Chapter Twenty-Three: Pursuing Hardships

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Liu Chou and Guiche raced desperately through the night. The mountain winds grew ever colder, lashing their bodies without mercy, until even these two monsters found it hard to endure. Yet Liu Chou never slowed, recklessly plunging deeper into the heart of the mountains.

All he could rely on now were the demon kings of the Seven Mountains and Twenty-Nine Valleys. If that failed, he would retreat into the Forbidden Forest—so long as the Demon Ancestor of legend truly existed, the bald thief would face nothing but ruin. As for surrendering quickly, after what he’d experienced in the enemy camp, Liu Chou would sooner gamble his life in the forest than ever repeat that ordeal.

Another hundred miles ahead, the landscape changed. The hills and dense woods gave way to a massive mountain range, steep and jagged. Here, Guiche’s speed began to falter, so Liu Chou slowed to help, and together they struggled up the slopes. By now, both were exhausted—one battle and hours of flight had drained even their transformed bodies more than they could bear.

Despite this, neither stopped, for the sense of being hunted only grew stronger, not weaker, as their flight dragged on. Reaching the summit, Liu Chou began to ponder an escape. He knew if things continued, being overtaken was only a matter of time. At most, two or three more hours and their pursuer would catch up—and by then they’d be too spent for even a final desperate fight.

So Liu Chou decided to take a risk.

Surveying the surroundings, he spotted a jutting boulder, tall and narrow, its base facing a gentle slope tangled with shrubs and vines, strewn with toppled rocks. He examined the slope, then the boulder, before selecting a dense thicket. From his robes, he drew a long sword, thrusting it into the brush at an angle, then carefully wiped the blade clean before stepping back.

Next, he began to pull the surrounding vines and stack rocks and branches, arranging them with practiced cunning, weaving small traps from old memories. At last, he motioned Guiche behind the boulder and gently removed the loose stones at its base.

The boulder stood ever more precariously, swaying as if about to topple in the wind.

Liu Chou laid out his plan to Guiche in detail, leaving nothing unsaid. He allowed Guiche to choose: stay for a fight to the death, or escape alone. True to their bond, Guiche chose to stay without hesitation.

Liu Chou patted Guiche’s belly in approval—he was too short to reach his companion’s shoulder, and so this had become their habit. “Risking our lives doesn’t mean a head-on fight,” he said. “If my strike doesn’t wound him, you jump into the water and hide in the pool. I’ll find a way to jump in too—then it’ll be up to you to save me.” He pointed to the nearby ravine, at the bottom of which lay a deep, dark pool. What monsters lurked there, he did not know, but at this moment, even demons seemed less deadly than their pursuer.

“I understand,” Guiche replied solemnly.

Finally, Liu Chou circled to another spot among the branches, withdrew the Eight-Ox Crossbow from his gourd-realm, loaded a bolt, and aimed it at the slope, making his final preparations.

Gradually, Liu Chou’s breath slowed, his heartbeat steadied, and he merged into the landscape, as still and silent as stone, indistinguishable from his surroundings.

Now, all that remained was for their hunter to arrive.

As he focused, Liu Chou felt a strange sensation. Though this was his first time wielding the crossbow, it felt oddly familiar, like reuniting with an old friend. He recalled a habit from his past—he had once been a sharpshooter. Could this be an instinct carried from his former life?

He did not know. Nor was now the time to wonder.

He did not have to wait long.

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A faint mist rose from the ravine as dawn approached. For three hours each day, sunlight broke through the clouds, bathing the mountain peak in a gentle, warming glow.

A dark figure sped up the mountain, gliding over wild grasses. His upper body remained upright, while blue-green light flowed beneath his feet, carrying him swiftly to the summit and onto the slope.

Guiqu soared up the half-slope toward the boulder, then suddenly veered aside, returning to the slope. He’d been startled by a glint—something hidden in the brush had caught a rare ray of sunlight and flashed in his eyes.

Seeing Guiqu’s quick reaction, Liu Chou and Guiche’s brows tightened. Thank heavens Guiche hadn’t pushed the boulder earlier—against such skill, the boulder would hardly have hurt him.

Guiqu dismounted, landing softly. In a moment, he found the hidden object among the shrubs, reached in, and pulled it out—

Instantly, a sense of acute danger overwhelmed him. Before he could move, he darted several yards away, and a great boulder, loosed by Guiche, thundered past, narrowly missing him as it crashed down the mountainside.

At that same moment, Liu Chou released the crossbow with a soft thrum, the bolt shooting straight for Guiqu. But just then, Guiqu’s foot slipped—the dry branch beneath him snapped with a crack, triggering a cascade. Vines whipped around his legs, binding him tight before he could react.

He turned and saw, to his shock, a massive crossbow bolt almost upon him!

At such close range, evasion was impossible. With no other choice, Guiqu bit his tongue hard, spat a mouthful of blood onto his demon-banishing staff, and raised it before him. The blood sizzled, and a crimson shadow formed upon the staff, radiating fierce energy.

With a deafening boom, the Eight-Ox Crossbow’s power slammed into Guiqu, hurling him backward as the vines snapped. He crashed into a boulder, hard enough that cracks spiderwebbed across the stone.

Guiqu gasped for breath, blood at his lips, but looked up to spot the two fleeing shadows.

Guiche, witnessing this strength, had already bolted east toward the ravine, only a short distance to the pool, while Liu Chou sped west, darting through the forest.

Guiqu’s gaze followed Guiche, then turned back to Liu Chou. A strange smile played on his lips as he calmly straightened his torn robe, summoned his blue-green mount, and shot after Liu Chou.

Liu Chou wasn’t fast, and Guiqu quickly closed the gap. Within a quarter-hour, only a hundred yards separated them. Without looking back, Liu Chou suddenly burst forth with all his strength, accelerating beyond Guiqu’s mount as if turning to mist.

Guiqu’s face remained impassive, though he smirked inwardly. He was certain this demon was his quarry. He refrained from using his killer move, curious to see what else the demon might do, and how long he could keep it up.

The gap widened—one hundred, one hundred fifty, two hundred, three hundred yards—until Liu Chou suddenly stumbled, tumbling into a dense bed of dead branches and grass, vanishing from sight.

Sensing something amiss, Guiqu sped up, arriving at the spot in moments. He caught sight of a scrap of robe, grabbed it, and hauled Liu Chou into the air to face him.

What he saw shocked him to his core.

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Mi Qing!

Mi Qing’s face was deathly pale, eyes downcast, blood at her lips—she looked on the verge of death.

The abruptness of it stunned Guiqu so thoroughly that he froze. In that instant, Mi Qing’s hand shot out, pressing a wooden crossbow against his chest!

The bolt screamed, tearing through the air, exploding against Guiqu’s body.

Even someone as mighty as Guiqu was hurled backward with a shout. The bolt shredded his monk’s robe and drove half an inch into his flesh, quivering. But though the power and proximity were overwhelming, the injury was only a flesh wound.

Liu Chou had expected as much, but the reality still chilled him. A weapon that could slay lesser demons was useless against this foe—only the Eight-Ox Crossbow might have dealt a fatal blow, but how could he wield such a massive weapon in a sneak attack?

The only result was that Guiqu’s grip loosened. Liu Chou flipped to the ground, accelerated, and vanished over the ridge without a backward glance.

Guiqu did not pursue immediately. His face changed several times before he spat a mouthful of blood, then shakily drew a golden prayer bead bracelet from his robe. Of its eight bodhi beads, six were blackened, and only two still glimmered with golden light. As he held it, one of the glowing beads slowly dimmed and fell silent, indistinguishable from the rest.

He mounted his blue-green steed, rising into the sky, and watched the faint figure disappear into the distance. Instead of anger, he laughed. “To drive me to such lengths—you’re exactly as I expected. There’s a place for you where I’m going.”

Liu Chou ran on, most of the time weaving through the forest. The terrain barely slowed him—cliffs and chasms posed no true obstacle. He moved ever deeper into Meishan, night and day without rest.

But his strength was almost gone. Now he could only rely on the spirit medicines brewed in his gourd. Though these elixirs were not especially good for his body, they at least restored some energy, allowing him to continue.

Hours passed, and he covered several hundred miles, reaching the very heart of Meishan. A hundred miles ahead loomed a perilous peak. Liu Chou did not know which of the Seven Mountains it was, but he could feel the surging demon power ahead—and the hope it might offer.

He saw no sign of the enemy monk, but dared not stop. Every instinct screamed that the danger was not over. Now, both body and soul were exhausted beyond measure. The pills were gone—he moved by sheer will, legs slogging forward and mind focused only on the way ahead. With his remaining strength, reaching the foot of that mountain seemed almost impossible.

He could no longer maintain his human form, and once more became the frail monkey he truly was.