Chapter Sixteen: Poisoned

Clang!

The Wild Goose Plume Blade struck the body of a blue-skinned demon, sending forth a burst of metallic resonance. Shen Chang’an, overpowered, was forced to stagger backward.

“Daoist Shen, weren’t you boasting just now? Didn’t you say you’d slay all monsters and demons?” Wang Yi’s mouth cracked open at an unnatural angle, drool dripping grotesquely as he spoke, a sight as repulsive as his blue visage and jagged fangs. Yet Shen Chang’an found nothing unusual in this display—such a creature was expected to look thus.

He retreated three steps, opening his clothing to hastily wrap his arm and staunch the bleeding. In the previous skirmish, he had taken wounds, and tendrils of black energy now curled about the injury, sinister and malignant. For now, he could only halt the bleeding and seal the wound with his spiritual power; in the midst of battle, there was no time for careful treatment.

Seeing him withdraw, the little fox demon immediately stepped forward, sword at the ready. Her blade sliced through the air with a shrill whistle—its speed and sharpness formidable. In a fleeting moment, she executed thirty-six variations, each strike landing upon Wang Yi’s body. Yet Wang Yi ignored her entirely, lunging to deflect the blade and reaching out to grasp her.

At that instant, Shen Chang’an leapt high, twisting through the air, and pressed a talisman of demon suppression to Wang Yi’s crown. Wang Yi’s movements were instantly restricted; he stiffened, giving Shen Chang’an and the little fox demon a chance to evade.

Enraged, Wang Yi tore off the talisman, surging with demonic energy until the paper burned to ash. “Such powerful demonic qi—what sort of monsters have they been consuming?” Shen Chang’an frowned, but before he could ponder further, a Wang clan elder charged at him from the flank. Shen Chang’an dismissed his thoughts, flicking three more demon-suppressing talismans into the air. Activated by his power, they ignited and pressed down upon all sides.

Suppressing his opponent with one hand, he drew several demon-slaying charms, smearing them along his blade before swinging it in a lethal arc, beheading the elder. As the head fell, a surge of sinister energy welled from the corpse and poured into Wang Yi, whose strength grew visibly.

Shen Chang’an’s face darkened. The elders he’d slain before had released the same strange force into Wang Yi, making him ever more formidable. “Tsk, there’s no choice. I’ll have to withdraw and alert the Demon Purification Division.”

He had not come here intending a reckless fight—he’d come alone only because he was unsure whether Wang Village was truly a den of demonkind. Yet now, with confirmation in hand, there was no reason to stay. He would retreat, then call for reinforcements from the Demon Purification Division to cleanse this place.

He was about to leave when he noticed the little fox demon still refusing to let go. He frowned, stepped forward, and forced Wang Yi back with a slash, then seized the fox and barked, “Little fox, we’re leaving!”

“I won’t!” she protested, stubbornly breaking free. She was determined to kill Wang Yi, and charged at him again.

Shen Chang’an’s expression grew grim. There were too many in Wang Village who had tasted demon flesh. If he lingered, he’d soon be surrounded and killed. “Doesn’t matter—save myself first,” he thought, but his body refused to move. He stood rooted, unable to flee.

A bitter smile flickered across his face. “Damn fool,” he cursed inwardly.

Drawing his blade once more, he swept it in a fierce arc, aiming straight for Wang Yi’s chest and abdomen. Wang Yi, who had been toying with the little fox, immediately raised an arm to block. Clang! The blade cut into Wang Yi’s palm, but Wang Yi gripped it tightly.

“Daoist Shen, so you’re the sentimental type. You can’t bear to leave this little fox behind? Tsk tsk. No matter—today I’ll do you both a kindness and send you on your way together.”

Shen Chang’an only snorted coldly, slapping a talisman onto his sword as he withdrew. Sensing danger, Wang Yi quickly tossed the blade away. But just as it left his hand, Shen Chang’an darted forward and caught it, then charged at Wang Yi with lightning speed.

A violent flash of blade light split the air; Shen Chang’an’s stroke left a deep gash across Wang Yi’s torso.

Wang Yi screamed in pain. This talisman was different from the earlier ghost-slaying charms—it was far more potent, cleaving through his defenses.

“So that’s it—each art has its own specialty. There’s but a single character’s difference between ghost-slaying and demon-slaying charms, but their effects are worlds apart…” Shen Chang’an sighed. The bestial parchment had spoken of Yaksha fiends and ghosts, so he’d prepared mostly ghost-slaying talismans—yet he’d encountered demons instead and suffered for it.

He’d misunderstood: Yaksha, though named among ghosts, were not mere spirits but corporeal demons of flesh and blood. Ghost-slaying charms were meant for souls; against Yaksha, only demon-slaying charms worked well.

He had only a superficial grasp of such matters, and when consulting Master Wuyouzi, he’d been vague, never directly mentioning what was written in the book—which now came back to haunt him.

Wounding Wang Yi, Shen Chang’an wasted no time. He seized the little fox, who still struggled, and barked, “Quiet! If you really want to die here, I’ll oblige you right now.”

Seeing his stern expression, the little fox finally stopped moving, allowing herself to be carried on his back.

Sword in hand, Shen Chang’an charged from the great hall, but outside, seven or eight blue-faced, fanged demons had them surrounded. Without even glancing at them, he leaped forward, stepping atop their heads and vaulting over.

These creatures, though fearsome to ordinary folk, were nothing to someone with Shen Chang’an’s innate arts. Their strength was insufficient—the power he’d accumulated over two months of fasting cultivation now surged within him, and his abilities rivaled those of the finest martial artists.

Rushing forward, Shen Chang’an felt his blood boil and his strength spiral upward—the very heat of battle was forging his power. No wonder practitioners valued actual combat; a single fight had advanced his cultivation more than several days’ hard training.

“This way!” the little fox called from his back, guiding him up the mountain rather than down to the main road, where the villagers and their powerful bows would soon overtake them.

“Indeed, in cultivation, both the method and its application are essential. Method without application is like holding a treasure with nowhere to use it; application without method is a flower in a mirror or the moon in water—beautiful, but insubstantial.”

He had amassed great power through fasting, but his only technique was talisman-drawing. In battle, he relied entirely on his talisman stockpile. Now, with ghost-slaying charms rendered useless, most of his means were gone—he could only retreat from Wang Village’s demonized inhabitants.

Though the villagers had lost their humanity, their strength was not overwhelming. Shen Chang’an quickly outpaced them and disappeared into the mountains.

The villagers gave chase but stopped at the forest’s edge when Wang Yi called out, “Don’t pursue desperate foes! In the mountains, our numbers count for nothing, and that man will pick us off one by one.”

The group halted and looked to Wang Yi, always their leader. He gave orders to leave a few men to guard the forest; if the fugitives tried to escape, they were to signal immediately. The rest were to follow him. None noticed, as Wang Yi turned away, a ribbon of black light flickered in his eyes—then vanished as quickly as it came.

Meanwhile, Shen Chang’an, following the little fox’s directions, soon reached a large boulder. She touched it in several places, and the stone rolled aside to reveal a hidden cave—no wonder the villagers had searched in vain the night before.

They slipped inside, and after a few steps, Shen Chang’an felt a wave of numbness and collapsed, the little fox tumbling from his back.

She rushed to his side, concerned. He glanced down at his arm: gray-black energy was snaking through his veins. He’d not noticed it in the heat of action, but now, at rest, it attacked in earnest.

“This is bad—it’s Yaksha’s Curse. This is trouble,” she said.

“Curse… Yaksha?” Shen Chang’an’s mind buzzed. The old priest had once told him about curses: when a living being died in extreme agony or hatred, a curse could form—a toxin not of the body but of the soul.

Unlike ordinary poisons that disrupt the body’s chemistry or structure, a curse seeps into the soul, corroding the spirit itself.

So, this was a toxin of the soul. Who knew what kind of hatred and rage the so-called Yaksha sister had harbored at death to leave behind such a curse?

But to produce a curse is no blessing—the soul is consumed in its making, scattered to nothingness. Likewise, anyone killed by such a curse has their spirit devoured, ending in utter annihilation.

Yet what puzzled Shen Chang’an was why the curse had not killed the villagers, but instead transformed them into demons—while he, after only a touch, was on the brink of death. It made no sense; they had survived and grown monstrous, while he was dying.

The numbness spread; only his tongue still moved.

“So, I’m going to die here—how absurd…,” he thought, a bitter smile on his lips. He’d stumbled into this world, and now, just as senselessly, was about to die in it, without a shred of choice.

Curling up by the wall, he looked at the worried little fox and said, “I’m done for. I won’t be able to save you afterward. If you want to live, stay here for seven days. Do not leave.”

“After seven days, take the Jade Dragon Talisman from me and go find a Daoist of Qingping Palace named Wuyouzi. He is my master—don’t worry, he won’t slaughter demons indiscriminately. Give him the talisman and tell him what’s happened—he… he will… will… help you…”

His words trailed off as numbness overtook him, his vision blurring, consciousness fading.

Just then, his lips brushed against something soft. A sensation, unlike anything before, spread from his mouth through his entire body—a surge of vitality burst forth, purging the curse and restoring his strength.

Without thinking, Shen Chang’an licked what lingered on his lips.

Sweet.