Volume One: The Journey of the Useless—Fiery Demon-Slaying Chapter Eighty-Two: A Heavy Price—Fortune Rises from Despair

The fiends shifted positions in an instant; the blazing phantom whirled around to intercept the slash of the Supreme Illusion God. The white illusion had vanished in the turn, but now the golden seals flared in its hands as it lunged toward the oncoming dragons of fire. In the blink of an eye, both dragons were seized; golden sealing runes spread rapidly over their bodies, and to everyone’s shock, the dragons conjured by the Master of Taiyuan were bound by the illusionary Heaven-Sealing Curse conjured by the fiends.

As soon as the fire dragons were sealed, the celestial flames burned out, the blazing phantom dimmed like a snuffed lamp, and the Master of Taiyuan’s soul suffered a grievous blow. With a dull thud, he fell to one knee, blood trickling from his mouth and nose, yet he clenched his teeth, refusing to spit it out.

The moment his master was struck down, Yang Chengzi wished to rush to his side, but the old man’s earlier words echoed in his heart: he was to risk even his life and soul to let Master Suichang complete the sealing ritual. Yang Chengzi could not defy his master’s command. Unable to bear watching further, he clenched his fists and glared at the fiends.

With the blazing phantom no longer attacking, the fiends, now on the defensive, sent two hands snaking like dragons toward the Supreme Illusion God, striking directly at his soul. Yang Chengzi could only watch, powerless.

The old man of Supreme Illusion coughed another mouthful of blood; the force within threatened to shatter his organs, his vision blurred. Staggering back two steps, he collapsed, though his hands never fell. The godly illusion behind him, struck by those two blows, flickered and then grew insubstantial.

Having driven back the Supreme Illusion God, the fiends did not relent. The soul of the Frost Thunder Sword flashed in their hands, transforming into frosty dragons and merging with the fiery hands. Like serpents, they lunged at the Master of Taiyuan.

Unafraid of death, the Master of Taiyuan rapidly shifted his seals. The blazing phantom instantly transformed into a meteorite dragon, which soared skyward, vanishing into the clouds.

Seeing the twin dragon hands aiming straight for the Master of Taiyuan, the old man of Supreme Illusion was seized by madness; his aged roar echoed to the heavens. Changing his hand seals, he flung himself forward, blocking the strikes with the illusionary deity’s back. The two blows, still bearing the soul of the Frost Thunder Sword, landed squarely on the illusory god.

It was as if a giant stone had smashed into his chest; Supreme Illusion’s ears rang, rendering him deaf to the world beyond. The fiends’ white illusory hands now darted like dragons at Yang Chengzi and Master Suichang. At the surge of demonic energy, Yang Chengzi’s eyes widened without hesitation—he leaped to the edge of the Gen sector, golden light streaming from his form as he formed seals with both hands, channeling his soul’s strength to shield Master Suichang.

Though protected by the great Celestial Array, Yang Chengzi knew their foe was no ordinary demon but one of ancient legend; whether the array could defend him and Master Suichang was left to fate.

Just as the spectral hands were about to reach him, there came a ringing clang—the sword souls of Frost Thunder and Dust-forgetting descended like ancient trees from the heavens, nailing the fiend’s hands to the ground before Yang Chengzi. In that instant, he was drenched in cold sweat.

The old man of Supreme Illusion, spitting blood, formed a final seal. The illusionary god’s hands seized the fiend’s arms where they struck, golden runes spiraling down over them.

Suddenly, a sea of fire descended from the sky. With a thunderous crash, eight meteorite dragons, wreathed in flames, transformed into the Eightfold Seal: eight stone pillars etched with dragon patterns and burning with celestial fire drove simultaneously into the fiend’s illusory form.

Motion locked away, the fiend struggled in vain. From above, sacred chanting filled the air; golden light began to burn from Master Suichang’s body, transforming into flame. Yang Chengzi’s instincts screamed at him to intervene.

But before he could move, the blades of Frost Thunder and Dust-forgetting slammed down before him—a silent message from his master and the Taoist of Supreme Illusion: do not go forward.

In the next moment, the golden light on Master Suichang’s body erupted like a holy conflagration, enveloping him. Yang Chengzi could only watch as Master Suichang’s entire being transformed into a sacred relic.

Memories of their days together flashed before his eyes; though unwilling to part, Master Suichang had sacrificed himself for the world, sealing away the ancient fiend.

With the emergence of the relic, Buddha’s light suffused the night, turning darkness into day. The illusion of the fiend began to fade; sacred chants fell like rain, binding the demon in spiritual chains and dragging it beneath the relic. The golden glow intensified as suppressive runes pressed down.

A giant golden lotus appeared, closing over half the Chen Village, and a spectral golden hand, rosary beads hanging from its thumb, reached out, grasped the lotus, and drew it slowly into the earth.

Staring at the lotus as it vanished, Yang Chengzi’s tears erupted. He knew—the true path means sacrificing oneself for the sake of all.

With a sudden spray of blood, the Master of Taiyuan collapsed face-down. Yang Chengzi rushed to lift him up; blood covered the old man’s face, his eyes unfocused, but his trembling hand managed to retrieve a Nine-Turn Rejuvenation Pill from his robes.

“Quick, give it to Supreme Illusion—his soul is about to scatter,” he gasped before losing consciousness.

“Master! Master!” Yang Chengzi shook him, but though the old man was still alive, he was unresponsive. The sight left Yang Chengzi numb with terror.

Though already in his thirties, seeing the three great masters of Taoism and Buddhism all fall for the sake of sealing the demon—one even sacrificing his life—left him sobbing uncontrollably, his hands shaking.

“Master Supreme Illusion, Master Supreme Illusion…”

He laid his master down and scrambled to the old Taoist’s side. Supreme Illusion was barely breathing. For someone with a wounded soul, the pill could not be crushed; so Yang Chengzi cradled the old man’s head in his lap, pried open his mouth, and placed the pill inside.

But the old man showed no sign of swallowing, his breath growing weaker. In panic, Yang Chengzi took two deep breaths to steady himself, then laid the old man flat, drew his sword, and cut his palm so his blood could flow into the incantation of the Great Northern Dipper.

Using his blood as a guide, Yang Chengzi plunged the sword into the earth, sending ripples outward. Forming seals, he chanted, “Heaven and man, five paths, the world turns; with my soul’s power, I command the three souls.” With a roar of pain, his veins bulged as the force rushed up his neck.

Abruptly, his own living soul struggled out from his body. By the time half of it had emerged, he kicked himself free, and his soul landed on the ground.

This was the Daoist art of Returning to Origin, once used by Yang Chengzi against the thousand-year ghost in the tomb. With his living soul separated, he forced Supreme Illusion’s soul from his body—though the old man was gravely wounded.

The instant he entered the old man’s body, weakness flooded Yang Chengzi’s soul—he barely had the strength to prop the old man up. Feeling the pill in the old man’s mouth, Yang Chengzi forced himself to swallow it for him.

Now he needed to return his soul. Since he could not emerge on his own, he undressed the old man, bit his finger, and painted a soul-retrieving charm on the old man’s back.

With a twist of his fingers, Supreme Illusion’s wandering soul was instantly drawn back into his body. As the soul returned, Yang Chengzi’s own soul was wrenched out by the force, but with a seal, he re-entered his own body.

Blood gushed from his mouth—not from the collision with Supreme Illusion’s soul, but from defying heaven itself and suffering divine retribution.

When he entered the Sea of Souls in the Palace of Sanqing, Yang Chengzi had understood the laws of heaven. Yet he chose to do this anyway. Compared to the sacrifices of his master, Supreme Illusion, and Master Suichang, what was the shortening of his life? He had done little to help seal the fiend—giving up some years to save Supreme Illusion was a comfort.

After the old man swallowed the pill, his breath steadied, and Yang Chengzi finally relaxed.

He dared not carry the old man back, so he dragged the Master of Taiyuan over to lie beside him, then sat cross-legged to wait for dawn.

Soon the sun rose, and hurried footsteps approached—Yang Chengzi looked up to see Changyu and Chen San.

From the mountain, Chen San had seen the fiend sealed away and rushed back with Changyu. Yang Chengzi stood up as Changyu threw herself into his arms, sobbing so hard her words were lost. He held her, gently patting her shoulder, as if to reassure her that everything was over.

Chen San, stunned by the ruined houses, froze when he saw the two elders lying on the ground. As if lost, he wandered to Supreme Illusion’s side, trembling as he grasped the old man’s hand.

“Old man, old man, don’t scare me. Get up and eat, I’ll cook for you, just don’t die…”

Tears streamed down his face. Seeing neither elder respond, Chen San grew frantic, shaking them hard.

“Their souls are badly hurt, but they might not die. We must find a place for them to recover.”

Red-eyed, Chen San turned to Yang Chengzi. “You’re not lying to me?”

Yang Chengzi nodded, eyes closed. Suddenly, Chen San leapt up, looking around.

“Where is Master Suichang?”

He spun to Yang Chengzi, who, teary-eyed, remained silent.

Chen San rushed over, grabbing Yang Chengzi’s shoulders. “Where is he?”

Yang Chengzi let go of Changyu, brushed off Chen San’s grip, and looked toward where Master Suichang had passed away.

“Master Suichang gave his life to seal the ancient demon, becoming a golden relic in the process.”

Chen San was unable to accept this. Eyes wide, he stared at Yang Chengzi in disbelief. Searching in vain for Master Suichang, he crumpled to his knees, weeping bitterly.

“It’s my fault he died. If I hadn’t slept last night, I wouldn’t have pulled those branches, and the demon wouldn’t have escaped early. I…”

Orphaned young, Chen San had only his grandmother. Though he’d known Master Suichang but a few days, their shared trials had made him accustomed to the monk’s presence.

Every morning, Master Suichang would fold his hands and ask, “Amitabha, boy, are you feeling mischievous today?”

Or, “Don’t run, boy. When this monk’s legs are better, I’ll catch you,” and, “Amitabha, too impulsive, too impulsive.”

The familiar voice echoed in his ear, but would never be heard again. It was because he’d disturbed the seal in his sleep, forcing Master Suichang to risk his life before he’d recovered his soul. If only he’d had more time, or the help of an array, perhaps things would have been different. The thought left Chen San sobbing uncontrollably.

Yang Chengzi came over, patting his shoulder. “Some things are fated. You didn’t know; it’s not your fault. The master sacrificed himself for the people. If he could see you like this, he’d scold you for being so weak.”

Chen San gripped the earth. “If only he were still alive.”

Changyu, upon hearing of the master’s passing, covered her mouth and wept silently.

Yang Chengzi helped Chen San up. “Let’s carry Master Supreme Illusion and my master back to your house. Their souls are gravely wounded and need a long rest.”

Wiping his tears, Chen San hurried to Supreme Illusion’s side, but as he began to lift the old man, Yang Chengzi stopped him.

“You carry my master. Master Supreme Illusion just took his pill; he shouldn’t be moved roughly. I’ll handle him.”

Chen San nodded hastily, beckoning Changyu for help. Together, they lifted the Master of Taiyuan onto his back, while Yang Chengzi carried the old Taoist. Chen San tried to retrieve Master Suichang’s staff, but Yang Chengzi stopped him—the heavy staff could wait until later; no one would take it before dawn.

They carried the elders home. As soon as the Master of Taiyuan was put down, Chen San raced back to fetch the staff.

By the time he returned, the sky was brightening, larks sang outside, the distant stream murmured, grass and birds flourished as if nothing had happened.

There was no rice left, so Chen San and Yang Chengzi searched the ruins for supplies. Except for Chen San’s house, the others were deserted and collapsed when the fiend emerged, spared only by distance.

They found plenty of rice and flour. Chen San went to the mayor’s house for vegetables. Few in the village were awake—barely twenty souls remained, all at the southern edge. If not for Master Suichang’s miraculous lotus trapping the fiend, Chen Village would have become a wasteland again.

Chen San didn’t tell the old mayor the truth, only that he wanted fresh vegetables. The mayor gladly provided cucumbers, loofahs, eggplants, and celery—a full basket, which Chen San took without reserve.

Back home, they lit a fire and cooked porridge. Though none felt like eating, they forced themselves, knowing not what lay ahead.

The demon within Chen San was quiet for now, but without Master Suichang’s array, the aura of heaven and earth might attract trouble. With the elders bedridden, any supernatural threats would fall to them—so they ate, however little.

Changyu tended to the elders with care. Though they did not wake, she checked on them every half hour, giving them water.

Three days passed with no sign of recovery. Yang Chengzi and Chen San paced with anxiety—another two days without food and they would starve.

At dusk, three Taoist priests arrived in Chen Village. Seeing the devastation, they hurried to the only intact house, knocking door to door until someone answered at the southernmost home.

Relieved, they inquired after the young man from Mount Mao. Upon learning his whereabouts, they thanked those inside and made their way to Chen San’s house.

“Senior brother, we’ve finally found you!”

Yang Chengzi looked up to see his three fellow disciples—Daoqing, Daoming, and Daoyi—standing before him. His surprise made clear that this was the first happiness he’d felt in days.

He rose to greet them, inviting them inside. The joy was short-lived, however, when they saw the Master of Taiyuan unconscious on the bed.

Yang Chengzi explained all that had transpired. Daoqing produced two Nine-Turn Rejuvenation Pills, giving Yang Chengzi hope. Mount Mao had run out, which was why only one had been given to Supreme Illusion, leaving his own master without.

The two pills, Daoqing explained, had been intended for Elder Fazhan of Dragon Tiger Mountain, but when they arrived, the elder’s soul was already destroyed and he had passed away. So the pills were brought back, and upon hearing from the elders that their master and senior brother were in Chen Village sealing a demon, they set out at once—arriving just in time.

Yang Chengzi quickly administered the pills to his master and Supreme Illusion. Soon, both men swallowed them on their own.

When Chen San heard about the pills, he hugged Daoqing and kissed his head, to the horror of Daoyi and Daoming, who tried in vain to pull him away. Daoqing, face twisted in disgust, still could not escape Chen San’s tearful embrace.

The next day, Supreme Illusion and the Master of Taiyuan awakened. The Master of Taiyuan was first—Yang Chengzi was chopping firewood when Changyu, seeing the old man’s hand move, called him inside.

His fellow disciples and Chen San, who had been repairing the house, gathered when they heard the news. Before they entered, the Master of Taiyuan opened his eyes. He was too weak to speak, but looked at Yang Chengzi and Changyu.

“Master, you’re awake! If not for Daoqing bringing the pills, I don’t know what would have happened.”

The old man seemed to nod.

“I’ll cook some porridge to help you recover.”

“I’ll handle it,” Changyu said gently. “Stay and talk with your master.”

“All right—be careful not to burn yourself.”

“Master!” The disciples crowded around the bed. Yang Chengzi saw that his master had aged ten years overnight; hair once barely gray was now white, his eyes sunken, his face changed. The trauma to his soul had spared his life, but the toll of sealing the demon showed plainly.

Unable to get close, Chen San went to help Changyu with the fire. Soon she returned with a bowl of porridge, which Yang Chengzi and the disciples cooled and fed to the Master of Taiyuan.

Thinking Supreme Illusion might also be awake, Chen San checked on him but found no sign of recovery.

Yang Chengzi patted Chen San’s shoulder. “The virtuous are blessed—don’t worry.”

Chen San nodded, disappointed.