Chapter 561: Nighttime Spell Duel

"Tangyuan~ hot and fresh~"

A hoarse chant pierced the snow curtain, echoing through the snowy black street.

The voice carried the weight of years, like an old woman next door—almost tender—but in this setting, it grew darker, more terrifying.

"It's her! I remember now—it's her!"

Xu Yongqing froze suddenly, his eyes filled with terror.

"You know her?"

Li Yan gazed into the distance, his expression grim.

The opponent had stopped hiding her Qi.

Li Yan could feel a dark, murky force coiled deep in the alleyways, thick and brimming with malice.

It even pressed against him.

Li Yan now understood her identity.

A Dengshen practitioner!

Many others had warned him about "Dengshen practitioners" before.

Li Yan had never understood the difference between a Dengshen practitioner and a normal cultivator; by cultivation level, he was already at the Fourth Floor, beyond the limit of mortal cultivators—could he not also be called a Dengshen practitioner?

Yet many orthodox masters at the Fourth or Fifth Floor were never called "Dengshen practitioners."

Only after entering Shu and meeting many elders did he gradually grasp the distinction.

"Dengshen practitioner" originally referred to cultivators who pursued the Dao with single-minded devotion and had a chance to ascend to godhood—a term of respect.

Now, it carried a derogatory tone.

Immortality and eternal life have always been the dreams of many, but those with a real chance of success are exceedingly rare—like fish crossing a river, only one or two ever ascend.

Many, desperate for this goal, would use any means, even becoming demons, losing their humanity.

It is these people who are now called "Dengshen practitioners."

Of course, not all Dengshen practitioners are demons—but you can never be sure when one, for that sliver of a chance, will turn to the dark path.

That's why so many warned: beware of "Dengshen practitioners."

She exerted pressure on him—her cultivation level was at least Fourth Floor, and her Qi was demonic, strange, utterly devoid of humanity.

"She's Nie Sangu!"

Hearing Li Yan's question, Xu Yongqing trembled as he spoke: "She was once an outcast of Qingcheng, expelled for practicing demonic arts, then joined the Maitreya Sect. Decades ago, she terrorized Shu, especially fond of appearing during the New Year to kill."

"She nearly seized control of the Salt Guild, but was hunted down by Master Cheng Jianxian and vanished—her bounty notice still hangs in the Chengdu Prefect's office."

"More than twenty years have passed—how… how is she still alive?"

"The Tangyuan Granny?"

Hearing Xu Yongqing's words, Li Yan snapped back to awareness.

They hadn't wandered into Shu randomly; before coming, and along this entire journey, they had gathered extensive intelligence on Shu's occult sects.

He knew even more about this "Tangyuan Granny."

The old demoness was a notorious demonic master from over twenty years ago, originally from Qingcheng's Xuan Du Temple, later absorbing various demonic arts—even learning Mo Men's mechanical techniques—making her extremely difficult to deal with.

He had learned of her while gathering intelligence on Master Cheng Jianxian.

Thinking of this, Li Yan shook his head slightly. "It seems the Shu Prince has truly gone mad—harboring such a demon."

With that, he suddenly gathered his Qi and surged his chest membranes.

"Come out!"

He used Great Cloud Thunder Sound.

"Come out!"

"Out!"

The voice boomed like wind and thunder, echoing endlessly through the street, even producing reverberations.

The vast street remained howling with snow and wind.

Li Yan narrowed his eyes, deep in thought.

He was running a test.

Great Cloud Thunder Sound had power to break demonic forces; though he was far from achieving one-word destruction, his voice was loud enough.

The fact that the street's civilians hadn't woken meant they were trapped in a mystical array.

But here lay the problem.

Chengdu was no remote wilderness—the City God Temple here was of high rank, equal to any great city in Shenzhou.

Chengdu's City God was Ji Xin, with two subordinates: Civil Judge Fei Wei and Martial Judge Zhou Dequan, both long venerated by centuries of incense, their earth spirits suppressing demons and evils across the land.

And in just a few days, on the twenty-fifth day of the twelfth month, it would be the City God's patrol day.

Occult cultivators were always cautious when using spells.

Yet this opponent was so brazen…

Someone must be conspiring within the City God Temple!

Of course, Li Yan's shout wasn't without effect.

A hundred meters away, snow and fog churned as if pushed aside by invisible hands, revealing a faint crimson glow.

"Black-sesame filling—sweet as honey!"

The hoarse cry rose, like shards of broken porcelain jammed in the throat.

Sharp, raising every hair on the skin.

Creaking~

The red glow drew nearer, accompanied by the sound of wooden wheels crushing snow.

From the gloom, an old woman pushed a wooden cart, limping slowly through the blizzard.

The cart was made of cypress wood, coated in thick, greasy black sludge—just like decades-old food carts—but reeked of blood, as if the black were stained with foul blood.

The dim, crimson light came from a lantern hanging beneath the cart's flagpole, its surface covered in strange talismans.

As the wheels rolled over the snow, they left behind a trail of blood.

Xu Yongqing stared, eyes wide, face pale as death.

"Close your eyes—don't look!"

Li Yan slapped him awake, warning in a low voice.

The intelligence they'd gathered was correct.

Nie Sangu excelled in mechanical arts; the wooden wheels had been specially modified—the stench of foul blood couldn't mask the clacking of internal mechanisms.

And that red lantern? Also a form of illusion.

In the darkness, it was glaringly obvious.

But if you stared too long, you'd fall into nightmare.

He was at the Fourth Floor, protected by powerful artifacts—he had no fear. But to ordinary people, even ordinary cultivators, this old woman was no different from a demon.

Just this entrance could scare someone to death.

At fifty meters, the old woman halted, seeing Li Yan unmoved, and spoke in a low tone: "What sin have you committed? Why protect him? Such cold weather—still forcing an old woman out to work."

Li Yan sneered, lifting his chin in mockery: "You know you're an undead wretch—why not just bury yourself? Why come out to disgrace yourself?"

"Sharp-tongued…"

The old woman slowly raised her head. Beneath her hood was a horrifying face, scarred by fire, teeth black and rotten, like a demon reborn.

Li Yan ignored her, his gaze suddenly shifting upward.

This place was sealed by a mystical array; he had delayed with words to find the array's core.

Finally, he spotted the anomaly.

He had assumed it was hidden somewhere on the street—but it was actually the banner above the red lantern. Because the lantern's artifact carried a soul-confusing spell, cultivators instinctively avoided it, creating the very effect of "darkness beneath the lamp."

The banner—he recognized it.

In the Shennongjia mountains, the possessed mountain god "Bai Gong" had wielded a soul-summoning banner that caused them great trouble.

After slaying him, the banner shattered, and Wang Daoxuan studied it closely and learned it was called a "Soul-Seizing Banner," dyed with cinnabar and black dog blood, originating from Chenzhou in Xiangxi.

This artifact could capture yin souls and fierce ghosts—used to attack or form arrays. Many sects possessed it, but Chenzhou in Xiangxi made the strongest.

The old demoness was surely using fierce ghosts to form this array.

All he needed to do was destroy the banner.

Thinking this, Li Yan suddenly drew his flintlock pistol from his waist.

The distance between them was fifty meters; his flintlock had been specially modified and retained accuracy at this range.

But the old demoness Nie Sangu moved faster.

She tapped the cart's board with a few withered fingers—the front of the wooden cart split open into seven segments, revealing a honeycomb-like interior.

"Eat the tangyuan—gods make way—hee!"

The hoarse voice cracked into a shrill operatic cry.

Shhh-shhh-shhh!

A storm of whistling projectiles surged toward them.

Countless poisoned caltrops shot out from the holes.

Li Yan said nothing—he grabbed Xu Yongqing and leapt forward, then rolled flat along the ground, barely avoiding the barrage.

He himself had no fear.

But Xu Yongqing might be the key to toppling the Shu Prince—and if even this ancient demoness had been sent, he couldn't let him die. "Hmm~"

Xu Yongqing was merely a frail scholar, unable to endure such torment; his joints slammed against the cold ground, causing him to groan in pain.

But he dared not utter a word, instead trembling with dread.

Behind them, a cacophony of thuds echoed, stones spraying everywhere—the poison caltrops had all embedded themselves into the brick wall behind.

The power of the mechanism was plain to see.

Yet the attack was not over.

The old witch across from him, seeing Li Yan dodge, showed no surprise whatsoever; even before they landed, she casually turned the wooden cart's handle.

Click!

The mechanism clicked, triggering the second trap.

The thick wooden frame of the cart split open, revealing copper-plated crossbow mechanisms inside.

Every single one—each arrow, each payload—was accounted for!

And ahead of the bolts, instead of barbed wolf-tooth arrows, were iron spheres—unknown what they contained.

The hissing of projectiles filled the air once more.

Li Yan was about to dodge, but his nose caught a scent—he froze, then snatched up Xu Yongqing beside him, muscles surging, and hurled him away.

"Ahh~"

Xu Yongqing screamed as he was flung into the dark rooftop nearby.

Meanwhile, Li Yan stepped in the Mud-Wading Step, his body flipping sideways like a phantom, his leather boots slicing arcs into the snow.

He dodged every bolt and closed the distance.

Boom! Boom! Boom!

The bolts struck the ground behind him; the iron spheres ahead exploded.

Instantly, pale blue flames sprayed everywhere.

Inside were viscous liquids—unknown the formula—but even on snow, they burned, hissing steadily.

Another lethal trap.

And Li Yan realized something was wrong.

The old witch knew him far better than she let on.

She deliberately drew near—afraid he'd summon yin soldiers—yet kept her distance, clearly aware of his prowess in close combat.

At this mid-range, he was famed for his firearm.

The repeated activation of traps had already established overwhelming pressure.

Indeed, seeing him close in rapidly, the old witch Nie Sangu gave a shrill, mocking laugh and pulled the cart backward, retreating just as swiftly.

Her upper body remained utterly still, like a ghost.

Ghost Step?

Li Yan was taken aback.

It was a stage actor's step—performers portraying ghosts kept their torsos motionless, using only rapid ankle movements to glide eerily.

He'd seen it before—this old witch truly studied everything!

Worse still, Nie Sangu sang sharply: "Heaven is cold, earth is cold, colder than the old woman's hot soup bowl~"

It was a Sichuan folk rhyme, "The Frozen Lazy Man."

When the old witch sang, it was no idle chant.

The soup pot atop the cart suddenly tilted forward, spilling a flood of oil mixed with dumpling-shaped poison caltrops.

Then, she flicked her sleeve.

Whoosh~

Instantly, flames surged upward.

Amid the roaring fire, the poison caltrops burst like popping beans, spewing toxic thorns in all directions.

Snow, wind, fire, and poison needles sealed the entire street.

"Where do you think you're going!"

Li Yan roared and leapt upward.

He now regretted it—too conspicuous, so in Wuchang he'd had a full Tulong Armor forged but hadn't worn it; otherwise, this little show wouldn't have fazed him.

But he wasn't without a countermeasure.

Li Yan leapt, barely avoiding the rising flames, then tore off his cloak, unleashed hidden force, and spun it violently.

It was the Shaolin Demonslaying Cassock Art.

He had entered Hua Jing; his control over force was exquisitely refined. Though inferior to the original, it was more than enough for this situation.

Puff! Puff! Puff!

All incoming poison needles were caught by the cloak.

At the same time, Li Yan leapt onto the eaves of a nearby shop, deflecting needles while sprinting swiftly.

Two leaps carried him across the burning street.

Then, he yanked the trigger.

Boom!

A deafening blast erupted, smoke mingling with flying snow.

The lead bullet struck the cart's banner precisely.

A muffled crack—the banner exploded. The yin-evil energy within vibrated violently, like a bursting balloon, dissolving into countless rags.

The array she had set up was shattered.

Instantly, the surrounding sounds returned to normal.

Li Yan could hear the snores of villagers inside homes, the cries of infants wailing in the night.

Meanwhile, the battle's commotion spread.

"Fire! Fire!"

Someone, startled by the flames, threw open a window and shouted.

But the moment he opened his mouth, his body stiffened.

The Soul-Seizing Banner had shattered; the imprisoned yin spirits and demons now scattered, spotting living beings and immediately lunging to possess them.

But Li Yan had no time to care.

He leapt down from the rooftop.

The old witch's cart mechanisms were all spent, shattered and abandoned on the ground.

With the array broken, many were bound to be alarmed.

Nie Sangu had intended to retreat, but seeing Li Yan refuse to let go, she flew into a rage—and laughed.

"You seek death!"

With a sharp cry, she suddenly drew a fly-whisk.

The fly-whisk was pitch-black, made of women's hair, radiating a chilling, malevolent resentment.

Swish!

As she flicked it, yin winds surged.

Li Yan sensed something amiss, flipped midair like a kite, barely dodging several poison needles.

As intelligence had indicated, this old witch hailed from Qingcheng and wielded Qingcheng Xuanmen Eight Strikes, skilled in the Thirty-Six Forms of Iron Fly-Whisk.

Yet the orthodox Xuanmen martial art had been twisted by her into something spectral, venomous, and foul.

Dodging the needles, Li Yan landed and spun.

Though he hadn't stopped her, he'd closed the distance.

Now, only ten meters separated them.

Whoosh! Whoosh!

Two Soul-Grabbing Thunder Chains shot out instantly.

"Dharma Realm Divine Art?"

Nie Sangu sneered, swinging her fly-whisk left and right.

The yin-evil qi vibrated, and the invisible Soul-Grabbing Thunder Chains were directly deflected.

Li Yan saw this and wasn't surprised.

Against such a master, Soul-Grabbing Thunder Chains alone were useless—there were always countermeasures.

His goal was merely to draw her out.

Li Yan pushed off again, drew the Zhanlong Dunchen Blade with a metallic clang, and swiftly formed a hand seal, brushing it across the blade's edge.

Zzzz!

Instantly, electric arcs danced along the blade.

In a breath, Li Yan closed in, slashed upward.

Nie Sangu had no choice but to flick her right hand—the black fly-whisk whistled toward the blade.

Her fly-whisk excelled at trapping blades; once entangled, ordinary artifacts could be twisted apart.

But the old witch didn't know Li Yan had already enhanced the Dunchen Blade on Mount Qingcheng.

Puff!

Black mist scattered; faint female screams echoed in the air.

The hair-made fly-whisk was severed outright…

(End of chapter)