Chapter Two: Night Raid

Among the seventy-two arts of the Earth Fiends, there are a multitude of divine abilities, each wielding formidable power. The Great Strength Technique, for instance, may sound like nothing more than an increase in physical might, but in truth, the word “limitless” ought to be appended to that strength. The more mystical energy one channels into this art, the greater the force unleashed; the stronger the practitioner’s power, the more terrifying the resultant strength. When brought to its zenith, it is known as the Might to Hold Up the Heavens.

Only the strength capable of lifting the very heavens and earth reveals the true face of this divine art.

After Shen Chang’an obtained this power, he found his old weapons—swords and blades—no longer suited him. The sharpness of the blade was no longer necessary for slaying demons or mortals; instead, the long staff became his weapon of choice.

The staff, after all, is the fastest weapon to master. Shen Chang’an simply purchased a highly resilient alloy staff and spent a few days training with it in the modern world before entering the world of the novel.

And when this weapon fell into his hands, only one word could describe its power: terrifying.

The Great Strength Technique’s effect was not limited to Shen Chang’an alone; any object wrapped in his mystical energy would be equally empowered. Thus, when Shen Chang’an wielded his weapon, he never needed to worry about shattering it from excessive force. This was precisely why anything struck by his hand was invariably pulverized. The weapon, reinforced by his energy, was as if immensely weighted, and then driven by Shen Chang’an’s monstrous might—whatever it struck was doomed to be smashed to pieces.

Moreover, this divine power was not restricted to combat. Shen Chang’an discovered that when he channeled the Great Strength into his legs while running, he could almost take flight. This was why, after pasting two talismans to his body, he could easily overtake galloping horses and even leap into the air to kill.

This newly acquired power was a reassurance for Shen Chang’an as he returned once more to the world of the book.

He lay in the guest room of the village chief’s house, quietly flipping through a book by moonlight streaming through the window.

“Serpents, insects, rats, and ants—devourers of men, destroyers of life—must be executed on the spot!”

Staring at these words, Shen Chang’an’s mind grew dizzy. Was he really to be the one to rid the world of these pests?

But unlike before, this time the book even supplied an illustration of the demon. One glance, and Shen Chang’an’s veins bulged with fury.

The image depicted a mass of black, as if a swarm of vermin had gathered together, with countless eyes rolling about—disgusting to behold.

But was that all?

Such things could be found in any garbage heap! Was this some kind of joke?

Shen Chang’an was at a loss, but fortunately, the book added a line about the demon’s whereabouts: “Wishing to travel to Youzhou, to purge disaster and evil.”

Now Shen Chang’an had a direction—he set out toward Youzhou. After a month of travel, he finally drew near.

Had he bought a horse, he could have arrived much sooner. But Shen Chang’an sought to slay monsters and accumulate fame along the way, and besides, he disliked the hassle of caring for a horse. He himself no longer needed to eat, so why bother feeding a beast? It was simpler just to travel on foot.

Exposed to wind and sun along the way, he managed to maintain his appearance thanks to two things: a modern, well-crafted Taoist robe—dust-proof, waterproof, and fire-resistant—and…

Shen Chang’an pulled out a Purity Talisman and casually tossed it onto himself. Blood and filth poured off in a rush, and in moments, he was fresh and clean again.

Indeed, he made full use of his ability to draw talismans without concern for cost, constantly using Purity Talismans to cleanse himself. Most would save such talismans for when ritual baths and incense could not purify their bodies, fearing that impurity would hinder their cultivation. But Shen Chang’an treated them as disposable dry-cleaning sheets—one a day, sometimes even three or five if the midday heat was too much.

Refreshed, Shen Chang’an soon closed his eyes and drifted into a comfortable sleep.

The next morning, Shen Chang’an rose early and climbed a nearby hill alone. As the sun slowly rose, he practiced the Nine Breaths technique, drawing in a wisp of purple energy and a strand of pure yang from the sky above.

As the two essences entered his body, he felt his limbs and bones expand, every pore opening wide. The powerful energy circulated through him, ultimately condensing into refined spiritual force, settling in his lower abdomen.

“Ah, that feels good…” Shen Chang’an grinned. Each morning, that first breath of vital energy brought unspeakable comfort. With that breath filling his body, every cell seemed to burst with life—the thrill of such strength pouring into him was beyond words.

Having absorbed the first breath of the day, Shen Chang’an descended the mountain and returned to Little Southern Mountain Village.

The village chief’s family had already prepared breakfast and invited Shen Chang’an to join them. He did not refuse. The village, though not wealthy, was far better off than the impoverished places he’d visited with the old Taoist. Here, people ate three meals a day—a great blessing compared to those who survived on two, or even one.

Breakfast was just simple rice porridge with a few pickles, but Shen Chang’an relished it. After a month of fasting or gnawing on dry rations, a bowl of porridge was a deeply satisfying luxury.

After eating, Shen Chang’an inquired of the chief whether there had been any news of snake or rat infestations nearby.

“There’s been no such trouble around Little Southern Mountain Village,” the chief replied.

Shen Chang’an was not disappointed; he’d asked dozens of times and always received the same answer. Besides, he’d only just neared Youzhou, not yet arrived—so it was hardly surprising.

“Is there some danger, Taoist, that prompts your question?” the chief’s eldest son asked.

Shen Chang’an was candid: “I heard tell that Youzhou suffers such a calamity—not a natural disaster, but the work of evil spirits. So I have come to see if I might rid the land of this scourge.”

“In that case, I think I have heard something,” the man said, scratching his head.

Shen Chang’an’s face brightened. “If you remember anything, please share it.”

The man looked to the village chief, who gave a nod, and then began his story.

It turned out the chief’s eldest was restless by nature, often traveling to town for diversion. The village’s main income came from firewood and hunting, which were traded in town for salt and oil; whenever a party went to town, he always went along.

Over time, he’d made acquaintances in town. On one trip, he’d heard someone mention a rat infestation in some part of Youzhou. If it were only rats, it would be one thing, but these were said to be enormous, and had even attacked people.

This was the lead Shen Chang’an needed. He promptly asked for the location.

The man scratched his head and after a moment, gave a sheepish smile. “I… I’ve forgotten…”

The chief’s face darkened with anger. “Useless boy! You remember all sorts of nonsense, but when it counts, you’re good for nothing!”

Shen Chang’an quickly consoled them: “Since there are people in town who know, that is enough. I will make inquiries myself, and surely I will learn more.”

“My apologies, Master Lingxiao.”

Shen Chang’an waved it off with a laugh. “Even this much is a great help.”

Without further delay, Shen Chang’an selected a horse left behind by the bandits and rode toward the nearest town.

Though he had never learned to ride, he used his mystical power to subdue the beast by force. If the animal dared misbehave, he would teach it what miraculous strength meant.

Thus, his pace quickened, and by evening he reached the small city.

The city was called Southern Mountain City; with the mountain nearby, it made sense for village and city alike to take its name. Upon entering, Shen Chang’an headed to a tavern to gather news.

The tavern’s servers encountered the most outsiders—so, for a bit of money, they were happy to share whatever information they had.

Soon, Shen Chang’an learned what he needed: in Youzhou, there was a newly built city called Fang City.

The name sounded odd, but according to the server, it was because the city was built by a wealthy man named Master Fang.

“He must be rich to build a whole city.”

“Rich indeed!” the server replied enviously. “He used to be just like us, a common laborer. But then, by sheer luck, he found a treasure somewhere, and from then on, his fortunes soared.”

“He always seems to have rare and marvelous things, as if his family vault is a bottomless pit—every day, endless wealth. No one knows how he does it, but he’s gathered many merchants and built Fang City.”

Shen Chang’an furrowed his brow. Such fantastic tales rarely bode well.

“So that’s how it is. Understood.”

Leaving a row of copper coins, Shen Chang’an departed.

“Fang City, Master Fang, a rat plague… How interesting,” he mused, smiling. He found an inn to stay the night, planning to set out for Fang City at dawn.

But as night fell, an unexpected visitor disrupted his plans.

“So, you are Shen Chang’an?”

A figure leapt in through the window, addressing him directly.

Shen Chang’an started, then saw that the intruder was a lean, capable man with massive, powerful hands.

“That’s me. What of it?”

“Good. I am here to avenge my junior, whom you killed. If you die tonight, bear no grudge.”

Shen Chang’an recalled the bandit he had slain earlier, who’d shouted something about his brothers seeking revenge. At the time, Shen Chang’an hadn’t cared to listen—he’d simply finished him off with a blow.

“So, you taught those beasts their evil arts?”

The man’s brow furrowed. “Evil arts? Our school’s methods are upright and honorable—you dare insult us?”

As he spoke, he struck out with both hands, sending a rush of sinister wind straight at Shen Chang’an’s face.

Shen Chang’an noted the foul stench in the wind; to be struck would surely mean poisoning.

But he did not flinch. He drew a deep breath, then exhaled forcefully.

In that instant, he unleashed the Great Strength Technique, and the force of his breath multiplied manifold. In the small room, it was as if a tornado had erupted; the violent gusts swept the evil wind back upon its caster.

Having mastered the divine art, Shen Chang’an had studied its uses day and night. Unlike fasting or breath cultivation, the Great Strength Technique was infinitely versatile—using it merely to enhance brute force was wasting its potential.

The blast left the intruder’s scalp tingling—he had never imagined anyone could summon such a gale with a single breath. With his own poisonous wind turned against him, he dared not linger, for even with antidotes, to be poisoned by one’s own spell would be most unpleasant.

Shen Chang’an’s single breath disrupted his enemy’s attack, and he seized his alloy staff, launching a blow without hesitation.

Had the strike landed, no matter the man’s skills, he would have been smashed to pulp. But at the last instant, a massive pelt unfurled from the man’s back, shielding him from the blow.

Shen Chang’an’s staff struck the pelt and felt as if it had sunk into mud—most of the force was absorbed. The remainder struck the man, sending him stumbling back several steps, but the impact was bearable.

“This treasured pelt of mine can resist the strength of any mighty warrior, yet this youth drove me back. If he had struck with full force, even this pelt might not have saved me.”

With this realization, the man stamped his foot, vaulted out the window, and tried to escape.

Shen Chang’an let out a cold laugh. Come and go as you please? Did these practitioners of sinister arts truly hold him in such contempt?

Irritated, Shen Chang’an leapt after him without a second thought.