his lips at a cap on the floor. Chen San followed his gaze up to the window, where a small gourd hung, sealed with a purple-black talisman glowing with golden runes, as if painted with gold.

Chen San’s first thought was: this old man is up to no good! Purple-black talismans looked evil—Daoists always used yellow, never purple-black, and this one exuded a sinister aura.

He forced a smile and asked, “Old man, why did you summon my soul? Are you going to turn me into a little ghost to do your bidding?” He edged away warily.

“Haven’t I told you? I’m saving your life. Without my magic, you’d already be in the Underworld.”

Chen San pouted in disbelief. “We’re not related, and you don’t know me—why save me and not others? I’m not a three-year-old; why should I believe you? What do you really want?”

The old man’s smile faded, and he grew solemn. “I am the one your parents entrusted you to on their deathbed. You were five then. I overestimated myself and made a grievous mistake. In penance, I have lived in these woods these many years.”

“When you were little, the old woman next door looked after you. She had no children and treated you as her own. She passed away when you were fourteen, leaving you alone. Only then did you move back to your parents’ old house. Do you remember?”

Hearing this, Chen San calmed. “Granny Chen treated me like her own grandchild. Without her, I might have starved. But, old man, if my parents entrusted me to you, why did you have Granny raise me? And how did my parents die?”

The old man sighed. “Your parents were murdered by evildoers. You were still too young, and I—a feeble old man—could not care for you as well as she could. So I entrusted you to her care, while I lived in seclusion to watch over you from afar. Perhaps that was best for you.”

“But—” Chen San began, but the old man waved him silent. “Those are matters of the past. When the time comes, you’ll know the truth. For now, you must look after yourself. Though you are only a soul, what I’ve summoned is your main soul—your fate soul. The danger in Chen Family Town grows by the day. You must learn a means of self-preservation within these two days, or you may not survive what comes.”

“Two days? There’s only a day and a half left! What can I possibly learn in that time? You’re not just making this up, are you?”

The old man raised his hand, ready to rap his head again, and Chen San quickly dodged, muttering, “I’ll learn—I’ll learn whatever you teach. I’ve nothing better to do, anyway. I’ll keep learning until you’re satisfied. I promise!”

The old man slowly lowered his hand, and Chen San, though agreeing aloud, cursed him a thousand times in his heart.

The old man rose, hands clasped behind his back, and said, “Come, my young pupil. How much you learn depends on your own fate.” With that, he stepped through the bamboo door—and vanished.

Chen San blinked, staring at the empty doorway, then at the monkey, who grinned back at him.

Just then, the old man’s voice called out, “Aren’t you coming?”

Without hesitation, Chen San passed through the bamboo door. The moment he did, his heart leapt into his throat.

Before him was a sheer cliff, utterly different from the peaceful bamboo grove and gentle stream he’d seen before—no paradise, but a bottomless abyss. Two thick iron chains stretched out for hundreds of feet, each heavy link the size of a man’s head, connecting in a grand and imposing bridge.

The moment Chen San stepped out, his legs turned to jelly and he collapsed, scrambling backward. But the bamboo door was gone, and his hands scrabbled desperately at the stone wall.

He crouched on a patch of ground barely big enough for a few meditation mats, back pressed to the rock, feet flailing for purchase.

“Ah! Old man, you’re not teaching me magic, you’re just trying to send me straight to the Underworld!”

Before he could finish, a ten-foot-long, glossy red whip twined around him. The old man, serene as ever, dragged Chen San onto the chain as if walking across solid ground, though the chain swayed with every step.

Chen San clung to the whip, eyes squeezed shut, wishing he could faint. But, as he never knew, a soul unbound from its body could not faint unless forced by magic. As the old man pulled him along, the whip holding him aloft, Chen San wailed and pleaded, but the old man paid him no mind.

Reaching the first massive iron ring, the old man looped the whip around it and sat down to meditate. By now, Chen San’s mind was blank—ask him his father’s name and he wouldn’t have been able to answer.

After a long while, as his terror ebbed, Chen San finally dared look down and realized the abyss was not bottomless after all; there was a large slope below, perhaps only the height of two or three trees. He’d simply been too frightened to look before.

Seeing that Chen San had quieted, the old man opened his eyes and gazed into the vastness before them. “Getting used to it? If you are, come onto the chain. If not, stay below a while longer.”

“I—I’m used to it. I’ll come up,” Chen San replied.

The old man raised a hand, lifted him onto the great iron ring, and tossed him there. The whip did not let go, so Chen San clung tightly to the ring, eyes fixed on the old man.

“What now?” he asked.

“Now, you figure out how to sit on that ring. No need to imitate me—just get up there as best you can.”