Chapter 78 – Hesitant to Act

There were no green faces or ferocious fangs, no glaring eyes or vertical pupils. That face appeared utterly ordinary, just as it always had. Yet the once lively and expressive eyes now lacked their usual spark, instead glowing with a strange, dark luminescence. The doors and windows of the embroidery room were long broken, dust swirling in the air, light and shadow dancing in patches. Sitting in this ghostly, desolate room, the man’s lips curled into a faint smile on his pale, stiff face.

His smile seemed harmless, yet Zhang Xiuqi’s expression changed. With a wave of his hand, three copper coins shot out like arrows.

When a person is possessed by an external spirit, their appearance is often altered. If a deity or immortal takes over, the person’s aura becomes imposing and awe-inspiring. If a malevolent ghost or evil spirit possesses them, their face turns ashen, and their eyes bulge with rage. If it’s a beast or demon, features like snake-like tongues, double pupils, or sharp claws may emerge.

These are all typical signs of possession. However, if there are no visible changes, it’s not because the possessing entity is weak—it’s because it’s so powerful that it has completely integrated itself into the victim’s soul. A possessed person who shows no outward signs is almost always harboring a fierce and evil spirit. As a true heir of the Longhu Mountain lineage, how could Zhang Xiuqi not understand this?

Yet the three copper coins had no effect. As if knowing how the coins were used, the man tilted his head slightly, his body springing up like a phantom. In the blink of an eye, he was behind Zhang Xiuqi! With a flick of his wrist, the Suihou Sword reversed, its blade flashing. Zhang Xiuqi barely managed to block the man’s arm, but the force behind the strike was too great. With a loud crash, his feet left the ground, and he was sent flying. In that split second, a yellow talisman smeared with cinnabar flew from his hand, silently landing on the man’s arm. A hiss erupted as flames burst forth, accompanied by the smell of burning flesh.

Zhang Xiuqi steadied himself in an instant, but when he saw the scene before him, his hand clenched tightly, his teeth gritting hard. A long gash now marred Wei Yang’s left arm, blood dripping down his hand. The wound from the talisman’s burn had already turned red, clearly damaging the flesh. Yet the man seemed oblivious to the pain, instead raising his arm and lazily licking the wound with a crimson tongue.

“Ah Yang!” Zhang Xiuqi took half a step forward but didn’t rush in. The tip of his Suihou Sword was still stained with blood, burning his palm like a hot iron, holding him back. The unyielding sharpness he once wielded was now wavering, caught in hesitation. There were countless ways to deal with a possessing demon, but none that wouldn’t harm the host’s body.

He couldn’t hurt that person—that was the one he was supposed to protect!

On the other side, as if sensing the Little Celestial Master’s hesitation, the man tilted his head again and smiled. This time, the smile seemed more natural. Wei Yang’s features weren’t particularly handsome, but when he wanted to, he could effortlessly take on any role he desired. Zhang Xiuqi had seen this transformation countless times, but never like this… seductive.

The eerie laughter returned, now distant, now close, like a ghostly presence surrounding them. Wei Yang lowered his still-bleeding arm and began to walk forward. His gait was as peculiar as his smile, his hips swaying subtly, as if he were a stunning beauty in a flowing gown. But there was no gown—only a simple shirt and jeans. His collar had come undone at some point, the red blood mingling with the grime and dust. His hair was disheveled, yet none of this detracted from the deliberate allure he exuded. It was all jarring and bizarre, yet it accentuated a strange, irresistible vulnerability.

A breeze brushed past the window frame, the broken lattice creaking softly. With the sound, Wei Yang moved, blending into the wind, carrying with him the scent of dust, blood, and the faint fragrance of grass—the same scent of the shower gel they used, the one Zhang Xiuqi would smell every night before sleep. His pupils contracted sharply. He should have swung his sword without hesitation, but the Suihou in his hand felt as heavy as a mountain, binding his arm.

The two didn’t collide. A sharp claw grazed Zhang Xiuqi’s shoulder, leaving a long gash. Like a nimble cat or weasel, Wei Yang darted back, his sharp fingertips now dripping with blood.

The eerie laughter continued, and his smile widened, the corners of his eyes slanting upward with a twisted charm. He opened his mouth, his crimson tongue flicking out as he struggled to speak.

“Brother Qi…”

The voice was the same as always—deep and pleasant—but the tone had changed. It carried a guttural quality, somewhere between a gasp and a coo, accompanied by that strange gait. It was as if he weren’t a beast ready to devour its prey, but a beauty pining for her beloved.

Among the Five Great Household Immortals, the Fox Immortal was the most cunning. It could read its prey’s thoughts, befuddle their minds, and consume them whole, flesh and bone. It also coveted the inner essence and primordial yang of cultivators. The legends of fox spirits taking human form were all based on this, for the fox was deceitful, the fox was greedy.

The laughter grew louder, a haunting refrain, and the calls of “Brother Qi” became more fervent, more sincere. Using that face, that voice, Zhang Xiuqi tightened his grip on the short sword, his breathing quickening. The laughter in his ears seemed to shift, to transform, speeding his pulse and stirring his heart. He didn’t understand what this meant, but he knew one thing—this creature was defiling his most cherished treasure!

Suddenly, Wei Yang lunged again, this time straight at Zhang Xiuqi’s face, no feints or dodges. Their bodies collided with a crash, the rickety wooden chair shattering into pieces. The Suihou Sword slipped from Zhang Xiuqi’s hand, clattering to the ground.

The man’s hot breath was half an inch from Zhang Xiuqi’s throat, but he stopped—he had to stop. Two fingers pressed against his Heavenly Yang Pass. Of the Seven Passes, the Heavenly Yang was the most volatile, associated with the fire of Lianzhen, representing entrapment and death. A surge of heat rushed upward from the Heavenly Yang Pass! The Seven Passes were like the life meridians of a person—reversing them would steal one’s vitality. Even a possessing demon couldn’t withstand such an assault!

Wei Yang’s body shuddered violently, trying to retreat, but Zhang Xiuqi was faster. With a bloodstained finger, he drew a talisman on Wei Yang’s smooth forehead. The man let out a piercing scream, as if he could no longer maintain his human form, and collapsed to the ground, his back arching like an enraged beast.

Blood trickled from the corner of Zhang Xiuqi’s mouth. A possessing demon could grant the host several times their normal strength, rivaling even the likes of the Yellow Husk or Corpse Puppets. He had already sustained serious internal injuries, his chest and abdomen churning like a stormy sea. Yet his hands didn’t stop moving. With a series of sharp clinks, the Seven Killers Formation trapped the now-deformed figure.

A yellow talisman floated out, as if held by an invisible hand, hovering in mid-air. Zhang Xiuqi’s bloodstained finger slashed across it, and with a deafening crack, a bolt of lightning struck from the sky. This was the Shangqing Jade Mansion Five Thunder Talisman, a secret technique of Longhu Mountain. If placed on a yin or malevolent entity, it could annihilate their soul. But the talisman wasn’t aimed at the man—it exploded in mid-air. Not to exorcise, but to startle the soul!

“Ah Yang!” Zhang Xiuqi staggered, half-kneeling on the ground, his gaze fixed on the beast-like figure.

As if startled by the thunder, Wei Yang froze. The eerie light in his eyes flickered, but before it could fade, a ferocious expression crossed his face. Like a snake whose tail had been stepped on, he lunged straight at Zhang Xiuqi.

Use a talisman? A sword? A formation? All of these would harm him. Zhang Xiuqi didn’t dodge. Instead, he bit down, a mouthful of blood pooling in his mouth. The figure pounced with such force that sharp claws clamped around his neck, as if trying to snap it. But a spray of blood shot out, hitting Wei Yang square in the face. At this close range, even the Fox Immortal couldn’t dodge. True saliva, the essence of blood, was a supreme weapon against evil. With just this one spurt, the man let out a howl, trying to escape.

But how could the demon escape now? Zhang Xiuqi leaped forward, pinning him to the ground. With a twist of his hand, he forced Wei Yang’s jaw open, bit his tongue again, and pressed his lips to Wei Yang’s, transferring another mouthful of true saliva into him.

The essence of blood wouldn’t harm Wei Yang, but it would devastate the possessing demon. With a sound like the heavens breaking, something shot out of Wei Yang’s body, a cold whirlwind crashing through the door. In any other situation, Zhang Xiuqi would have chased it down, ensuring the demon was utterly destroyed. But today, he didn’t. Instead, he bent down and tightly embraced the man beneath him.

Wei Yang wasn’t awake. His body burned like a high fever, and his eyes were tightly shut, his long lashes trembling slightly. Blood still stained his lips, a shocking crimson.

Zhang Xiuqi held the body tightly, only now realizing that the trembling wasn’t coming from Wei Yang—it was coming from him. His entire body shook, his heart clenched painfully, and his fingers felt numb. He wasn’t afraid of injury, of bleeding. No demon could make him falter. Having lost his Heavenly Soul, he didn’t even know the meaning of fear. But today, he was terrified—so scared that he trembled, scared that he might accidentally harm the man with his sword, scared that if he let go, he would lose this person.

He had promised to protect him, to protect him well.

Zhang Xiuqi bent lower, holding the man even tighter. His cold, trembling forehead pressed against Wei Yang’s burning neck, with an indescribable reverence and caution, like a miser clutching his most precious treasure.

A ray of sunlight broke through the shattered door, casting a faint halo that enveloped the two figures.