Chapter Seventeen: Magical Artifact – The Hundred Faces

After resting on a rock for more than ten minutes to regain his strength, Qi Xiu rose and walked over to the corpses of the two strange Taoists.

Looting the bodies.

Commonly known as scavenging for equipment.

Staring at the bodies, riddled with countless holes and oozing pus, Qi Xiu grimaced, his stomach churning with disgust.

To avoid any lingering threats from these two, Qi Xiu picked up the flaying knife and used its blade to poke through their corpses.

Tsk, even poorer than me.

Finding nothing of value on the bodies themselves, his gaze shifted to the bamboo basket and bundle carried by the Taoists.

The basket was woven from slender, flexible bamboo strips, wrapped with cloth to prevent its contents from slipping through the gaps.

What on earth is all this?

He pried open the lid, and with a puzzled expression, picked out a few items.

A clump of coagulated matter resembling cow dung—and smelling even more like it.

Two blood-stained hemp ropes intertwined with some kind of black hair.

Three porcelain bottles stuffed with red cloth, and two embroidered peony undershirts.

He examined the props from the basket, then looked at the corpses again, his expression complicated, finally clicking his tongue:

“Quite the perverts.”

He tossed the cow dung and undershirts far away, but curiosity prompted him to take the three porcelain bottles.

Unsure what was inside, he didn’t open them recklessly.

He shook them next to his ear; something inside rattled, likely pills or pellets.

“Better keep these for now.”

Stuffing the bottles and ropes back into the basket, Qi Xiu picked up the bundle previously carried by the Taoist with the red birthmark.

Two scripture books, a box of palm-length dark green incense sticks.

He flipped through one of the books, and as his eyes scanned the pages, his expression froze. Turning to the corpse, he spat:

“Bah! Filthy Taoist, carrying a smut book around!”

Pocketing this unhealthy literature, he opened the second book.

“Ritual Refinement of Magical Implements III: Hundred Faces”

“Hm?”

His attention sharpened, eyes narrowing.

The book was only about fifteen pages, but the entire scripture exuded a strong aura of strangeness.

Each character looked normal at first glance.

But as the words formed sentences, it was as if they came alive, squirming and writhing across the page like tadpoles.

At the same time, Qi Xiu suddenly felt an itch on his face.

Touching his chin, he found that the skin on his face had split open, as if his whole face was about to peel away.

There’s something in this book!

Face hardening, Qi Xiu quickly bit his finger and wrote a sealing sigil between his brows with his blood.

The moment the sigil was formed—

The pain and itch vanished, and the cracked skin sealed itself.

“As expected, a demonic Taoist. Even his scriptures are tainted with evil.”

Using his finger as a brush, Qi Xiu snorted coldly and inscribed three more sealing sigils on the cover of the ritual refinement book.

The sigils shimmered with golden light.

The booklet curled and shrank, as if roasting over a fire.

Wisps of dark red filaments twisted out, writhing and then turning to ash.

With the maggot-like filaments suppressed, the book returned to normal.

No more sinister corruption.

Only then could its contents be properly read.

Qi Xiu carefully reviewed the entire booklet, then rolled it up and turned to the pure white mask lying nearby.

The ritual’s instructions were straightforward.

It explained how to control and refine the mask called “Hundred Faces.”

The process was tricky: every use required feeding it blood and flesh, along with a spell etched onto the mask to suppress its evil nature.

If not properly refined, using the mask would let its malice pollute the mind, turning the wearer into its puppet, doomed forever.

The mask’s state must be watched closely every time; if its evil starts to revive, it must be removed at once.

Otherwise, the wearer would be corrupted and controlled just the same.

“Feed it flesh? I can barely afford meat myself, and now I have to feed this thing?”

Rolling his eyes, Qi Xiu picked up the Hundred Faces mask.

The ancient, mottled mask seemed to be made of some sort of leather.

Its surface was contoured like a human face.

Along the edge, tiny, fly-sized runes were written in vermilion ink—probably the spell to suppress its malice.

According to the ritual,

The Hundred Faces mask possessed two abilities.

The first was what the red birthmark Taoist had used: sacrificing flesh and blood to transform himself into a blue-faced demon.

The scriptures claimed that the mask sealed a hundred demons.

But each release required a heavy price.

So far, only the blue-faced demon had been set free.

Upon reading this, Qi Xiu couldn’t help but mutter,

“If this artifact were really that powerful, that Taoist wouldn’t have ended up like that.”

He strongly suspected this part was the author’s fantasy.

What truly interested Qi Xiu was the mask’s second ability.

It could alter the wearer’s voice and appearance, even body shape—a built-in disguise technique.

He played with the mask, eyes shining.

He had made many enemies.

Blades pressed against him from all sides.

Like Qian Yuchuan, whose grudge was mortal, but whose mind hadn’t caught up.

Then there was the mysterious Daoist Wu, master of the Jade Bodhisattva.

And now, these two demonic Taoists, clearly on some mission.

“Hiding in Lu Family Village is not a long-term solution. Who knows how tight-lipped Qian Yuhai will be?

And I’ve entrusted the villagers to buy quite a lot of supplies; anyone paying attention will notice.

Follow the clues, and they’ll find me.

If I can refine and control this mask, I can disguise myself and return to Baohe County.

Then leave traces of life in Qian Yuhai’s secret residence.

Ha—hidden in plain sight.

Double insurance, much safer.”

With a satisfied smile, Qi Xiu, already well-versed in the art of survival—or rather, endurance—felt suddenly refreshed.

Not having to hide away in the deep mountains was a wonderful feeling.

With his plan set, Qi Xiu turned to dispose of the two demonic Taoists’ bodies.

Refining and mastering the Hundred Faces mask would take some time.

Meanwhile, he needed to practice here.

Though the cold kept the corpses from rotting quickly,

These Taoists had fed themselves to insects; who knew what might happen to their bodies.

He shoved their tattered remains together and set them ablaze.

Orange flames reflected on his cheeks.

As the ashes swirled, his eyes gradually became calm.

…

Qingtan Mountain, Rainflower Temple.

Daoist Wu, ethereal and smiling, led Qian Yuze before a tall alchemical furnace, gently shaking his whisk.

“Master Qian, look—inside this furnace is the medicine to restore vitality. In ten days, it will be ready.

Once your father takes it, he will be fully cured.”

“If you can heal my father, I will remember your kindness for life and repay you tenfold.”

Qian Yuze’s eyes glowed as he stared at the blazing furnace, his fists clenched.

“It is the duty of monks to show compassion and save others. Master Qian…”

In mid-sentence, a small, hidden, bright red insect flew in from outside and burrowed into Daoist Wu’s ear.

“Damn it!”

“Huh? I’m damned?” Qian Yuze blinked in confusion.

Wu’s face darkened, his eyes flickering as he struggled to regain composure.

“I have urgent matters to attend to. Excuse me.”

With a hurried farewell, Daoist Wu strode away, leaving Qian Yuze baffled and alone.

…