Chapter Seventy-Seven: Shaving Off Your Beard with a Single Stroke

Just a moment ago, when I was outside, the sky was still bright as day. But the moment I entered this forest, it felt as if night had suddenly fallen. I shook my head and carefully surveyed the woods, yet I saw no sign of any particularly fierce or powerful monster. The so-called Mount Muyan, famed in tales as a gathering place for myriad demons across the six realms, was, in truth, merely home to a few tree, flower, and stone spirits who had cultivated for less than a century. The most experienced among them was an old ginseng spirit, who, having caught sight of me, cowered behind a stone spirit, trembling uncontrollably with fear.

I had been on Mount Lingyun for many days now, and this was the first time I encountered anyone from the demon realm. A sense of kinship welled up within me, and I found myself rather excited.

“Hey, Grandpa Ginseng Spirit!” I called out loudly, waving my arm in his direction and running over in high spirits. Tilting my head, I peered behind the stone spirit, only to find the ginseng spirit sprawled on the ground, feigning death.

“Hey, Grandpa Ginseng Spirit, I know you’re not dead. Get up and talk to me!” I circled the stone spirit and came to stand before the ginseng spirit, who lay on the ground pretending to be lifeless. I waved my hand in front of his eyes, but he seemed truly dead, holding his breath and remaining perfectly still.

“Come on, wake up! I’m not a bad person—I won’t harm you,” I shouted into his ear, squatting beside him and giving his bushy, white beard a playful tug. It was quite amusing, just as white and long as Third Great-Uncle’s beard.

“If you keep pretending, I’ll pull out every last hair until you’re a beardless ginseng spirit,” I threatened with mock seriousness. As I reached for his beard, the ginseng spirit, unable to maintain his composure, shuddered and stole a furtive glance at me.

I chuckled, drew the Moonlight Sword from my waist, and unsheathed it. I was just about to swing when the ginseng spirit, who had been lying motionless moments before, suddenly leapt to his feet. His beard bristled, his eyes widened, and he shouted, “I was only taking a nap, nothing like the act you accuse me of, little girl!”

“Oh!” I nodded in understanding. “Grandpa Ginseng Spirit, I’d like to ask something of you.”

“You want something?” The ginseng spirit’s face paled as he retreated, his voice shaking. “You want my life?”

“Not at all!” I replied with a laugh. “I only wish to ask for a few strands of your beard to take back for my master’s health.”

“My beard?” He stroked his white beard, which barely reached his waist, his expression torn. After a moment’s struggle, he finally nodded. “Very well. But my beard is precious, so I can only spare you a few strands.”

“That’s fine. A few strands are enough.”

Though his beard looked delicate, once severed from his chin, it transformed into thick, finger-sized ginseng roots. If I gathered eight or ten of them, that would be more than enough for Zilian’s recovery.

“Shall I do it myself, or will you help?” I asked eagerly, seeing his lingering hesitation.

“You’d better do it,” he said with resignation, selecting a few shorter, white strands from his beard, closing his eyes. “Just be quick about it, and don’t damage the good ones.”

“Don’t worry. You can trust me.” Swiftly, I drew my sword and sliced off a cluster of beard from his chin. On the way back with the sword, I also plucked a few more by hand.

“Ow, that hurts!” the ginseng spirit howled, clutching his chin in pain. When he saw the little ginseng roots on the ground, his face filled with sorrow.

“Goodness, that was a close shave. You almost cut my chin!” he exclaimed.

“Not at all! I’m an expert at trimming beards. Rest assured, Grandpa Ginseng Spirit—look, your chin is perfectly fine, not a scratch nor a drop of blood,” I reassured him.

“Really? No harm done?” He touched his chin gingerly, seeming a bit uncertain as he avoided my gaze. Then he forced a smile. “Just now, you said you wanted my beard to help your master recover. May I ask who your esteemed master is?”

“Master? My teacher is certainly no demon!” I crouched to gather the ginseng roots from the ground, proudly announcing, “My master is a celestial from the Ninth Heaven—Zilian Immortal Lord. You must have heard of him! Three thousand years ago, during the war between immortals and demons, he slew our demon realm’s Demon Lord.”

“Zilian Immortal Lord?” The ginseng spirit’s face turned ashen with terror, and he retreated further, leaving me momentarily stunned.