Chapter 23: The Ancient Corpse (Revised)

But humans are strange creatures. In a quiet environment, with the atmosphere and the mind’s own imagination, fear can become far greater than in the present chaos.

Huang Dahe, like a man miraculously cured of paralysis, sprang up from his seat. He shoved the Eight Immortals Table—usually so heavy it took two people to carry—to block the door. Huang Liu, seeing this, rushed to help, dragging over the tea table, trunks, stools, and the cupboard, piling them atop the table.

From the western wing, the old father and mother emerged, their son stumbling after them, still half asleep. Huang Dahe hurriedly instructed his wife to take their son and his mother into the inner room to hide beneath the bed, while he and his father remained to guard the main hall.

Thud, thud, thud.

From outside came guttural, rasping noises, as if thick phlegm were lodged in a throat, accompanied by the pounding of the door. Each blow made the barricading beam groan and splinter.

Those inside shivered with terror. Huang Dahe gripped a hoe, his father wielded a stout stick, both pressing desperately against the door.

Suddenly, the noises outside ceased. Ten breaths passed—perhaps a little more.

Bang!

A thunderous crash sounded. The barricading beam, which had served so valiantly, finally gave way with a crack. The Eight Immortals Table and everything atop it were hurled aside, and a tremendous force sent Huang Dahe and his father flying; the old man fell unconscious on the spot.

A tattered figure appeared in the doorway—its face contorted, eyes sunken, skin a bluish iron hue stretched tightly across its skull. Where a nose should be were only two holes, and its jagged teeth jutted from its mouth, stained with dark, dried blood. A stench of rot and decay filled the air.

At last, they saw what had battered the door—a corpse-walker, a zombie. It was as if a wave of icy dread poured from their skulls to their feet.

Huang Dahe, desperate to draw the thing away and give his wife and child a chance, ignored the agony wracking his body and swung his hoe with all his might at the zombie’s skull.

Clang!

Huang Dahe, strong from years of farmwork, had put all his strength into the blow. Yet it was as if the hoe had struck solid rock; the force rebounded up his arms, his muscles quivering, the flesh between his thumb and forefinger split open, blood splattering onto the zombie’s face.

At the scent of fresh blood, the zombie became wild with hunger, like a starving dog catching the scent of food. With a howl, it lunged at Huang Dahe—he felt as though his very soul had fled, waiting only for death.

At that moment, from outside the courtyard came a furious shout:

“Demon, lend me your power for my cultivation!”

A short blade hurtled through the air like a thrown spear, striking the zombie’s head with thunderous force and toppling it to the ground.

It was Ling Chi, who had waited the entire night.

From the first pounding on the door to now, barely twenty heartbeats had passed—had he come any later, lives would have been lost this night.

Ling Chi moved like thunder, his feet barely touching the ground, sweeping through the night air like a great bird, arriving in a flash.

Huang Dahe felt as if waking from a nightmare—he had thought he would not survive the night, yet this young man had saved him. Still, he knew in his heart that without his own resistance, no one could have saved him tonight.

The zombie, interrupted in its feast, let out a furious howl—like a dog whose meal had been snatched away. As it rose, Ling Chi burst into the hall.

He twisted his waist, left leg braced, right leg kicking out in a move swift as a rabbit’s leap; his heel struck the zombie’s jaw, sending it flying into the courtyard. The house was too cramped—he needed a better field of battle.

Ling Chi, faster than the eye could see, seized the zombie’s ankles, his body coiling with power, then slammed it down upon the ground.

Boom!

The zombie struck the earth, a putrid breath escaping its lips.

Shing!

The horse-chopping blade slid from its sheath! The golden hilt gripped in both hands, the blade flashed like a meteor, cleaving the night as it aimed for the zombie’s vitals. Yet withered hands caught the blade; Ling Chi’s entire body erupted with lightning, and he wrenched the sword free for another strike.

The Second Son Slices the Mountain!

Ling Chi’s next blow struck the zombie’s collarbone at an angle. This creature, having absorbed moonlight for who knows how many years, had skin as tough as leather; sparks flew where the blade struck.

The young men of the village, arriving in haste, gaped in disbelief. They’d thought the brawl between their village and Li Village, a hundred men fighting, was shocking enough, but this youth alone displayed power like a raging tempest.

Huang Feihu and Huang Feibao, arriving behind them, quickly explained Ling Chi’s origins.

Golden lightning twined with the blade’s dazzling light, each strike faster and heavier than the last. The zombie’s movements became completely disordered—it was powerless to do anything but receive blow after blow.

Ling Chi’s eyes blazed with thunder as he found an opening. Channeling the full strength of his fifth level of cultivation into the blade, he slashed upward in an arc—Taiyi’s Catastrophe Crossing, the reverse cut.

The tip of the blade pierced through the zombie’s neck and burst out the back of its skull.

Like a punctured wineskin, the zombie instantly collapsed, lifeless.

A dozen threads of thunderous spiritual energy immediately surged back into Ling Chi. Within him, the golden lightning of his aura coalesced, forming a slowly spinning vortex, driving away the fatigue of a night spent cultivating.

After a moment’s rest, he called for Huang Feihu and Huang Feibao, sending them to fetch the physician to tend the wounded, while the other young men searched the village—no one could guarantee this was the only zombie lurking nearby.

Whether Huang Dahe’s father could be saved was uncertain. Huang Dahe, having spent all his strength in that desperate burst, now sat on the ground, unable to move.

His wife pulled her father-in-law from the wreckage; the old man, knocked out by the force of the blow, lay barely breathing on the ground, while the old woman, just crawling from under the bed, knelt by his side, weeping softly.

Ling Chi pressed a thread of pure yang energy into the zombie’s body, and without the protection of yin energy, it was instantly set ablaze, burning with a fierce fire. Ling Chi watched the flames in silence.

He did not know where this zombie had come from, but it was no less formidable than the corpse-fiend from before. Judging by its tattered robes, it must have been buried for centuries—the dried lychee fruits still clinging to its body suggested at least two hundred years.

Ling Chi was eager to increase his cultivation to face the mounting dangers. He decided to enter the mountains the next day, following the trail of yin energy to see if he could discover the origin of this ancient corpse. At present, acquiring spiritual energy remained the most effective method.

Cultivation required patience and precision. To rush was to risk madness and the disordering of one’s meridians.

Huang’s sons returned with the physician. Huang Dahe, having recovered somewhat, found Ling Chi and, without a word, fell to his knees, knocking his head to the ground in gratitude.

Ling Chi stopped him. Any man willing to sacrifice himself for his wife and child was worthy of respect—this was not about cultivation, but about character.

Huang Dahe was a simple, honest farmer, but in the face of danger, he thought only of giving his family a sliver of hope—a true, stalwart man.

The next morning, Ling Chi practiced his swordsmanship in the courtyard. Integrating the Seven Stars Blade Technique into the Taiyi Catastrophe Crossing was a slow process.

But he had already taken the most difficult first step. Half the art of the Seven Stars Blade lay in the footwork, which was the true essence of the technique. Ling Chi merged the Seven Stars Steps into the Nine Palaces method of Eight Trigrams Palm, and the difficulties seemed to unravel before him.

His feet traced the nine palaces, hands shifting yin and yang, moving with the grace of a dragon, striking like an eagle, steady and unyielding, the blade’s light whistling around his body.

He named this new body technique the Nine Palaces Wandering Dragon Steps.

Even the big yellow dog, watching from a distance, tucked its tail and slunk away—the young man before it was simply too fierce to provoke.