Volume One: The Road of the Useless, Fiery Demon-Slaying Chapter Fifty-Nine: Frothing at the Mouth, The Art of Inviting Spirits

Yang Chengzi was still standing there in a daze when Chang Yu rushed out behind him, sobbing as she threw her arms around him. Hearing her cries, Yang Chengzi comforted her, “It’s all over now. Those sorcerers who slaughtered Jingyao Village have been utterly destroyed.”

Chang Yu shook her head. “Is all you ever see the suffering of the world?”

Yang Chengzi turned and gently patted her head. “I am a Daoist priest by calling. Protecting all living beings is my destiny. But I do not see only the world’s suffering.”

Chang Yu seemed to understand his words. Her tears suddenly gave way to laughter. Yang Chengzi’s ears were still ringing, but when he turned and saw her smiling, he smiled too.

Suddenly, Yang Chengzi remembered Chen San. He hurriedly pulled Chen San up from the ground and took another ancient coin from his robe, placing it upon the great formation. Spiritual energy began to flow into Chen San’s body once more, and Yang Chengzi finally breathed a sigh of relief. Had he forgotten this, it would have spelled disaster.

Several young men ran out, with Lu Qichang following behind. Yang Chengzi instructed them to carry Chen San inside. Sui Chang the monk had not been injured, though he was drained of much of his spiritual force and needed rest. Lu Qichang asked Yang Chengzi what had happened, feeling overwhelmed with guilt.

Yang Chengzi patted his shoulder. “Don’t worry about it. You’re an outer disciple, and it’s enough that you protected the villagers from evil. Sorcerers like those aren’t something you or I alone could handle. Luckily, they’ve all perished, and we’ve at least avenged those innocent souls of Jingyao Village.”

Lu Qichang felt a little better after hearing this. Facing three vengeful spirits at once, he’d known he was no match, but still held on to buy Yang Chengzi time—such courage was rare among outer disciples.

Yang Chengzi and the others tidied up and prepared to sleep. The sorcerers had been formidable, but encountering an ancestral Daoist like him was a stroke of ill fate for them. In less than the time it takes for an incense stick to burn, all four, along with that monstrous ghost, were destroyed. If they’d faced another Daoist ancestor, the outcome might have been different. It was only that the Qiantian Eight Trigrams Celestial Formation was simply too powerful.

Before long, villagers began emerging from their homes, gathering around Lu Qichang’s house. They’d been awakened by the commotion but had been too afraid to come out earlier. Seeing the group cleaning up, they finally ventured over to see what had happened.

Outside, the earth looked as if it had been plowed, a scattering of white bones glaring starkly under the moonlight. The charred ground glittered faintly in the soil’s reflection.

None of the villagers had ever witnessed such a scene. They chattered anxiously as Lu Qichang explained what had transpired. Upon learning that sorcerers had invaded the village, their faces went pale with fear.

Though most villagers had never seen a sorcerer, whenever something terrible happened in any village, they attributed it to such evildoers. Especially when blood was spilled, they believed it the work of ghosts—matters only Daoists or those with knowledge could handle.

What reassured them was that such strange occurrences could always be resolved by monks and Daoists.

Once order was restored, the villagers returned home, and the night grew quiet again. Yang Chengzi and the others declined the villagers’ kind invitations. Though the door was broken, they all slept together in Lu Qichang’s main room: firstly, for mutual support in case of trouble; secondly, because Chen San’s condition worried Yang Chengzi. Though this was not the first time the great formation had been sealed, it was the first time it had been used to summon spirits, and the true nature of the demon within Chen San’s body was still unclear.

Three fires were lit outside, and Yang Chengzi and Lu Qichang lay down to sleep. The night had exhausted them, but thankfully none were seriously hurt—apart from Yang Chengzi, who’d been slammed against a tree by the ghost. Everyone else was unharmed, though Yang Chengzi himself lay awake for some time, his back aching.

At dawn, Chang Yu awoke to the crowing of roosters. She glanced at Chen San, lying in the corner, and cried out in alarm. Yang Chengzi and the others sprang up, looking around anxiously, but saw nothing amiss except Chang Yu’s expression.

Chang Yu, visibly terrified, stammered while pointing at Chen San, “He… he’s foaming at the mouth. Could he be dead?”

Yang Chengzi paused and looked at Chen San. Sure enough, he was frothing at the mouth. Yang Chengzi hurried over and checked his breathing—thankfully, he was alive. He told Lu Qichang to fetch a basin of water, wiped the foam from Chen San’s face, then placed his hand on Chen San’s forehead, closing his eyes to sense his condition.

Chang Yu was very frightened, kneeling nearby with worry. Monk Sui Chang came out from the inner room and asked what had happened. Chang Yu pointed at Chen San. The monk was puzzled—he knew Chen San’s spirit was depleted, and he wouldn’t wake for some time, but since Yang Chengzi was examining his condition, he said nothing.

After a while, Yang Chengzi opened his eyes and turned to the monk. “Master, Chen San’s spirit appears damaged, but the demon within shows no sign of breaking free. He should be fine, though I have no idea when he’ll awaken.”

Sui Chang nodded. “Chen San has no foundation in Daoist practice, so the aftereffects of spirit-summoning are very different for him. Many techniques that require Daoist support are beyond his ability, yet he faces the same kind of ghosts as we do. Thus, the ancestral spirits could only use techniques that consume his spiritual force to forcibly destroy the ghosts—some may even have used forbidden arts.

Though Chen San survived, there’s a reason such secret techniques are forbidden to disciples: while powerful, they all exact a price, sometimes even one’s life.

The sorcerers from last night were not the most formidable, but that ghost summoned by the black-violet talisman was no ordinary foe.”

Yang Chengzi nodded. Indeed, a single blow had nearly killed him; the ghost’s speed and strength were far beyond anything encountered before.

Sui Chang continued, “Though I did not see the technique used, from Chen San’s condition, to slay such a ghost must have cost him dearly, perhaps even exhausting his soul. If you ask me, he’ll be lucky to wake in two days, let alone today.”

Yang Chengzi sighed. “He performed a technique I’ve never seen, not even in ancient texts—the Qiantian Eight Trigrams Celestial Formation. Its power rivals the Eight Great Incantations, but without the cost of life. It’s a pity the Daoist ancestor intended to teach me the Celestial Formation, but I only managed to learn four of the trigrams before the thunder dragon summoned by the formation knocked me senseless—my ears were ringing, and I could only dimly make out the gestures, not the incantations.”

Though Sui Chang had expected it to be a secret technique, he was still surprised to hear Yang Chengzi didn’t recognize it. “A formation, you say?”

“Yes, the Qiantian Eight Trigrams Celestial Formation, driven by spiritual force, with the Heavenly Gang hand seals opening the eight trigrams. The formation covers dozens of paces. Have you ever heard of it?”

Sui Chang shook his head. “Most techniques and formations are the product of a practitioner’s own insight and cultivation. Everyone’s experience is different, so the spells and formations in ancient texts vary as well. Those that are recorded are meant for future generations with the fortune to comprehend them; those unrecorded may be insights achieved before transcendence that never had the chance to be passed down, existing only in divine memory. As for what makes them unique, perhaps only someone with fate will ever know.”

Yang Chengzi furrowed his brow, pondering the formation’s mysteries, but after a long while, he found nothing.

Sui Chang wandered over to Chen San and examined him: his breathing was steady, his face pale, but otherwise untroubled. Still, Sui Chang felt exasperated—he’d lived as a monk for many years, spent two decades with Old Tai Xuan exorcising demons, and though he’d slain countless monsters, true evil spirits were rare. There were never this many fiends and ghosts. Yet, since traveling with this youth, he’d nearly lost his life several times—everywhere they went, trouble followed relentlessly.

Four sorcerers were gone, but the celestial formation within Chen San remained a grave concern. At this rate, he wouldn’t wake soon. Even with Yang Chengzi’s spirit-raising skills, if someone with ill intent caught up to them, another fierce battle would be inevitable.

Shaking his head, the monk muttered to himself, “This boy is truly cursed. Why did Old Tai Xuan send him? Anyone else could have gone to Chen Family Town and solved the problem with the great demon by now.”

Lost in thought, his head wouldn’t stop shaking. Chang Yu, seeing his frustration, couldn’t help but laugh.

“Girl, what are you laughing at?”

“I don’t know; you just seem so fed up with Chen San,” she replied, laughing again.

Sui Chang looked shocked. “Is it that obvious?”

Chang Yu covered her mouth and nodded.

Putting his palms together, the monk recited, “Amitabha. What a sin, what a sin. I never expected this boy to stir up such irritation in a monk’s heart. But he’s so unlucky—monsters seem to revolve around him, and trouble never ends. There’s no escaping it.”

He frowned, shaking his head even more vigorously.

Yang Chengzi, unable to discern the formation’s secrets, still felt moved by the monk’s words. “Master, you’re absolutely right. He really is cursed. Since leaving the mountain with him, I’ve encountered one fierce spirit or great demon after another, with no time to recover between. If you hadn’t joined us, I doubt we’d have ever made it back to Chen Family Town—we’d have perished on the road.”

Sui Chang looked at Yang Chengzi’s gloomy expression. “Did you ever cast his fortune? Why is he like this?”

Yang Chengzi looked even more frustrated. “I did. It was neither good nor bad—his destiny is ambiguous, neither blessed nor troubled. His luck seemed fine, too, but that’s where the problem lies: nothing in his fate predicted this. By all accounts, there should be neither disaster nor obstruction, and yet, here we are. It seems the omens aren’t accurate after all.”

Sui Chang sighed and said nothing more.

Lu Qichang frowned. “Is this young man really so unlucky? Could he be under some curse?”

Yang Chengzi looked helpless. Seeing his expression, Lu Qichang grew more surprised. “What? He really is cursed?”

Sui Chang stared at Yang Chengzi in shock. Yang Chengzi gave a wry smile. “I don’t know if he’s cursed, but when we first left the mountain, every night, wandering ghosts would gather around him. Once, it even attracted a mountain spirit. I suppressed it with the Great Dipper Incantation on my Shangqing Sword, and since then, the wandering ghosts stopped gathering. But fierce spirits and great demons kept coming—I don’t know if it’s related.”

Sui Chang knitted his brows. “It’s likely not related. The boy is just unlucky. Curses and evil spells can trouble lesser spirits, but not great demons. All the trouble we’ve met has been from fierce spirits and great demons—he’s just extraordinarily cursed.”

Yang Chengzi sighed. Even so, they had to bring Chen San back to Chen Family Town. If they didn’t, the celestial formation inside him would eventually draw those greedy for its power, and Chen San would be slain for the treasure. As members of the Buddhist and Daoist orders, Yang Chengzi and Sui Chang could not allow such a tragedy to happen.