Chapter 49: Demons Walk Among Mortals (Part One)

Chapter 49: The Demon Walks Among Mortals (Part One)

To act recklessly is not the way of my sect.
To be steady and strong is my true style.
A gentle push is neither reckless nor weak.
Not good, not bad,
Without victory, how can there be defeat?
Without departure, how can there be return?
With dustless hands and a sword hidden in my heart,
Such is the breadth of my spirit.

The autumn wind blew bleak and cold; the grass and trees withered, dew turned to frost, flocks of swallows departed, and wild geese flew south.

The three northeastern provinces had always been colder than other regions since ancient times. Meichuan Kuzo found himself particularly unsuited to this weather; he always longed to find a girl or two, to drink a few bottles of sake. Every day, he could not resist wandering about, searching for his next target. As for the consequences, he never spared them a thought. Anyone who dared resist him, he would deal with as if they had sabotaged imperial authority.

Tonight, as ever, Meichuan Kuzo set out to prowl under the cover of darkness.

Suddenly, his dull eyes caught sight of a figure dressed in white not far off. In that instant, lust surged in his heart.

He muttered something lewd in Japanese, his eyes glinting with avarice.

Striding forward, he prepared to satisfy his beastly desires.

Unexpectedly, the woman in white recoiled in terror, stepping back twice before fleeing toward a small grove behind her.

He cursed in Japanese and hurriedly gave chase, his mind clouded by lust.

He plunged into the thicket, ready to let out a lascivious laugh and vent his triumph. But as he looked ahead and took in the scene before him, the laughter died on his lips.

A group of strange figures were staring at him with expressionless faces. Each one radiated a deep, unfathomable aura—among the youngest of them, he sensed power no less than that of the high priests of the Grand Shrine.

He started to beg for mercy, but before he could finish, a heavy blow struck his head; his vision went black.

Idly stroking his iron staff, Luofeng smiled faintly. “Though it’s not perfectly balanced, it works rather well as a blackjack.”

...

When Meichuan Kuzo regained consciousness, he found himself in a cave, surrounded by a group of Chinese adepts.

A burly man with a spear grinned and said, “Miss Qing, you’re quite the beauty. How come you don’t have anyone? Look at you, how many have you lured now?”

The woman in white’s face was icy as she scoffed, “Whether I have a man or not is none of your business! If you’re so interested, why don’t you try on this white dress yourself, Yang Spear?”

A chorus of laughter broke out; some even joked that next time, the job of baiting the enemy should be assigned to the great hero Yang.

The man with the spear ignored them and pointed at Meichuan Kuzo. “Interrogate him. This foreign adept is important. Get the information.”

He produced instruments of torture, ready to begin.

But the others wouldn’t let him off that easily, raising their voices in mock reproach. “Oh, Yang Spear, trying to deny it? Didn’t we agree to take turns?”

Yang Spear’s eyes widened. “How can you slander me like this...”

“Slander? I saw with my own eyes you swapped the lots with Miss Qing the other day. Today was supposed to be your turn.”

Yang Spear’s face flushed, veins bulging on his forehead as he protested, “I am a stalwart man, how could I wear women’s clothes? My build isn’t right! The enemy would see through it!”

A stream of similar arguments followed, all about “righteous duty” and “upright manhood,” provoking another round of laughter that filled the cave with a cheerful air.

Luofeng smiled serenely, while several monks present shook their heads but said nothing.

There was an exception: the young monk from Shaolin was the liveliest and most delighted of all.

Of course, it was impossible for Yang Yungun to actually act as decoy. After all, infiltrating the enemy’s ranks was a task of immense psychological pressure; such talk was only meant to lighten the mood.

...

As a high-ranking adept from the east, Meichuan Kuzo had always disdained learning Chinese. Now, however, he wished he could slap himself. Why hadn’t he listened to his teacher back then? If only he’d studied, he wouldn’t be in this predicament, unable to understand a word.

Looking around at the arrangements, Meichuan Kuzo was filled with dread. Over twenty powerful adepts surrounded him; this lineup could easily storm Kyoto and assassinate the emperor himself. There was also an old Daoist silently painting—could he be outlining a legendary formation? And those jars and bottles in the distance—he recognized few, but one was familiar. He’d seen it at the high priest’s residence: it was that very poison which had wiped out all the outer circle adepts of the Tianze Mansion.

Snatches of incomprehensible Chinese reached his ears—he guessed they were discussing how to deal with him. Despair overwhelmed him; he even wished for death.

I’m just a lowly mid-level ninja—do you really have to go this far?!

...

Meichuan Kuzo was the ninth eastern adept captured by Luofeng and the others; they were well-practiced in interrogation. After a round of torture, Meichuan Kuzo screamed in agony, but refused to yield.

Tang Xuance of the Tang Clan, who was in charge of questioning, couldn’t help but sigh, “Though he’s an enemy, one has to admire his backbone.”

“The previous eight, none lasted beyond three rounds. This one endured five and still kept his mouth shut.”

The others nodded in agreement.

“Wait a second.”

Daoist Moyan from Dragon Tiger Mountain voiced a different suspicion. “What if... he doesn’t understand Chinese at all?”

The atmosphere suddenly stilled as everyone recalled the events from capture until now—not a single curse in Chinese, only his own tongue.

This was awkward.

“Should we just kill him?”

“No. We’ve watched him for days; he’s not insignificant. He might know something about the Three Shrine High Priests.”

A heavy silence fell.

The old Daoist who had been painting formations finally stopped and said slowly, “I have a method to extract information. But I must ask all present to keep it secret.”

Miss Qing asked curiously, “Reverend Xuanming, what is it? We’re all friends here. Anyone who dares come here has already staked their life. Who would care about secrets now?”

Xuanming sighed, “It’s a technique for manipulating souls. Since it’s a grave disrespect to the dead, it’s forbidden among adepts, classified as heretical. I learned a little by chance.”

Many present sucked in a breath—among adepts, even souls were taboo.

“What are you all thinking?” Luofeng said with a light chuckle. “Used on a person, perhaps it’s heresy. But are these eastern dogs even human?”

Recalling all they had witnessed in the three northeastern provinces, anger darkened their faces.

Raping women with impunity, kicking children’s heads like footballs in murder games for sport. The eastern adepts treated the local people as livestock, snatching them at will for the practice of their dark arts.

Compared to such beasts, even the most lawless seemed virtuous.

Remembering the eastern poison adept he had killed, Yang Yungun gritted his teeth. “Not human—extract his soul!”

Miss Qing cast a hateful glance at Meichuan Kuzo and, cold as ice, said, “Do it.”

...

All twenty-four adepts present, including Luofeng, voiced no objection.

Since they are not human, there is no need to treat them by human rules.

[Late update today]

(End of this chapter)