75: The Final Curtain

Such towering trees were truly a rare sight—perhaps they had lived for centuries, even millennia. Looking around, one found themselves surrounded by ancient giants, their age apparent in every gnarled trunk and sprawling root. Yet, curiously, none of these trees possessed any trace of spiritual awareness; there was no sign of demonic transformation.

In a place as desolate as this, where the very essence of life was brewed anew, even a single blade of grass, if it survived long enough and absorbed the essence of day and night, could eventually awaken consciousness and become a spirit. But these great trees showed no such sign, which was exceedingly strange.

He journeyed onward, leaping from branch to branch for several miles, until he came upon a pavilion built beneath a massive tree. All around, flowers blossomed in abundance, and a quiet pond lay deep and still. Amid the pouring rain, the place exuded a profound tranquility.

It was like an immortal's dwelling—a place of serene beauty. It was almost unbelievable that such a location could be the lair of the tree demon's avatar. Yi Fan vaulted onto the pavilion; inside, chaos reigned. The place had clearly been abandoned in haste, the lesser spirits once inhabiting it having fled with their belongings.

He searched high and low but found no trace of ghosts. Instead, he discovered many peculiar objects, some resembling Daoist scriptures, though most were ruined and the writing blurred, making it impossible to discern their contents.

Finding no clues, Yi Fan stepped out and made his way toward the roots of the great tree. The closer he drew, the more astonished he became, for the trunk bore countless variegated scorch marks. Though an age had passed, he could still sense the lingering force of thunderous destruction.

Suddenly, it became clear: it was not that these ancient trees had never become demons, but that upon reaching a certain level of cultivation, they were struck down by heavenly thunder, leaving this place a land of death.

All at once, Yi Fan halted. He detected a faint trace of demonic aura nearby. Maintaining his composure, he strode over, then with a swift series of steps, ran along the trunk and leapt onto a massive branch.

There, at the heart of the branch, he found a tree hollow, dark as night. Drawing a fire striker from his robes, he tore a scrap from his sleeve, wrapped it around a twig, set it alight, and peered inside.

The hollow was not large, yet what he saw astonished him: nearly a hundred urns for ashes, commonly known as golden urns, were neatly arranged within, varying in size.

It was from these urns the demonic aura emanated. Yi Fan gave a cold snort. “Show yourselves. There's no use hiding.”

At his words, dozens of green flames burst from the urns, flickering together in the hollow, trembling with fear.

“Master Daoist, you are merciful. Please spare us,” pleaded a voice from one of the green flames.

“Spare you? Did you think of sparing the innocent people you killed?” Yi Fan's face remained impassive as he untied a talisman pouch. With a single shake, the green flames were all drawn inside.

The pouch writhed as if filled with dozens of mice, their frightened cries rising in chaos. “Master Daoist, we were forced into this! We should have hidden in the mountains, but the tree demon possessed this tree, then imprisoned us, making us lure in the living for it to drain their life force.”

Yi Fan’s heart gave a jolt. So this tree demon’s avatar had possessed the great tree, regaining its strength. He felt a moment’s relief—thank goodness he hadn’t battled the avatar here, for with the power of such an ancient tree, victory would have been far from certain.

He ignored the ghosts’ lamentations. Taking a talisman, he sealed the pouch like a cord, tied it to his waist, and decided to refine or feed them to the ghost-devouring spirit upon his return.

As he prepared to continue his search, he noticed a faint outline of a book in the hollow. With a flick of his hand, he drew it to himself. To his surprise, it was a damaged secret manual.

“Lesser Talisman Codex.”

A flicker of joy crossed his heart, but upon opening it, disappointment followed. The contents were incomplete and mostly comprised of basic talismans—wards against evil, demon suppression, even some for healing illnesses—a veritable encyclopedia of daily life, and only a beginner’s edition at that.

Who knew who had discarded it here so long ago? The ghosts had no use for such things, so it had survived by chance.

Still, better something than nothing. He tucked it away as a supplement to his foundational practice.

Two hours later, Yi Fan returned to the pavilion. Gazing at the rain-drenched sky, he searched the surroundings but found nothing else. The tree demon’s avatar was surely destroyed.

But what of the villagers who’d been abducted?

He pondered, concluding the only possibility was the pavilion itself. Returning once more, he searched carefully and soon discovered a hidden chamber, expertly concealed—without close inspection, it would have remained undiscovered.

He gently pushed open the secret door and descended. Rounding a corner, he was assaulted by a stifling stench of blood. Raising his torch, he found the chamber expanded into a vast space, layer upon layer of desiccated corpses and bleached bones piled together—how many, he could not say.

At the far end of that great space, a bronze cauldron stood atop a boulder. Yi Fan leapt over and saw that it brimmed with thick, congealed blood—surely the so-called “heart’s blood.”

So much heart’s blood—these corpses below must be all the missing villagers. Not one had survived; all were slain.

The air in that cavernous space was heavy and oppressive. Yi Fan checked the area, then left, closing the secret door behind him.

On the pavilion above, he exhaled deeply, his expression shadowed. He was not surprised by the villagers’ deaths—after so many days, their survival was unlikely.

Yi Fan had no wish to linger in such a place, but neither would he leave it be. If the villagers’ spirits, consumed by resentment, became ghosts, who knew how many would die in these woods as a result?

So he affixed “Lesser Evil-Banishment Talismans” throughout the place, using an entire pouch—nearly a hundred in all. Any other cultivator would have considered such extravagance unthinkable.

But with so many talismans suppressing the area, barring unforeseen events, any ghosts that formed would gradually dissipate, either passing into the underworld or perishing utterly.

Having settled everything, Yi Fan vaulted from the pavilion and sped away. Soon he reached a ridge, and gazed down upon the thriving expanse of great trees below. Though life now flourished here, the law of extremes held true—this was not a place fit for cultivation.

…

Half a month later, Yi Fan’s injuries had fully healed. He sat cross-legged atop the mountain, gazing into the distant valleys below. Since the destruction of the tree demon’s avatar, life had returned, not only to the mountain but also to the lowlands, now greening and blessed with rare rainfall.

The months-long drought was finally easing.

A few days earlier, Daoist Zhao had sent a letter. Yi Fan replied, briefly explaining the situation and telling them they could relax their vigilance—the tree demon had been eradicated.

Time seemed to settle into a tranquil lull, and Yi Fan took the opportunity to nurture his health.

Opening his system, he found that the energy gained from refining the tree demon’s avatar was immense—enough to further enhance his strength.

…