Heaven-Subduing Scripture

The Chen manor.

The place had changed wholly. The bride stood at its center; her wedding robe was ever more scarlet, as if soaked through with fresh blood.

An astonishing killing aura poured from her, turning to wisps of red mist. Under that red mist, all around showed its true face.

The splendid pavilions became charred ruins; the clear wine crawled with maggots; the villagers and servants became corpses, blackened and burnt.

A formation emerged around her, its patterns profound and intricate, gleaming faintly, weaving dozens of golden threads that bound and wrapped the bride.

It was this formation that had forced the bride to relive her dying experience again and again — a thousand cycles and more. The grievance thus amassed made her stronger than ever.

Crack! Crack! Crack!

Golden threads snapped one after another; the formation was overrun by the blood mist, its light dimming, until at last it burst apart and scattered.

The bride lifted a red embroidered shoe and slowly walked toward the door, leaving a trail of blood-colored footprints.

As she was about to step beyond the threshold, a bell rang — clear and pleasing.

The bride’s embroidered shoe halted.

A night wind stirred her wedding robe, revealing a slender figure. She stood motionless, as if turned to stone.

An old Daoist in black robes stepped out, in his left hand a red lantern, in his right a Three-Pure Bell — it was he who had rung it.

The old Daoist’s skin was sallow, his face a map of wrinkles. One eye was gray-white, hollow and vacant; the other flashed with a sharp light that seized the heart.

His gaze rested on the bride; that one remaining sound eye shot forth a brilliant gleam.

”Remarkable! To break my Spirit-Prisoning Grand Formation with sheer killing aura — hah! Worth every year of my painstaking scheming!”

”Once I take you in and refine you for forty-nine days, using hundred-insect venom and the living souls of children to temper your killing aura, you will have a fifty-percent chance to become a Ghost King!”

At the words ”Ghost King,” a feverish heat lit his eyes.

That is the pinnacle of ghost-taming art. A Red Robe vengeful ghost is rare enough; above the Red Robe, a Ghost King is a thousand years’ rarity!

The Daoists hold there are five kinds of immortals: the Heavenly, the Earthly, the Human, the Spirit, and the Ghostly. And a Ghost King already approaches the legendary Ghostly Immortal!

He walked toward the bride, and as he went, drew out a small jar, meaning to take her in.

The bride’s robe grew yet more scarlet; drops of blood fell from her skirt, flowing to the ground. Her fingers twitched, ever so slightly.

The old Daoist’s face changed; he hastily shook the Three-Pure Bell. As the ringing continued, the bride fell still once more.

”Fierce Red Robe. Lucky for me I planted a restraint within your soul five years ago — else today would have been troublesome indeed.”

The official page where this story was originally posted has the author’s chapter; this copy was made without consent.

He lifted the jar’s lid, roused his mana, and murmured an incantation.

A fierce suction rose from the jar, drawing away the blood mist that clung to the bride. Then the bride’s body trembled faintly — she seemed to resist with all her might.

”Hmph. Still struggle? That I take you in is your good fortune!”

So saying, the old Daoist bit his forefinger and, with blood, drew a talisman upon the jar. In the next breath, the jar’s suction surged; the bride, unwilling, could only float, drifting toward its mouth.

A flush of joy rose in the old Daoist’s eyes — at last, success was at hand!

But then a stone flew in, swift as lightning, and struck the jar — crash! — shattering it to pieces.

The bride escaped as well; she halted, slowly settling to the ground. From start to finish, her red veil never fell.

”Who? Who dares spoil this old man’s work!”

The old Daoist flew into a rage. For this moment he had plotted how long — how could he tolerate interference?

”Hah! You old fox — this Daoist has squatted on you for days, and at last you show your face!”

From afar Zhang Qianyang strode forth. Though he walked with calm ease, his form flickered and blurred, and in the blink of an eye was before them.

Behind him trailed a young Daoist, gasping for breath — whose footwork mirrored his closely, only greener and more raw.

Zhang Qianyang did not strike at once. Instead he glanced at Li Daoxuan and smiled. ”Not bad. Didn’t expect you’d learned Shrinking the Earth, Divine Striding too. Good — at least you can protect yourself now.”

His face was composed, but inwardly he was startled. This Shrinking the Earth was also a Mount Longhu art. Not a secret transmission, yet its difficulty was but a notch below the Five-Thunder Talisman. That this boy had grasped its threshold on his own — such talent was rare indeed!

The old Daoist, seeing the other ignore him entirely, snapped angrily, ”What stray Daoist dares? Today this old man will flay your skin, gouge your heart, and refine your soul into a vengeful ghost!”

So saying he shook the Three-Pure Bell. This time the ringing was no longer clear and sweet, but shrill and jarring, frenzied in tempo, deeply unsettling.

”Three teachings to the afterlife, return to bliss; the Nether Bell is female, the hundred ghosts are male — heed my command!”

The old Daoist worked the bell, and at once the villagers and servants turned to evil ghosts, eyes blood-red, lunging at Li Daoxuan and his companion.

Among them was Master Chen, now a vengeful ghost — his wits gone, controlled by the old Daoist.

Only the bride, in her red robe, stood quiet and unmoved.

Dozens of evil ghosts fell upon them. Li Daoxuan pinched a Five-Thunder Talisman; his heart pounded. He drew a deep breath, about to unleash the thunder art.

Zhang Qianyang glanced at him and smiled. ”Boy, watch closely — this is what true thunder art looks like.”

He formed the seal — without even reciting the incantation — and said faintly, ”Wind, come!”

Whoosh!

In an instant a mighty gale howled, its shriek piercing the ear; tiles and bricks were swept into the air.

The lunging ghosts were blown every which way.

Zhang Qianyang shifted his hand seal. ”Clouds, come!”

Boom!

Dark clouds rolled across the sky, bearing down like heaven and earth inverted, with countless thunder-serpents writhing and gathering within.

Then Zhang Qianyang pinched the Heaven-Thunder Seal and cried, ”Thunder, come!”

Boom!

First the world blazed bright as day, then rolling thunder exploded; dozens of green bolts struck down at once, each as thick as an arm — far mightier than Li Daoxuan’s Five-Thunder Talismans!

Li Daoxuan’s mouth fell open, gazing at this earth-shaking sight. Hard to imagine such power could be wielded by frail humankind.

Countless screams rose, then were drowned in the thunder.

When all settled to dust, the villagers who had become evil ghosts had vanished without trace, leaving only blackened ground and pockmarked craters.

”Once earth-bound, they cannot be redeemed — not even reborn. Better to die clean than suffer the cycle day after day.”

”Unless, like Wang Chunsheng, one had just become earth-bound and was awakened in time — then redemption is possible. Pity these villagers sank too deep; they lacked Wang Chunsheng’s luck and fortune.”

Zhang Qianyang shook his head. Earth-bound spirits, though not strong, were special — all but impossible to redeem, or he would not have struck so ruthlessly.

Now those still standing in the field were only Zhang Qianyang, Li Daoxuan, and the bride, Master Chen, and the old Daoist.

The bride, to withstand the thunder, had grown much fainter in blood-mist; even her robe seemed less red.

The old Daoist, though unhurt, felt keen anguish — his red lantern had gone dark, its shade cracked with a great hole.

It was a protective artifact, precious indeed, yet had blocked but a single blow.

Worst off was Master Chen. He still stood, but swayed on the verge of collapse, his yin energy nearly dispersed.

Now, looking at Zhang Qianyang, the old Daoist’s ferocity was wholly gone. Like a startled rabbit, he asked, ”The Shenxiao Orthodox Five-Thunder Rite… M-might I ask, which True Person of Mount Longhu are you?”