Chapter Forty-Eight: Having Settled Matters, He Leaves with the Dust Whisk

"What an impressive Blade Draw."
Monk Three-Fires instantly recognized this as a human path divine art. Reflecting on it, this was already the third divine art Zhou Bai had displayed. Even in the four-hundred-year history of the Division of Nether Records, there had been few such prodigies. Still, knowing many arts didn’t equate to mastering them; how far Zhou Bai could go would depend on his future growth.
Even wielding one divine art could make someone powerful, but possessing several, as Zhou Bai did, meant endless possibilities. When he advanced further, with a single slash of his blade, how many demons, fiends, or ghosts in the world could possibly withstand it?
Zhou Bai retrieved the fallen butcher’s blade and slung it over his shoulder, while he kept his Tang saber at his waist—the most advantageous position for a blade-draw strike. The saber’s intent had been unleashed with the last attack and could only be replenished through the Blade Nurturing art; who knew when he could draw it next?
Nonetheless, this encounter had been fruitful—so many monsters slain, and the points accumulated were considerable.
With this in mind, Zhou Bai immediately made his way towards Monk Three-Fires. The Southern Mountain King was still barely alive; if he could deliver the final blow, the points gained would be substantial.
Seeing Zhou Bai approaching, Monk Three-Fires didn’t wait for him to speak. He slammed his right fist down, and the tiger demon’s head was instantly reduced to pulp.
Covering his face, Zhou Bai felt a pang of regret for the points slipping through his fingers, but since he hadn’t fought for the kill, there was little to say.
Monk Three-Fires rummaged through the pile of flesh, retrieved his own demon core, and then fished out a bottle filled with fish-dragon essence blood, tossing it casually to Zhou Bai.
“Take this. If you ever meet someone from the Division of Nether Records who practices demon path divine arts, it’ll make a handy favor.”
This was indeed useful. Zhou Bai accepted it with thick skin and tucked it away carefully.
“As for the tiger demon’s eyes, I’ve already taken them. They’re its natal demon artifacts—of use to me. The rest of the corpse, if you want to soak it in wine, feel free.”
Zhou Bai had no objection. Speaking of soaking in wine, it reminded him of the art of Spirit Brewing. If it didn’t cost too many points, he might use this chance to master it.
Glancing back at the distant snake demon’s corpse, Monk Three-Fires patted his shoulder with a hint of emotion.
“The future is bright for you. That snake demon was a single step from the late minor demon stage, yet you killed it in one stroke. Such divine arts are rare indeed.”
Zhou Bai shook his head, aware of his own shortcomings. Though his explosive power was formidable—enough to catch the Southern Mountain King off guard—he lacked means for a prolonged battle.
“No need to be overly modest,” Monk Three-Fires said. “He who lives is king; the dead are but outlaws. Such is the eternal truth of this world. What are your plans now, Zhou Bai?”
“I’ll return to Hangdu for now. By the way…” Zhou Bai produced the bag he’d taken from the salamander demon; fortunately, it was undamaged.
Monk Three-Fires took the bag, inspected it, and handed it back.
“This bag is a magical tool, though rather crudely made. It can only contain living things, and if kept too long, they’ll suffocate inside.”
“The people captured by the demons are inside, I suppose?”
Monk Three-Fires nodded, pointed at the bag, and released a burst of Buddhist light. The opening widened, and dozens of people tumbled out, temporarily unconscious.
“They’re all right. A few days of rest and they’ll recover.”
Zhou Bai breathed a sigh of relief, spotting Wang Lei among them. He was battered and bruised from his struggle with the salamander demon but, at least, still alive.
Suddenly recalling something, Zhou Bai asked, “What about those elders on the mountainside market who were turned into mules and donkeys?”
Monk Three-Flowers shook his head. “They’ve been transformed for too long—their bodies have been completely altered and merged with those animal hides.”
Zhou Bai considered for a moment; the best course was to hand this matter over to the Division of Nether Records and the authorities, and he only needed to contact Wen Meng.
With everything resolved, Monk Three-Fires smiled. “With the tiger demon gone, I’m finally free of this Yangzhou prison.”
“The Division of Nether Records should arrive soon, so I’ll be leaving Mount Yue myself. The world is wide, and birds can soar as they please.”
He had spent much time in Hangdu because of the tiger demon. Though it had steadied his heart for cultivation, he was not one to stay idle. With the matter settled, he was ready to depart.
Seeing him turn to leave, Zhou Bai asked, puzzled, “That’s not the direction to Hangdu, is it?”
Monk Three-Fires burst out laughing, nodding to him. “Panshan Monastery has nothing to do with me anymore. I left a letter behind. Whoever becomes the next abbot, I don’t care. I’m leaving.”
“Aren’t you going back at all?”
“What for? There’s nothing I need in Panshan Monastery. If you’re interested in the Buddhist scriptures, Zhou, take them all if you wish.”
A thought occurred to Zhou Bai—if he could add a few Buddhist scriptures to his system interface, perhaps he could promote a divine art into a Buddhist path divine art.
With that in mind, there was still reason to visit Panshan Monastery.
Monk Three-Fires called out enthusiastically, “Of course I’m headed to Xuzhou! I should’ve gone long ago. Demons roam in broad daylight there, and ghosts wander at night—how could I not go?”
“I’ll be off now, Zhou. If fate allows, we’ll meet in Xuzhou.”
Zhou Bai watched him depart, then set to work.
He gathered the survivors and piled the demon corpses in a clearing in the woods.
Soon after, Wen Meng arrived with his men, having received the message. He was dressed in the uniform of the Division of Nether Records, but his hair was a mess, as if he’d just woken up.
He seemed a bit embarrassed and quickly directed the officials to carry the wounded down the mountain, taking the transformed animals along as well.
“What about those people who were turned into livestock?”
“There’s nothing to be done. We’ll have to keep them as they are,” Wen Meng replied helplessly. “They’re all elderly—even if they could become human again, their bodies couldn’t handle it.”
Zhou Bai omitted some details as he recounted the events on the mountain.
Wen Meng was astonished that there had been a demon lair right under Hangdu’s nose, but relieved the crisis was resolved.
When tallying up the dead monsters, Wen Meng was shocked: nearly thirty lesser demons, and several minor demons among them.
He looked Zhou Bai up and down, incredulous. “Your cultivation has advanced again, I see. You’ve refined your natal ghost artifact. Your talent is truly extraordinary.”
Suddenly, Wen Meng remembered. “By the way, where’s your natal ghost artifact? Show it to me.”
Zhou Bai didn’t bother to hide it. He knew the Division of Nether Records was no place for false modesty, so he opened his palm to reveal it.