23. Swallowing the Head Once More

Thud!

The butcher slammed his greasy cleaver onto the chopping board.

A burly man with an unruly, tangled beard spoke in frustration, “We’re just letting two prime pieces of meat go like that? How many years has it been since we’ve had a proper meal?”

“Old ghoul, you’ve been dead for so many years, and your courage has shriveled up?”

A silk-robed elder, sleeves tucked, sat at a tavern table gazing toward the distant, bustling prosperity. The arrogance that had swelled in him vanished in an instant. With a long sigh, he said, “They say a mighty dragon does not suppress the local snakes, but what are we but less than that—at best, eels writhing in the mud, clinging to illusions for a bit more life.”

The tavern boy wiped down the table with a rag and said, “We’re inside an illusion; that place is even more insubstantial. I doubt it’s anything so great.”

Compared to the distant blaze of lights, this street was like a filthy back alley—damp, cramped, and littered with scattered trades.

To the east, the butcher sold his wares; to the west, the tavern poured wine. Village women, faces smeared with dust, stood in stark contrast to the goddesses of the brothels—mud beside pearls, rough stones against precious jade—never fit for the grand stage.

“We can endure it, but can the Living Buddha of Peach Blossom Village?”

“This was the agreement. As long as we submit to Peach Blossom Village, nothing is forbidden to us.”

The bearded man seemed to be searching for something. Disappointed, he seized the butcher’s cleaver and hacked it down with force, just about to speak when a pale mist drifted from afar. A figure emerged through the fog, and instantly, his face lit with joy. He called out, “Well, well, two have left, and now another arrives. Surely there won’t be another meddling goddess to save them this time.”

...

The shabby street was suddenly transformed.

The lanterns in the tavern burned with unusual brightness.

A man with a coarse white apron was first to greet the newcomer. “Sir, after such a long journey, why not have a pot of wine to warm yourself?”

Turning, several burly men in the tavern were already swapping toasts, each with a village girl whose dress was half slipped off, but their attention remained fixed on the movement in the distance.

A shadow fell.

The lanterns' glow seemed to dim in an instant.

When they came back to themselves, it was as if a wall had taken a seat at the thick wooden table.

The leader shoved the two women aside, as if setting a trap for the unwary.

The half-dressed women had just risen when they froze on the spot.

“What’s the matter?” The burly men followed their gaze, and the once lively street felt like a goose with its throat gripped.

Inside the tavern, the clamor ceased abruptly. Wide-eyed, not a soul dared move, statues struck in fear.

For seated at the table was not a man.

Wutong Lu Xun spoke calmly, “Where are they?”

“Sir.”

The tavern boy, trembling, served him. All his usual bravado with strangers collapsed in an instant, and he managed a smile uglier than a cry. “Sir, will you be dining or lodging? We have fine aged wine.”

“I’m looking for someone.”

“Who?”

“Two scholars.”

The silk-robed old ghost, seeing the great demon surrounded by mists, interjected, “Are you, perhaps, an envoy from Peach Blossom Village?”

Lu Xun gave no answer, simply repeating, “Where are they?”

The tavern boy pointed toward the distant blaze. “They were taken away by a goddess from the Red Pavilion.”

“I’ll need something from you.”

“If the envoy has any request, we will do our best to fulfill it.”

“Cremains.”

“But our bones have long since perished—”

Before he could finish, the boy’s body swayed like a tumbler, his head vanishing from his neck.

Looking again, it was gripped in the demon’s hand.

The red-faced, green-toothed monkey demon spoke as if nothing had happened, “I’ll grind it myself.”

The headless body of the boy withered swiftly, and in the blink of an eye, became a pile of bleached bones, vaguely revealing the form of a giant mole.

“He’s not an envoy from Peach Blossom Village,” the old ghost realized suddenly.

They’d been isolated from the outside world for too long, and assumed that any spirit able to merge with the painted wall’s illusion must be from Peach Blossom Village. With the demon shrouded in mist, they’d truly believed he’d come to recruit them.

But who’d have thought the monkey demon would be so ruthless?

“Kill him!” the butcher roared, gripping his cleaver as he transformed into a scar-faced old bear, bringing the blade down.

The shoddy iron weapon split the air with a vicious wind, its edge pricking the skin like needles.

Had it been an ordinary man, he’d have been decapitated in an instant, leaving a gaping wound.

Wutong Lu Xun did not retreat but advanced; his fist shot forth like a green snake, coiling around the bear’s arm. The forceful blow veered off course.

Then the red-faced monkey’s fist morphed into a tiger’s claw mid-air, the snake’s bite sinking into the bear's throat. With a single move, the bear staggered backward, dropping his cleaver.

The old bear clutched his throat with both paws, his face flushed, eyes bloodshot, trembling nonstop.

His backward fall was suddenly halted.

A snow-white monkey arm had seized the matted fur atop his head.

No one knew what strange sorcery the creature had used.

Snap—the bear’s pelt was yanked off.

The old ghost revealed his true form: a peach tree, with withered branches adorned with dead cats, like wind chimes dangling from eaves.

Here, a custom persisted: dead cats were hung from trees, dead dogs sent floating downstream.

The brawny men in the tavern were almost all wet, scrawny dogs; the half-dressed women, the souls of cats hanged from the tree.

The rest—sparrows, insects, yellow weasels—were merely minor spirits.

But without exception, they had all become spirits only after death, with no bodies of their own; thus, not truly alive.

Moments later.

Bones and corpses lay strewn across the ground.

Lu Xun hoisted the peach-tree ghost, pointing at the distant blaze. “What is that place?”

“I don’t know.”

“It appeared out of nowhere yesterday. We all thought it was Peach Blossom Village.”

“Peach Blossom Village—what is it?”

“Peach Blossom Village is what it is. We were supposed to become its demons; the Living Buddha promised to redeem us.”

“How?”

Fear in the old ghost’s eyes gradually gave way to yearning. “The envoy said: there would be endless hearts and livers to eat, inexhaustible vital essence to consume, and if we craved human flesh, we could buy it for a taste.”

Crack.

Lu Xun twisted off the peach-tree ghost’s head.

His golden eyes regarded the skull.

A bluish, powdery aura twisted, forming ink-like characters.

[Mural ‘Peach Tree Old Ghost’ Skull]

Type: Ghost (Tree—Peach)

Quality: Ordinary

Spell: Spirit Banishment

Annotation: Planted in the Land of Lanruo, split into the mural, a winding path leads the illusion to the gate of ghosts, storing souls, nurturing murky spirits.

[Feed on vital essence to escape the mural]

“Shatter.”

[Obtained cremains: 1 tael, 5 qian]

This was the greatest yield from shattering so many skulls at once.

Lu Xun sensed he’d touched upon a secret.

The stronger the skull, the more cremains were yielded upon shattering.

If a certain ‘trait’ could be met, allowing the skull to be fully strengthened, then it would be best to strengthen first; this would surely produce more cremains than shattering the skull and then strengthening with the ash.

“Shatter.”

Most of these minor demons’ skulls were mere tricks, but at least there were many of them.

[Obtained cremains: 7 qian]

Every little bit helps.

[Mural ‘Scarred Bear’ Skull]

Type: Fur (Beast—Bear)

Quality: Ordinary

Spell: Bear Devour

Annotation: A beast in the world, shaped like a man with bristly brown fur, called Huaihuai, its cry like chopping wood, its appearance portends great disaster for the land.

[Eat meat, eat lots and lots of meat.]

Lu Xun mused: this bear, in every way, resembled the ‘Rampaging Tiger General’s Skull’ he’d acquired before—both were ‘Fur’ type, both craved meat, both large predators.

Walking toward the distant Red Pavilion, he pondered: perhaps he should have his Wutong God consume this skull.

Shattering it would yield, at best, just over a tael of cremains—at most two.

If he could duplicate the ‘Rampaging Tiger,’ he’d save three taels of ash.

Even if he failed, he still had a backup, enough to make four taels.

[Would you like to consume the mural ‘Scarred Bear’ skull?]

“Yes.”

[The Wutong God ‘Mountain Lord’ has consumed the mural ‘Scarred Bear’ skull.]

[Parlor Trick: Monkey Fist] → [Spell: Monkey Fist (First Glimpse of Mastery)]

“It worked!”