Chapter Six: Battling the Mountain Fiend

A man and an ape.

Beneath the moonlight, they faced each other in silence.

The air was sharp and biting. Nearby, there were faint rustlings—perhaps some wild creatures prowling under the cover of night were drawing near.

Qingyuan glanced at Xiaoyu, thoughts racing through his mind. Even if he need not worry about the girl, the presence of beasts nearby made any confrontation highly unfavorable.

Suddenly, Qingyuan spoke. “I only wish to save someone. I have no intention of harming you.”

The mountain fiend did not retreat. It felt as if a blazing fire burned before it, unbearable in its heat, yet edged with a chilling sharpness. It turned its head to look at the little girl, as though recalling something, and its expression grew even more ferocious as it roared in anger.

“The methods passed down by your kind are not true paths, but mere offshoots—third-rate at best,” Qingyuan said, meeting the fiend’s golden eyes without flinching. “Since ancient times, only one of your kind has ever amounted to anything—a demon immortal, but even he was slain by a true immortal many years ago.”

“After his death, the demon immortal dispersed his essence into the world, sometimes entering apes and giving rise to mountain fiends. But in all these years, not a single demon immortal has risen from your line again—only those who, by instinct, stumble upon the threshold of cultivation.”

“But compared to the ways of the true cultivators, the path of the mountain fiends is but a minor branch, a dead end.”

“Look at all the immortals and buddhas above—most are human. Even the rare beasts among them have joined immortal sects, learned true methods, and cultivated themselves to immortality.”

Qingyuan gazed at the fiend before him. “You rely on instinctive methods. You may gain some power, become a demon, but you will never advance beyond this. Your path will end soon enough.”

The mountain fiend’s eyes flickered, though it was unclear if it understood.

“You have awakened your mind, know your own nature, and do not fear the fire talisman I carry—you can discern truth from illusion, which makes you more remarkable than most spirits. I believe you can understand my words,” Qingyuan said. “In these wild hills, even if you could defeat me, the noise could draw tigers or wolves, and the consequences would be dire.”

The fiend hesitated, its golden gaze wavering.

Seeing its resolve falter, Qingyuan pressed on. “If you heed my words, release the girl and abandon your dark arts, I will teach you a breathing technique—one that nurtures your organs, builds inner strength, and allows you to gather true energy.”

The mountain fiend bowed its head slightly, as if pondering.

A tuft of white fur on its head shone ghostly pale in the moonlight. Its sharp claws glinted coldly.

Suddenly, Qingyuan’s heart tensed.

With a sudden cry, the fiend, which had been standing on its feet with its arms touching the ground, leapt straight at him.

“So cunning…” Qingyuan’s expression changed as he slashed out with his blade.

He had no spiritual roots, had never managed to cultivate true energy. But wandering the world these years, he had learned some martial skills—mere techniques, but enough for self-preservation.

The fiend’s arm swung down like a hammer.

Qingyuan twisted aside, slashing with his long knife.

The blade was of the metal element, sharp and deadly, stained by much blood and haunted by a baleful aura.

Killing intent swept forth, and the mountain fiend faltered, dazed for a moment.

Qingyuan seized the chance and aimed a cut at its arm, hoping to sever it.

But the fiend howled, yanking its arm back. The blade flashed, slicing off only the tips of its claws.

Qingyuan was shaken—those claws were incredibly hard; even his strike only managed to shear off two. To be scratched by them would be no less than being cut by a sword.

He stepped back and looked up.

A furious roar split the air.

The sound vibrated through him; just hearing it made Qingyuan’s mind sink into a haze.

And then, two golden lights drew close—the fiend’s eyes.

“Not good.”

He realized he had fallen for the fiend’s trick. Though it had not cultivated true energy, it was still a spirit beast, and it had means to bewilder mortals.

Alarmed, he focused his mind, picturing the summer moon shining above him.

Moonlight cleansed all, driving away impurity.

The ninefold jade tower stood firm between his brows.

His mind cleared, vision opening up.

But the fiend was already upon him, its hand reaching for his throat.

Its palm was rough, reeking of blood and earth.

Qingyuan flipped his hand, raising his blade.

The fiend grabbed the knife, somehow resisting the baleful energy on its bloodstained edge. Its mind was sharp; though fearful, it seemed to know these auras could not truly harm it. Even as its palm was cut, it held fast.

With its other hand, it struck out.

Qingyuan released the knife and retreated.

A claw slashed at him—swift and sure, the move of a seasoned hunter.

Qingyuan could not match its speed and drew the iron rod at his waist, the fire-stoking staff he had taken from the celestial palace.

He jabbed forward with it.

The fiend’s claw came for him.

“This fiend is far beyond ordinary spirits,” Qingyuan thought, his breath catching.

Its arms were long, nearly reaching the ground, but Qingyuan’s short staff compensated for his own reach.

The fiend’s claw tore into Qingyuan’s shoulder just as his iron rod struck the creature’s throat.

A sharp pain shot through Qingyuan’s left shoulder, while the end of his staff hit bone with a brittle crack—a sensation like breaking stone.

They broke apart.

Qingyuan fell to the ground, clutching his bleeding shoulder.

The mountain fiend staggered back, clutching its throat where its windpipe had been shattered. It stumbled, then fell flat, lifeless.

…

“This creature was truly beyond my expectations,” Qingyuan thought as he lay on the grass, gazing up at the bright moon and stars. “It feared the blade’s baleful energy and my fire talismans, but it could tell what was real and what was not—they could not truly harm it.”

After a while, his breathing calmed. The wound on his shoulder, though painful, was not deep.

In truth, the iron rod in his hand was slightly longer than the fiend’s arm, which was why it suffered a broken throat while his own injury was less severe.

He caught his breath, pushed himself up, and went to Xiaoyu’s side. The girl was merely exhausted and frightened, without any other harm. He let out a small sigh of relief.

“There are still beasts about at night. We need shelter,” he thought, glancing toward the way they had come, where a thatched hut stood.

He reached out, gathering Xiaoyu in his arms, ready to rise—but then he froze.

Turning his head, he saw the mountain fiend, which had been lying face-up, slowly getting to its feet.

Pressing its arms to the earth, it struggled upright, breathing raggedly, trembling.

Qingyuan gently set Xiaoyu down and gripped the iron rod.

The fiend swayed, clutching its throat, its eyes fixed on the rod in his hand.

The mountain wind stirred its black fur, the white tuft on its head shining like the moon.

It trembled, staring at the iron rod, its voice hoarse.

“Teach…me…”