Chapter Seventeen: Banishing the Demon

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Hearing that teeth-grinding sound, Chen Jianchen’s hair stood on end: Could it be that Wang Fu has already been devoured by the mountain fiend…?

But Master Qingyun, without a word, deftly pinched a half-foot-long talisman between his fingers. “Limitless heaven and earth, divine thunder, heed my command!” he intoned.

With a flick of his wrist, the talisman floated and shot straight into Wang Fu’s study.

Boom!

Almost simultaneously, a thunderous roar erupted from inside the room; the mountain fiend revealed its true form, crashing headlong through the doorway, shattering the door to splinters.

Upon seeing Qingyun standing in the courtyard, the fiend’s expression twisted in terror. Wailing in fright, it shrank back, desperate to find a way to escape.

“Where do you think you’re going!” Qingyun shouted. Suddenly, three more talismans appeared in his hand. He slapped them onto his peachwood sword, murmured an incantation, and the talismans pasted on the blade instantly ignited, flames roaring.

“Go!”

Whoosh, whoosh, whoosh—the talismans shot out, striking the fiend with blinding speed.

Bang! Bang! Bang!

Three bursts of sparks flashed, followed by an acrid stench of burnt flesh. The fiend shrieked in agony, writhing on the ground, but after only a few moments, it was reduced by the fiery talismans to a heap of ashes, which a gust of wind scattered to the four corners of the earth.

—The entire exorcism was as clean and swift as one could imagine, without the slightest complication.

Even so, Chen Jianchen was astounded. Master Qingyun’s talismanic arts were truly supernatural, executed with practiced ease, and the talismans at his disposal seemed inexhaustible, each with its own formidable power.

If only…

Having dispatched the fiend, Qingyun retrieved his bamboo signboard and declared simply, “The matter is settled. I take my leave.”

His farewell meant vaulting over the wall, not bothering to bid farewell to the Wang family—let alone accept any payment. Such things were beneath his notice. True cultivators regard wealth as mere dirt; not that they never use money, but should the need arise, there are a hundred ways to obtain it. Why stoop to wage-earning drudgery?

Cultivators pursue freedom; worldly rules do not bind them.

Chen Jianchen said, “Master, might I ask you to spare me a set of those talismans?” If he did not seize the chance now, it might never come again.

Qingyun smiled. “You, sir, are not versed in the Dao and lack spiritual power; these talismans would be useless to you. But—here, I have a protective charm. Should you encounter evil, it will glow as a warning. I gift it to you. However, it will only work once; after that, it will turn to dust.”

So saying, he handed over a small orange talisman folded into a triangle.

Chen Jianchen accepted it at once, tucking it safely against his body. Though he could not activate other talismans, just having this charm at hand felt like a safeguard, even if it was only a one-time protection.

Qingyun then displayed his earth-shrinking arts, vanishing in a blink.

With his departure, who could say whether they would ever meet again…

Chen Jianchen felt a tinge of regret. He held a fine impression of Qingyun—this Daoist was, perhaps, a guiding light, helping him to see the true nature of this world.

“Liuxian, Liuxian, you’ve finally come to my rescue…”

A weak voice drifted from the study—a figure, thin as a skeleton, crawled laboriously out, and upon seeing Chen Jianchen, called out in trembling excitement.

Were it not for the familiar voice, Chen Jianchen would never have recognized Wang Fu—he had survived, but only just, looking as if all the life had been sucked from him.

“Brother Futai, how did you end up in such a state?” Chen Jianchen feigned surprise.

Wang Fu threw his arms around Chen Jianchen’s leg and wailed pitifully, sobbing as if his heart would break. “Liuxian, you have no idea how I’ve suffered… sob… Last night that fiend tormented me the whole night! A beast, truly a beast—he wouldn’t even let me rest every quarter of an hour! Sob…”

As he spoke, tears and snot streamed down his face, mingling with his cadaverous appearance—a sight to move any onlooker to pity.

Chen Jianchen sighed inwardly—misfortune and fortune have no doors; we invite them ourselves. Perhaps this was a fitting punishment for Wang Fu’s lechery, though it had very nearly been the death of him.

He had no wish to hear the sordid details of Wang Fu’s ordeal, though he could imagine it well enough. To use an awkward metaphor: it was as though Wang Fu had been ravaged by a hundred men, each one as burly as an ox.

So he said, “Brother Futai, the fiend has already been dealt with by the Daoist master I invited. From now on, you’ll have nothing to fear.”

“Really?”

Wang Fu’s joy nearly propelled him upright, but the effort was too much for his exhausted body; his eyes rolled back, and he fainted dead away. By the look of him, a serious illness was all but inevitable.

Chen Jianchen shook his head and sighed, opening the courtyard gate to let Master Wang inside.

At the sight of Wang Fu collapsed on the ground, Master Wang rushed to his son’s side in panic, but was only reassured after Chen Jianchen’s explanation. Closer inspection showed that, though his precious son was unconscious, his breathing was steady and his color already improved.

Soon, Wang Fu’s wives and concubines came wailing into the courtyard, summoning servants to carefully carry him away and see to his recovery.

Once the chaos had subsided, Master Wang turned to Chen Jianchen, asking, “Liuxian, where is that Daoist master? I must thank him and reward him with gold and silver.”

Chen Jianchen replied, “The master is a recluse from beyond this world; after exorcising the fiend, he departed. I could not persuade him to stay.”

Master Wang sighed with heartfelt admiration.

Because of these events, the Wang household was thrown into utter turmoil, leaving them with no mind for hospitality. Chen Jianchen, too, had no wish to linger, and soon took his leave.

He had arrived swiftly, but the return journey could only be made on foot.

A cold wind howled, the sky grew darker and more oppressive, and dusk seemed to fall prematurely.

Chen Jianchen glanced at the sky, his face tightening as he wrapped his coat more tightly about him and pressed on.

In such bitter cold, the road was deserted, not a soul in sight. After walking for about two miles, he finally saw someone at the crossroads ahead—a tall figure drinking from a wine jug, using the liquor to ward off the chill.

As they drew closer, Chen Jianchen recognized him at once—it was San, the very ruffian he had slapped away the other night.

When they passed each other, San glanced up, his eyes flashing strangely at Chen Jianchen.

Chen Jianchen paid him no mind and continued on, but before long, he sensed something amiss. Glancing back, he saw that, sure enough, San had turned around and was silently following him, a glint of steel visible in his hand.

“So, taking advantage of the empty road, you want revenge for that slap?” Chen Jianchen’s lips curled into a cold smile.

In this world, it is not only demons that do people harm; oftentimes, man is a greater threat than any monster. Thus it is said: a petty man is as cunning as a ghost, and a wicked man more fearsome than any demon!