Chapter Twenty-Five: The Tree Demon (Part Two)

Shopkeeper Zhou was desperate to cure his daughter and rid his household of misfortune; the urgency was as dire as a fire licking at his eyebrows. Yet upon hearing Daoist Wu declare they must wait another day before the ritual could be performed, his heart wavered between hope and doubt.

His daughter had already suffered for days, and he and his wife, though they kept watch at her door day and night, found themselves drained and powerless.

"Daoist Wu, I, Pingchuan, have some doubts. Might I trouble you for an explanation?"

Jiang Pingchuan stepped before Daoist Wu, bowing respectfully, his face earnest with curiosity and admiration, as though he truly revered the master and had come solely to seek his counsel.

"Heh heh, young man, since you so earnestly seek answers, how could I turn you away? Speak your questions; I shall answer them all without reservation."

Daoist Wu gave a flourish with his horsetail whisk, smiling and nodding, inviting Pingchuan to ask whatever was on his mind.

"May I ask, Master, is it possible to encounter spirits or demons beneath the blazing sun?" Pingchuan clasped his hands and voiced his question.

"Naturally not. As the ancients said, spirits and demons delight in shade and fear the light—they move by the moon and slumber with the sun." Daoist Wu shook his head, his eyes half-closed, his tone resounding with the air of an immortal sage.

"And should a cultivator encounter such spirits or malevolent entities disturbing the balance of yin and yang in the world, what ought he to do?"

Pingchuan smiled faintly, noticing Xiao Wu winking exaggeratedly at him, while Shopkeeper Zhou beside them looked on in utter bewilderment.

"Why, eradicate them completely! Such fiends must not be allowed to remain," Daoist Wu declared, opening his eyes and speaking with righteous severity.

"Master, your heart is upright and your teachings enlightening. I am grateful," Pingchuan bowed, but as he lowered his head, he could not help but chuckle inwardly.

Daoist Wu once again flicked his whisk onto his shoulder and strode out of the courtyard, Shopkeeper Zhou hurrying after him.

Xiao Wu, his face reddening as he suppressed laughter, only let loose with a hearty guffaw once Daoist Wu had disappeared.

Pingchuan smiled but did not join in the laughter; he needed to maintain his air of mystery. This, too, was a form of prudence. In the world of wandering cultivators and ancient realms, drawing too much attention could only invite trouble.

He glanced around the courtyard and suddenly realized why, just moments ago, he had felt a faint, elusive chill brushing by. In the courtyard stood a wintersweet tree.

Its branches were so slender that Pingchuan had not noticed it at first. Now, gazing at the tree, he began to suspect what had truly tainted the energy of this courtyard.

"What’s so funny, Xiao Wu? And why hasn’t this young man left yet?"

Shopkeeper Zhou entered the back courtyard to find Xiao Wu still chuckling, while Pingchuan stood before the wintersweet tree, deep in thought.

Seeing the shopkeeper arrive, Xiao Wu abruptly stifled his laughter, took Zhou’s hand, and whispered something cryptic in his ear.

Shopkeeper Zhou’s expression shifted from gloom to a faint flush of hope, and after hearing Xiao Wu’s words, a gentle smile even touched his lips. It was as though, in Xiao Wu’s words, he had grasped a slender thread of salvation. The way he now looked at Pingchuan was filled with respect, and he patted Xiao Wu’s shoulder as they approached together.

"Young man, from what Xiao Wu has just told me, I sense you are no ordinary person. I beg you, can you save my poor daughter?"

Shopkeeper Zhou’s voice trembled with urgency. After hearing Xiao Wu, he seemed to see Pingchuan in a new light—perhaps, he thought, this youth truly could save his child. Observing the hope in Zhou’s eyes, Pingchuan smiled and nodded.

"No need for such formality, Shopkeeper Zhou—just call me Pingchuan. Since your daughter has fallen prey to evil forces, as a cultivator, I have a duty to lend my aid."

Pingchuan broke off a twig from the wintersweet, holding it in his hand as he spoke gently. Zhou’s face lit up with joy, and the furrow between his brows relaxed.

"That’s wonderful, truly wonderful! Can you see what lies behind all this?" Zhou pointed with a trembling hand toward his daughter’s chamber.

Ever since his daughter’s sudden madness, his wife too had begun to display strange behavior—often sitting up at midnight with a cold laugh before lying back down. Zhou felt deeply uneasy; he could not fathom what demon or ghost had turned his peaceful home into a nest of chaos.

"Shopkeeper Zhou, when was this wintersweet tree planted here?"

Pingchuan sniffed the twig in his hand, his gaze lingering on the tree. Zhou thought for a moment before replying.

"My late father planted it years ago, but he’s been gone for ten years now. In all that time, the wintersweet has never blossomed or borne fruit. Half the tree is withered, and no one really pays it any mind."

His words trailed into doubt as he looked at Pingchuan, who nodded, making Zhou’s heart skip a beat.

"This tree was meant to draw in auspicious energy and guard the house against evil. But don’t you find it odd, Shopkeeper Zhou? This residence is bathed in sunlight; the eaves don’t block the rain, nor do the walls bar the mist. Yet for so many years, the tree has neither bloomed nor fruited—this is completely contrary to the natural harmony of yin and yang, to the principle that all things thrive and grow. Therefore, we cannot judge it by common sense."

Pingchuan’s gaze swept over the wintersweet, which radiated a heavy aura of decay even beneath the blazing sun, then slid to the door across from it, plastered with talismans.

In Pingchuan’s eyes, this half-dead wintersweet was steeped in baleful energy. Only now did he realize that the oppressive chill he’d felt upon entering the noodle shop had emanated from this very tree.

"The feng shui of this place is excellent, yet the wintersweet cannot flourish here. Its branches are covered in strange black spots. This tree occupies the heart of the house’s energy. If the tree withers, the house withers; if the tree gathers shadow, the house gathers shadow."

Circling the tree, Pingchuan spoke in a low, haunted tone. He found that he could not fully muster his true energy and strength here. Yet his sensitivity and insight toward such baleful things had grown keener.

"Pingchuan, then what is the state of this wintersweet now?" Shopkeeper Zhou asked anxiously, wringing his hands.

Pingchuan had no liking for Daoist Wu’s habit of frightening people with needless drama. He preferred to speak truthfully—what he saw, he said.

"This tree stands at the house’s spiritual nexus, gathering yin. In such a case, there is only one explanation: it is a ‘Tree Fiend.’"

He leaned closer and inhaled; a stench of rot filled his nose, making him sneeze and inwardly curse. Yet, seeing the terror and confusion on the faces of Zhou and Xiao Wu, he smiled gently.

In that moment, he realized that his cultivation of Maoshan arts was not only for seeking the path to immortality. He was fulfilling the duties of a Maoshan priest—walking the road he was meant to walk.