Chapter Thirty-Eight: The Compassion of Shaolin

Zhou Yi pondered deeply. The creature before him was quite unlike Jiang Ziya’s Four Not-Likes, and even more different from the listening beast of Ksitigarbha Bodhisattva. As for the hounds of hell, legend had them with three heads; this beast was neither that nor any other familiar species. For a moment, he couldn’t tell what manner of thing it was.

Beqio was still locked in combat with the creature, and Zhou Yi felt unable to watch any longer. “Beqio, come back!” Beqio, in the heat of battle, was startled by Zhou Yi’s call. The creature seized upon Beqio’s distraction, struck him in the belly with a hoof, and sent him flying back to Zhou Yi’s side.

Beqio let out a cry of pain; a gaping wound three inches long had been opened in his abdomen, blood pouring out in a torrent.

Seeing Beqio gravely wounded, Zhou Yi’s eyes flushed red with fury. “Baozi, take care of Beqio,” he commanded, not waiting for Baozi’s reply. With a shout, he charged at the beast. “You dare harm my Beqio? Tonight, I’ll slaughter you, you brute!” Zhou Yi was upon the creature in a flash, swinging a punch at its head. The beast reared back, meeting his fist with its antlers. Only at the moment of contact did Zhou Yi realize he had underestimated it.

He was now at the Demon-Subduing stage; his spiritual energy was blue, and his blows powerful enough to destroy the tomb traps earlier. Yet, as his fist struck the antlers, he found his strength paled before the creature’s.

The impact drove Zhou Yi back three paces before he could steady himself, his arm numb and fist aching.

He spat to the side, slung off his backpack, and advanced again. This time, he kept his distance, extending his spiritual energy to strike from afar.

But the creature did not dodge. Every time Zhou Yi’s energy hit its body, it howled in pain but pressed forward, undeterred.

In the midst of the fight, Zhou Yi couldn’t fully observe the situation. Baozi watched from the sidelines, noting that the creature was not actually harming Zhou Yi. He refrained from intervening, but soon his brow furrowed.

To test his suspicion, Baozi picked up a green brick and hurled it at the beast. The creature twisted to avoid the brick.

“Yi, it’s not afraid of spiritual energy—it seems to almost enjoy it,” Baozi called out.

Zhou Yi, entirely focused on the creature, only now noticed the oddity and withdrew his energy, switching to close combat. “Take Beqio up first; I’ll follow once I break free,” he urged Baozi mid-fight. Alone, Zhou Yi could escape safely, but with Beqio to worry about, he was constrained.

“Yi, Beqio’s not going to make it!” Baozi glanced at Beqio and exclaimed in alarm.

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At this moment, Beqio’s wound continued to bleed profusely. Baozi removed his shirt to staunch the flow but could not halt the bleeding. Blood pooled beneath Beqio, whose spirit was fading; his breathing was weak, clearly suffering from blood loss.

Baozi knew the creature was the key—only by killing it could Zhou Yi tend to Beqio’s injuries. “Yi, I’m coming to help!” he shouted.

He picked up a green brick and charged at the beast. With Baozi’s intervention, Zhou Yi gained a brief respite, observing coldly for an opening.

The two had grown up together, intimately familiar with each other’s actions. Baozi saw Zhou Yi standing aside and easily deduced his intentions, so he avoided direct confrontation, seeking only to expose the creature’s weakness so they could strike together.

A monster’s intelligence is lacking, after all. Within moments, Zhou Yi seized an opening. Baozi stood to the creature’s left; it turned to attack him, exposing its side to Zhou Yi. Zhou Yi would not let this chance slip by—he drew his dagger from his pants and stabbed at the beast.

The blade sank to the hilt. When Zhou Yi withdrew it, black vapor, not blood, poured from the wound.

The creature shrieked in pain, leapt toward the corridor, and turned to howl again at the pair, its cry like that of a wailing infant—piercing and harsh. It spat a cloud of black smoke from its mouth. Zhou Yi and Baozi, uncertain of the smoke’s nature but knowing it could not bode well, held their breath.

The creature’s originally dark fur now bore streaks of mottled color, though it seemed unharmed. Zhou Yi and Baozi, however, were breathless, their bodies bearing multiple wounds, clearly at a disadvantage.

The black mist lingered in the tomb chamber; the creature kept spewing it, until the entire room was shrouded. Zhou Yi and Baozi could not hold their breath indefinitely. Even with tortoise breathing techniques, their breaths were merely lengthened, not eliminated. After so long, their faces were flushed and necks swollen.

“Damn it, whatever it is, let’s go all out!” Baozi, unable to hold out any longer, shouted and charged at the creature once more.

Zhou Yi would not let Baozi face danger alone; with a furious bite of his teeth, he followed. “Tonight, I’ll roast you and drink to your death!” he shouted, joining Baozi to fight the beast together.

“Amitabha, who is fighting below? Come up quickly, it is dangerous here,” someone called from above the cave entrance. The recitation of the Buddha’s name revealed the caller to be a monk.

Zhou Yi and Baozi’s quest for the keys to the tomb of Nurhaci was not something to be revealed to outsiders; this was the critical place for finding the keys of Wind and Fire. The newcomer above was only complicating matters.

Even together, they were losing to the creature, so neither could spare breath to reply.

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The person above waited a moment; hearing no answer, grew impatient. “Who is below? It is late night, and the ban on the land of Zhuolu has been broken. The yin spirits here will manifest, it is extremely dangerous below. Come up quickly.”

The two remembered what Tuogu Pagoda had said: within two days, the yin spirits of Zhuolu would break free of control. It was already the hour of the pig, soon to be midnight. Midnight was when yin energy peaked, and the spirits would be nourished by the world’s yin, making them stronger than usual.

“May I ask your Dharma name, Master?” Baozi called loudly.

“Amitabha, I am Mingkong of Shaolin. Please, come up quickly,” replied Mingkong, and a young novice behind him added, “Midnight is near. We Shaolin monks will use Buddhist rites to pacify the yin spirits. It will be extremely dangerous then—come up quickly to avoid being possessed.”

“Master Mingkong, there’s a monster inside. Once it’s slain, we’ll come up,” Zhou Yi answered.

“Amitabha, this humble monk will come to your aid.” He had barely finished speaking when a young monk leapt down from the entrance—likely the novice who had spoken before.

“Careful, the black mist is poisonous!” Zhou Yi warned. He himself was already dizzy, and if not for his spiritual energy guarding a sliver of consciousness, he would have passed out.

No sooner had Zhou Yi spoken than Baozi succumbed, collapsing to the ground.

The young monk, seeing this, immediately recited the Buddha’s name: “Namo Amitabha.” This chant was a Buddhist incantation, similar in effect to the Taoist mantras Zhou Yi employed, granting the protection of the Dharma.

Having finished his chanting, the novice exhaled forcefully and charged at the beast.