Chapter 146: The Fisherman, The Sleeping Taoist

Zen Master Sura was visibly stunned. That familiar voice shook his long-sealed memories and destabilized his diamond-firm state of mind.

Nearby, the divine general who had been sweeping through the void warriors was now, like the Zen master, gazing toward the wellhead. Seizing the opportunity, Ji Ming snatched the plum branch into his hand.

With a gentle flick of the plum branch, the ghost child—who had already torn open the intestines and was sucking on the mountain demon’s vital essence beside the well—was instantly teleported right before Ji Ming.

The ghost child still retained the form of an infant, with short, slender arms and a pale, ashen body devoid of any blood color.

His tiny form sat upon a fleshy lotus pedestal, radiating a full body of nether light. In one hand, he held a minute three-pronged hallebard; in the other, a frog-mouthed ritual conch; and around his neck hung a string of prayer beads made of bloody tumors. Most peculiar of all was his skull of greenish luminescence.

Upon it, there was not a scrap of skin—only an eerie greenish bone color, a mouth full of tusks, and what looked like a shaved-off nose and mouth, radiating an intense sense of terror.

Clearly, even if Great King Huangjiao had returned to the mortal realm prematurely, his full repertoire of nether merit and ghost-deity blessings would still impose immense pressure on Zen Master Sura.

"Zen Master, why don't you catch up with your old friend first?"

With these words, Ji Ming's figure vanished from in front of the temple hall and reappeared beside the well.

After straightening his Taoist robes and tying up his hair into a bun, Ji Ming leisurely made his way into the presence of the mountain demon.

The mountain demon was currently healing the abdomen that had been so brutally torn open. She lay laboriously against the rim of the Fate-Locking Well, absorbing the nether Qi and spiritual essence spewing from beneath it.

Nearby, Qian Geng stood by the well, earnestly urging the small flood-dragon within to leave.

Ji Ming noticed a corpse beside the mountain demon—it was the young nobleman who had come along with the Zen master. He had clearly been chosen to serve as the sacrificial substitute to pad the corpse for Huangjiao.

Seeing Ji Ming approach, the mountain demon wore a lingering look of fear and said, "I have given birth ahead of schedule as instructed. He almost killed me over this."

"You should have given birth back when I was turned into a sheep."

Ji Ming looked toward the direction of the magical combat, where nether light and Buddhist radiance were intertwined, two figures locked in combat at their most fiercely spectacular.

"Now, whichever of the two wins will not spare you, the prime culprit."

Said the mountain demon.

"Don't rush." Ji Ming gripped the plum branch tightly, not daring to let go. "The most thrilling, the most dramatic part is yet to come. Let's wait a little longer with some patience."

"Us!"

The mountain demon savored the word, a complex and inexpressible jumble of feelings churning within her heart.

She had no idea how the young Taoist priest before her possessed the confidence to plot against those two supreme figures simultaneously. Could playing the role of the snipe and the clam really be that easy to profit from?!

Even though she wished to jump ship from Ji Ming's sinking vessel, there was nowhere safe for her to land right now; she simply had no choice.

"Golden Boy!"

Qian Geng called out in a lukewarm tone. "I don't care about your schemes, but you cannot drag the dragon prince into this. That is my bottom line."

"Boom!"

Outside the well, the entire bloated temple hall was caught in the fallout of the spell battle, thoroughly destroyed and collapsed, kicking up billowing clouds of dust and smoke.

Ji Ming paid no heed to Qian Geng's accusations, nor did he care for the thoroughly terrified small flood-dragon down in the well. Instead, he pinched a tiny medicinal pill between his fingers.

Standing between the pillar gates before the well, he raised his gaze, ready at any moment to unleash this long-cherished trump card that was almost gathering dust.

The fleshy lotus dais hovered in mid-air. The ghost infant, Great King Huangjiao, alternately stood and sat, lifting his feet and waving his arms in a strange dance, while sounds of Sanskrit chants and wondrous music reverberated through the void.

Listening to the wondrous music and watching the eerie ghost infant, Ji Ming felt a wave of dizziness and bewilderment wash over him, and he quickly averted his gaze. Yet even so, the sensation refused to fade.

Streams of light flew in from outside the peak, attempting to shatter the ghost form and break the lotus dais, only to be swallowed one by one by Huangjiao.

"The Art of Vajra Might, coupled with the Subduing Demon Handprint—still the same old tricks. You really haven't made a single bit of progress over all these years!"

"Progress?"

Zen Master Sura sneered and made no further move, simply closing his eyes.

"Do you know why you were killed by me? A high monk comparable to the fourth realm, whose transformation was near perfection, yet killed by me, a mere third-realm cultivator."

"Because you launched a sneak attack."

Mention of past events stirred an unnamable fury that could no longer be suppressed. Huangjiao danced ever faster atop the lotus pedestal, and the waves of Sanskrit chants and wondrous music poured into the ears like demonic incantations.

The Zen master closed his eyes and pressed his palms together. "No, because you backed the wrong side."

"And now, at this very moment, you have clearly backed the wrong side once again." With a loud shout, the Zen master produced a talisman and proclaimed, "Where are the nether officials and soldiers of Jixheng Mountain?"

"Dong! Dong! Dong!"

The war drums beat.

"Woo—woo—woo—"

The ritual conch echoed.

In the mid-air above Cold Ridge Peak, a dark cloud several acres wide descended, packed to the brim with ghost generals and nether soldiers, every single one clad in armor, bearing arms, and glaring with wide-open eyes.

"Heterodox Buddhist thief, how dare you violate my Taoist soil!"

"Ah—"

Huangjiao was consumed with fury. Snatching off the greenish skull, he roared at the top of his lungs, "Behold my Slime-Wind Nightmare Art!"

That greenish skull spun dizzyingly in the air. Zen Master Sura’s expression changed instantly, revealing a disheveled look for the very first time as he scurried around to evade it like a temple rat.

He had known that Great King Huangjiao cultivated a nightmare art. Unlike his own livestock-transforming sorcery, which was relatively easy to break, this nightmare art was fiercely potent and virtually impossible to guard against.

He should have guessed long ago that since Huangjiao wore the nether-dharma bone greenish skull, he would definitely use it in tandem with this nightmare art.

"Quickly capture him!"

Clutching his throbbing head, the Zen master shouted to the nether officials and soldiers upon the dark cloud.

Huangjiao immediately dropped to Ji Ming's side, putting on the appearance of an obedient servant, and whispered, "Quickly pull out your identity and shield me for a bit. Don't think I don't know that you were the one who forced me to be born prematurely. The same curse I can use to maim that Surazi, I can use to curse you to death on the spot."

Up on the dark cloud, the various generals and soldiers hesitated momentarily. They naturally noticed the thousand-year-old plum branch in Ji Ming's hand and cautiously exchanged greetings from atop the cloud.

"This ghost child was raised by me," Ji Ming said with absolute calm. Then, he sharply rebuked Huangjiao beside him, "Why haven't you returned to the maternal body to recuperate?"

Huangjiao cupped his tiny hands in a salute, cast a triumphant glance at the Zen master, and then plunged straight into the mountain demon's belly, curling back into the shape of an unborn fetus.

The Zen master was about to speak further when he saw the celestial youth toss out an object. His pupils constricted to the utmost limit, and he let out a shrill cry, "Nether-Hidden Water-Thunder Pill!"

Inside the Iron Prison Temple, a pure black flash of thunder containing a speck of silver vanished in an instant. Surazi bolted down the peak trailing a plume of acrid smoke, vanishing into the wind and snow.

"Good lad."

From inside the mountain demon's belly, Huangjiao let out a sigh of praise. "With this strike of Nether-Hidden Water-Thunder, combined with my nightmare art, it will take him seven or eight years to recover."

Ji Ming turned around and stared intently at the mountain demon's abdomen, his gaze filled with an intensely suppressed excitement.

The mountain demon had never seen such a look before—desire, euphoria, agitation, coupled with ultimate calm and restraint, a tangle of countless emotions interwoven together.

She clutched her belly with a premonitory feeling that here, at this very moment, the young Taoist priest was completing his transformation into a fisherman reaping the spoils.

In the very next second, she saw it... she saw the young Taoist priest pitch forward and fall fast asleep.

"He fell asleep!"

The mountain demon widened her eyes in disbelief. Not only had the young Taoist pitch-fallen straight asleep, but he was even resting his head on an exquisite jade pillow.