Chapter Seventy-Eight: Slaying the Monster, Encountering the Demon

A strange creature, its species unknown, yet its cultivation not profound.

Qingyuan’s eyes grew sharp as he exhaled. In truth, this spirit beast’s abilities were nothing extraordinary; it had only just awakened its consciousness, able to breathe and absorb the essence of sun and moon. What truly made it formidable was the natural strength of its body. Yet no matter how mighty its flesh, it was no match for Qingyuan’s iron staff, now fully wielded after mastering the art of transformation.

Had it not been for the two curved horns atop its head to deflect the blow, that strike would have shattered its skull and killed it on the spot.

With a splash, the beast in the water lashed its tail, sending waves surging across the river. The creature’s wild attack left Qingyuan unafraid; neither the beast nor its waves posed any real threat to him. But within the water, pale blue and green phosphorescence glimmered.

“Poison?” Qingyuan drew a sharp breath, rolling aside to evade. The splattered river water soaked the grass on the bank, which instantly turned yellow and withered, life snuffed out in a blink.

The monster then leapt ashore, lunging at the bank. Its mouth opened, and a jet of virulent blue poison shot forth. Qingyuan twisted aside and dodged. The venom struck the rock behind him, sizzling and corroding, eating away most of its surface in moments.

He marveled at the danger—now the beast opened its jaws again, spitting another stream of poison. This time, Qingyuan was prepared. From his robe he drew a fire talisman and flung it out; it burst into flame in midair, meeting the poison and igniting into a blue blaze that fell and burned out upon the ground.

A flicker of surprise flashed in the beast’s eyes. Again it spat venom; again Qingyuan met it with fire talismans, nullifying each attack in turn. He had only a few such talismans, but the monster, for all its ferocity, could not produce endless poison—the toxic glands within its body would soon run dry.

Indeed, after three or four attempts, the creature ceased its poisonous assault. Instead, it shot forth a long tongue, stretching several yards, whipping toward Qingyuan’s face.

“What a repertoire,” Qingyuan remarked, swinging his iron staff with all his might, channeling his inner energy.

With a crack, the tip of the beast’s tongue was severed, flung aside. The monster recoiled its tongue with a furious roar.

“Not strong, not skilled, but its whole body is venom—a troublesome foe,” Qingyuan muttered, reaching into his ancient celestial pouch and drawing out a wooden carving. He wrapped it in talisman paper, and instantly, a fierce tiger-wolf materialized on the spot.

The tiger-wolf roared, its cry echoing through the mountains and forests. Ordinarily, such a roar would leave most spirit creatures weak-kneed, too terrified to move. But this monster seemed unfazed, pouncing forward and sinking its fangs into the tiger-wolf’s neck.

Fortunately, the tiger-wolf was not a living beast but a conjuration of Daoist arts; otherwise, a single bite of that venom would have spelled death. Now the conjured beast withstood the assault, immune to the poison, holding the monster in place.

“Foolish creature,” Qingyuan said, drawing more wooden carvings from his robe. One by one, he wrapped them in talisman paper, transforming them into more tiger-wolves that leapt upon the creature, pinning it down until only its head remained exposed.

Qingyuan stepped forward, iron staff in hand, standing by the monster’s head. With a heavy blow, he brought the staff down.

A sharp crack sounded—the creature’s skull split open, and it died instantly.

Qingyuan exhaled, retrieved the wooden carvings, and tossed them back into his celestial pouch—he would need to cleanse them later, given the lingering poison. His gaze fell upon the corpse below, and he hesitated, wondering if he ought to dissect the creature. After all, it was a rare specimen; its horns, claws, scales, and internal organs might all be valuable.

Just then, his expression changed. He looked up to see a young girl standing silently at the river’s edge, lips pressed together, watching him.

She was around thirteen or fourteen, with delicate features and fair skin. Dressed in blue and white, she stood quietly by the water, her eyes clear and bright as she gazed at Qingyuan in silence, lips tight.

Yet for some reason, Qingyuan sensed a hint of grievance in her gaze.

“A demon?” Qingyuan started in alarm. He sensed no trace of human breath from her. She appeared the same age as other girls he knew, yet unlike Ge Yu’er or Xie Jingwen, she was different. Her eyes were pure and limpid, but within her aura, a faint, almost imperceptible bewitching charm lingered.

Amongst the otherworldly, those who surpassed the third heavenly level—reaching the fourth at least—were no longer simple spirit beasts, but could be called true demons.

A demon need not be able to take human form.

But any being capable of assuming a human guise must be a demon—and this meant the girl before him was at least at the fourth heavenly level or higher?

A chill ran through Qingyuan’s heart.

He had never imagined that his very first opponent upon entering Mount Fuzhong would be such a formidable foe.

“You… killed my puppy…” After a moment, the girl finally spoke, her voice soft and subdued, tinged with sorrow.

Qingyuan had been prepared to fight for his life, but her words caught him off guard. Looking into her pure black-and-white eyes, he was suddenly overwhelmed by a sense of guilt.

Startled, he quickly visualized the nine-tiered jade tower within his mind, thinking, “Is this some kind of unusual enchantment?”

“That was my puppy. My mother gave it to me when I was small,” the girl said sadly. “It grew up with me, played with me, but you killed it.”

Qingyuan frowned slightly and replied, “That spirit beast was vicious. It lurked in the river, hunting prey, attacking people. I killed it only to protect myself…”

“But… but…” Tears welled in the girl’s eyes, threatening to fall. She was at a loss for words, then clenched her small fists, summoning her courage to say, “But you killed it. It was my puppy. It treated me well, and behaved at home.”

“I’ve never killed anyone. My senior sister told me never to kill without reason.”

“Since you killed it… I must avenge it.”

She lifted her head, bit her lip, and from across the river, timidly declared, “Then… shall I kill you too?”

At her words, an icy shiver ran through Qingyuan. He sidestepped, half crouched, holding his iron staff before his chest.

But in the next instant, he froze.

He had expected the girl to attack at once, to seize the initiative, so he had already dodged before she finished speaking. Yet when he steadied himself and looked again, the girl was still standing quietly on the far bank, watching him.

She said nothing, but her gaze clearly asked a question.

Qingyuan had never encountered such an opponent, and he was deeply bewildered.

He met her gaze, and in that silent exchange he seemed to hear an unspoken query…

Shall I kill you now, is that all right?

Shall I kill you now, are you ready?

For all his composure, Qingyuan could not help but be astonished.

“Is there truly such a demon in this world?” he wondered, channeling his inner energy to his eyes.

Although the beast-gazing technique he had learned from the remnants of the Beast-Taming Sect was crude, it was effective against those below the third heavenly level.

He had assumed that any being capable of taking human form must be a true demon.

Yet as he observed her with the technique, he was struck with disbelief.

“She has not yet surpassed the third heavenly threshold?”