Chapter 61: Swift Justice After the Kill

“Why can’t he be killed?” Zhou Yi turned to look at Mu Chen, his brows furrowed tightly.

“This Zhang Zuozheng is a disciple of Abbot Huiming of Mount Wutai. The monks of Mount Wutai are fiercely protective of their own. Minor quarrels won’t drag in the elders, but if you kill that bald monk’s disciple, Huiming will surely seek revenge. He’s not someone we want as an enemy,” Mu Chen, rarely so clear-headed, spoke with uncommon clarity.

Upon hearing this, Zhou Yi’s expression relaxed. He turned to Zhang Zuozheng and sneered coldly, “Is what Mu Chen said true?”

Zhang Zuozheng retreated as he replied, “It’s true, all true.”

Zhou Yi uttered a simple “Oh~” as if to say he understood, and then said nothing more.

Zhang Zuozheng, seeing Zhou Yi silent for so long, thought he might be spared. His face lit up with gratitude as he thanked him for his mercy.

Zhou Yi responded with another cold laugh, followed by a harsh snort. “Who said I won’t kill you? I was merely considering—Mu Chen just called Huiming the ‘bald monk,’ and you agreed it was true. For someone who would slander his own teacher behind his back, your presence in this world is useless.”

He had already shown mercy once to Zuo Zhi, and had been repaid with a deep wound across his chest, still bleeding. He would not repeat the mistake.

The more Zhou Yi spoke, the colder his tone became, until he was almost grinding his teeth. With a swift motion of his flaming sword, Zhang Zuozheng’s head was severed from his body and rolled aside.

By chance, the head rolled beneath the stone egg. The wound at the neck pressed against the egg’s surface, and as it touched, the stone egg seemed to come alive, quickly absorbing the brain matter.

Zhou Yi did not notice any of this; his attention was still fixed on Mu Chen’s earlier actions. “Why did you strike the stone egg with the coin sword?”

Mu Chen, who had been pouting in complaint about Zhou Yi’s decision to kill Zhang Zuozheng, replied, “I saw a hanged ghost slip into the stone egg. I tried sticking talismans and drawing spells on it, but nothing worked. So I thought I’d crack it open and pull the ghost out.”

“The hanged ghost entered the stone egg?” Zhou Yi was taken aback and asked again.

Mu Chen only nodded, saying nothing further.

Zhou Yi did not know what would happen once the stone egg absorbed the ghost, but he thought to himself how troubled this egg was—so much had already happened around it before it had even hatched.

After killing Zhang Zuozheng and Zuo Zhi, Zhou Yi felt a sense of loss. Perhaps neither of them truly deserved death; each had served his master.

Yet, after their repeated interference in Zhou Yi’s affairs, their deaths were inevitable. Though he felt some regret, he bore no guilt.

The giant serpent’s body had shrunk, but as long as its nature remained unchanged, the formation could be rebuilt. With Zuo Zhi and Zhang Zuozheng dead, Zhou Yi and his two companions had no further worries, and the formation was restored. Five elemental energies once again gathered from all over Changbai Mountain into the heart of the mountain.

The three of them sat cross-legged, entering meditation to cultivate.

Mount Wutai, Grand Hall of the Great Hero.

Abbot Huiming sat cross-legged on a mat, reciting scriptures with closed eyes. His white brows and beard lent him an air of serenity, Buddhist light faintly glowing around him—a sign of mastery in Buddhist practice. If the light became tangible, Huiming could transcend this realm and hear the Tathagata’s teachings in paradise.

Such tranquility was shattered by the increasingly rapid sound of the wooden fish. Huiming’s chanting sped up with the rhythm, until with a resounding crash, the wooden fish broke apart and the mallet snapped in two.

Huiming opened his eyes, which shone bright, and recited, “Amitabha Buddha.” Then he closed his eyes and resumed chanting.

Moments later, a young monk hurried into the Grand Hall. “Disciple greets Master Abbot.” The monk bore nine burn marks atop his head and walked as if floating above the ground, his feet barely touching.

Without careful observation, this would go unnoticed.

“Amitabha Buddha, speak while standing.” The young monk rose and stood respectfully.

His Dharma name was Xu Hua, Huiming’s third disciple and Zhang Zuozheng’s third senior brother. Among the four brothers, his cultivation was the deepest; not yet forty, he had already survived the tribulation—a talent unseen in a hundred years at Mount Wutai.

Huiming squinted slightly and spoke, “Do you know where your junior brother is now?”

“I do not, Master,” Xu Hua replied.

Huiming rose and walked to the hall’s entrance, gazing at the night sky for a while before suddenly coughing.

Xu Hua quickly stepped forward to pat his back, asking with concern, “Master, are you well?”

Huiming smiled gently, but sorrow clouded his eyes. “Something unfortunate has happened to your junior brother. Go down the mountain and investigate. If you come across the culprit, bring him back to the temple.”

Xu Hua listened, showing no surprise, only calmly stating, “I will descend the mountain now. While I am away, Master must take care.”

Huiming smiled and nodded, waving his hand. “Go.”

Xu Hua knelt on one knee. “I accept your command.” With that, he departed without looking back.

After he left, Huiming returned to his mat and murmured, “Karma cycles, Amitabha Buddha.”

Now to a small Daoist temple in Shanghai, named ‘Xiangyun Temple.’ The temple master was Zhang Mingchu, a Daoist priest in his fifties and the sixty-second Heavenly Master of the Zhengyi sect.

At the moment, Zhang Mingchu was asleep, but suddenly awoke in panic. He hurried to the altar of the Three Pure Ones, lit incense, and took eight copper coins from the offering table, holding them before his chest. “A dream’s omen for fortune and calamity.”

Chanting, he tossed the coins onto the table, but they all fell to the floor, failing to form any divination pattern. Zhang Mingchu sensed something was amiss, but could not say what, so he returned to bed. Yet he woke again at midnight, unable to sleep.

Zhang Mingchu was an alias, as revealing his true name could cause trouble. Xiangyun Temple does exist, but not in Shanghai; here, it refers to the Xiangyun Temple built during the Republic era.

Before the first year of Qianlong’s reign, it was called ‘Xuanming Temple,’ sharing a name with the Xuanming Temple in Changbai Mountain, but unrelated—do not confuse the two.

This shows how Taoism had declined at the time. Even the Heavenly Master failed to divine the future, so his disciples could hardly be expected to reach higher levels. If Zuo Zhi’s cultivation had been deeper, Zhou Yi would not have slain him.

With all sides accounted for, there’s little more to explain.

Returning to the heart of Changbai Mountain, Zhou Yi was now surrounded by deep blue spiritual energy, nearly breaking into purple.

Today was the twenty-ninth of June. Zhou Yi’s breakthrough to purple was meant to be a month later, but the serpent’s inner core had aided him greatly, speeding up his absorption of spiritual energy several times over. In just two days, his energy was overflowing, though a few more hours were needed to break through.

Zhou Yi knew now was not the time for the tribulation and forced himself to delay it. But he could no longer stop absorbing the five elemental energies.

In an instant, the five elemental energies converged around Zhou Yi like air filling a tire already full—add too much, and it bursts.

With energy surging within, Zhou Yi could not help but cry out in agony...