Volume One: The Useless One Sets Out Blazing Demon-Slaying Blade Chapter Thirty-Nine: Unforeseen Trouble The Art of Yin and Yang

Yang Chengzi sat in his room with his eyes closed, meditating. The master had already gone to bed, and Chen San, bored, took out his silver coins and began to count them.

Before long, Chang Yu entered, wearing her original clothes. Chen San hurriedly pushed the silver behind him and tossed the bundle of clothes from the bed to Chang Yu.

Though Chang Yu caught them, she stared at the coarse linen in her hands, momentarily bewildered.

“What is this you gave me? Such a big bundle?”

Chen San replied solemnly, “Clothes. Men’s clothes. Go try them on and see if they fit. If they don’t, there’s nothing to be done. I bought you three sets in total, so just make do.”

Chang Yu, eyes wide with surprise, exclaimed loudly, “Clothes! These are clothes? They’re rougher than my foot rags—and you say they’re for me to wear?”

Chen San quickly shushed her. “Keep your voice down, the master’s asleep. Honestly, why are you always so loud for a girl? How will Yang Chengzi ever want you?”

Chang Yu looked at Chen San’s mischievous expression, nearly wishing she could beat him up, but she suppressed her anger and said, “You’re ruthless. You’re the stingiest person I’ve ever met—stingy beyond belief. Fine, be stingy. Next time you ask me for something, you’ll see what I can do! Hmph!” With that, she stormed off, clutching the clothes.

Chen San shook his head indifferently, pouted, and closed the door. He had intended to go watch the opera, but was exhausted from the past few days, so he went to bed early. As the night deepened, the entire city of Wu grew quiet, and Yang Chengzi, wounded in spirit from days past, meditated for several cycles before falling asleep.

Chang Yu returned to her guest room, cursing Chen San under her breath. She had never worn such clothes; she tossed them onto the tea table and lay down to sleep, but found it hard to rest.

Perhaps it was the loneliness—she remembered how at home Cui’er always attended to her, and she began to feel homesick.

Cui’er was Chang Yu’s maid, but their relationship was more like that of sisters. Cui’er had been sold to the Chang household before she was ten, and since she was about the same age as Chang Yu, Master Chang assigned her as Chang Yu’s personal maid, and the two grew up together as siblings.

Chang Yu never treated Cui’er as a servant, always considering her a younger sister. Yet, the distinction between master and servant persisted, so outside Cui’er was still Chang Yu’s maid, following her with umbrellas and carrying things. At home, aside from making the bed and preparing bathwater, Cui’er had little to do, and even slept in Chang Yu’s own room.

Now, forced to sleep alone in an unfamiliar place, Chang Yu tossed and turned, unable to fall asleep.

After cursing Chen San for a while, her mind drifted to Yang Chengzi—a figure clad in blue robes, his features handsome and upright. Compared with those wealthy young men, he was clearly extraordinary, and in his hand he held a strikingly beautiful sword.

Father had not been wrong; he said Chang Yu would surely like this Daoist, and once she met him, her heart would follow.

Chang Yu recalled how Yang Chengzi had seen her naked, and in shame she covered her face with the quilt, her heart pounding. Then she remembered how Yang Chengzi always wanted to send her back, which made her furious; she threw off the quilt and resumed cursing Chen San, doing so for much of the night until, without realizing it, she fell asleep.

The moon hung high, and Chen San and the others slept deeply. It was no wonder—they were always unlucky when together with Chen San, constantly encountering danger, often escaping death, sometimes gravely wounded and on the brink.

Even the monk was unlucky; after facing the wall on Cold Mountain for so long, exposed to wind and sun, never suffering any minor illness, he had barely descended before encountering a millennia-old demon, nearly dying himself.

Yang Chengzi and Chen San were used to this; they didn’t even need to divine their fate—every day or two something would happen, and if they didn’t meet a fierce ghost or great demon, it felt incomplete.

Though he was a skilled Daoist, adept at exorcising ghosts and subduing demons, he was still human: he needed food when hungry, rest when injured. Normally, he didn’t sleep so soundly, but with his soul wounded, he slept like the dead.

By sheer misfortune, it was on this night that trouble nearly erupted.

In the middle of the night, a white smoke drifted into Chen San’s guest room, quickly spreading throughout. The group, sleeping deeply, succumbed even further to the soporific fumes.

Likewise, the same smoke entered Chang Yu’s room. Chang Yu, frail as she was, had no hope of staying awake after inhaling it.

With a creak, Chang Yu’s elegant chamber door opened. Three men in black entered, each wielding a large knife. They looked like bandits, glancing warily outside.

The leader pinched Chang Yu’s face. “What a pretty little girl, makes my heart itch. No wonder Lord Luo wants her—lucky fool. Come, let’s take her back.”

The other two nodded, and the leader hoisted Chang Yu and exited toward the inn’s entrance. The room was left empty; the oil lamp’s flame flickered, and a ghostly figure appeared—long flowing hair, icy eyes, breathtaking beauty: Chen Wan’er.

Chen Wan’er had always stayed by Chang Yu’s side, and watched as Chang Yu was taken. But these men, being alive, bore three strong fires—their yang energy was too intense for her to possess them.

After a brief exchange, the men carried Chang Yu away. Chen Wan’er slipped through the wall into Chen San’s room, tried to rouse him, but received no response.

As a spirit, Chen Wan’er could not trigger Yang Chengzi’s soul alarm, so she was forced to follow the abductors herself.

She hoped for an opportunity to rescue Chang Yu and wasted no time, quickly pursuing them. Floating was much faster than walking, and soon she saw the men swaggering down the street, Chang Yu slung over their shoulders.

In the dead of night, the streets were empty. She followed them to a narrow alley, and seeing no way forward, she seized the chance—rushing toward Chang Yu, she unleashed her spirit energy, flooding Chang Yu with it and extinguishing two of her three fires.

Satisfied, Chen Wan’er withdrew her energy and possessed Chang Yu. Suddenly, Chang Yu opened her eyes and leapt off the man’s shoulder, running back the way she had come.

Chen Wan’er had just settled in Chang Yu, but Chang Yu was still affected by the soporific smoke, staggering and nearly falling. Luckily, the alley was narrow; she braced herself against a wall and kept running.

The three men were slow to react, but soon chased after her, knives gleaming coldly under the moonlight.

At that moment, Yang Chengzi awoke, his head splitting with pain.

Before leaving, Chen Wan’er had condensed a ball of spiritual energy at Yang Chengzi’s brow, which lingered and pressed upon his consciousness, waking him with a headache.

He sensed the energy belonged to Chen Wan’er, and detected she was far away and weak.

Yang Chengzi realized something was wrong. Grabbing the Shangqing Sword, he kicked Chen San in the backside, but Chen San lay motionless, as insensible as a dead pig. Yang Chengzi found himself both weak and aching, and guessed the cause.

“Damn, I’ve been drugged.”

He pushed open the door, saw Chang Yu’s room empty, and understood at last: Chang Yu was in trouble, Chen Wan’er had gone after her, and unable to wake him, had left spirit energy to alert him. Trying to step out, his legs nearly buckled.

Yang Chengzi steadied himself on the railing, drew his sword, and sliced his palm. The pain cleared his mind and restored his strength.

Gritting his teeth, he set off in the direction he sensed Chen Wan’er had gone, the agony keeping him alert.

He silently recited the calming incantation, and before long the drug’s effects faded, and he sensed Chen Wan’er drawing nearer.

With Chen Wan’er possessing Chang Yu, she was effectively a normal person, unable to use any spiritual techniques—her only advantage was speed. A century’s worth of soul power infused Chang Yu, making her faster.

Initially, Chen Wan’er had wanted to possess Chang Yu when the men entered, but the room was too small; she feared they’d catch her or Chang Yu might be hurt. So she waited until they had walked a long way and the road was wider, increasing their chance of escape.

The men carried knives and were not ordinary—they moved swiftly, skilled in martial arts. They soon caught up to Chang Yu, and Chen Wan’er could only try to fight.

Reaching a vendor’s stall, Chang Yu grabbed a bamboo pole and faced the pursuers. The men stopped as she did, slowly surrounding her.

Chang Yu struck at the foremost man with the bamboo—it was not iron, but Chen Wan’er’s skill made it supple and effective. She lashed them several times, making the men cry out, but the bamboo soon splintered under their blades.

With no weapon left, Chang Yu was like a lamb awaiting slaughter—unable to outrun them, unable to use spells, Chen Wan’er had only one desperate option.

“Help! Murder! They’re kidnapping me! Help!”

The men panicked at her screams, quickly closing in and covering her mouth.

Driven to desperation, Chang Yu bit one of them, causing him to bash her head with the knife handle.

Chang Yu was already woozy; the blow wouldn’t knock out Chen Wan’er, but Chang Yu squirmed like an eel. Chen Wan’er hoped the city guards might hear her cries and intervene.

Suddenly, a figure vaulted over the wall, kicking at one of the men, who dodged and retreated.

It was Yang Chengzi. His lips were pale, sweat beading his forehead, his gaze fierce as he faced the three men.

Yang Chengzi, seeing Chang Yu held fast, panted, “Let her go, and I’ll let you leave. Otherwise, your souls will be scattered.”

The leader scoffed, “Souls scattered? Watched too many plays, have you? You managed to chase us after being drugged—impressive! But you won’t get the girl back. Stand in our way, and you’ll regret it.”

Yang Chengzi saw they wouldn’t hand Chang Yu over. With a sharp sound, he cast the Shangqing Sword, embedding it in the stone wall.

“That was your last chance. I’m a Daoist, reluctant to harm, but it depends on the circumstances.”

He raised his fingers, chanting to summon soul power. The men responded, one holding Chang Yu, the other two charging with their knives.

Yang Chengzi’s eyes remained closed as the blades approached. Chang Yu, watching, was wide-eyed with anxiety, struggling harder.

Time seemed to slow. Yang Chengzi’s soul suddenly extended his hands out of his body, his upper soul emerging and grabbing the souls of the two men.

Their knives dropped, and the men were wrenched from their bodies, their eyes bulging grotesquely, knees buckling as their vitality faded and they fell silent.

Yang Chengzi had forcibly pulled their souls out, gripping them like chickens. Seeing their bodies collapse, he released their souls.

But their souls could not return on their own; whether it was the main soul or any other, they needed spells or rituals to reenter. If their souls weren’t returned within half an hour, they would die.

The remaining man, seeing his comrades kneeling before Yang Chengzi, was stunned. As Yang Chengzi glared at him, he panicked.

He stammered, “D-d-don’t come any closer! What sorcery is this? What’s happened to them?” He tightened his grip on Chang Yu, nearly choking her.

Yang Chengzi, exhausted and impatient, said, “Release her, or you’ll share their fate—your soul scattered, never to be reborn. I can kill you in an instant, without approaching you. If you don’t believe me, try it.”

Terrified, the man let go, shoving Chang Yu forward and fleeing.

Yang Chengzi dropped to one knee, gasping. Chang Yu, seeing his weakness, hurried over to help him.

After a few breaths, Yang Chengzi said, “Help me pull out the Shangqing Sword. I need to return their souls.” He sat cross-legged, reciting the calming incantation.

Chang Yu nodded, obediently drew the sword from the wall, and waited, holding it.

After several cycles of the spell, Yang Chengzi’s soul ceased its agitation.

It wasn’t a particularly advanced technique, but required soul power. However, after battling the monstrous ghost, Yang Chengzi’s soul was wounded, and the drug made it worse, so the other two souls and seven spirits stirred within him, requiring more energy to stabilize.

Once he had regulated his breath, Yang Chengzi rose, went behind the men, pulled aside one’s clothes, bit his finger, and drew a blood talisman on his back. He pressed his blood onto the talisman’s eye, and with a sword gesture, the soul was drawn back into the body.

He did the same for the other, and both regained their souls, though they remained unconscious, their souls wounded.

Yang Chengzi stood and said to Chang Yu, “Let’s go.”

Chang Yu looked at him gently, nodded, and supported him as they returned.