Chapter 23: The Shaman and the Demonic Taoist

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Hengshan, the Old Temple.

An old woman, well into her eighties, leaned heavily on a bamboo cane. Dressed in a faded crimson robe and carrying a basket, she hobbled into the temple.

“Old Clay Lord!” she called, drawing a stick of incense from her basket and placing it before the clay idol with a cracked belly. “I am frail now and rarely have the chance to pay you homage. Please forgive my neglect.”

“Oh~”

The idol with the broken belly inhaled the incense, exclaiming in surprise.

“Auspicious incense—this is scented with Pure Yang magic. Have you, Bloodjade Crone, recently come into great fortune to offer such incense to me?”

“What fortune!” The old woman bared a mouthful of greenish teeth. “Thanks to your guidance, I once gathered many materials for cultivation in the mountains. Now I have come to fulfill my vow.”

“Poison arts are hard to master, and the craft of toxins harder still. Though this place lies in the remote corner of Valleyhearth Prefecture in the southwest, and belongs to the Lan Yin domain where the Dao is weak, it remains under the jurisdiction of Mount Taiping. The separate branches of the Daoist order supervise all matters here. For those like you, practitioners of heterodox ways, a single edict could dissolve you on the spot should you stray even a little.”

Though there was no one else present, the crone’s face darkened at having her secrets laid bare. She could only speak plainly of her purpose.

“Down in the foothills of the southwest, in that newly built village, rumors abound of a demon preying upon the people. Old Clay Lord, have you heard of this?”

“Look at me—where would I hear such news?”

“No need to be coy, Old Clay Lord. You have been sealed for a hundred years, but for your status as the ‘Ancient Lord of Earth,’ you would have none of our respect.”

The Clay Lord replied with a mocking tone, “Yellow Heaven is Yellow Heaven—why call it Ancient? You of the crooked ways are so bound by taboos, ever seeking to defy the heavens.”

“If we could follow, who would rebel?” The crone shook her head, unwilling to linger on such forbidden topics. “The demon has overindulged in its predations and is bound to reap karmic retribution. If the Daoists of Mount Taiping are drawn here, it will reflect poorly on us both. I would thus ask you to act as a mediator and invite the demon here to speak.”

“That favor…”

The crone drew two more sticks of auspicious incense from her basket and lit them in the temple.

“…is not impossible.”

“Thank you, Mountain Spirit Lord!”

…

On the third floor of the granary tower, Ji Ming stood atop a one-eyed old man, drawing voraciously upon the essence within his flesh.

In but a moment, the old man’s viscera, bones, and flesh seemed sucked dry, collapsing in on themselves, shriveling into a husk.

With this abundance of vital energy, Ji Ming’s own flesh, like a sponge soaked in oil, brimmed with vigorous life. He felt himself growing once more.

This growth was not of the spirit, but of his physical form.

His body stretched taller bit by bit. Though still cloaked in feathers, his shoulders, chest, and lower abdomen now bore a faintly human shape.

Only his feet remained as bird’s talons, though they had grown considerably stouter.

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This change in appearance brought about improvements in every aspect—physique, senses, and even his demonic arts.

Whenever he practiced his Moon-Worship Ritual, he would sometimes hear the murmuring of Daoist scriptures, as if someone were reciting a demon’s spell or revealing secret techniques.

Sometimes the whispers came from the sky, sometimes from deep within his own heart.

Ji Ming strained to catch the words, but they were always indistinct, sometimes chilling him to the bone. Over time, it nearly drove him to madness.

He could only blame his lack of attainment for these effects.

Beyond the door, a young girl sat, motionless, more like a living corpse than a person, except for the occasional flicker of hatred in her eyes.

Though Ji Ming felt a pang of sympathy, the girl’s will to die was clear. Yet she had not ended her own life—perhaps she wished to witness the destruction of this village.

“How many are left?”

“Great King!” the girl prostrated herself, her voice cold and brittle as if squeezed from stone. “The villagers, cowed by your fearsome power, have tried to flee in secret. But in your name, I gathered a band of the local ruffians and intercepted the runaways. From among them, I have selected six of the worst villains, ready to be offered up at your pleasure. When these villains are spent, the remaining ruffians will serve as your final ‘provisions.’”

“Divide and conquer!”

Ji Ming could not help but admire the girl’s resourcefulness. Once again, he felt regret for such talent being wasted.

“You need not bow to me. We are equals, each getting what we need from the other. Still, let me offer you some advice: life’s road is long; someday a goal, a person, or a cause will give you reason to go on.”

The girl made no reply, remaining prostrate at the threshold.

Suddenly, several crows swooped down, cawing noisily at Ji Ming.

Ji Ming’s face grew curious. He pondered a while, then addressed the birds: “Brother crows, what does the Mountain Spirit want with me?”

Indeed, these crows were his own kin, hatched from the same nest in the old temple’s locust tree.

“Caw, caw!” The crows called out, deepening Ji Ming’s frown.

“A crone called Bloodjade wants to see me?”

“It must be the Bloodjade Crone of Stonewhite Village!” the girl called from outside, her expression betraying that she knew the woman’s origins.

“You know her?”

“I’ve heard people here talk of her,” the girl nodded, and a touch of life kindled in her face. “The peace and safety of the thirteen villages on Hengshan are much owed to this crone’s protection.”

“Tell me more!”

Ji Ming’s interest was piqued. He tossed some scraps to his crow brothers to send them away.

From the girl’s account, Ji Ming gradually grasped the crone’s significance.

Though the Lan Yin domain was counted among the thirty-six prefectures of the world, it was tucked away in the southwest, far from the heartland, and counted as a land of wild villages and tribes.

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Even Mount Taiping—a pillar of orthodox Daoism—maintained only loose control here, governing the tribes through the local heterodox sects that had long held sway.

Bloodjade Crone, or Grandmother Bloodjade, as she was also called, was the most notable of these heterodox figures among the thirteen villages of Hengshan.

While Mount Taiping’s policy was to rule the wild with the wild, their oversight was by no means lax—in fact, it was exceedingly strict.

If any local collaborator failed to keep the peace or protect humanity, a single official edict was enough to make them self-destruct, no intervention from the immortals needed.

“I have only just begun to prey upon the people, and already karma has caught up with me,” Ji Ming lamented inwardly.

From the crone’s request for the Clay Lord to mediate, it seemed she wished to persuade rather than punish—matters had not yet reached the point of no return.

“Great King, do not worry. I have heard this Bloodjade Crone is fair and just, and would never judge you merely for being a demon.”

“Prejudice is a mountain—how many can stand atop it?”

Though Ji Ming doubted the crone would harm him, he was not fully confident, for the rift between humans and demons ran deep.

“I could go and explain everything to her on your behalf!”

“You?”

Ji Ming was taken aback, not understanding the girl’s true intent. Yet seeing the spark of determination in her eyes—a will to live—he relented.

“Very well, but may I ask why?”

“I have long heard that the crone was a fierce foe of evil in her youth. Though age and fatigue weigh on her, she has not changed her ways. I wish to explain that your actions were to punish evil and save the people, and then seek a chance to become her apprentice—to learn her arts and help rid the world of filth.”

“That’s quite idealistic,” Ji Ming said skeptically. “If the crone is not as she appears, you may well be throwing your life away.”

“This broken body is tormented by every extra day it survives.”

Having said this much, Ji Ming let her have her way. “In that case, bring the villains in so I can deal with them quickly.”

A few days later, more than half of the able-bodied villagers were gone. Every household dared not step outside until even the bandits who had served the demon’s cause had disappeared. Only then did they venture out to see.

On the tower’s upper floor, they found scattered bones, shriveled skin, skulls rolling on the ground, and a black wind whipping dust into their eyes.

Ji Ming stood in the chill wind. After days of feeding, his cultivation had soared.

Most notably, his demonic form had grown nearly as tall as a man, and his wings had transformed into long, feathered arms.

The only flaw was his feet—though now the length and shape of a human’s, the black, gleaming talons were still terrifying.

With a deep breath, he summoned a black Daoist robe from the wind, draped it over his body to hide the feathers, leaving only an ordinary face and hands exposed.

Once he tied his hair in a Daoist knot, fastened his belt, and took up a horsetail whisk, his eyes shone with starlit wisdom. In appearance, he was the very image of a True Daoist Immortal.