Chapter Fifty-Nine: The True Murderer of My Father

Zhou Yi could not afford to wait for Zhang Zuozheng to finish chanting his spell; that would be tantamount to waiting for death. Without giving him the chance, Zhou Yi curved his hand into a claw and lunged straight for Zhang Zuozheng’s throat.

The Flaming Water Dagger had served as the core of the formation, and his trusty dagger had just been shattered by Zhang Zuozheng’s gunfire. Bereft of a weapon, Zhou Yi could only rely on his bare hands.

Seizing the throat was Zhou Yi’s most common form of attack, for whether against man or beast, the throat was a vulnerable point, no less so than the brain or the heart.

But this time, Zhou Yi missed his mark. His hand stopped three inches from Zhang Zuozheng’s throat, unable to move forward. Zhou Yi knew this was the power of the spell Zhang Zuozheng was chanting—until it was complete, neither Zhou Yi nor Baozi could harm him, but once the spell was finished, they would stand no chance.

In this dire moment, Zhou Yi caught sight of the pistol lying on the ground. He spun, snatched it up, and fired at Zhang Zuozheng. At that very instant, Zhang Zuozheng completed his incantation. Golden Buddhist light radiated from his palms, swiftly spreading and enveloping both Zhou Yi and Xun Feng.

Baozi was alarmed and swung his staff down, aiming another blow at Zhang Zuozheng’s head.

Zhang Zuozheng did not try to dodge; all he wanted was to kill Zhou Yi then and there. He sped into the Buddhist light, but before he could seize Zhou Yi, his body came to a sudden halt. Looking down, he saw a bloody hole in his chest, from which blood was gushing.

The Buddhist light shielded Zhang Zuozheng, reducing the bullet’s force. The wound was merely superficial, enough only to make him pause.

A pistol shot rang out again. Zhang Zuozheng dodged nimbly at the exact moment Zhou Yi fired, but turning Zhou Yi’s own tactics against him, Zhang Zuozheng caught Zhou Yi’s neck in his grip.

Zhou Yi tried to fire again, but Zhang Zuozheng seized his wrist. With his wrist immobilized, Zhou Yi’s finger could not pull the trigger.

He could feel the pressure of Zhang Zuozheng’s hand squeezing his throat. In an instant, his face turned purple from lack of blood.

Clawing desperately at Zhang Zuozheng’s hand, Zhou Yi found himself too weak to pry it loose.

Teeth clenched, he bent his knee and drove it into Zhang Zuozheng’s lower abdomen. All Zhang Zuozheng wanted was to kill Zhou Yi, no matter the cost.

Zhang Zuozheng, though only a lay disciple of Mount Wutai, was a direct disciple of Abbot Huiming, receiving personal instruction in Buddhist teachings and holding a high rank among his peers.

Once, Zhang Zuozheng was treated with utmost respect. Since Zhou Yi’s arrival, however, he had been looked down upon by Zhang Xun, forced to part with his cherished Flaming Water Dagger, and coldly received upon reaching Mount Changbai. His hatred for Zhou Yi ran deep.

Zhang Zuozheng was single-minded in his intent to kill Zhou Yi, not even trying to avoid the knee that was coming his way. When knee met abdomen, a dull thud echoed.

Zhang Zuozheng had miscalculated; he had not expected Zhou Yi’s strength. Zhou Yi had channeled all his spiritual energy into that knee, and at the moment of impact, Zhang Zuozheng was hurled backward. Blood spurted from his mouth as he landed and staggered back more than ten paces before regaining his balance.

All this transpired in the blink of an eye.

Zhou Yi’s neck bore bloody marks from Zhang Zuozheng’s grip, but he was otherwise unharmed. The sudden lack of air left him clutching his throat and gasping violently. “Don’t let him escape—kill him.”

In truth, Baozi needed no prompting. He already knew that there could be no reconciliation with Zhang Zuozheng. Without waiting for Zhang Zuozheng to steady himself, Baozi charged forward, wielding his staff.

Xun Feng’s true form had been destroyed by Zhang Zuozheng; his hatred ran deep as well. At Zhou Yi’s command, he joined Baozi in attacking Zhang Zuozheng.

Bang! Bang! Bang! Three gunshots rang out in quick succession from the northern cave, shattering the tense standoff.

“Damn!” Zhou Yi knew immediately that something was wrong. He had forgotten about Zuo Zhi. The northern cave housed the giant serpent, and those shots could only mean that Zuo Zhi was firing at it.

With Baozi and Xun Feng holding Zhang Zuozheng at bay, Zhou Yi wasted no time. He grabbed the Flaming Water Dagger from the ground and raced toward the northern cave.

The giant serpent was the core of the formation. Now that Zuo Zhi had attacked it, the formation’s power was dissipating. The Flaming Water Dagger, left in its original place, was now useless; Zhou Yi needed it in hand to confront Zuo Zhi.

Upon reaching the northern cave, Zhou Yi found the scene even more dire than he had anticipated. One of the serpent’s eyes had been shot out by Zuo Zhi; the other two wounds were also on its head.

Despite the attack, the serpent had never left its place, remembering Zhou Yi’s warning. Even as Zuo Zhi fired at it, it remained motionless.

Now, the serpent lay on the ground, writhing in agony, occasionally lashing its tail at Zuo Zhi.

As for Zuo Zhi, a thick black aura emanated from him, his eyes vacant and lifeless. Instinctively, he dodged the serpent’s attacks. His pistol was evidently empty, for he now swung his sword, inflicting more wounds on the beast.

Seeing this, Zhou Yi’s heart filled with sorrow. “Zuo Zhi, I’ll kill you myself!”

With that shout, Zhou Yi hefted the Flaming Water Dagger and charged at Zuo Zhi. Sensing the weapon, Zuo Zhi recoiled in fear—it was clear that he was now possessed by the Hanging Ghost, and the dagger’s yang energy was a natural bane to such evil.

There is no need to dwell on the details of their fight. Soon, Zuo Zhi was on the verge of defeat and turned to flee, but Zhou Yi would not let him escape again. With all his strength, Zhou Yi hurled the Flaming Water Dagger at Zuo Zhi’s back.

The blade plunged in up to the hilt, skewering Zuo Zhi through and through. In that instant, Zuo Zhi’s eyes cleared—the Hanging Ghost had left his body.

Zuo Zhi looked down at the dagger in his chest and collapsed with a thud.

Once freed, the Hanging Ghost bared its fangs and claws and lunged at Zhou Yi. Zhou Yi now lacked any weapon that could restrain it and was momentarily at a loss.

Before the ghost could reach him, Zhou Yi tried to dodge and snatch the Flaming Water Dagger from Zuo Zhi’s body, but the ghost gave him no chance. Suddenly, its hands seized Zhou Yi’s throat from behind.

The grip was far stronger than Zhang Zuozheng’s had been.

In that desperate moment, Zhou Yi suddenly remembered his spiritual energy—a natural counter to ghosts and demons. He circulated his energy outward, forming it into fists, and struck at the Hanging Ghost.

The ghost recoiled in terror and instantly fled into the depths of the cave, vanishing into the mountain.

Zhou Yi turned to where Zuo Zhi lay and walked over, a cold smile on his lips. “Zuo Zhi, do you know why I had to kill you?”

Zuo Zhi, now little more than a dying breath, whispered, “I know—the man in that remote mountain temple was your father. I wronged him. In my life, I have never harmed anyone, and to meet such an end today is Heaven’s injustice.”

“My mother—who was it that killed her?”