Volume One: The Useless Sets Out, Blazing Demon Slayer Chapter Fifty-Two: Righteousness and Evil Stand Apart; The Old Man of Supreme Mystery

They dug through the night until dawn, opening four courtyards and unearthing fourteen sets of remains: three children, seven men, and four women. Among them was a young woman, pregnant, her belly hollowed out and badly decayed. All the bones were gathered in one courtyard, where Monk Suichang recited the Rebirth Sutra for two hours as they worked.

Yang Chengzi instructed several young men to chop plenty of firewood and branches. Once the bones were gathered, he set them alight in a great blaze.

Chen San watched the flames in confusion. “Aren’t you going to perform rites for them?”

Yang Chengzi shook his head, resignation in his eyes. “It’s not that I don’t want to. All these people died with their souls lost. Their spirits must have been refined and taken by the sorcerer. There’s no good end for souls in such hands, and our rituals can do nothing for them.”

Chen San looked incredulously at Monk Suichang, who could only nod in helpless agreement.

As the fire raged, Chang Yu wept, Monk Suichang closed his eyes in silent prayer, while Yang Chengzi and Chen San watched the flames with impassive faces.

As the blaze dwindled, Chen San asked calmly, “How do we find this sorcerer?”

Yang Chengzi did not answer directly, but said, “Good and evil cannot coexist. Sooner or later, our paths will cross.”

“Amitabha. All that has happened here was long ago. The clues we can find are very limited. But since they took pains to bury these bodies in secret, it’s likely other villages have suffered as well. We must hurry. There’s a magistrate’s office in Huifeng Town ahead. It would be difficult to kill so many people quietly there. Refining souls takes time; if they strike again, it will likely be in one of the villages near Huifeng Town. At our current pace, we don’t have time to visit every village, or we’ll risk missing Chen Family Town’s troubles and still not catch the sorcerer. But we can at least pass through Beixian Village on our way. Once in Huifeng Town, we’ll inform the authorities and have them call for help from other Daoist and Buddhist sects. If we really find the sorcerer in Beixian Village, then for the sake of the villagers, let us make sure these inhuman monsters meet their end—none should escape.”

Rage smoldered in Chen San’s chest; he wished he could kill those fiends at that very moment. Without delay, the group set off toward Huifeng Town.

After leaving Jingyao Village, the mood grew heavy. This place had given Chen San his first true encounter with a sorcerer—these dark practitioners were unspeakably cruel and utterly inhuman. The image of those corpses was seared into his memory.

Though Chen San was not formally trained in Daoism and only knew spirit-invoking rites, upon seeing the child’s corpse, he knew he would never let a sorcerer go unpunished.

Of the group, Chen San and Chang Yu were the most talkative, often bickering and bantering; when they were silent, so was everyone else. The journey was filled only with the sound of footsteps. They passed through Jingyao Village and walked a long stretch of road with no end in sight, but the surroundings were livelier now—flowers, grass, birds, and beasts flanked the road, with ponds here and there. It was no longer desolate. Though the road stretched into the distance, if nothing went awry, they would reach Huifeng Town by nightfall.

In Huifeng Town, there would be food and lodging, so it did not matter if they arrived late—as long as they had silver, any hour would do. Perhaps it was the oppressive atmosphere of Jingyao, but once they left and saw the blooming roadside and unfamiliar animals, everyone’s spirits lifted.

Chang Yu, traveling every day under the blazing sun, was getting tanned. Yang Chengzi and Chen San, being rough men, hardly noticed or cared about such things.

When they came upon a lotus pond, Chang Yu eagerly called for a stop. Yang Chengzi and Chen San refilled their bamboo canteens, while Chang Yu asked Chen San to gather lotus leaves. She inverted them over her hair, threading them through her bun like a straw hat, shielding herself from the glaring sun and instantly feeling cooler.

Chen San watched Chang Yu, feeling a little disgruntled. He’d lived more than twenty years and seen plenty of lotus ponds, but never thought to use lotus leaves for shade. He muttered to Yang Chengzi, “Hey, did you know you could wear lotus leaves on your head?”

Yang Chengzi looked at Chen San in surprise. Chen San was annoyed. “Don’t look at me like I’m an idiot, all right? I just didn’t know you could wear them.”

Yang Chengzi replied with a hint of mockery, “I knew even in the mountains—probably only a fool wouldn’t know.”

Chen San was embarrassed—he’d set himself up for ridicule. Turning to Chang Yu, he found her already doubled over with laughter. Monk Suichang, eyes closed on his lounge chair, shook his head. The young men grinned, teeth gleaming. Chen San wished he could disappear, scratching his head and pursing his lips.

Chang Yu, lotus leaf perched atop her head, looked delicate and demure. Dressed in men’s clothes, she resembled a young scholar’s attendant, somewhat out of place among the rough men.

Meanwhile, in Chen Family Town, at Chen San’s home, the old man and Master Taiyuan—Yang Chengzi’s teacher—had been waiting for a long time, but there was still no sign of Chen San’s return.

The old man’s spirit had been damaged, and since Master Taiyuan’s arrival, it had been he who maintained the weakening seal on Chen Family Town. The relationship between the old man and Master Taiyuan was both familiar and distant.

The old man had studied under Daoist Qianhong of Mount Mao and was known as Tai Xuan. Qianhong had six inner disciples; Tai Xuan was the youngest, already over eighteen when he joined. Qianhong, then elderly, had not wished for more students, but Tai Xuan’s brilliance and dedication persuaded him. Mount Mao had a rule: unless one’s nature was truly wicked, anyone seeking to learn the yin-yang arts must be accepted, to ensure the tradition would always be passed on and the world protected from evil.

Mount Mao’s arts bridged yin and yang, but those who practiced them bore the Five Deficiencies and Three Lacks: the Five Deficiencies being widowhood, widowerhood, loneliness, abandonment, and infirmity; the Three Lacks being wealth, life, and power. Those who peered into fate would inevitably change the course of events—an act against the heavens, with a price to be paid.

Most Daoists bore only one of these burdens, but some, who defied fate, suffered two or three. In his youth, Tai Xuan was gifted and, within ten years, mastered all the yin-yang arts of Mount Mao. Though the youngest, his foundation was the deepest. He even snuck into the library and secretly learned many forbidden arts from ancient scrolls. When the elders discovered this, he was nearly stripped of his powers, but Qianhong pleaded on his behalf and saved him. Still, Tai Xuan was expelled from Mount Mao and never allowed to return.

Secretly learning common techniques was one thing, but forbidden arts from ancient texts posed grave dangers—especially since many were incomplete. Without a solid foundation, such study could lead to madness or even death. This was why Tai Xuan was banished. He had mastered all he was allowed; the rest were advanced and perilous. Had he stayed, he would have risked his life. The elders and the headmaster saw that, gifted as he was, he was not ready for such knowledge and could not risk keeping him on the mountain.

Expelled before he turned thirty, Tai Xuan’s pursuit of Daoism was connected to Monk Suichang. Suichang and Daoist Tai Xuan were brothers, but lifelong rivals. Both were brilliant—one believed Buddhism’s mission to save all beings and subdue demons surpassed Daoism, while the other believed Daoism’s demon-slaying and protection of the people was superior. Their debates never ceased, sometimes escalating to fierce fights.

Eventually, they devised a solution: instead of endless argument, they would each master their path—one in Buddhism, one in Daoism—and then compete. Thus, one went to Mount Mao, the other to Hanshan Temple.

After his expulsion, Tai Xuan sought out Monk Suichang at Hanshan Temple, intending to settle their contest. But upon arrival, the abbot enlightened him, releasing his obsession. Monk Suichang, long devoted to Buddhist practice, had already transcended such attachments.

Tai Xuan spent many days at Hanshan Temple, reading Buddhist scriptures, which changed his perspective on the yin-yang arts. As chaos and demonic forces plagued the land, and sorcerers brought suffering, Tai Xuan and Monk Suichang set out to rid the world of evil and protect the innocent.

Master Taiyuan was technically Tai Xuan’s senior, having studied under the Mount Mao headmaster, Master Shouming. Though they trained together, Tai Xuan, obsessed with his studies, seldom interacted with his peers. Thus, Master Taiyuan knew him, but they were not close. After Tai Xuan’s expulsion for forbidden learning, decades passed without contact.

Upon meeting again, they recognized each other, exchanged Daoist courtesies, and soon discussed the troubles in Chen Family Town and the great demon sealed beneath it. Master Taiyuan came to understand why Tai Xuan had paid such a price to save Chen San—cause and effect, all intricately connected.

Tai Xuan’s rescue of Chen San was a repayment of debts owed from over a decade past.

The two old men waited day after day, always expecting the “little rascal” to return, but he never did. Finally, Tai Xuan could wait no longer and sent Linghu with a letter, only to learn it would be some time yet. The news nearly made him cough blood with frustration, and from then on, he scolded Chen San daily to vent his anger.

Chen San’s party marched all day before finally reaching Huifeng Town at nightfall. The taverns and inns were still open, and they happily ordered two tables of food, savoring every bite.

Chang Yu, as always, went upstairs to bathe after eating. After days of travel and the oppressive heat, even she felt she was beginning to smell like Chen San. As soon as she left, Chen San began to grumble—of course, about Chang Yu’s pampered ways.

Yang Chengzi, not one for gossip, simply listened to Chen San’s complaints. Monk Suichang, unable to bear the noise, finished his vegetarian meal and retired early.

Once everyone was gone, Chen San leaned over to Yang Chengzi. “So, what are you going to do about Chang Yu? Will you marry her or send her back?”

Yang Chengzi looked at him in puzzlement. “Don’t you know I’m a Daoist? Why would you ask that? Or have you taken a fancy to her?”

Chen San blushed—he couldn’t deny it, and Yang Chengzi saw right through him. But Chen San stubbornly denied it, shaking his head.

Yang Chengzi shook his head. “Don’t worry. I’m a Daoist and would never marry her. But you and she are not fated to be together—give up now, don’t waste your time.”

Chen San froze, about to argue, but remembered Yang Chengzi’s skill at reading faces. The words stuck in his throat, leaving him feeling as if he’d swallowed a fly—unable to spit it out, yet disgusted to keep it down.

In truth, Chen San was not deeply infatuated with Chang Yu, but after spending so much time together, he’d grown fond of her. She often spoke more to him than to the others—not that she wanted to, but Yang Chengzi was rather taciturn. Compared to him, Chen San was far more talkative, and silence made the journey dull.