Chapter 42: The Remnant Soul of Chiyou

The two of them were overjoyed at Beijo’s transformation. In a moment, Beijo was already staggering to his feet. After opening his eyes, he glanced at Zhou Yi.

Zhou Yi frowned as he looked into Beijo’s eyes. “What are you?” With just a single glance, he recognized something was different about Beijo. No, it could no longer be called Beijo, for Beijo’s soul had already been devoured by a sinister spirit.

Beijo looked at Zhou Yi once more, letting out a shrill cry. Zhou Yi immediately recognized the sound; it was the same as the monster conjured by Xunfeng.

“Are you the spirit of Xunfeng’s weapon?” Zhou Yi quickly asked.

Beijo nodded in response. The spirit could actually understand Zhou Yi and answer with a nod or shake of the head.

Now, it was Xunfeng’s weapon spirit that ruled Beijo’s body. After Xunfeng was destroyed by Zhang Zuozheng, the spirit was not damaged along with the short sword, but instead attached itself to Zhou Yi’s arm. The spirit had drunk Zhou Yi’s fresh blood, and, since Zhou Yi was in poor physical shape upon his return, he did not notice.

If Xunfeng’s spirit was separated from its vessel for too long, it would dissipate on its own. When they returned, Beijo’s soul had just left his body. The spirit seized the opportunity to possess Beijo. The wound that killed Beijo had been inflicted by the spirit itself; the unceasing bleeding was also the result of the yin energy carried by the monstrous forms it conjured. Now, as the spirit possessed Beijo, the yin energy dispersed, and the bleeding ceased. It was fate’s strange design, a twist of fortune.

Beijo’s passing was a pity, but the weapon spirit of Xunfeng had survived by taking his body. As long as the spirit survived, it could change form at will, for wind has no fixed shape. That it took the form of a short sword was merely the spirit’s whim.

Zhou Yi and Baozi’s spirits lifted slightly. Though it was no longer Beijo, it could remain by their side, giving them a thread of remembrance.

Time slipped by, and it was soon the fourth quarter of noon. Suddenly, in Zhuolu, a sinister wind arose, whipping up sand and dust that stung as it struck their faces.

Zhou Yi and Baozi could only cover their faces with their sleeves. Their spiritual energy was depleted; they wanted only to leave Zhuolu as quickly as possible.

The monks of Shaolin were unmoved by the sinister wind. Their chants of the Buddha’s name remained, only louder. For monks, chanting louder does not increase the power of the mantra; rather, the intent is to use the sound to frighten sinister spirits. Quiet chanting is no less effective.

This point is contrary to Daoist practices, which often rely on urgent shouting and forceful recitation of incantations.

The sudden increase in the Shaolin monks’ chanting signaled that simple recitation was no longer enough to suppress the evil spirits. Master Mingkong, seeing this, acted decisively.

“Form the array!” Mingkong declared, his form suddenly rising five feet. The twenty-eight monks took their positions, forming two concentric circles with Mingkong at the center.

Zhou Yi stood aside, watching, he and Baozi too depleted to intervene. The monks were forming the Twenty-Eight Mansions Array, their positions corresponding to the stars in the sky.

As the formation settled, the sinister wind raged anew. “A band of bald monks, do you think to trap us with this petty formation?” The voice boomed like thunder, making Zhou Yi’s eardrums ring.

Mingkong, hearing the spirit speak in human tongue, knew the true foe had emerged. The monks all formed hand seals and chanted the Great Compassion Mantra: “Om mani padme hum.” Empowered by Buddhist law, the monks, whose bodies were naturally attuned to yang, became even more abhorrent to the sinister spirits. With the mantra intensifying, a five-colored Buddhist radiance shimmered faintly around Mingkong.

This radiance was not the fifth level of supreme attainment, but purely a manifestation of Buddhist power.

“Amitabha, your bodies have long perished. Why do you not seek rebirth, but instead linger to harm the living?” Mingkong’s Lion’s Roar echoed outward, causing the weaker spirits to scatter and dissipate.

At that moment, a spirit appeared in physical form—armored, wielding a massive axe, over two meters tall, horned, with eight arms.

Zhou Yi saw at once: was this not Chiyou, ancestor of the Miao? If Chiyou had truly returned, it would be catastrophic; not even another hundred monks could stand against him.

Mingkong knew the gravity of the situation. He formed the Outer Lion Seal with both hands. “Let Buddhist light shine upon the world!” Mingkong shouted. Between his hands appeared a golden swastika, which he pressed toward Chiyou.

Chiyou raised his axe to block the seal, then swept it aside, sending a wave of black energy hurtling at Mingkong.

Mingkong conjured Buddhist light to shield himself. The black energy clashed with the radiance, lingering briefly before dissipating.

Yet the Buddhist light before Mingkong dimmed noticeably. Chiyou’s remnant soul swung his axe again, and in the ensuing exchange of black energy and colored light, the two forces were deadlocked.

Zhou Yi realized then that Chiyou’s soul was surely incomplete. If Chiyou were even a tenth as strong as in his prime, Mingkong would not have been able to withstand his attacks.

The battle raged on. Mingkong contended with Chiyou’s remnant soul without falling behind, while the monks maintained their formation, trapping the sinister spirits within.

Zhou Yi knew this was a bitter struggle. The remnant soul of Chiyou was impossible to destroy; if it could have been annihilated, it would have been done by those before them. Why wait until now?

But Xunfeng and Lihuo were relics from three centuries ago, and had suppressed Zhuolu for over three hundred years. Surely, there were other objects that could do the same.

Yet he understood little of formations or the five elements. He could only focus on restoring his spiritual energy—only thus could he aid Mingkong.

With this in mind, he ignored the danger, sat down cross-legged, and began hastily restoring his energy.

Baozi and Beijo guarded him. Zhou Yi was unconcerned for his own safety, for Mingkong was holding off the leader of the spirits, while the lesser ones were kept in check by the monks.

As one who had not survived the Heavenly Tribulation, Zhou Yi’s energy recovery was painfully slow. The monks and the spirits fought on until the end of the hour of the Rat, while Zhou Yi, after half an hour of meditation, had restored only a fraction of his energy. The spiritual energy he drew in now was even darker, as his reserves had just been depleted.

This was Zhuolu, the lair of spirits, and night had fallen. The time and place favored the spirits. Though monks with Buddhist law were their bane, they could not endure an endless struggle. As time dragged on, the spirits gradually gained the upper hand.

Chiyou’s remnant soul swung his axe once more. Mingkong, his strength spent and mind weary, could not dodge in time. The blow struck his chest, and he spat blood, flying backward.

Zhou Yi knew that ordinary spells could not harm Chiyou’s soul. Ignoring his incomplete recovery, he narrowed his eyes. “I’ll risk it all. Baozi, help me.” With that, Zhou Yi began chanting the Thunder Summoning Mantra again.

“From the dark and the deep, through the cycles of yin and yang, as ghosts and demons run rampant bringing chaos to the world—O Lord of Thunder from the Nine Heavens, Wen Zhong, heed my call! Let divine thunder strike down all evil and restore clarity to the mortal realm!” Zhou Yi shouted, but felt his strength faltering.

Even when full of energy, this incantation taxed him; now, far from his peak, he struggled even more. Halfway through, all the spiritual energy he had just gathered was spent.

Baozi quickly pressed his palm to Zhou Yi’s back, channeling his own energy to help meet the spell’s demand.

Thunder rolled in the heavens, yet the lightning did not strike at Chiyou’s remnant soul...

New Year’s is all about gatherings. We’ve been celebrating five days straight. My head aches from drinking and I still haven’t sobered up. Tried to write today, but as soon as I sat down at the computer, I fell asleep...