Volume One: The Journey of the Useless, Fiery Demon-Slaying Chapter Sixty-Six: Temporary Sustenance, Utterly Without Conscience

Old Huang’s family thought she had gone mad and was about to attack, so they fled in panic. In the chaos, Qu the Second grabbed Old Huang, lifted him up like a chick, and without a backward glance, charged toward the old village chief’s house, carrying Old Huang as if he weighed nothing. No one dared stand in his way. Upon arrival, he tossed Old Huang to the ground and demanded that the old village chief dispense justice.

Old Huang was too frightened to breathe, and the aged village chief was even more terrified, shrinking into himself, afraid to speak loudly. Seeing how scared they were, Qu the Second tried to comfort them, saying he only wanted a fair judgment, to determine right from wrong.

Despite his reassurances, the old village chief still dared not make a ruling. Yet dragging things out was no solution. Since no one was hurt, why not bring everyone together and settle it collectively? Qu the Second and Old Huang agreed. The chief called everyone in the village, laid out the matter, and what was the result?

Each side insisted they were right. Some said Qu the Second had a point—those corn cobs did make it hard to walk, were dazzling to the eyes, and if they grew crooked, they could even hit someone in the head. Others said Old Huang was right—grain was scarce, and land should be used for planting, wherever it could be found.

The two camps argued spiritedly, making the whole scene even livelier. At last, the chief thought of a solution: whoever could resolve this issue would become the new village chief. He himself had held the position for over a decade, but with age and failing memory, it was time to pass it on. The only condition was that the whole village accept the new leader’s method.

At first, everyone thought this decision too hasty. Traditionally, the village chief was always a venerable elder, and choosing someone based on one clever idea seemed reckless. But the old chief made sense: if someone could win everyone’s approval with a practical solution, that would be more valuable than mere reputation.

Hearing this, Qu the Second spoke up. He’d already thought of a way to plant grain but had lacked the authority to voice it. The old chief encouraged him to speak, and Qu the Second took the opportunity to share his idea.

The root of Old Huang’s issue with the corn cobs was the lack of arable land. Qu the Second’s plan aimed to solve this directly. The village had no land, so most people were idle. Other villages and towns were too far away for anyone to seek work. The problem was unchangeable, so why not move the good earth from nearby wasteland into the village itself? It would take time, yes, but after a year or two, it would be done. Just a dozen miles away was fertile soil suitable for crops.

The villagers were stunned—not impressed, but convinced he was talking nonsense. Voices of dissent rose up, even the old chief squinting in disbelief. He asked if anyone had a better idea. The noisy crowd instantly fell silent.

The villagers were quick to criticize but slow to offer solutions. When pressed for suggestions, they stared blankly, unable to utter a word. Well, if there were no objections, it was settled—they would try Qu the Second’s method. It would take time, but if it worked, the village would never lack food again. They would do it.

Though lazy by nature and reluctant to change, the matter concerned the survival of the whole village. They had to try. So Qu the Second led everyone—except the infirm—out to the wasteland more than ten miles away.

Some grumbled that it would be easier to move the whole village, but most had lived there for generations and refused to leave. It took nearly an hour just to walk there. Going back and forth, with time for meals, each person could make four trips a day. With over seventy able-bodied people, each carrying two small baskets of earth per trip, they transported soil back to the village. In just over ten days, they had formed a good-sized patch of land, loosened and tilled it, and planted corn.

Seeing this, the villagers realized it just might work. The complaints ceased. Every household worked hard, hauling soil back to the village. In nearly three years, Qu the Second led them to solve the grain shortage completely. Naturally, he became the new village chief.

The food crisis had been solved, but only to the level of basic sustenance. What kind of man was Qu the Second? Restless, unconventional. With surplus grain, he began to trade with other places. After several trips, he discovered that in Chen Family Town—where Chen San lived—they also lacked good farmland but had an abundance of animal pelts and rare antlers and bones. These were not particularly valuable in Chen Family Town, but in other towns they could fetch a high price. Qu the Second saw an opportunity to profit.

So, when the village’s grain ran low, he bought food from other villages, traded it in Chen Family Town for those goods, then sold them in large towns. Goods of little value at either end became valuable in his hands.

Eventually, the entire village stopped planting grain and followed Qu the Second into trading, traveling farther and farther afield. Though the journeys were long, they earned substantial silver and made many new connections. The villagers slowly grew prosperous.

Qu the Second’s prestige rose steadily. But human greed knows no bounds. With money came the desire for more—a better life—but much of that wealth was gained by abandoning conscience, even at the cost of their souls. Qu the Second, blinded by silver, fell in with a black market fixer named Ma Youcai in a town called Laiwu.

Because of Ma Youcai, Qu the Second and his village underwent a dramatic transformation. Silver flowed like water, but the villagers became utterly ruthless, even willing to trade lives for profit.

Laiwu had once been a peaceful town, but at some unknown point, shady deals began to appear. All manner of wicked, unspeakable transactions gathered there. There was no fixed time or place, but the black market operated frequently.

A sorcerer used a formation to create a barrier in the town, maintaining order in the black market. Transactions lasted half an hour—silver exchanged for goods or information, including news of the next market. When time was up, the barrier vanished, everyone dispersed, and the black market was gone.

All sorts of illicit trades took place here. Many sorcerers came to find what they needed—things no ordinary person would buy or sell. Qu the Second’s most common trade was in human hearts and souls.

A human heart could fetch a hundred taels of silver; a complete soul, the same. Though it took longer, each person could bring in two hundred taels—an amount that would require endless travel and labor to earn by honest means.

Since meeting Ma Youcai, Qu the Second became deeply involved in these black market dealings, learning the rules and taboos from him. To get accurate information about the market’s schedule, he bribed Ma Youcai generously.

The first time he attended the black market, Qu the Second went alone. After meeting Ma Youcai, he entered through a narrow alleyway into a dimly lit house and found himself in a shadowy world.

There were two types of transactions: trades involving the living—rare treasures and forbidden objects, often linked to tomb robbers and criminals, highly valuable but deeply tainted; and trades involving the dead, which suited Qu the Second better, as they required less silver and were within his means.

The first kind involved placing the treasure on a black cloth under a dim lamp. If a buyer was interested, he produced his silver or notes; if sufficient, the seller invited him to discuss; if not, the lamp was snuffed out until the next customer arrived. Qu the Second had neither the goods nor the funds for such dealings.

The second kind was the trade in corpses. Only buyers, not sellers; you brought the required items, and next time, sold them to the buyer—usually a sorcerer or a medium, shrouded in ghostly blue flame, which extinguished upon receipt of the goods.

Qu the Second quickly realized this was the most profitable route. Though sinister, it was far more lucrative than trading goods. Learning what the black market wanted, he hurried out, the oppressive atmosphere weighing on him so heavily he could barely breathe.

A few days later, when Qu the Second returned with the goods, the oppressive feeling had faded. His conscience, already darkened by his actions, adapted easily to the black market’s gloom. When he received his silver, his eyes were bloodshot with greed.

In just over half a year, Qu the Second, with the villagers, earned several thousand taels. Nearly everyone was involved: some tracked deaths and burial sites, some dug graves, some carried corpses, others learned a bit of exorcism to aid their work, and some went so far as to extract organs.

Qu the Second never needed to get his hands dirty himself. Once everything was arranged and the goods assembled, he took them to the market for silver. But after half a year, he found himself out of supply—not because of any issue with the market, but because there were simply no more corpses. All the nearby graves had been robbed; there were not enough dead to meet demand.

Though Qu the Second had made a fortune, such a man could never have enough. The thrill of spending like a king was addictive—so long as there was silver, people would do anything.

If the dead were not enough, why not turn the living into the dead? This thought, which months earlier would have horrified him, now seemed only natural. Why bother robbing graves when a fresh corpse was so much more useful?

By now, Qu the Second had acquired a few talismans from a sorcerer—used to extract souls. The method was simple: as a person died, the talisman was affixed to the forehead, a drop of blood dripped onto it, and after seven days, the soul would be fully absorbed and trapped.

A complete soul was always in demand by the black market’s hooded buyers.

Qu the Second had the talismans, but never found a suitable fresh corpse. Though elderly villagers had died, their families would never allow such a thing. Even the ignorant could tell that those sinister black talismans were not to be trusted. So Qu the Second had never dared to ask.

But as with all things, once you’ve done wrong twice, the third time comes easily. Killing someone to obtain a soul? Why not? But where to find a victim? The village was remote, and travelers rarely passed through—opportunistic murder was nearly impossible. So Qu the Second considered outsiders—beggars who wandered near the towns, begging for coins. These beggars, being strangers, would not be missed if they disappeared; the authorities would never investigate.

With a plan in mind, Qu the Second took two strong young men, hitched up a wagon, and drove to Wucheng—the very town where Chen San and his companions had once visited.