Chapter Seven: Transforming Wood into Flesh

Baozi insisted he was not afraid of Zhou Yi, but his body trembled uncontrollably. Zhou Yi smiled faintly and said to Baozi, “Leave quickly. I won’t harm your life.”

“A mere child dares to speak so boldly. Do you know who I am?” Baozi retorted fiercely.

“Just a demon, nothing more. If you don’t leave now, don’t blame me for sending your soul into oblivion,” Zhou Yi replied coldly, pointing at Baozi.

“Xiao Yi, what’s wrong with Baozi? Why is he talking to you like this?” Ni Wu, frightened by Baozi’s words, turned pale.

“It’s nothing. He’s probably been possessed by the weasel spirit. Uncle, please go outside for a while. He’ll be fine soon,” Zhou Yi said, ushering Ni Wu out the door. Once the door was shut, Zhou Yi turned to Baozi with a cold smile.

Then, Zhou Yi pressed his left thumb to his middle finger, his right hand supporting his left elbow, and chanted, “Clouds and all beings, secure in form. Disciple’s soul and spirit, five organs shrouded in mystery. Demons and monsters—” With the soul-searching incantation complete, Zhou Yi reached out and grabbed at the air above Baozi’s head. A ball of black mist surged from Baozi’s crown, aiming for the door. The reason Zhou Yi didn’t use the urgent command within the chant would be explained later.

Seeing the weasel spirit attempt to flee, Zhou Yi smiled icily and swiftly blocked the doorway with his body. Having attained the Demon-Suppressing Realm, Zhou Yi’s presence repelled all yin beings, so the spirit dared not approach.

“You really are a feeble weasel spirit. Instead of cultivating peacefully on Mount Buyan, why did you come out to harm people? Speak the truth,” Zhou Yi demanded.

“Weasel spirit” was a northern term. Its proper name was the yellow weasel, commonly known as the ferret. In northeastern households, the “Yellow Immortal” worshipped alongside the “Fox Immortal” referred to this creature.

Unable to speak after leaving Baozi’s body, the spirit knelt on the kang, bowing repeatedly to Zhou Yi in a comical display.

“Enough. Just don’t harm people in the future—you may leave,” Zhou Yi said, opening the door to indicate the spirit should go. Yet the weasel kept bowing on the kang, clearly seeking something from Zhou Yi.

Zhou Yi was surprised, his slender eyes widening. “I spared your life today, is that not enough?”

Upon hearing this, the spirit instinctively retreated, yet did not leave, looking pitiable.

Zhou Yi had intended to disperse the spirit, but compassion stirred within him; after so many bows, he found himself unable to act. “Stop bowing. Tell me—what troubles you?”

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Zhou Yi realized the spirit could not speak without a vessel, and if it re-entered Baozi, it would harm Baozi’s vitality—something Zhou Yi dared not allow.

Ni Wu, a carpenter, often carved toys for Baozi; the most lifelike was a figurine with seven orifices. The spirit could possess this figurine, but once attached, if Zhou Yi harbored ill intent, the spirit would be trapped forever, unable to reincarnate. Considering this, Zhou Yi studied the figurine closely.

The weasel spirit, possessing six orifices, easily discerned Zhou Yi’s thoughts from his expression. Ceasing its bows, it sat beside the figurine, clearly trusting Zhou Yi. With a slight smile, Zhou Yi took the figurine and asked, “Are you willing to inhabit this doll? Aren’t you afraid I’ll harm you?”

The spirit gestured with abandon, showing no fear.

Seeing this, Zhou Yi wasted no words. Forming a hand seal, he chanted, “Dim and mysterious, the five elements of earth and heaven. Your soul gathers in this true form. The seven-orificed vessel—” With a shout, the spirit transformed into a wisp of black smoke and entered the figurine. Zhou Yi bit his finger and quickly drew a small talisman array on the doll.

Once finished, he placed his hand atop the figurine’s head. As soon as the chant ended, the doll’s eyes rolled, the spirit evidently acclimating to its new form.

It was luck that the spirit could speak through the doll. Though lifeless, the figurine had seven orifices but lacked internal organs. Yet it was so exquisitely carved and much loved by Baozi, who often played with it, imbuing it with his yang energy. The spirit had also possessed Baozi for five days, becoming familiar with his aura. Thus, the transfer succeeded. In ancient times, Taiyi Zhenren used a lotus flower to forge Nezha’s body; now Zhou Yi sealed a weasel spirit within a figurine—similar in principle, though worlds apart.

The spirit’s ability to speak through the doll was only temporary; if it stayed more than seven hours, its soul would suffer and never reincarnate.

“You can speak now—quickly explain yourself. If you harmed people without reason, I’ll scatter your soul today,” Zhou Yi said, his excitement barely concealed. Still, he kept a stern face, lest the spirit take him lightly.

“Immortal master, I am a white-furred weasel from Mount Buyan, long dedicated to cultivation, never wishing harm. A few days ago, I was dining on essence when this person attacked me with a hidden weapon, without explanation,” the doll replied in a rasping voice, grating as a ladle scraping a pot.

While accomplished spirits often called themselves immortals, this weasel humbly referred to itself as “little beast” before Zhou Yi—placing its status extremely low.

Zhou Yi’s eyes widened as he thundered, “Your body destroyed, why not reincarnate? Why come out to harm others?” His words were unreasonable—he had shot the spirit without cause, forbidding it even to avenge itself.

“Immortal master, I meant no harm. I have three young ones not yet grown. If I die, my children will surely perish. Please, I beg you to save them!” The spirit bowed deeply once more.

So the weasel’s attachment was due to its three cubs—its heart full of worry. The universal parental love, even in beasts, is no less sincere; sometimes, the emotions of animals are purer than those of humans.

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After the spirit departed Baozi’s body, Baozi leaned against the wall, quietly observing the scene. Zhou Yi’s actions had utterly transformed Baozi’s perception of him, and as the reality sank in, Baozi suddenly jumped behind Zhou Yi, startling him.

“What are you doing? You scared me!” Zhou Yi shot Baozi a sharp look.

“When did you learn to channel spirits? Is it really the weasel talking through the doll?” Baozi hid behind Zhou Yi, peering at the figurine. “Channeling spirits” is a northern term, belonging to the shamanic tradition.

“Is the weasel’s story true?” Zhou Yi asked.

Baozi shook his head, silent.

After thinking for a moment, Zhou Yi said, “You made this mess—clean it up yourself.” With that, he turned to leave.

Truthfully, Zhou Yi was angry. Hunters who live off the mountain commit many sins; after killing, they accumulate karmic burdens. But even hunters have taboos—foxes and yellow weasels should not be hunted, as Baozi had now learned firsthand.

Baozi hurriedly grabbed Zhou Yi. “Don’t, brother! Oh, I can’t, my head hurts!” Baozi cried, feigning illness and collapsing onto the kang.

“Stop pretending. If you keep it up, I really will leave! Hurry and get dressed,” Zhou Yi said, seeing through Baozi’s act.

Baozi glared, “Why? If you won’t go, neither will I. I’d rather die than go.”

Zhou Yi said no more, called out to Beqiao, and prepared to leave. Baozi, unwilling to let Zhou Yi go, quickly got up and dressed.