Chapter Fifty-Eight: A Gentleman Repays a Favor, Even After Ten Years

When the corpse’s foot stepped upon the crimson powder, a scorched, acrid scent immediately rose into the air.

A body, nearly intact, was set alight by the red powder, a scarlet blaze leaping into the night like the rising sun.

Had it been any ordinary person caught in such a formation and set aflame, they would surely have lost all desire to proceed. But these were mindless corpses. They had no thought of retreat. One after another, they pressed forward. The burning corpse was instantly engulfed by the surging tide of bodies, trampled beyond recognition, and the fire was smothered.

A fleeting flare of light illuminated Liang Yu’s face.

Liang Yu’s expression was more terrifying than the horde of walking corpses themselves. Teeth bared, he swung his broadsword wildly.

“Damn it, I’ve cut down living men—why should I fear you lot of dead ones?”

The blade in his hand sang through the air, hacking down the head of the nearest corpse with practiced ease.

Yet the body did not falter; headless, it continued to lunge at Liang Yu, limbs flailing.

As the corpse tide threatened to overwhelm him, a sudden clarion crowing burst from the hillside behind—Iron General’s cry split the night.

The cock’s clear call echoed through Muddy Village, and at its sound, the corpses froze in their tracks as if spellbound, utterly motionless.

Seizing the opportunity, Liang Yu scrambled free from the press of bodies, his sword still swinging. Two steps clear of the tide, he collapsed to the ground.

Meanwhile, the resplendent rooster, Iron General, shook its crown, flapped its wings, and soared into the sea of corpses.

Its iron talons hooked, its beak like a sword, it clawed and pecked, tearing wisps of black miasma from the corpses.

Once the accumulated corpse miasma was drawn out by the rooster, the bodies immediately crumbled to dry bones, never to rise again.

Amid the corpse tide, Iron General darted and spun, single-handedly holding the breach, halting the advance of the dead.

Liang Yu, sprawled on the ground, could only stare, stunned, muttering to himself, “Well, I’ll be damned… My Iron General isn’t just unbeatable in cockfights—turns out he’s a demon-slayer too!”

Thanks to this resplendent rooster, disaster in Muddy Village was held at bay, buying a precious measure of time.

…

On the far side of the wild hill, the low thicket grew ever denser, branches and leaves sprawling unchecked.

The night wind carried with it a faint stench of death.

Zhong Ming awoke with a start. One moment, a flash of white had filled his vision and cut off his senses; when he came to, he was at the shadowed, farthest edge of the wild hill.

Rubbing the bridge of his nose, Zhong Ming looked about. Once his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he realized he was at his mother’s grave.

His brow furrowed as memories returned—he’d been swept away by the sleeve of the woman in white, and she must have rescued him.

He turned to check on the young priest, Zhang Nianchen. Zhang’s breathing was steady; he must be only unconscious. Though blood still stained his hands from earlier, his pulse was weak but present. He’d need rest once they returned.

Finding himself uninjured, Zhong Ming resolved to head back to the village.

The corpse tide had not been halted; he needed to find the old priest, return to Muddy Village at once.

Where was Li Que now? What had become of Muddy Village?

Zhong Ming’s mind was a tangle of anxious thoughts. Having seen Li Que’s fury, witnessed his readiness for murder, Zhong Ming realized the magnitude of his own mistake. Asking Old Daoist Zhang Daozhen to suppress the corpse tide had been his greatest error.

He’d known full well this was Bai Yujing’s means of winning hearts—and yet he’d interfered.

Wasn’t that openly opposing Bai Yujing?

Now the feud was set; he just didn’t know how far Bai Yujing would go in pursuit of vengeance.

With a sigh, Zhong Ming understood the matter had spiraled beyond his control. Facing Li Que’s mastery over icy demons, not even ten men like him could prevail.

No use in brooding—Zhong Ming knelt before his mother’s grave and murmured, “Mother, if your spirit knows, please protect your son.”

Just as he prepared to finish his prayers and shoulder Zhang Nianchen, a hoarse voice sounded behind him.

“Your master fell ill and died years ago—lovesickness, it was. I tried everything, but I could not save him. Now your master cannot protect you, but rest assured, I’ve handled things for you.”

At some point, a huge, black-furred monster had come to stand beside Zhong Ming, balanced on a single leg. Kneeling, it bowed low to his mother’s grave.

Every hair on Zhong Ming’s body stood on end. Though he sensed no malice from the creature, its fearsome visage made his blood run cold.

Scrambling up, Zhong Ming bowed deeply. “You must be Elder Old Mountain Fiend. Zhong Ming thanks you for saving my life, and apologizes for my rashness and the injury I caused you before.”

“Don’t call me Old Mountain Fiend—that name’s unpleasant. I am of the fiends, but I have a proper name: Yaya. As for saving your life, there’s no need for thanks—a debt repaid for a debt.”

Yaya, the old fiend, lifted Zhong Ming with a furry paw, strikingly similar to a human’s hand. Held by those monstrous claws, Zhong Ming’s heart pounded in terror.

Once Zhong Ming was upright, Yaya pointed to the lump on his forehead, which glowed green in the dark. “The cut you gave me before was nothing, but that old willow spirit at the temple was ruthless—one lash and it still hasn’t healed.”

Zhong Ming quickly bowed again, but Yaya lifted him once more. “No need to bow to me. My master’s kindness to me was greater than the sky. You’re his son—I can’t accept your kneeling.”

Hearing this, Zhong Ming was full of questions.

Old Mountain Fiend always referred to his mother as “Master.” Where had this teacher-disciple relationship come from?

Noting Zhong Ming’s confusion, Yaya seemed to guess his thoughts. He raised a claw, a talon glowing with gentle white light.

“Bring your forehead here. My memories will show you all.”

Gazing at the glow on Yaya’s talon, Zhong Ming hesitated. But Yaya had saved him and spoken kindly; surely, he meant no harm. He would see what the light revealed.

Resolute, Zhong Ming leaned his forehead forward.

The soft white glow seeped gently into his skin, forming a link between the old fiend and Zhong Ming.

Both closed their eyes. The faint white light shone on their faces—soothing even the fiend’s monstrous features, making him appear peaceful, as if both were lost in restful sleep.

Meanwhile, Zhong Ming was plunged into an extraordinary experience.

A dazzling white radiance filled his vision; his body floated, weightless, for what seemed a long time, until at last, scenes began to appear.

Green grass, fragrant blossoms, birdsong and butterfly dance—a land of fairy-tale beauty.

Zhong Ming wanted to savor the view, but his body moved of its own accord, carrying him forward, with no thought of lingering.

After a time, he realized: he was seeing from the old fiend’s perspective.

These were Yaya’s memories, and all he had ever seen.

He walked for a long while, finally stopping atop a tall tree, gazing out toward a distant village.

At first, Zhong Ming did not recognize the place. Then, familiarity dawned.

Was that not Muddy Village, ten years ago?

But back then, the village was not as it was now—much smaller, untouched by war, its people living peacefully off the land.

The beautiful scene he’d witnessed before was none other than this wild hill itself.

How quickly the world changed—in little over a decade, this thriving place had become a field of corpses.

As Zhong Ming pondered, the old fiend’s ears caught clear recitation from the village below.

“Heaven and earth, dark and bright, the universe vast and wild. The sun and moon wax and wane, the stars are arrayed in ranks. Cold comes and heat goes, autumn harvest and winter store…”

The Thousand Character Classic. In these times, it was the first lesson of childhood, prized for its rhythm and breadth, venerated as a text of enlightenment.

The chant came from a small courtyard near the old locust tree.

There, a woman in plain linen, yet radiant as a goddess, smiled as she etched the classic’s opening lines onto a clay tablet with a twig, leading a group of children in recitation.

Mother?

From afar, warmth surged through Zhong Ming’s heart, memories flooding back.

That courtyard was his family’s old home. When he was a child, his mother was indeed the only literate one in the village, teaching the children their first words.

As Zhong Ming lost himself in memory, the scene shifted, melting like water around him.

Evening came. The old fiend, emboldened, crept into the courtyard, fixated on the clay tablet the children had studied that afternoon, pointing to the characters and muttering, “Ladder…peace…”

In those days, the fiend’s mind was just awakening; he yearned to learn human words and ways, but had no teacher—so he came to the Zhong house to learn in secret.

Thus began the bond of kindness between Yaya and Zhong Xiuniang.

For days, the fiend would sneak into the courtyard at dusk to study the tablet.

One night, engrossed, he accidentally read aloud, “Heaven and earth…promise…with it…vast and wild…” and startled Zhong Xiuniang.

“Who’s out there?” she called, cradling infant Zhong Ming as she stepped outside.

Frightened, the old fiend fled up the locust tree in a flash.

Zhong Xiuniang inspected the tablet, noting the claw marks thoughtfully.

From then on, she would recite aloud each night, repeating the characters she had written by day.

With such guidance, the fiend made rapid progress. In half a year, he could recite the Thousand Character Classic in full.

One day, as usual, the fiend came to learn—but instead of writing, he found a steaming bowl of dumplings on the tablet.

From inside, Zhong Xiuniang called, “Tonight is New Year’s Eve. No lessons—we eat dumplings and rest early. Come in the morning to wish us well.”

That night, the fiend learned that people celebrated by hanging lanterns, posting couplets, and writing blessings—New Year’s, they called it, and dumplings were the festival food.

Thus he discovered that dumplings, far tastier than any wild fruit, were a delicacy of the human world.

For thousands of days, he studied under Zhong Xiuniang, eating dumplings five times in all.

When he had mastered what she taught, the fiend changed—growing from two legs to one, learning human speech and script, eventually achieving true transformation.

That night, elated, he came again to the Zhong courtyard. His black fur had shed, and on the mountain path, he danced with joy.

Yesterday in the mountains, he had completed his final transformation, becoming, at last, the person he wished to be. He knocked on the Zhong family’s door.

After five years, the fiend finally had the courage to meet his teacher face to face.

He knelt on the threshold and called out, “Honored teacher, your humble disciple has come to thank you for years of instruction.”