Chapter Thirty-Nine: Wind of the Southeast, Fire of Departure

Little Shani rushed at the monster, urging aloud as he moved, “I’ll hold this creature back for a moment, quickly send the benefactor up.” Zhou Yi did not hesitate after hearing his words. He hurriedly picked up Baozi, tied the rope around Baozi’s waist, and the monks above worked together to pull Baozi up. Zhou Yi then carried Beqiao up to the surface.

“Master Mingkong, save them! I’m going down to assist the young monk.” Zhou Yi spoke without waiting for Mingkong to answer, turned, and jumped back into the tomb chamber.

Little Shani was clearly struggling against the monster, and seeing Zhou Yi descend, grew anxious. “Why did you come down here? Go up quickly! I’ll follow once I break free.”

Zhou Yi gave a cold, sinister laugh. The monster had first injured Beqiao, then released poisonous gas to knock out Baozi. Zhou Yi’s mind was now even more clouded; his hatred for the creature was absolute, leaving him incapable of rational thought. “Tonight, I’ll take this beast’s head as a prize for my drink!” With that, Zhou Yi raised his dagger and charged at the monster.

The monster was clever; seeing Zhou Yi attack again, it stopped tangling with Little Shani and turned to flee. Zhou Yi, having lost some of his reason, chased after the creature.

Little Shani called out, “Benefactor, do not pursue! It’s dangerous!”

But Zhou Yi only wanted to vent his anger by killing the monster, unable to heed Little Shani’s warning. Seeing Zhou Yi run far ahead, Little Shani softly recited a Buddhist prayer, “Amitabha,” then followed Zhou Yi, heading deeper into the tomb passage.

Zhou Yi’s situation was dire: his body wracked with pain from multiple wounds, the poison in the black mist making his head dizzy. Furthermore, the spiritual energy he’d expended during the fight left his dantian nearly empty. He believed Beqiao had already been killed by the monster, and Baozi, poisoned, was gravely harmed. Only his rage kept him on his feet, preventing him from collapsing as Baozi had.

The tomb passage was not straight; it twisted and turned, sometimes sharply, sometimes gently. The monster, with four hooves and intimate familiarity with the tomb, easily outran Zhou Yi. Yet Zhou Yi pressed deeper into the land of Zhuolu, where the ground was littered with bones—human, horse, and, strangely, many small animal skeletons scattered about.

Unable to catch the monster, Zhou Yi stopped to examine the bones, some of which resembled those of rats. After walking for a while, he entered a suddenly spacious area, greeted by a wave of rot. It was a great hall, though “hall” didn’t quite fit—it was more a burial pit. The ground sank down several yards, packed full of white bones. The monster stood on the far side, watching Zhou Yi, its eyes showing a hint of contempt.

Zhou Yi held back from chasing further, for the pit was crawling with rats, gnawing on the bones. Presumably, bodies were hastily buried here, and over the years the rats gnawed ceaselessly, causing the corpses to rot and sink, while the soil above did not settle with the bodies, creating the pit.

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There was no pathway across the burial pit; the monster must have crossed directly, and the rats didn’t attack it. If they had, given their numbers, the monster would have been devoured to the bone in moments.

“Benefactor, midnight approaches—quickly follow me back,” Little Shani caught up to Zhou Yi. In Buddhism, to save a life is greater than building a seven-story pagoda; seeing Zhou Yi in danger, Little Shani could not abandon him.

“This is the mass grave of Zhuolu. Warriors fallen in battle here were buried hastily and now suffer the agony of being gnawed by countless rats,” Zhou Yi said, turning as Little Shani arrived.

Little Shani responded with a Buddhist prayer, “Amitabha.” Zhou Yi expected a sermon, but Little Shani fell silent after the prayer.

“Master, what is your Dharma name? And what exactly is that creature?” Two minds are better than one; Zhou Yi asked, hoping Buddhist records might describe such a monster.

“Amitabha, my Dharma name is Jiechen. This is not truly a monster, but a spirit born from an artifact. Its original form should be a Listening Beast, suppressed here for years, corrupted by the yin energy of Zhuolu, and thus transformed.” The current abbot of Shaolin was of the “Ming” generation; Mingkong was likely of the same generation. Jiechen, being of the “Jie” generation, held a significant rank.

Zhou Yi’s feelings were mixed after hearing Jiechen’s words. If the monster was an artifact spirit, it must be one of the two he was seeking: Xun Wind or Li Fire. Wind is formless; fire is intangible—so it could be either.

The good news was that only one of the Xun Wind and Li Fire was lost, not both.

The worry was how to subdue the artifact spirit. The burial pit alone was impassable.

“Ha! I’ve been looking for you so long, and you’re hiding here.” Suddenly, a change occurred—a hole broke open at the back of the pit, and a middle-aged man with a queue and dressed in a long robe crawled out.

The tunnel was dug at an angle, and the man’s clothes were covered in dirt, clearly the work of a tomb robber.

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The man held a Water-Splitting Dagger. Zhou Yi’s gaze fixed on it; its aura was strikingly familiar. After a moment’s thought, he cursed himself for his carelessness. Its aura was identical to that of the Tuogu Pagoda, which itself was also an artifact spirit. On the dagger were inscribed the characters “Li Fire.”

Zhou Yi had once shared drinks with the Tuogu Pagoda, never imagining a person could be dead for over a hundred years yet still converse with others, unafraid of sunlight or the spiritual energy of Daoists.

His frustration was palpable—beating his chest and stamping his feet wouldn’t solve the predicament of being outpaced. The man’s attire betrayed him; it was now the seventh year of the Republic. Few still wore queues—only the royalists, mostly bannermen, whose stronghold was the Forbidden City in Beijing.

At this point, the monster should be called Xun Wind. Seeing the man emerge from the tunnel, Xun Wind leapt over the pit, intent on fleeing. Zhou Yi was overjoyed to see Xun Wind return and blocked the passage, hoping to force out Xun Wind’s true form.

But Zhou Yi didn’t know the proper method. The artifact spirit, formed from Xun Wind, was swift and powerful. Forcing out its true form was exceedingly difficult, so Zhou Yi could only block the tunnel entrance, refusing to let it escape.

The monster, formed from Xun Wind, was clearly more afraid of the man behind than of Zhou Yi ahead. With Zhou Yi blocking its way and the man pursuing from behind, a trace of sadness appeared on the creature’s face.

In a flash, it transformed into a short sword about a foot long, trying to escape over Zhou Yi’s head.

Zhou Yi was ready; he grabbed the blade of Xun Wind. The sword was sharp, blood gushed from Zhou Yi’s hand, staining the sword red. Whether from exhaustion or the blood flowing onto its blade, Xun Wind let out a cry and ceased its escape, falling silent.

The middle-aged man opposite attempted to leap across the pit, but halfway through, a sudden change occurred...

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New Year’s Day has arrived—Happy New Year, may the Year of the Horse bring you good fortune.