Chapter Seventy: Making a Clean Getaway

Qingquan was inwardly shocked, silently admitting that this thousand-year-old specter was indeed extraordinary, its cultivation unfathomable. The situation today was perilous beyond compare—there was no time to consider all possibilities.

Summoning all his strength, Qingquan engaged the Painted-Skin Fiend for several rounds. Again, he unleashed three ghost-banishing talismans, striking the fiend, but in an instant the golden radiance was devoured, dissolving into wisps of smoke, inflicting no real harm.

After a few exchanges, Qingquan’s situation grew even more dire. His earlier wounds continued to bleed, and he was nearly unable to hold his ground.

Cui Yue, watching, grew frantic. Agonizing pain wracked his chest, pinning him curled on the ground, barely able to rise. With great effort, he crawled several meters, reached out to pick up the fallen peachwood sword, and hurled it forcefully toward Qingquan.

"Glasses, catch the sword!"

In his desperation, Cui Yue blurted out his thought, calling Qingquan “Glasses”—the name slipped out, strangely natural.

Qingquan leaped in a tiger’s bound, seizing the sword, his grip firm as he swung it down.

The Painted-Skin Fiend’s figure flickered, intercepting the blow with a chopping motion.

"Heaven clear and air righteous, a sword in hand; scour away evil, destroy demon’s guise; let no monster hide—begone!"

Qingquan’s feet had not yet touched the ground. He slashed open his middle finger, swept it across the blade, reciting the incantation.

With a swish, the peachwood sword was enveloped in a faint golden glow and hacked downward.

Clang!

The sword struck the fiend’s horned head, slicing off a small segment.

A furious roar erupted.

Enraged, the fiend’s ghostly claw flashed like lightning, fierce and powerful, lunging to tear Qingquan apart.

"Look out!" Cui Yue cried anxiously.

Qingquan felt an icy wind encircle him. He bent low, retreating, and stabbed backward with the sword. Crack!

The fiend snatched the peachwood sword in one hand, slashed down with the other. Qingquan had no time to defend—his chest went cold as five bloody holes were torn into him by the ghost-claw, blood gushing forth.

The fiend let out a chilling laugh, brought its claw to its mouth, and extended a three-inch sharp tongue, greedily lapping up the blood between its fingers. The blood transformed into a cloud of blood-mist at its lips, then was instantly sucked dry.

The fiend seemed to be in ecstatic delight, its single eye narrowed, body trembling with pleasure. Suddenly, it emitted a shrill scream, head thrown back in a hideous cackle.

"Ha ha ha ha ha! Indeed, the taste of this little priest is exquisite! A hundred ordinary men cannot compare to a single drop of your pure Celestial Master’s blood. How many years has it been since I tasted such blood? I cannot wait any longer—I must devour you, right this instant!"

With that, the fiend’s single eye greedily fixed upon Qingquan’s wound, the scent of blood driving it wild with hunger. Its gaping maw opened wide, lunging toward him.

Qingquan grew flustered. His resources were spent; before such a vast difference in power, he was utterly suppressed.

Now, covered in blood and filth, Qingquan glanced at the crowd around him, realizing that all hope was lost.

"To forsake the mundane and enter the Dao, I once vowed to strengthen my body and heart. As a Daoist in the world, my sole intent was to use the Way to ease the suffering of all beings and attain Heaven’s path. Yet, alas, alas."

He panted heavily, right hand trembling uncontrollably. Although his arms had once possessed divine strength, now even their golden aura was dim, and he could summon no energy.

Defeated?

A flicker of resolve appeared in Qingquan’s eyes. He rotated his right hand upward in the Supreme Purity Mudra, his left hand pressed downward to touch the ground, and shouted:

"Three Pure Ones above, grant me the mysterious winds of Heaven and Earth! Left rises to Mount Buzhou’s void, right falls to the stones of Taihang! Let my golden body become a pure shadow, my soul return to the formless, vanish without a trace—by law and command: appear!"

The fiend moved to advance, but a fierce wind held it back.

Suddenly, Qingquan was surrounded by a tempest, his figure gradually fading, until with a whoosh, he leapt into the computer screen and vanished.

The fiend was stunned for a moment, muttering to itself.

"Could this be the Art of Transformation through Self-Annihilation? Vanished?"

When the wind subsided, the fiend looked around. All that remained was chaos and destruction—there was no sign of Qingquan at all. It was as if he had evaporated into thin air, without a trace of his presence left behind.

Cui Yue’s heart skipped a beat. Had that bespectacled youth really ascended to heaven? How could a living person disappear—gone in the blink of an eye, without a trace? Could it be that he wasn’t human at all, but some mutant, of the same ilk as the demon fox and this fiend? How else could he have disappeared into a computer screen?

While Cui Yue was still wondering, a furious roar sounded in his ear.

Roar!

The fiend saw Qingquan transform into a golden light and vanish, and was furious. With a sweep of its arm, it crushed all the tables and chairs around it into splinters.

Stomping in rage, it bellowed, "Roar! Filthy priest, you actually managed to escape! Despicable, despicable!"

The feast had slipped from its grasp—how could it not be enraged?

"Escaped?"

A sudden jolt ran through Cui Yue’s heart. His chest ached sharply again. Looking around, he saw no sign of the bespectacled youth, and a chill ran down his spine. It was as though a boulder had crashed onto his chest, as if a thousand swords had pierced his heart.

Though they had only just met, Cui Yue had placed great trust in that strange, bespectacled youth—yet he had fled.

Fled?

This outcome had never crossed Cui Yue’s mind, but it was true: the bespectacled youth had left, abandoning them and saving only himself.

But why? Why should he risk his life for a few ordinary people?

But wasn’t he a Daoist pledged to save the world, a Celestial Master sworn to slay demons and exorcise evil? Why would he abandon them?

If one does not let go of all beings, how can one attain the Great Way?

To hell with Daoists and Celestial Masters—they’re nothing but frauds!

At this moment, Cui Yue was filled with utter disappointment, cursing inwardly. In his eyes, all those so-called masters were hypocrites, cowardly rats who feared death!

No matter what, Qingquan truly was gone. He had abandoned them. Of all those present, only Cui Yue remained conscious; the others lay strewn across the floor, dazed and senseless, soon to become the Painted-Skin Fiend’s next meal as they drifted into death in their sleep.

The fiend raged for a time, but could not quell its fury. It seized someone from the ground, opening its bloody maw wide. Twin fangs pierced the person’s neck, producing a sickening crunch.

The neck was nearly chewed through, held together only by a thin strip of flesh. Blood and gore covered the entire neck, the head dangling at a grotesque angle, eyes shut tight as blood poured from every orifice.

With a flick, the fiend licked its lips with its pointed tongue, tossed the corpse aside, still unsatisfied.

Its single eye glared viciously at Cui Yue, a sinister smile twisting its face.

"I’ll skin you alive and chew your flesh to bits!"

Cui Yue stared at the horrific scene before him, frozen in terror, nearly vomiting at the sight. He shuddered, cold to the bone, heart pounding wildly. Oh God, if this old fiend grinds my bones to dust with those black fangs, that would be a truly wretched end!