Chapter Nine: Murderous Intent Like Fire

The next morning.

"Hey, Master, why are you up so late? You drank a little wine last night and slept for so long."

The old Taoist had just awakened to find Shen Chang'an practicing his swordplay in the courtyard.

"Where did you learn that blade technique? Looks pretty authentic," the old Taoist remarked after watching for a moment.

Shen Chang'an shrugged and replied, "I just practice for fun, it's not any real blade technique."

The old Taoist couldn't be bothered to argue, so he washed up on his own before finally saying, "Today, I'll handle the ritual myself. You can't suppress your eldest senior brother's evil aura."

"Alright," Shen Chang'an replied without hesitation.

The old Taoist was surprised by his decisiveness—unlike before, he didn't insist on getting involved.

"You've changed your tune, haven't you? Weren't you shouting about killing ghosts yesterday?"

Shen Chang'an ran his hand through his hair and smiled. "After all, he's still my senior brother. Master, it's good that you'll send him off yourself. I'll just stand by to help out in case anything happens."

"Don't worry about a thing," the old Taoist said confidently. "I've already thought about how to deal with him."

With that, Shen Chang'an resumed his sword practice, saying nothing more.

Around midday, when it was time to eat, there was still no sign of Master Qian, which left the old Taoist puzzled. "Huh? Where's Master Qian? Wasn't he so anxious yesterday? Why has he disappeared today?"

Shen Chang'an had just finished his practice and sheathed his Yanling Blade. He smiled and replied, "Master Qian said he had something to do and left first. Who cares what he's up to? Once we've sent my senior brother off, we can look for him if we need to."

The old Taoist waved a dismissive hand. "As long as I can send your senior brother on his way, I'm satisfied. He's just an ordinary person, and we cultivators have no business harming mortals."

"Of course, I'll do as you say, Master."

Though Master Qian had left, the household servants had still prepared everything. They quickly set up an altar at the entrance of Madam Qian's room, only for Shen Chang'an to drive them all out.

"Remember, when holding a ritual, mortals are never to interfere. Many mishaps have occurred over time because ordinary folk got in the way. When you travel the world alone someday, never forget this."

"I'm still a long way from striking out on my own."

The old Taoist opened his mouth, then chuckled and scolded, "You brat, do you plan to mooch off your master for life?"

"Master, you know I'm being honest. I've gone hungry for a month traveling with you, barely a grain of rice or a drop of water."

The old Taoist's face darkened. "Enough with your nonsense. Stand guard. If anything goes wrong, don't expect me to save you."

Shen Chang'an stood respectfully to the side, his eyes darting about, thoughts unreadable.

The old Taoist picked up the peachwood sword from the altar, lifted the talismans, and pierced them with the sword's tip. With a swipe of his hand, the talismans ignited without flame, yet the fire did not harm the sword at all.

When the talismans had burned away, a faint golden light shimmered along the peachwood blade, making it look extraordinary.

The old Taoist began to chant, pointing the wooden sword directly at the door.

"Waa... waa..." came the sound of a child crying, followed by the sharp scream of Xu Qiao'er from within: "Ah—!"

"Reveal yourself, fiend!" the old Taoist shouted, his spiritual energy surging. With a flick of his finger, a thread in the air was set alight; a flash of golden light erupted, and with a crackling explosion, something was blasted out of Xu Qiao'er's room.

As the dust settled, Shen Chang'an saw a pitch-black infant rolling toward him. Its lower body was insubstantial, horns jutted from its head, its features twisted and malevolent—a vengeful spirit, not a living soul.

The moment the ghostly infant appeared, the air turned icy cold. Though it was noon under the blazing sun, a dark cloud slid across the sky, obscuring the light.

"No wonder the fiend chose to act today..." Shen Chang'an shivered inwardly. The old Taoist had calculated the timing, knowing that Zhou Yu would act today, and this was the only chance to eliminate him. Ordinarily, he hid within Xu Qiao'er; acting rashly would have only doomed her as well.

But today, as he was about to be reborn, he had no choice but to manifest.

Shen Chang'an had thought that such a spirit would never dare appear under the bright noon sun—but forgot: if a ghost chooses a day to be born, it can never be a good day.

Upon seeing the infant, the old Taoist's expression turned grave as he intoned, "Zhou Yu, you are already a lost soul of the underworld. The karma of the mortal world is no longer yours—return at once to the nether realm, and you may yet have a chance at rebirth. Otherwise..."

The ghostly infant let out a chilling, gurgling laugh. "Master, all these years I've waited for you to avenge me, but you never came. Now, you arrive only to destroy me with your own hand? How heartless you are!"

Though the spirit appeared as an infant, its voice was that of a grizzled middle-aged man—strange and unsettling.

The old Taoist's face filled with guilt. With a long sigh, he spoke softly, "Zhou Yu, it was my fault that day. I failed to teach you, and it led you down the wrong path. Today, let me repay that debt."

With those words, he swung the peachwood sword, thrusting it straight at Zhou Yu.

The ghostly infant cackled. "Master, do you really think your skills can harm me?"

With a flicker, the infant appeared behind the old Taoist. Its thin arms slashed, and cold, ghostly energy turned into sharp blades, slicing toward the old man's back, ready to cut him in two.

But the old Taoist suddenly shifted his stance, his speed inexplicably increasing just enough to evade the deadly strike.

"Hmm? Armor Talisman? Master, you never taught me this before."

Of course, the old Taoist didn't know it; the talisman, meant for travel, was placed by Shen Chang'an. The talismans of Qingping Temple were mostly for exorcism, not speed.

With his speed enhanced, the old Taoist turned and pursued the infant, thrusting with the peachwood sword. But the ghostly infant drifted effortlessly aside, dodging the attack with ease.

"Master, you still haven't mastered the Qingping sword style? You'll never touch me at this rate."

The old Taoist didn't reply, holding his breath and stabbing again and again, but every strike was dodged with ease.

Shen Chang'an could see it clearly from the side—the old Taoist's swordsmanship was abysmal. There was no flow between moves; each strike stood alone, more like wielding a stick than practicing true swordplay.

The ghostly infant's constant taunts only made the old Taoist attack faster and more clumsily. His stamina soon began to wane.

The old Taoist was already advanced in age; to have traveled with Shen Chang'an for nearly a month was testament to his cultivation. But now, with relentless attacks, his strength was rapidly draining, and his swordplay had lost all form.

Yet still, he clutched the peachwood sword, launching attack after attack at the ghostly infant.

But his speed had slowed, while the spirit remained agile. Were it not for the golden light on the sword, which the ghost feared, the old Taoist would already have been slaughtered.

Though he persisted, it was clear to all that defeat was only a matter of time.

Shen Chang'an tightened his grip on the Yanling Blade, his steps silent as he slowly approached the battling pair.

The sky grew ever darker.

At last, a fatal opening appeared in the old Taoist's assault. The ghostly infant, who had been lying in wait, struck at once, slicing a gruesome gash across the old man's chest.

"Ha ha ha! Master, this is the first time I've tasted your blood. Delicious! Is it because you're a Taoist? Far sweeter than the blood of mortals!"

The spirit licked the blood from its arm, a look of perverse ecstasy on its face.

The old Taoist's face was pale, but seeing the spirit savor his blood, he suddenly smiled. "You've fallen into my trap."

The ghostly infant froze. The old Taoist rapidly formed seals with his hands, bit his own finger, and traced a charm in the air—casting a spell the spirit knew all too well.

"The Cat Swaps the Prince?! No, wait—you're reversing the spell? Impossible! Master, you want me to possess you?"

Though his face was ashen, the old Taoist smiled. "That's right. I've studied this forbidden art for years, all for this moment! Once you possess me, I can cleanse your evil energy. Then, you'll be free to reincarnate."

The spirit shrieked in horror, "No! If you do this, you'll be destroyed too! Let me go! I'll go kill those adulterers instead!"

"Zhou Yu, it's time to wake up!"

"No, no, no!"

The ghostly infant's eyes widened, its spectral form pulled inexorably forward. The old Taoist's blood, ingested by the spirit, bound it to the spell; it could only watch as it was drawn toward the old man.

Just as the spirit was about to possess the old Taoist, a figure suddenly appeared behind him.

A soft thud—Shen Chang'an's hand struck the old Taoist's neck with precision, channeling innate energy with perfect control, instantly knocking him unconscious.

Shen Chang'an caught the old man and gently laid him on the ground.

The ghostly infant stared in astonishment, "Who are you?"

"Nice to meet you, Senior Brother. I'm Shen Chang'an, Master's second disciple. I've heard about you."

At these words, the spirit's grotesque face lit up with surprise and delight. "Oh? Master told you about me? Then you know what happened to me. Come, join your brother and help me kill those traitors!"

Shen Chang'an sighed, slowly drew the Yanling Blade, and shook his head. "Senior Brother, you misunderstand. I'm not here to help you—I'm here to send your soul to oblivion."

A thunderclap split the ink-black sky, a searing white bolt illuminating Shen Chang'an's face, lighting the fire in his eyes.

Within his gaze—murder blazed like flame!