Chapter 83: The Great Night Is Dark, the Fierce God Can Be Resolved

The art of talismans is studied by all Daoist sects under heaven.

Yet, drawing talismans in the void is a secret transmission, a sacred doctrine of this path; even if one receives the true teachings of the sect, without innate talent and fortune, it is utterly impossible to master.

Take Qi Ji—he was born into the Shangqing Sect of Maoshan, practiced for years, yet never grasped the mystery of void-drawing talismans.

As for Jiang Hu, he devoted himself to the art of talismans since childhood, endured great calamities, survived nine deaths, and only then unlocked the secret of void-drawing talismans.

“Who the hell are you?” Xiong Qianxing cried out.

A flash of spiritual light sparked at his fingertip; the void-drawn mark stirred mountains and rivers.

One who wields the technique of void-drawing talismans must be of orthodox Daoist lineage.

Boom…

Zhang Fan pointed a finger and drew a “mountain” shape in the air, majestic and solemn, rooted firmly to the ground.

Merely this single mark acted as a barrier, forcibly repelling the turbid qi generated by the [Infiltrating Yin Wind].

Hum…

Xiong Qianxing’s face turned pale; he quickly formed a hand seal, his throat convulsed, and he opened his mouth wide to draw back the turbid qi.

“You think you’re a toad?”

At that moment, Zhang Fan stepped forward, opened his right hand, interlaced his fingers, and seized the turbid qi directly with his bare flesh.

Hum…

The moment the yin wind’s turbid qi touched his palm, a slick, slippery sensation surged through him, carrying a bone-chilling cold.

Ordinary people suffer various illnesses from excessive dampness or cold in their bodies; thus, summer is the best season for expelling dampness and cold.

But the yin wind’s turbid qi does the opposite—once inside the body, it inevitably causes strange diseases.

“What?”

Far away, Ming Chenxuan’s eyes nearly popped out—without the Yin Mountain Sect’s methods, how could this man touch the yin wind’s turbid qi with his flesh?

Hum…

Zhang Fan appeared like a ghost before Xiong Qianxing, his right hand descending; the yin wind’s turbid qi vibrated and surged directly into his crown.

Pfft…

Instantly, Xiong Qianxing felt something was wrong—his eyes rolled upward, exposing the whites, his whole body trembled uncontrollably, saliva dripped from his lips, cold sweat oozed steadily, and signs of bodily collapse began to show.

“You… you…”

Xiong Qianxing collapsed to the ground, no longer the arrogant, composed man he had been moments before; his gaze toward Zhang Fan now held a chilling terror.

He had never dreamed that the [Infiltrating Yin Wind] he had trained for so long would one day be turned against himself.

“I give up,” Xiong Qianxing gritted his teeth.

At this moment, he felt his lower body was beginning to leak.

The cruelty and effect of the Infiltrating Yin Wind had only just begun—if he did not expel the turbid qi from his body soon, who knew what state he would be reduced to.

“Ming Yunxia, no wonder you were so confident—you’ve found a powerful backer.”

Ming Chenxuan hurried forward to help Xiong Qianxing up, eyeing Zhang Fan with deep wariness.

Void-drawing talismans—such a technique is not something any random Daoist priest could possess. With this man here, even if they overturned heaven and earth, they could not take anything from this courtyard.

“Let’s go.”

Supported by Ming Chenxuan, Xiong Qianxing stumbled as he turned to leave.

“That’s it?” Zhang Fan said coldly.

They came in with utter arrogance, their tone louder than their stench; now that they’ve lost, they just walk away? Is there such a thing as free passage in this world?

“What do you want?” Ming Chenxuan gritted his teeth.

The situation favored the other side; even someone as haughty as him had no choice but to bow his head.

“Enough…”

At that moment, Xiong Qianxing raised his hand to cut him off, his gaze sharpening, a look of grim resolve flashing across his face.

Immediately, a gust of yin wind sliced through his palm like a blade—blood spurted, two fingers severed cleanly and fell into the pool of blood on the ground.

Such ruthless decisiveness made Zhang Fan’s eyelid twitch. “Can we go now?” Xiong Qianxing gritted through the pain.

“Go, go.” Zhang Fan waved his hand.

In truth, he only wanted the two to apologize in front of Ming Yunxia—but he never expected Xiong Qianxing to be this brutal, severing his fingers at the slightest provocation—he wasn’t even human.

“Good!”

Xiong Qianxing painfully picked up his severed fingers, and with Ming Chenxuan’s support, trembled as he vanished into the alley’s mouth.

“Thanks for getting me out of that.”

Ming Yunxia stepped forward, her face filled with gratitude.

“People like that… even if I hadn’t intervened, heaven would’ve taken them eventually…” Zhang Fan chuckled: “A few days ago, I saw someone even more arrogant and full of himself—he got struck dead by lightning.”

“Huh?” Ming Yunxia blinked.

“Never mind… never mind…”

Zhang Fan waved his hand, then asked: “What did Master Ming leave me?”

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“Here.”

As she spoke, Ming Yunxia pulled a small wooden box from behind her—exquisitely crafted, engraved with a dragon and a tiger.

“Did Master Ming leave any message for me?” Zhang Fan took the box, tracing its patterns.

“None. He said you should take the box home, and once you see what’s inside, you’ll understand,” Ming Yunxia shook her head.

“Alright, thanks.” Zhang Fan nodded, tucked the box away, chatted with Ming Yunxia a while longer, exchanged SuperChat contacts, then took his leave.

In front of Ming Yunxia, he couldn’t open the box outright.

“Go safely, walk slowly.”

Ming Yunxia saw Zhang Fan out the door; his figure gradually vanished into the deep alley.

“He… has grown weaker!?”

Ming Yunxia stared at the direction Zhang Fan had vanished, a look of confusion crossing her beautiful face.

…

Hongfu Huayuan.

Zhang Fan returned home at eleven at night; passing the guard booth at the gate, he greeted Liu Fusheng, the night shift guard.

“Little Fan, so late…”

Liu Fusheng still smiled warmly, as benevolent as a Buddha in a temple.

“Had some business today.”

“Little Fan, what’s that you’re holding?”

At that moment, Liu Fusheng noticed the wooden box in Zhang Fan’s hand and asked casually.

“A gift from a friend.”

Zhang Fan replied offhandedly: “It’s late, Uncle Liu, I’m heading in.”

“Alright, get some rest.”

Liu Fusheng nodded, watching Zhang Fan depart, his gaze fixed on the wooden box in his hand.

Only when Zhang Fan entered the stairwell did Liu Fusheng slowly withdraw his gaze—and let out a sigh.

“What a tragedy!”

Back home, Zhang Fan opened the box. It was light, yet inside lay only a single slip of paper—old, slightly yellowed.

“A note? Who left this for me?”

Zhang Fan paused, then pulled the yellowed slip from the box—only eight small characters were written upon it:

The Great Night Is Dark, the Fierce God Can Be Resolved!!!

“The Great Night Is Dark!” Zhang Fan’s brow lifted, recalling his dream and his Nascent Soul’s inner landscape.

“Who… who exactly left me this note!?”

Zhang Fan turned the slip over, scrutinizing it closely—and finally, in the corner, spotted even smaller script as a signature:

Zhang Fan!!!

(End of Chapter)