Zhang Shan watched the two scholars head to the opposite rooms. Standing in the corridor, he reached out to catch a small handful of rainwater, weighed it in his hand, and then overturned it. Returning to the room, he closed the door and, with his dry hand, took out an ordinary yellow paper talisman. Zhang Shan murmured, “There’s definitely something amiss here. The rainwater is quite ‘gloomy,’ most likely imbued with baleful aura. This humble talisman of mine is called the Fire-Starting Baleful Burn Talisman. It’s quite common, widely circulated because it’s most sensitive to the presence of baleful aura…”

The young Daoist held the talisman between two fingers, silently recited a mantra, and then swiftly pressed it onto his wet hand. The yellow paper talisman burst into flames in Zhang Shan’s palm, quickly turning to ashes. The young Daoist’s expression turned solemn as he scraped the ashes into a brazier.

Chen Pingan asked, “How much does this spirit talisman cost?”

The Daoist Zhang Shan wasn’t surprised in the slightest and earnestly replied, “These types of spirit talismans are not ranked, just like minor officials in the bureaucracy aren’t considered part of the elite. Therefore, the price is low. The cost is just a piece of yellow paper plus the effort of a Qi Refiner in the Lower Five Realms to copy it. One snowflake coin can buy almost thirty of these Baleful Burn Talismans. Converted to silver, it’s about three taels of silver per talisman, which is really not expensive.”

Chen Pingan nodded.

Regarding drawing talismans, he had personally witnessed the marvel of the Obstacle-Breaking Talisman. Back then, on the mountain road, he was bewitched by the Bride in Mourning Gown, and the group was walking on the “Yellow Spring Road,” trapped in a dangerous situation akin to a ghost wall. Lin Shouyi then drove an Obstacle-Breaking Talisman, a type of Mountain-Water Talisman, leading the group forward.

Later, in the Bamboo Lodge of the Fallen Mountain, Li Xisheng drew “word” talismans on the walls of the lodge. When the words were complete, the talismans were complete. This belonged to a very high level of accomplishment and attainment. In the end, he entrusted his book boy Cui Ci to send Chen Pingan an introductory book on Daoist talismans and a large stack of talisman paper of various materials. There was also the “Snowstorm Needle” brush, which allowed Chen Pingan to draw talismans in an emergency without needing vermilion ink. A breath on the tip of the brush would moisten it.

However, Chen Pingan flipped through the thin booklet, “The True Traces of the Cinnabar Writings,” several times and only learned five or six of the most rudimentary talismans recorded in the book. Moreover, according to the book, drawing talismans was “writing cinnabar books,” divided into nine grades. Qi Refiners in the Upper Five Realms wrote the “Three Upper Grades” of cinnabar books, those in the Middle Five Realms wrote the Four, Five, and Six Middle Grades, and those in the Lower Five Realms wrote the Seven, Eight, and Nine Lower Grades. Although Chen Pingan wasn’t a Qi Refiner, he could, relying on the “one breath” powered by his eighteen sword energies, complete some of the entry-level talismans in “The True Traces of the Cinnabar Writings” in one go. Higher-grade talismans were a luxury for Chen Pingan at the moment.

Li Xisheng had once said that drawing talismans was akin to practicing swordsmanship, which was also Li Xisheng’s original intention of not giving a man a fish, but teaching him how to fish.

However, Chen Pingan, on his way south, still hoped to concentrate on practicing his fists, so he only took the time to write three types of talismans, the Ground-Shrinking Talisman, the Yang-Qi Lantern-Raising Talisman, and the Pagoda Suppressing Demon Talisman, two or three of each, just in case.

The Ground-Shrinking Talisman allowed Chen Pingan to shrink the earth into inches in an instant, taking a step to any place within a radius of ten zhang. The Yang-Qi Lantern-Raising Talisman was a type of Mountain-Water Obstacle-Breaking Talisman. If he encountered a ghost wall again in an ancient burial ground or ruin, he could follow the Lantern-Raising Talisman to smoothly escape the illusion. The Pagoda Suppressing Demon Talisman was a type of talisman with greater killing power. Once the talisman paper was released, a dazzling pagoda would appear out of thin air, temporarily detaining demons and spirits within, containing the might of thunder, which could whip the soul.

All three belonged to the most common category recorded in “The True Traces of the Cinnabar Writings,” not highly rated, but recorded as a typical example of a certain talisman school.

The Daoist Zhang Shan had drunk some wine. He wasn’t a strong drinker. Thinking that Chen Pingan was helping him keep watch, and also to save a Revitalizing Yang Pill, he was already exhausted from being battered by the gloomy rain all the way. He fell into a dizzy sleep.

Chen Pingan was more than familiar with keeping watch. He sipped his wine slowly. After Zhang Shan fell asleep, he suddenly turned his head and looked at the corner of the wall by the door.

There, leaning against the wall, was a forgotten umbrella.

This oiled paper umbrella was originally held by the Liu surname scholar and, after entering the mansion, was used by the Chu surname scholar.

The umbrella leaned quietly against the corner of the wall, the rain tip pointing down, the handle pointing up.

Even with the umbrella placed like this, there were almost no water stains on the ground.

This was unreasonable.

Moreover, Chen Pingan sensed a trace of chilling aura that made his spine tingle.

So Chen Pingan stood up, as if drunk, his steps unsteady. He walked while muttering complaints, “Who puts an umbrella upside down like this? Back in my hometown, you’d be scolded to death by the old folks for doing that…”

Reaching the corner, Chen Pingan even hiccuped with a drunken belch. He reached out to grab the umbrella handle, about to turn the oiled paper umbrella right-side up, but suddenly, a talisman slipped out of his sleeve. Chen Pingan’s eyes sharpened, showing not a trace of muddled drunkenness. With lightning speed, he pinched the yellow paper talisman, which was the Pagoda Suppressing Demon Talisman, and slapped it onto the umbrella handle. A seven-colored glazed pagoda appeared in the air, its light just covering the oiled paper umbrella. The patterns on the umbrella surface twisted, and a sizzling sound erupted, like fat being fried in a pan.

The light of the suspended pagoda dimmed and quickly vanished.

Chen Pingan, not wanting to do things halfway, lest his lack of skill and low talisman grade cause him to miss an opportunity, simply sacrificed the remaining two Suppressing Demon Talismans as well, sticking them onto the umbrella surface with lightning speed. Then, without needing to forcefully summon a breath, Chen Pingan, at the peak of the Martial Dao Third Realm, channeled his energy at will, and his fist intent erupted suddenly. With inch punches, delivering attacks with short distance and explosive power, he relentlessly smashed the three Suppressing Demon Talismans. The fist aura did not damage the umbrella in the slightest, but the surging fist intent almost completely permeated the inside of the umbrella.

This was the difference between an ordinary Martial Dao Third Realm cultivator and one trained by the Cui surname old man.

After Chen Pingan finished all this, he clenched the vermilion Sword Nourishing Gourd, ready to summon Chuyi and Shiwu to defend against the enemy at any time.

But after the umbrella trembled and shook for a while, a foul-smelling black smoke billowed up, gradually dissipating, and then it became completely silent.

Chen Pingan was a bit dumbfounded. That was it?

This strange oiled paper umbrella, which definitely concealed secrets, didn’t have any follow-up killer moves?

Like billowing black smoke, roaring to the heavens, and a terrifying, hideous evil spirit running out?
The encounter with the spectral bride on the mountain path had left an indelible mark on Chen Ping’an’s memory. She had manipulated them at every turn, and the blind Daoist, skilled in thunder magic, was no match for her. If not for Wei Jin of the Wind and Snow Temple cleaving the boundaries of the underworld with his sword, showcasing the demeanor of a true sword immortal, Chen Ping’an would have been forced to unleash his two strands of sword qi, and there would have been no subsequent confrontation with the young Cui Chan at the wellhead.

Chen Ping’an squatted on the ground, staring blankly at the oil-paper umbrella. He took a swig of wine and, not forgetting, shook the umbrella a few times, causing a faint rustling sound as ashes cascaded from within.

Chen Ping’an scratched his head as he squatted there, drinking his wine. A sense of emptiness welled up within him. Accustomed to the daily life-and-death struggles in the Bamboo Lodge of the Fallen Mountain, it now felt like…having grown used to strong liquor, he was now drinking water?

However, Chen Ping’an silently consoled himself. Regardless of which scholar this oil-paper umbrella was connected to, or whether it was concealed within the house by a shadowy entity, the little oddity within the umbrella was surely just a pawn sent to scout the way. Therefore, he must not be careless. Thus, Chen Ping’an stood up, sat at the table, and, by the lamplight, conjured the Wind and Snow Small Cone Brush from his miniature world. He breathed on it and began to draw a talisman. The talisman was still the Pagoda Suppressing Demons Talisman, but the paper was no longer yellow. Instead, it was a piece of golden-textured talisman paper.

After finishing a talisman, Chen Ping’an habitually reached for the wine gourd at his side, tilted his head back, and took a large gulp. He rested briefly, waiting for his breathing to steady before daring to continue.

A night of wind and rain, a wind and snow brush, Chen Ping’an, slightly tipsy, wrote as if divinely inspired.

At his side were a vermilion sword-nurturing gourd and two demon-subduing swords within a wooden box.

And, of course, the snoring of the Daoist Zhang Shan on the bed accompanied him.

The storm raged, the night sky occasionally torn apart by flashes of lightning. On a small hillside not far from the ancient manor, a middle-aged Daoist, holding a horsetail whisk, looked grim. He opened his hand and looked at an ancient bronze coin, which suddenly shattered. The middle-aged Daoist’s face darkened. He reluctantly discarded it, seemingly nonchalantly, and snorted coldly, “A pair of neither human nor ghost wretches, still putting up a futile resistance, only increasing their suffering.”

Beside the middle-aged Daoist stood a tall man in thin clothing, with thick eyebrows and large eyes. He allowed the rain to pelt his entire body. Occasionally, a trace of golden light flashed in his eyes. A fist-sized seal box hung from his waist. Seeing that the Daoist had failed in his attempt, losing a trusted subordinate in vain, he became impatient and sneered, “If we still have to force our way in, then after it’s done, the split won’t be fifty-fifty!”

The Daoist, unwilling to dwell on the matter, asked instead, “Who is that great-bearded swordsman? Why did he happen to visit the ancient manor tonight?”

The tall man scoffed, “I heard that a wandering rogue came to Colorful Attire Country at the end of last year. Relying on a good blade, he cleaned up a few insignificant rural specters and gained a bit of fame. Judging by the divine intent he displayed walking in this rain, he’s at most a Fourth Realm martial artist. In other places, we might have to be wary, but in my territory, he’s not worth mentioning. We’ll deal with him together later. You can make him into a puppet, I won’t stop you, but the blade is mine.”

The middle-aged Daoist waved his horsetail whisk, and mist rose around his body. The rain-soaked Daoist robe instantly dried. He smiled, “Then it’s settled.”

The tall man hesitated for a moment, but still asked, “Has the backer of the ancient manor’s owner really fallen out of favor within the Divine Edict Sect?”

The middle-aged Daoist nodded and smiled, “Your, a Mountain God’s, news is rather blocked.”

The tall man’s face was clouded with gloom, and he gritted his teeth. “Isn’t it all because of the appearance of that manor? It set up a broken formation, a secret of the Divine Edict Sect, that gradually devoured the spiritual energy within a hundred miles, causing my golden body to slowly decay over the past century. Now who is willing to treat me as a Mountain God? I’m worse off than a local Earth God elsewhere. If I don’t avenge this, I can’t quell the hatred in my heart!”

The middle-aged Daoist nodded in agreement, offering some consolation.

In fact, the Mountain God Temple here, the place where the man’s golden body was enshrined, was originally an unapproved shrine, not recognized by the Colorful Attire Country’s court. Coupled with the countless burial grounds, the air was thick with filth. After the tall man accepted incense offerings and became a Mountain God, he recklessly depleted the resources, accelerating the decline of the mountains and rivers in order to cultivate. The formation that the ancient manor used as a node, only absorbed yin energy and did not deplete the spiritual energy of the mountains and rivers, but rather maintained the balance. But these inside stories were useless to discuss. Both the middle-aged Daoist, who had fallen into the demonic path, and the Mountain God, who did not walk the righteous path, knew it well. Anyway, neither was a good bird.

The tall man suddenly asked sternly, “I’m doing this to reclaim all my territory, you’re coveting the female ghost’s body, and once you control her, you’ll definitely be even more powerful. So what is that fellow plotting? Is there some rare treasure within this ancient manor that I don’t know about?”

The middle-aged Daoist chuckled, “I don’t know about that. How about we ask him together later?”

The tall man understood, “Very well!”

The Daoist looked around. Beyond the soil, there was mostly a pale landscape of cliffs, with sparse green trees. But he knew that this was also thanks to the female ghost’s “leisurely interest,” that the land could have a bit of spring.

That female ghost, whether in terms of opportunity or temperament, was truly rare. After the Daoist came to this place, he was even more determined to obtain her.

The Daoist gazed at the ancient manor and clicked his tongue, “This tree is withered, its vitality is exhausted.”

Unexpectedly, the Mountain God of the illicit shrine had also read some books, and laughed, “The tree is like this, what about man?”

A cultivator and a deity looked at each other and smiled.

In the second courtyard of the ancient manor, one of the side rooms was already dark. The two scholars should have fallen asleep, but the room of the sword-box youth and the young Daoist still had a light on. Before the old woman could knock on the door, the man who loved wine as his life had already smelled the aroma of wine and vigorously hammered on the door, “Is there any wine to drink? If so, then it’s life-changing wine! Guaranteed to be a profitable deal!”

The old woman did not stop him, but said, “Arrange the rooms yourselves.”

Chen Ping’an carefully secured his wine gourd, opened the door, and saw a rough-looking stranger.

The great-bearded swordsman glanced at Chen Ping’an and asked casually, “Little one, judging by your movements and breathing, you should also be a martial artist? Have you reached the Second Realm yet?”

Chen Ping’an smiled, “I’ve been learning martial arts from my elders since I was young. This is my first time traveling the world, and I don’t know how the realms are divided.”

Looking back, Daoist Zhang Shan had already been awakened and was sitting on the bed putting on his shoes.
The burly, bearded swordsman strode across the threshold, plopped down on a chair, and clucked his tongue. “Doesn’t know the ranking system? Must be from some backwater hick town, eh? But then how is it that you speak the elegant tongue of Treasure Bottle Continent so fluently? You can’t learn that in some ordinary small country’s village! Speak! Are you some kind of skin-wearing ghoul?!”

The swordsman drew his blade halfway out of its scabbard, the light flashing blindingly, his eyes blazing. “State your name at once! Zhao doesn’t slay nameless ghosts!”

Chen Pingan and the Daoist Zhang Shan exchanged bewildered glances.

Could it be that the rain had seeped into this fellow’s head?

A ghoul?

Among Qi refiners, there were countless rogue cultivators with mixed origins. Even if they were demons or plants that had gained sentience, though discrimination was inevitable, it was far from being suppressed and hunted down. But ghost cultivators were an exception. Once discovered, almost everyone would shout for their execution. If birth, aging, sickness, and death were the cycle of the Heavenly Dao, and the Qi refiner’s pursuit of eternal life was defying the heavens, then humans returning to the earth after death was the way of humanity. Ghost cultivators violated this principle, and were considered heretical and evil, deserving of universal condemnation.

Immortals cultivated life, while Gods were bestowed with death.

Ghost cultivators were an exception, neither cultivated in life, nor deities enshrined and granted a golden body by the court after death.

Therefore, the true Heavenly Masters of Dragon Tiger Mountain, with their profound Daoist arts, pointed their peachwood swords far more often at malevolent spirits and ghosts causing trouble, than at the demons hiding in the city streets.

The term “demon spirit” held less obvious praise or criticism in bustling, commercially thriving hubs.

In fact, in some large countries, especially powerful dynasties where mountain sects were deeply rooted, even the common folk were accustomed to living alongside these strange and wondrous spirits.

Legend had it that there were many tiny, clever spirits that helped women wash their hair, apply rouge, and fold clothes. They had wings, flitting about, extremely familiar, and loved their masters generation after generation.

Chen Pingan didn’t bother to argue. He took down his wine gourd and silently took a swig.

The bearded man paused, his throat bobbing. Clearly, the wine bug in his belly was acting up. His imposing aura immediately weakened as he brazenly reached out. “As long as you give me a drink, even if you’re a ghost, I’ll turn a blind eye. As long as I don’t catch you committing evil deeds on the spot, everything’s negotiable.”

Chen Pingan shook his head and refused.

The bearded swordsman sighed. “You little rascal, you’re not honest, too cunning! Clearly bullying me for being a righteous expert!”

The Daoist Zhang Shan quickly sat down and smoothed things over, chatting with the bearded man in the elegant language of Treasure Bottle Continent.

On the leaning balcony of the embroidered tower within the old mansion, a man and a woman were nestled together. The woman wore a large, dark green dress that concealed her legs and embroidered shoes.

They whispered sweet nothings, the man murmuring, “May my lady be warm in the cold spring, may my lady’s brow unfurrow, may my lady always see a bright moon in the sky and lush mountains and clear waters when she opens her window…”

The woman, with her extremely ugly face, cooed and sobbed, her lower half undulating like waves.

The old woman walked through the dark corridor, sighing softly. Finally, she sat by a lantern-lit pillar, year after year, day after day. The old woman touched her withered face. How many years had it been since she last looked in a mirror?

If she was like this, then surely the young mistress, who hadn’t left the embroidered tower in a century, was even more so.

As the man chatted with the young Daoist, he suddenly pressed his hand on his sword hilt, his playful expression gone, replaced with solemnity. “Just as the rumors from the nearby town said, the demonic aura comes from the mansion’s backyard! Such a strong demonic aura! No wonder the feng shui here is so depleted. It might even be a sixth-realm old hag! You two little tykes, I’m going to slay the demon. If things look bad, get out of here. Don’t take this lightly, this place is extremely dangerous, definitely not somewhere you two can wade into!”

The bearded swordsman pondered for a moment. “Actually, there’s no need to leave just yet, lest the old demon of the mansion notice you first. Even if I’m defeated, I’ll try to hold them off. When you hear my signal, don’t hesitate to run!”

Then, the bearded swordsman took a deep breath, drew his blade, and a flash of light appeared. The man reached into the ashes of the brazier, grabbed a burning coal, held it in his palm, and wiped the blade with it. Sparks flew, making the treasured sword even sharper.

Even with low odds of victory, the man was filled with righteous spirit, a true hero.

Chen Pingan handed over the wine gourd, his expression solemn. “Brave warrior?”

The man smiled and shook his head, holding his treasured sword and suddenly rising. “Drinking while chatting is just to satisfy a craving. Actually, slaying a great demon and eliminating evil is a thousand times more enjoyable than drinking!”

In the rainy night, the man pushed open the door and strode towards the backyard. He flicked his wrist, and the sword light bloomed, illuminating the surroundings. The bearded swordsman looked into the distance and shouted, “Xu Yuanxia is here, I ask for guidance!”

The Daoist Zhang Shan picked up his peachwood sword with its attached demon-listening bell and said to Chen Pingan in a deep voice, “I’m going to help him slay the demon! Chen Pingan, you are a pure martial artist, and before you reach the fourth realm, you’re not suited to dealing with great demons and Yin creatures. You stay here. If I really need you, I’ll call out to you.”

Chen Pingan nodded. “Alright.”

After the young Daoist leaped out of the house with nimble grace, Chen Pingan waited a moment. He didn’t choose to stay put and observe the situation. Instead, he walked out of the side room, through the rain, empty-handed, and looked towards the opposite side room. “I know it’s you.”

The side room, where the lights had been out for a long time, slowly opened a door. The scholar surnamed Chu walked out, tall and slender, holding the torch that had previously been extinguished by the rain. With a smile, he met Chen Pingan’s gaze, twitched the corners of his mouth, raised his arm, and rubbed the upper end of the torch in his palm. Instantly, the torch was ignited. He gently stuck the tail end into a corridor pillar, nailing the entire torch into it. “You speak the least, but you’re the smartest. And of course, your skills aren’t bad either, able to eliminate the copper coin ghost of the White Deer Daoist. But a third-realm ghost is ultimately just that. Young man, don’t become arrogant and complacent…”

Chen Pingan didn’t say a word. His thin figure disappeared from the spot without warning.

The scholar was slightly surprised.
A figure, quick as a lightning flash, darted across the rain-swept space between the chambers, lunging forward. Some scholarly individuals, caught completely off guard, didn’t even have time to react before a fist, its force like a white rainbow slashing through the sky, slammed ruthlessly into their heads. They flew backward, smashing through the room’s door and wall, tumbling out onto the covered walkway. Finally, they crashed into a thick pillar, the force of the impact spider-webbing cracks across its surface. Only then did the scholar manage to halt his retreat, coughing up blood incessantly, his spirit trembling violently, his face filled with terror.

It wasn’t just the sheer force of the fist that was horrifying; it was the fusion of fist intent and martial energy. Striking his body, it was like a celestial’s ghost-banishing whip, lashing out at a wraith, innately suppressing him.

A deafening boom echoed.

This time, the fist struck the neck.

Both the man and the pillar behind him collapsed backward.

The scholar, battered and bruised by these two blows, his face contorted in pain, his robes ripped and torn, was on the verge of revealing his true form, no longer caring about any schemes or ploys.

Then, he heard a peculiar utterance: “The first.”