Chapter 6: Triumph and Liberation from Demonic Nature

“Clap!”

Lord Claypalm brought his hands together with a crisp sound, drawing the attention of several spirits and monsters to himself.

“After this little game, if we find it entertaining, I hope you’ll introduce more newcomers from the mountains next time.”

“That sounds fun!” Mouse Four, sporting a round hat, lashed his tail and hopped from side to side, clapping his paws with excitement. He turned to ask, “Third Brother, do you think he’ll succeed?”

“It doesn’t matter if he does or not—he’s as good as dead,” sneered Mouse Three with the pointed hat, his beady eyes glinting with malicious light.

“Yes… dead…” murmured the tiger demon, who had remained lying low, with a note of regret in his voice. He doubted he would find another as docile as Ji Ming; if the chance ever arose, he would try to turn him into his own ghostly thrall.

“Place your bets! Place your bets!” Lord Claypalm beamed with delight. After all this setup, they had finally arrived at his favorite part of the ritual.

“I’ll go first,” said Mouse Three, squinting slyly. He snatched Mouse Four’s round hat, strutted forward, and upended a small tuft of white mouse fur from inside.

“Ah…” Lord Claypalm narrowed his eyes. “Could this be the famed fire mouse fur unique to our Guhe Isles? They say that robes made from it are impervious to blade or flame.”

“Exactly! That’s right!” Mouse Four boasted. “Our family has ties to the fire mice, which is how we came by this tuft.”

Lady Whitebone snorted derisively, unable to endure the rodents’ posturing.

“It takes nine feet of mouse-fur cloth to weave a fire mouse robe. With just that little tuft, how many years would it take you to make one?”

Mouse Three, far from embarrassed by her mockery, seemed to relish the attention—a true sycophant among mice.

Mouse Four clutched the fire mouse fur anxiously, eyeing his hat, which Mouse Three still held. Suddenly, Mouse Three’s tiny paw gave a shake, and another item tumbled out—a short segment of jade-green bamboo, marbled with black teardrop stains.

“Tear-stained Jade Bamboo! That’s a forging material found only in the Celestial Fox Court. Have you two been pilfering from your own house?” Lord Claypalm chuckled.

“Nonsense! We’re merely safeguarding it for Young Master Hu. When we win this gamble, we’ll return it at once.”

“Very well, very well!” Lord Claypalm waved his hand, unwilling to delve into their shady dealings. “As long as you’re confident, that’s what matters.”

The tiger demon stepped forward and spat out a translucent aquamarine, which Lord Claypalm appraised as a water spirit stone—slightly less rare than the jade bamboo, but the stone was palm-sized and laced with blood veins, evidence of careful consecration.

All told, Lord Claypalm acknowledged the water spirit stone’s value.

Lady Whitebone reached into her ribcage and snapped off a piece of her own rib, laying it before Lord Claypalm for inspection. He did not bother with appraisal, but gave his assent at once. “This ghostbone is the foundation of Lady Whitebone’s power. Whoever wins it in the end, I’ll explain its secret to them in private.”

“Now… place your bets!”

Ji Ming tensed instinctively, then found himself amused—he, too, seemed to be a player in this game of chance.

Yet in this contest, his only opponent was himself.

“Failure!” Mouse Three and Mouse Four, without surprise, wagered on his failure.

The tiger demon pondered a moment, listening to the analysis of his ghostly servant, and likewise bet that Ji Ming would fail to master the secret art.

Lord Claypalm patted his ample belly, his clay eyes glinting as he laughed. “I like the look of this fellow. I believe he’ll succeed.”

Lady Whitebone feigned a plaintive air. “Old man, you have plenty of treasures in that belly of yours; you can afford to lose. We, on the other hand, can’t risk our fortunes so lightly.”

“Haha!” Lord Claypalm roared with laughter. “Then win my treasures one by one. I’m always ready to lose!”

“Come then!” He straightened, chanting under his breath.

Inside the ancient temple, beneath the corpse of the Taoist priest, the earth bulged upward, forming a burial mound that swallowed the corpse whole. Then, clusters of ghostfire drifting in the temple descended into the earthen grave.

Thick smoke, reeking of death and decay, seeped from the soil, so acrid that Mouse Three and Mouse Four retreated to the temple doorway.

“The demonic essence in the corpse will soon be refined—prepare to receive it.”

Standing amid the fumes, Ji Ming fixed his gaze on the mound. He could already see wisps of white vapor rising from its summit.

The vapor, twisting like white serpents, slithered through the temple before, under Lord Claypalm’s guidance, creeping “cautiously” to Ji Ming’s side.

Ji Ming stood on one foot, arms spread behind him, neck stretched upward. He assumed the postures of Standing and Spreading Crane, breathing in rhythm, inhaling and exhaling the “white serpent.”

“Hoo—ha—” Not a wisp escaped—all the white vapor was drawn into his mouth and nose.

His body temperature soared. He stretched his outstretched arms, maintaining flawless rhythm with every breath.

The demonic essence, absorbed into his flesh, was gradually accepted by his body under the discipline of the Crane Control technique, transforming into vital nourishment.

Deep in his gut, his stomach rumbled like a drum, hunger gnawing as food was rapidly digested. A slender stream of vital energy was born.

But as soon as it formed, it was absorbed by his body, fueling his practice of the secret art.

“Something’s wrong! The amount of vital energy is too little. I can’t keep refining the demonic essence.”

If this continued, with no food left in his belly, he’d have to burn his own flesh to produce energy.

No—it’s already happening.

Ji Ming had no other choice but to persist, for only by mastering the Crane Control technique could he escape and be reborn.

Even as his whole body flushed red and sweat poured from him in waves, he kept his posture, moving into the third form—the Relaxed Crane.

Sweat vaporized, condensing around him in a lingering mist—like a celestial crane haloed in cloud. This was the mark of mastering the Relaxed Crane Form.

His stomach roared with hunger, and his body shriveled almost instantly, skin clinging to bone until he looked like a dried corpse.

Inside the ancient temple, the assembled spirits and monsters all stood frozen, horrified by his madness.

Crack!

With a sharp sound, Ji Ming looked down.

His withered, stick-thin leg could no longer support his weight and snapped at the ankle.

“Hahaha!” Mouse Three, tongue lolling, laughed till he nearly toppled over. “He nearly scared me to death! I almost thought he’d succeed.”

Ji Ming, collapsed on the ground, eyes sunken deep, yet burning with a frightening light, raised his palm toward Mouse Three.

“Could it be…” Lord Claypalm saw the gesture and his heart leapt with anticipation.

In the next instant, Mouse Three vanished from the temple doorway. His head and body were yanked by an invisible force, dragged straight to Ji Ming’s hand.

“Release!”

Ji Ming’s parched lips shouted.

A surge of force shot from his palm into the mouse’s head. With a bang, Mouse Three had no chance to react—his head burst open, brain and gore splattering the ground, his limbs falling limp.

“Haha!” Ji Ming laughed hoarsely, his gaze sweeping the room.

“I did it!”

And with that, he raised his hand toward the temple door. A crow perched outside was yanked into his grasp.

Clutching the bird, he used its hard beak to pierce his own heart.

“Here it comes—the third life!”

“How it hurts!”