Chapter Forty-Three: Journey to the Capital in Search of Vengeance

Jiechen was enveloped in a radiant aura of Buddhist light as he battled fiercely with the vengeful spirits. Seeing Zhou Yi struggling to channel enough spiritual energy while casting the Thunder Summoning Technique, Jiechen swiftly dealt a palm strike, subduing the yin spirit beneath his hand. Turning, he approached Baozi from behind. "Little Daoist, let me help you," he said.

No sooner had Jiechen spoken than Zhou Yi felt a surge of vast spiritual energy flow into him. He shouted once more, and the heavenly thunder instantly crashed down, striking the yin spirit squarely with a deafening boom.

Zhou Yi's intent was to smite the remnant soul of Chiyou, yet the thunder veered away as it fell, sparing the remnant. Realizing that even heavenly thunder would not pursue Chiyou’s soul, Zhou Yi could not help but feel a secret despondency.

With their spiritual energy once again depleted, both Zhou Yi and Baozi were left weak—Baozi so frail he could no longer stand, Zhou Yi faring only slightly better, barely managing not to collapse to the ground.

The monks of Shaolin, seeing the efficacy of the thunder, gathered behind Zhou Yi. "Little Daoist, allow us to lend you our spiritual energy—call upon the thunder again," Jiechen urged. Without reservation, the assembled monks channeled their own spiritual energy into Zhou Yi.

Shaolin revered martial prowess; their monks cultivated their own karmic obstacles and focused on cause and effect—thus, the arts that borrowed the powers of heaven and earth were not their forte. Though their cultivation surpassed Zhou Yi’s in strength, they could not summon the thunder themselves.

Yet, borrowing the monks’ energy, Zhou Yi once more formed the seals to call down the thunder. By coincidence, most of the Shaolin monks were celibate, their energy naturally pure yang—perfect for attracting heavenly thunder to subdue yin forces.

With three thunderous crashes, bolts of lightning rained down in an instant. The weaker yin spirits, unable to evade, were utterly annihilated. As Zhou Yi began to form seals for another thunder strike, dozens of figures raced toward them from afar. Before they could approach, two cold flashes shot through the air.

Intent on summoning thunder, Zhou Yi did not notice the hidden weapons. Jiechen, sharp-eyed, swept his monk’s robe in front of him, catching both projectiles. With a flick of his robe, he sent the weapons hurtling back toward their source.

What the group was doing was an act of great merit for all living beings—any who interfered were certainly up to no good.

Most of the newcomers wore traditional Miao attire. At their head was a young woman, dressed in simple Miao clothes, her hair bound with a cloth band, her face veiled in white gauze, leaving her features unseen, though her figure was graceful and alluring.

The veiled woman caught the returning weapons. The group moved swiftly, and in moments had reached the assembly. Two of them, upon seeing Chiyou’s remnant soul, fell to their knees in joy and bowed low. Their words, spoken in the Miao dialect, were incomprehensible to the others, but it was not hard to guess they were words of praise for Chiyou’s soul.

"You, girl—why did you launch a hidden attack?" Jiechen demanded, pointing at the veiled woman.

She rose, her tone icy and mocking. "Bald monks prattling about compassion—why are you here in Zhuolu, wounding the ancestral soul of my Miao people? Shouldn’t you be chanting sutras in Shaolin?"

Jiechen pressed his left hand to his chest and intoned a Buddhist blessing. "Amitabha. The formation here has been broken. With these yin spirits unleashed, disaster will befall the world. We who have left the world behind act out of compassion..."

The veiled woman cut him off with a cold laugh. "Preaching mercy, are we? My ancestor is but a remnant soul now, yet you monks, with no sense of shame, attack him together. Such conduct—many against one—would be scorned even in the martial world. And you still dare speak of compassion? Laughable."

Her sharp words left Jiechen speechless.

Baozi, seeing Jiechen at a loss, spoke up. "Young lady, you’re being unreasonable. Earlier, only Master Mingkong was fighting your ancestor—how can you call that ganging up? If anything, it was your ancestor who set his horde of yin spirits upon us. If there’s any bullying of the few by the many, it’s on your side."

"How dare you speak to the Miao Saintess with such disrespect? You deserve punishment," snapped an elderly woman behind the veiled lady. In a flash, she darted forward and slapped Baozi across the face before retreating as swiftly as she had come.

The group was stunned by her eerie speed. Stung and furious, Baozi drew a knife from his trouser leg and prepared to retaliate.

Zhou Yi quickly stopped him—charging ahead would only bring harm. Baozi, seething with resentment, grit his teeth and silently vowed not to forget the insult.

While the groups quarreled, the yin spirits scattered, fleeing beyond the bounds of Zhuolu. There were too many for the group to stop; only a few could be intercepted, the majority escaping into the wider world.

The contest between Mingkong and Chiyou’s remnant soul had reached its conclusion. Mingkong fell, spitting blood, while Chiyou’s phantom only dimmed slightly.

"Amitabha," Mingkong murmured, sitting up with effort. "All of you, leave this place. Jiechen, lead your brothers and see to the salvation of the escaped yin spirits. Do not let them bring harm to the people."

Jiechen, anxious, rushed forward. "Master, what about you?"

Mingkong smiled and shook his head. "Amitabha. The remnant soul of Chiyou is too fierce. This old monk can only suppress it by force for a hundred years. I pray that, within a century, a way will be found to seal him here at Zhuolu. Buddha is compassionate." With that, he closed his eyes halfway, pressed his palms together before his chest, and began to chant a sacred mantra. "Om mani padme hum." With each syllable, the radiance around him grew, violet light spreading outward, as if the Buddha himself had descended.

The veiled woman watched Mingkong’s Buddhist magic coldly, not expecting him to sacrifice his own life to seal Chiyou’s soul. Realizing this too late, she flipped her wrist and hurled several poisoned needles straight at Mingkong.

The monks rushed to shield him, but the needles—coated in deadly poison and launched at cunning angles—slipped through the human barrier.

The needles sped toward Mingkong, but as they reached within an inch of him, they halted in midair, unable to advance further. Their force spent, they dropped harmlessly to the ground.

The old woman, seeing her attack thwarted, struck at Mingkong with her palm, but was repelled by the blazing Buddhist radiance surrounding him, sent flying backward and coughing blood on the ground.

The veiled woman saw all hope lost. With a cold snort, she declared, "Shaolin’s debt to Miaojiang will not be forgotten." With that, she led her people away from Zhuolu.

Chiyou’s remnant soul, shrouded in Buddhist light, grew fainter and fainter, until with a final, unwilling howl, it vanished completely.

Mingkong, his task complete, allowed a faint smile to touch his lips, closed his eyes, and passed into Nirvana. His body rapidly turned to stone, and in moments, he had become a stone Buddha in his own likeness. The smile on his lips told all that he had found peace in his passing.

The monks knelt and recited the Rebirth Sutra in mourning.

Zhou Yi understood that Mingkong had sacrificed his cultivation and remaining lifespan to empower the Buddhist seal on Chiyou’s remnant soul. Reverence filled his heart, and he pressed his palms together, bowing deeply to Mingkong.

He then turned to Baozi. "Let’s not linger—come on!"

Baozi nodded. "To where?"

Zhou Yi thought of Zhang Zuozheng’s misdeeds, and anger flared within him. Gritting his teeth, he replied, "The Forbidden City."

Sorry for the late update... my apologies!