Chapter 345: Mount Dingjun (Chapter High Energy)

In the mountain-side courtyard, Yao Lao was sharpening his blade.

He had received news from Qiu Zhiheng: all thirteen corpse cultivators were dead.

Thirteen corpse cultivators' lives would bring the curse of the Corpse Gate Array to its peak, bringing disaster to Medicine King Gully.

Where would the disaster begin?

No need to ask—it must begin at the Earth God's shrine.

The Corpse Gate Star would first bring the array's calamity to Yao Lao.

He would also bring all the corpse cultivators' vengeful souls to Yao Lao.

Under normal circumstances, the Corpse Gate Star dared not strike directly at Yao Lao's home.

Now that the curse was concentrated here, he dared to act.

"Old dog, come here!" Yao Lao tested the edge of his three-pronged, double-edged blade.

He planned to capture the Corpse Gate Star alive and force him to reveal the array's secrets.

Even if it cost him his old life, he would break the Corpse Gate Array!

As long as his old life remained, no one would touch Medicine King Gully.

Yao Lao had drunk his fill and waited for the Corpse Gate Star to arrive.

Splash~

Hundreds of wine jars piled against the wall; the topmost jar slowly slid off, about to hit the ground.

Yao Lao swung his long blade—the jar returned to its place.

These wines were Yao Lao's strength, stacked against the wall for countless years, and now, of all times, trouble arose.

Curse.

The Corpse Gate Star had come.

One portion of wine-qi could resist one portion of curse.

Yao Lao tried to suppress the curse with wine-qi, but the Corpse Gate Array was too powerful—the gap between wine-qi and curse was immense.

Winds of darkness stirred; five green flames entered the courtyard, charging wildly.

These were the dead souls of corpse cultivators, sent as vanguard to destroy the courtyard's traps and mechanisms.

Yao Lao lifted a wine jar with his blade, hurled it into the air, and poured wine down—the souls screamed and dissolved into smoke.

"Son of a bitch!" Yao Lao spat. "I've waited this long, and you send me rotten fish and stinking shrimp?"

Before he finished speaking, hundreds of souls flooded the courtyard, circling him without attacking.

Are these all corpse cultivators?

How could there be so many corpse cultivators?

Not all were corpse cultivators—some were souls dragged to death by them. The Corpse Gate Star had spent decades gathering them; in his hands, these souls became weapons brimming with curse.

Yao Lao swung his blade again—hundreds of wine jars flew from the wall, tumbling through the air, drenching the ground in wine rain.

With this wine rain alone, the souls would have been annihilated.

But just then, a gale blew—knocking the jar mouths askew, spilling wine sideways, too fast, too wide—within moments, all wine was gone.

Such was the power of the Corpse Gate Array.

The wine rain scattered by wind, the souls still swarmed around. Yao Lao gripped his blade's hilt—his three-pronged, double-edged blade shot out, extending over ten zhang, skewering dozens of souls like candied haws, then twisting—those souls turned to ash.

The blade returned steadily to his hand. The remaining souls hung back, too afraid to approach. Yao Lao yawned: "Old dog, I'm about to fall asleep!"

With so many souls destroyed, had the Corpse Gate Star gained nothing?

The souls had turned to ash—but the ash did not disperse. It still hovered above Yao Lao.

The ash silently coalesced into a cluster. Yao Lao seemed unaware.

This was great curse—if it struck, Yao Lao would be unable to evade the next blow, for no matter which way he fled, disaster would follow.

The ash plummeted swiftly. Yao Lao remained defenseless.

As the ash neared his head, Yao Lao suddenly drew a carved bow from behind him.

Simultaneously, the four surrounding banners rose, fluttering wildly, scattering the ash above.

An arrow nocked, Yao Lao drew the bow, spun sharply, and shot backward.

"Dog thief, I knew you'd strike."

Yao Lao knew the curse was approaching above—if he dodged, he'd fall into the Corpse Gate Star's ambush.

If he didn't dodge, the ash would strike him, leaving him vulnerable to a follow-up blow.

Precisely because he had predicted the enemy's tactic, he had also calculated his position.

The arrow flew through the air—but missed.

Missing was normal. Even the finest archer has chance; under such thick curse, a direct hit was impossible.

Yao Lao fired again—still missed.

Relying on instinct, he shifted direction and fired five arrows in succession—finally, one halted midair.

Hit!

Yao Lao spat fire onto the arrow. Amid wails, a figure materialized.

The Corpse Gate Star appeared!

The four surrounding banners encircled, crisscrossed, and pinned the figure to the ground.

"Dog thief, die!" Yao Lao raised his three-pronged, double-edged blade and stabbed off the Corpse Gate Star's head.

To prevent resurrection, Yao Lao pulled out a wine flask and poured half its contents over the Corpse Gate Star's neck.

Smoke curled—clearly, the enemy was dead. Yao Lao exhaled.

The Corpse Gate Star was dead—but now the problem: how to break the Corpse Gate Array?

Yao Lao had just reached for a sip of wine to steady his spirit—when the corpse on the ground exploded into dust, striking his face.

Curse to the face!

Had the Corpse Gate Star's corpse exploded?

No—this wasn't the Corpse Gate Star. The figure pinned moments ago was still a corpse cultivator's soul.

How could I have mistaken it?

Corpse Gate Star and soul—how could I not tell them apart?

Dream!

Yao Lao was dragged into a dream.

All perception and judgment were twisted by the dream.

When had he entered the dream?

Yao Lao knew the Corpse Gate Star possessed dream-cultivation techniques and had prepared against them.

His spirit had been sharply focused—he should not have fallen into a dream.

Had he been distracted earlier?

Under such thick curse, anything could happen.

No use overthinking. Yao Lao spat fire into his palm—burning, he awoke.

No souls in sight. No Corpse Gate Star. His feet seemed to have stepped on something.

Some scattered wine lees.

Trouble—this was a trap.

Yao Lao had stepped into his own trap.

The dream courtyard differed greatly from the real one. While chasing the Corpse Gate Star in the dream, his steps were distorted—he accidentally walked into his own trap.

The medicine jar hanging over the storage shed shattered, spilling powder all over Yao Lao.

The curse had reached this level?

This was his carefully brewed poison—and now it coated him entirely.

The poison seeped instantly into his skin. Yao Lao's body stiffened; the wine-qi swirling around him vanished in moments.

This wine-qi was Yao Lao's vital barrier against curse. He raised his wine flask, intending to wash off the poison.

His palm was slick—either with sweat or wine—the flask slipped, fell to the ground.

Yao Lao bent to retrieve it—two souls lunged from behind.

The three-pronged, double-edged blade, guided by Yao Lao's will, flew back to defend him.

But just then, the poison erupted violently. Yao Lao writhed in agony, his will faltered, his technique collapsed—the blade lost control and plunged into his own lower back.

The strike was brutal and precise—piercing straight through Yao Lao's chest.

Yao Lao pulled out the blade, staggered, and stepped again on his own trap—a jar of strong liquor fell, drenching him.

Could this strong liquor wash away the poison?

No.

There were many wines in the courtyard that could cleanse poison—but this one could not. This jar was specially brewed by Yao Lao to intensify the poison.

Poison surged through his body. His skin peeled, flesh turned to pulp. He stood frozen, barely able to move.

Souls advanced with weapons, surrounding him. The four banners struggled to repel them. Yao Lao's wine-qi was nearly gone—even the banners could no longer be controlled.

Yao Lao heard the Corpse Gate Star's voice: "Look at yourself. What are you now?"

Words of death.

The Corpse Gate Star suddenly appeared, slipped through the banners, seized the weakened Yao Lao, and tossed him—like a toy—to another Corpse Gate Star.

How is there another Corpse Gate Star?

The Death Star, holding Yao Lao, laughed: "You, a drunkard? You dare call yourself a local god? I don't even need to lift a finger—just summon a few wandering ghosts to end your life."

Under the influence of the Death Star's gloomy words, Yao Lao's fighting spirit vanished completely.

Three wraiths raised their three-pronged, double-edged spears and drove them into Yao Lao's chest.

The Death Star said: "Are you a man who still cares about face? If you truly still valued that wrinkled face, kill yourself now—I'm doing you a favor. If a local god dies at the hands of wandering ghosts, won't he become a laughingstock of the world?"

Dying would be easy enough.

But what about Yaowang Gou?

The Death Star had already thought it through for him: "I'll spare half the living in Yaowang Gou; the other half, I'll send as your funeral companions."

What are you waiting for? Afraid to die? After living this long, don't you feel shame?"

Kill half?

You bastard, try it!

Yao Lao suddenly snatched back the three-pronged spear and swung it toward the Death Star.

As the great blade swung through the air, Yao Lao's ears rang—he missed his target, and another Death Star kicked him to the ground.

One sip of alcohol counters one portion of ill fortune.

Drink some wine, drink some wine, and you'll recover!

Several jars of wine still sat against the wall; Yao Lao struggled to rise, trying to summon them.

A gust of wind blew through, dissolving all alcohol scent from his body—the technique failed.

Yao Lao lunged for the wine jars against the wall, but the Death Star reappeared and kicked him squarely in the chest, sending him flying over a zhang away.

Before Yao Lao could rise, another Death Star appeared, turning ill fortune into a long sword and stabbing at his lower back.

Yao Lao barely dodged, when yet another Death Star transformed ill fortune into an iron mallet and smashed it into his face.

The blow cracked Yao Lao's skull; ill fortune flooded in, darkening his vision—he could now see only vague outlines.

Why are there so many Death Stars?

A dream?

Yao Lao was certain he had not entered a dream.

These must be clones.

How could the Death Star's clones be so powerful?

Is this also a technique granted by Neizhou?

Yao Lao struggled to his feet, but before he could steady himself, several Death Stars and a host of wraiths surged forward to surround and attack him.

Wine—just one sip could still fight him.

After barely holding out for a few exchanges, Yao Lao finally grasped a wine jar—but before the wine touched his lips, a Death Star clone smashed it with an iron mallet, then slammed him into the wall.

The wall collapsed; Yao Lao crawled from the rubble and leaned against the bed.

Beside the bed stood the wind-up phonograph Li Banfeng had sent him.

He knew what it was for, and where the record came from.

Listen to it?

Too ashamed.

He had wronged her back then; today, he had even less face to face her.

This battle was humiliating—so far, Yao Lao hadn't even seen the Death Star's true form.

The Death Star was right—I've truly thrown my face away.

Yao Lao saw the wine vat in the room—his last chance, his only remaining move.

But he knew well: given the current battle and fortune, if he rushed straight for the vat, he might not touch a single drop.

Even if he couldn't reach it, he had to try.

As Yao Lao took one step toward the vat, his knee twisted wrong—he collapsed helplessly onto the ground.

He propped himself up with both hands and crawled toward the vat.

Two wraiths stepped forward, trampling him; Yao Lao struggled up, shoved them aside—one wraith stumbled and crashed into the phonograph beside the bed.

According to the current fortune, the phonograph should have been shattered.

But the wraith didn't break it—he accidentally hit the power switch.

Shhhhhhhhh~

The phonograph emitted a burst of static.

In the room, all Death Cult wraiths froze.

Yao Lao's heart tightened—he didn't know what he would hear.

He didn't know what the Marshal would say to him.

Klang klang klang klang~

Drums and gongs began to sound.

The Death Star's clones trembled, shaken by the drumbeat.

Is this phonograph a magic treasure?

The Death Star immediately ordered his clones to destroy the phonograph—but as the singing began, his true soul destabilized, forcing his true body back several zhang.

"This letter arrived just in time,

Heaven aids Huang Zhong's triumph,

Standing at the camp gate, I sound the call,

All soldiers, listen well!"

It was "Dingjun Mountain."

Yao Lao's eyes widened.

It was the Marshal!

It was her!

When she led the troops out to war, she sang "Dingjun Mountain" to the soldiers.

She still remembers this old man!

Two Death Star clones charged again toward the phonograph.

His true body lay hidden beside the wine vat.

The Death Star assumed Yao Lao would rush blindly for the wine—then he'd destroy the phonograph and finish Yao Lao with his true form, securing victory.

But Yao Lao didn't head for the wine—he threw himself to protect the phonograph.

The Death Star was startled: This old man is a wine cultivator—he needs wine most right now. Could this phonograph be more important than wine?

Then it must not be allowed to remain.

The Death Star sent five more clones to attack Yao Lao.

In the struggle, Yao Lao was thrown to the ground, knocking over the table behind him.

The table overturned the cabinet, which toppled directly onto the wine vat.

Fortune truly defies logic.

Logically, this was the worst possible outcome.

But when Yao Lao fell, the vat shattered—and every drop of wine spilled perfectly over his body.

The Death Star froze—he sensed something was wrong.

Is this old man lucky?

Under the peak power of the Death Array, how could he possibly be lucky?

…

Huh… huh…

Inside the Companion Dwelling, Li Banfeng lay on the ground, gasping heavily.

Huh… huh…

The Companion Dwelling breathed with Li Banfeng.

Li Banfeng rubbed his thigh: "One foot in, one foot out—digging like this is exhausting."

The wall trembled; Li Banfeng heard the Companion Dwelling's voice: "Four iron rails, switching back and forth—you think I'm not tired?"

Looking at the blood-stained dirt in the sack, Li Banfeng burst into laughter: "Hohohoho!"

A whistle blew—the Companion Dwelling seemed to laugh along with Li Banfeng.

Huh… huh…

The Lady cheered loudly, drums pounding without pause.

The Death Array is broken!

…

Boom! Boom! Boom boom!

In Yao Lao's courtyard, ill fortune dissipated with the drumbeat.

The phonograph still played "Dingjun Mountain."

The drums rang loud, shaking the Death Star to his core.

Each word and line terrified the wraiths, who cowered, clutching their heads.

"First drum beat—prepare the battle meal!"

The wine flowing on the ground vanished—Yao Lao drank it all, mixed with dirt and sand.

"Second drumbeat—fasten your battle robes!"

Yao Lao stood up, straightened his attire, and the four flags at his back unfurled before reattaching themselves to his shoulders.

"Third drumbeat—draw your blades!"

The three-pronged, double-edged blade returned to Yao Lao's palm.

"Fourth drumbeat—hand over your weapons!"

The Death Star summoned spirits to block Yao Lao, but the spirits, drowned in the phonograph's song, had long lost the ability to move.

Yao Lao swung his long blade; where the edge passed, mist of liquor rose and spread through the room.

Hundreds of spirits turned to ash in an instant.

Whether from his leg wound or his drunkenness, Yao Lao staggered toward the Death Star—blade flashed, wind stirred, and the Death Star split in two.

This was a decoy.

Where was the true body?

Yao Lao could not see.

"So what if I can't see? I'll just chop them all!" Yao Lao laughed—the liquor mist instantly engulfed the entire courtyard, the sharp alcohol blinding the Death Star.

Amidst flashing blades, over a dozen decoys became scattered limbs and broken remains.

The Death Star Array was broken; the foul energy was gradually drowned by the liquor mist. Seeing his situation turn dire, the Death Star forced one decoy to fly out of the courtyard.

Yao Lao threw his three-pronged, double-edged blade to chase the decoy.

The Death Star's true body seized the chance to flee; as he moved, a faint breeze stirred, and the liquor mist shifted slightly.

The four flags at his back trembled in the mist—Yao Lao pinpointed the Death Star's location.

"Dog thief, where are you going!" Yao Lao reached into the mist and seized the Death Star's skull.

Once the skull was gripped, escape would be impossible!

The Death Star turned his foul energy into a short blade, stabbing and slashing at Yao Lao's arm.

Yao Lao showed no sign of pain—he charged forward, still gripping the Death Star's head.

The Death Star commanded all remaining decoys to swarm Yao Lao.

The four flags at his back whirled, aiding Yao Lao in parrying.

If you can block, block. If you can't, endure!

Yao Lao didn't care how many blows he took—he kept charging forward, still clutching the Death Star's head.

The Death Star dragged Yao Lao into a dream.

Yao Lao's steps were twisted by the dream, yet he still pressed forward.

Was he awake or dreaming?

The Death Star couldn't tell—and Yao Lao didn't care to find out.

So what if he was awake?

What if he was dreaming?

Just keep charging forward!

After slaying the decoys, the three-pronged, double-edged blade flew back and waited in the courtyard for Yao Lao.

"Advance, and all shall be rewarded; retreat, and you'll face a blade! Soldiers, return to camp with me!"

The old general roared, lifted the Death Star's skull, and impaled it on his blade!

In Medicinal King Gully, the foul energy dispersed.

The Death Star wailed without end.

(End of Chapter)