Chapter Sixty-Four: The Attack of the Spirit Monkey

The Red-Faced Fiend raised his hand and killed Cheng San in an instant. Not a soul among those on the ground dared utter a word in protest; their bodies pressed even lower in submission. The middle-aged man in green who had dealt with Cheng San trembled uncontrollably, kneeling on the earth and barely daring to breathe.

“Hmph! Useless wretch—after all these years, you’re still only at the second layer of Qi Refining. Your sacrifice is worth no more than a dozen common mortals,” the Red-Faced Fiend spat, his rage yet undiminished. He turned his baleful gaze upon the assembled crowd and barked, “The tasks given to you—if any of you dare shirk your duty again, you will pay with your own lives!”

The seven remaining cultivators knocked their heads on the ground like pounding garlic, hastily replying, “We dare not!”

Seeing their terror, a trace of satisfaction flickered over the Red-Faced Fiend’s features. Yet, the next moment, his brow twitched, and he suddenly peered deep into the crowd.

“Trouble!” Liang Yan thought inwardly.

He trusted the Heavenly Pearl to conceal his cultivation and aura, making it impossible for the Red-Faced Fiend to see through him. But Li Xiran, by his side, was not so certain; given the fiend’s eighth-layer Qi Refining realm, she might not escape detection.

Liang Yan’s hands hung naturally at his sides, subtly inching toward the storage pouch at his waist. Should the Red-Faced Fiend erupt into violence, he could not simply stand by.

Yet the Red-Faced Fiend merely swept his eyes over the crowd in suspicion, shook his head, and returned to sit upon his cushion, apparently finding nothing amiss.

Liang Yan relaxed, his hand falling away from the storage pouch, and let out a silent sigh of relief. He glanced sidelong at Li Xiran, thinking to himself, “This woman is truly unfathomable.”

Seated at the center, the Red-Faced Fiend pointed at the green-robed middle-aged cultivator and commanded, “After last time’s offering, more than twenty sacrificial mortals remain. Bring them out and divide them, together with today’s captives, into eight groups—no fewer than twenty per group.”

The green-robed man hastily replied, “Understood!” Rising from the ground, he hurried into a cave behind the Red-Faced Fiend.

Before long, he returned, leading out over twenty sacrificial mortals. All the captives were divided into eight groups, each standing behind a brazier.

When all had taken their places, the Red-Faced Fiend nodded and declared, “After the last ritual, my power reached the peak of the eighth layer of Qi Refining—only a step from the ninth. If these offerings are sacrificed smoothly, I will surely break through to the ninth layer, and then the 'Golden-Forehead Monkey King' will be within my grasp!”

The seven cultivators chorused, “Your power is limitless, invincible in battle!”

With a sweeping gesture, the Red-Faced Fiend barked, “Enough! Form the array, quickly!”

The seven cultivators obeyed, each taking a direction and sitting cross-legged behind a brazier, forming hand seals at their chests and chanting incantations.

A sudden roar rose—the flames in their braziers surged, just as when Cheng San had been thrown into one, the fire’s heart glowing with a ghostly blue, like eight clusters of spectral flame.

The Red-Faced Fiend’s expression grew solemn. He placed a vertical palm before his chest and exhaled a jet of black qi, which spiraled through the air and condensed into an oval arch. As his incantations shifted, mournful wails of evil spirits echoed faintly from within.

After half an incense stick’s time, the Red-Faced Fiend shouted, pointing toward the arch. The black qi inside churned violently, as if something struggled to crawl forth.

His crimson eyes locked onto the arch, Adam’s apple twitching with excitement and fanaticism.

A chilling, rasping sound issued from the arch, as though sharp claws scraped against one’s heart, unsettling the soul and agitating the mind.

Liang Yan silently invoked the “Heart Without Disturbance” technique, using the Heavenly Pearl to shield his aura, which steadied his mind. The seven cultivators in the array were not so fortunate; their faces contorted in pain, and some bled from their ears.

With that uncanny sound, the black qi within the arch swelled, and a savage ghostly claw emerged. Liang Yan’s heart tightened as he focused—he saw the claw was two fathoms long, its fingers towering above a man’s height. Wreathed in ghostly vapors, the claw’s nails were sharp and deadly, with black smoke curling from them, exuding a faint stench.

The claw groped about as it emerged, uncertain of direction, as if searching for something.

Seeing this, the Red-Faced Fiend’s excitement grew. He chanted bizarre syllables, as if singing some eldritch hymn, and struck out with both palms, sending two wisps of gray yin energy toward the claw.

Once touched by the gray qi, the claw seemed to gain purpose, inching steadily from the arch, reaching toward the Red-Faced Fiend.

From Liang Yan’s vantage, it seemed less like the claw reached for the fiend, and more as though the fiend dragged the claw toward himself. Yet its pace was agonizingly slow; after half an incense stick’s time, it had only reached halfway between them.

Liang Yan observed quietly. The Red-Faced Fiend’s eyes never left the claw, all his concentration focused on the spell. Liang Yan felt a stirring—he glanced at Li Xiran and saw her eyes alight with excitement, no longer feigning dullness. Her hand gripped her storage pouch, showing she was near her limit.

“If I join forces with her and launch a surprise attack, I can’t be certain we’ll defeat the Red-Faced Fiend. But now, while he’s wholly absorbed in his spell, this may be the best chance to save these common folk.”

Strangely, he had initially cared little for their fate, intent only on exploiting the conflict between the fiend’s group and the monkey horde to seize Spirit Monkey Wine for his own survival. Yet confronted with the sight of over a hundred and eighty living souls, compassion stirred within him.

He knew he was no great hero who rushed to save the world, but to stand idly by and watch more than a hundred innocents perish seemed impossible.

Liang Yan sighed inwardly. “So be it—let fate decide life and death.”

With resolve, he turned to Li Xiran. Just as he was about to signal her, a thunderous roar echoed from the jungle, shaking the heavens.

Liang Yan and Li Xiran looked as one. A giant ape swung from the woods, its forehead gleaming gold, white whiskers beneath its chin like a worldly elder, wielding a jet-black ebony staff and glaring fiercely at the cultivators.

Behind it followed four smaller spirit monkeys, paired off on either side, their foreheads also golden, their expressions hostile as they stared down the Red-Faced Fiend’s group.

“The staff-wielding spirit monkey in the middle has reached the early eighth layer of Qi Refining—it must be the Monkey King they spoke of. Yet its aura is unstable; it seems it has only recently advanced,” Liang Yan thought.

The Red-Faced Fiend was astonished, but he was at a critical juncture in his spell. To divert his attention to fight the Monkey King would mean sacrificing all his progress. He gritted his teeth and shouted, “Take your medicine! Form the Ghost Gate Array! Buy me half an incense stick’s time!”

The cultivators seated before the braziers hesitated, but only for a heartbeat. Then, with grim determination, each pulled a blue pill from their storage pouch and swallowed it.

Immediately, their aura surged, rising from the third to the fourth layer of Qi Refining. Liang Yan shook his head in secret—such pills that forcibly boost cultivation in a short span carry immense side effects, some even destroying the foundation of the Dao, ending one’s path to immortality forever.

Yet their decisiveness in swallowing the pills showed the iron discipline of the Corpse Ghost Sect; those who defied orders likely faced fates worse than death.

After taking the pills, their eyes reddened and wisps of blue smoke rose from their heads. They seemed oblivious, raising their hands to cast spells into the braziers before them.

The flames soared, shooting blue fire toward the monkey horde.

As the rain of fire descended, the Monkey King stood unafraid, roaring skyward and swinging its giant staff at the flames.

Though fierce, the blue fires were scattered by the Monkey King’s ebony staff, sent flying in all directions—some even rebounded. One blue flame was knocked directly onto a Corpse Ghost Sect cultivator seated before a brazier.

“Ah!” The cultivator cried out in agony, heedless of sect law, leaping up and desperately casting spells to extinguish the flames on his body.

Yet no matter how he tried, the eerie blue fire clung to him like maggots to bone, impossible to quench. Within moments, the flames consumed him entirely, leaving him writhing in pain, unable to perform another spell.

Driven by the instinct to survive, he crawled toward another cultivator, hand reaching forward, crying out, “Senior Brother, save me!”

The so-called Senior Brother, seeing him crawl over, wore a look of terror. He hastily formed seals and struck at him with spells.

Black qi flashed, tearing the man’s guts and leaving him motionless on the ground. Only then did the “Senior Brother” wipe sweat from his brow in relief.

As the blue flames faded, all that remained of the first victim was ashes—no bone left behind.