Heaven-Subduing Scripture

This time, Li Daoxuan at last saw her face clearly.

Beneath the ink-black long hair was a face cold as frost, skin pale as snow, without a trace of ruddy life.

Yet on the other hand, Li Daoxuan had to admit she must have been a very beautiful woman in life.

Brows like distant hills, eyes like a cold moon; features fine as a painting; thin red lips like plum-blossom in snow, lending this ice-carved beauty a touch of color.

Yet facing such a beauty, Li Daoxuan felt only his heart leap in fright; he pulled a mournful face. ”Master, what in the world are you doing?”

This was the Red-Robe vengeful ghost!

Li Daoxuan recalled how, before her, he had been utterly helpless, and a shudder ran through him.

The ghost bride did not harm Li Daoxuan; she only gazed at him quietly, her eyes without ripple.

Zhang Qianyang chuckled. ”Count yourself lucky. With her following you henceforth, she outweighs any protective artifact.”

”Fol… following me?”

”Aye — did you not ask me to redeem her? Your master labored no small effort to dissolve her grievance. But she herself will not reincarnate; she wishes to walk the ghost-immortal path.”

”The ghost-cultivation method my Mount Longhu possesses, but the Dao is not lightly taught. Your master struck a bargain with her: she guards your Way for ten years; after ten years, her freedom, and I teach her the ghost method. This umbrella shall be her home henceforth; if you take her out by day, remember to hold the umbrella.”

Li Daoxuan opened his mouth; his voice trembled slightly.

”Master… is this not a little improper? Perhaps we’d best forget it—”

Li Daoxuan’s voice caught, for strands of black hair had quietly wound about his neck, and the thick yin-qi made him feel plunged into an ice cave.

Zhang Qianyang chuckled, picking at his ear. ”What was that you said?”

”Ahem — I said, thank you, Master; the matter is thus settled!”

The next moment the black hair withdrew, and Li Daoxuan let out a long breath.

He looked to the ghost bride beside him and said, somewhat awkward, ”That… how should I address you?”

The ghost bride gazed at him coldly and did not speak; her wedding dress began to grow viscous, and drops of fresh blood fell, upon the ground forming three dainty characters.

Chen… Zi… yu

Li Daoxuan thought, this mode of self-introduction is rather chilling.

”Then I’ll call you Sister Yu. That… Sister Yu, might you step a little… farther from me?”

The author publishes this chapter on NovelPhoenix, and the copy shown here was made without their permission.

The two were both under the umbrella, standing close; Li Daoxuan felt the other like a mountain of ice, ceaselessly radiating cold.

Chen Ziyu still did not speak; she raised a finger and pointed at the umbrella.

Li Daoxuan then understood — the sun was still out; even a Red-Robe vengeful ghost could not walk openly in sunlight.

He hurriedly offered her the umbrella.

Chen Ziyu reached out, gripped the handle, and her body turned to a wisp of green smoke, vanishing into the umbrella.

The umbrella closed of itself.

Li Daoxuan relaxed completely; close company with a Red-Robe vengeful ghost was pressure indeed!

Then Zhang Qianyang came over and sighed. ”Do you know why she cannot speak?”

Li Daoxuan started — aye, even ghosts of the caliber of Old Chen and Wang Chunsheng could speak; she, a veritable Red Robe, why mute?

”Because she could not speak in life.”

Zhang Qianyang shook his head. ”Though she was the Chen family’s eldest daughter, her mother died in labor at her birth, so the Chen master ill-favored her; when he took a new wife, he grew yet colder.”

”The new mistress was worse — beat and scolded her at will; later, finding her cries too loud, she had men brew poisoned wine and made her a mute.”

”She was but seven then.”

Li Daoxuan stood frozen; his hands had clenched without his knowing, and a picture rose in his mind.

A thin little girl hugging her knees, weeping — yet unable to sob aloud…

Perhaps the only one in the whole Chen house who loved her had died at her very birth.

”Dissolving grievance is easy; dissolving the resentment of the heart is hard.”

Zhang Qianyang sighed. ”When you’ve leisure, speak with her more — both of you are wretches of this world.”

”Still, your master bids you chat, not that you, lad, should eye her beauty and harbor crooked thoughts. I warn you: before entering early Bigu, you must on no account spill your yang essence — least of all with a female ghost!”

Li Daoxuan’s face went black. ”Master, am I truly so base in your eyes?”

Zhang Qianyang scanned him up and down, coughed, and said nothing.

”Ah — that Longhu Golden Elixir, don’t eat it yet; wait another half month, by when the turbid qi in you should be wholly gone.”

Li Daoxuan nodded; about to speak more, Zhang Qianyang waved a hand and leapt into the coffin.

”Dead tired, your master — sleeping, sleeping!”

Li Daoxuan smiled and personally closed the coffin lid for his master.

He looked at the oil-paper umbrella; it had somehow leaned against the courtyard’s most inconspicuous corner, as if forgotten.

After a hesitation, Li Daoxuan walked over, picked up the oil-paper umbrella, and brought it back to his room, leaning it against the wall.

”Though this room is broken, it at least keeps out wind and rain; Sister Yu, rest here in the room.”

”Er — and I’m timid; Sister Yu, don’t come out on your own at night, all right?”

The oil-paper umbrella did not move.

Li Daoxuan suddenly felt that talking to an umbrella thus, if seen by others, would surely mark him a fool.

He shook his head and smiled, lay upon the bed, and began practicing the Pengzu Valley-Immortal Sleeping Induction Exercise; after a time he drifted into sleep.

Boom!

Thunder sounded outside, and rain followed.

Yet Li Daoxuan slept soundly still, with faint snores.

The oil-paper umbrella quietly opened in its corner; a figure in wedding dress appeared in the room, long hair to the waist, skin snow-white.

She glanced at Li Daoxuan asleep upon the bed, then slowly drifted to the window, stood there, and silently watched the rainy night beyond.

…

The days again grew full and calm.

Li Daoxuan still trained with his master — horse-stance, sitting, sword, talismans, no different from before.

That oil-paper umbrella leaned quietly against the wall; Chen Ziyu never showed herself of her own accord, and sometimes when Li Daoxuan opened the umbrella to chat a few words, he got no reply.

Save for introducing her name in blood at their first meeting, she was like a wooden figure, without any ripple of feeling.

So another seven days passed.

This day, after absorbing the dawn’s purple qi, Zhang Qianyang did not have him practice sword, but drove him out.

”Off, off, off — the house is too poor to lift the pot. As disciple, ought you not take initiative and go drum up trade, earn some coin?”

Li Daoxuan said in surprise, ”Master, are there not the three gold ingots?”

”Ha — your Bigu Pills have not stopped; think they came from nowhere? The cinnabar and yellow paper you use drawing talismans daily — think a wind blew them in?”

”Long since spent!”

In a word: the Zhenyang Daoist Temple was bankrupt.