Chapter 6: Chapter Six: Ghosts and Foxes, Mostly Human Sentiment

This man had already broken through Sensory and begun cultivating spells—a Cultivator of the Dao of Transmission—but his Qi refinement was scattered and his magic power weak; yet in terms of breath endurance, he was far stronger than I. Qian Chen carefully scrutinized the half-bald head monk, who shook the Seven Fiend Banners, yet could only unleash their power for a few moments; yet judging by the monk’s appearance, he could shake the demonic banner for an entire hour without even breathing hard.

Yet most of the dozens of ghost foxes within the banner were merely old foxes with a trace of spiritual awareness, not yet fully transformed into demons.

No wonder this man refused to let the old fox family go.

Qian Chen was uncertain: the old fox family relied entirely on the tomb’s array for defense; from Qian Chen’s perspective, the array was crafted by mortal Jianghushushi , and since the old fox family had stolen it, its power must be negligible. Yet the monk kept urging the demonic banner, making a great spectacle—gnashing his teeth, stomping his feet, shaking his head and swaying his body, as if seized by epilepsy.

He periodically spat black qi onto the banner—this black qi was his own magic power.

But Qian Chen was puzzled: such thin, foul yin energy could be magic power? And if magic power was meant to be controlled at will, why did he need to form hand seals and chant incantations before spitting it out?

He immediately tested by summoning the Heaven Net Umbrella to shield himself, then quietly released the Dragon Phoenix Ring. Amidst the rolling black qi of the demonic tiger banner, the ring, no larger than a finger, was unremarkable; Qian Chen slipped it along the ground, hidden among the tall grass, circling behind the monk, then expanded the ring to encircle the monk’s head.

With a twist, the half-bald skull vanished instantly, leaving only a bleeding corpse standing in place.

The demonic banner in the monk’s hand, drenched in his vital blood, instantly lost control—a ghostly tiger emerged from the banner’s surface, dozens of ghost foxes burst from the tomb, surging with thick black qi and swirling back onto the monk’s body; the ghostly tiger devoured his flesh and blood, quickly consuming the entire body, then manifested its soul-form Yituoyaofan , eyes blazing red, utterly savage, driven by instinct to seek blood.

The nearest blood source? Naturally, the old fox family.

Just as the evil cultivator had been eliminated, another demonic entity came to harass the old fox family—his fortune had sunk to its lowest ebb.

Yet his fate was not yet sealed, for Qian Chen had happened upon him.

Qian Chen waved the Seven Fiend Banner, effortlessly suppressing the black qi, then dropped the Dragon Phoenix Ring again, expanding it to the size of a water jar to seal it, and retrieved the banner. He wiped away nonexistent sweat from his brow, muttering: “Killing that monk was easy, but handling this banner was far more troublesome.”

“I nearly couldn’t suppress its struggle and backlash…”

Qian Chen quietly regulated his breath until his state was fully restored, then approached the fox tomb and said calmly: “It’s safe now. Old man, you may come out and see.”

Inside the fox tomb, since the banner’s backlash, an eerie silence had fallen. Hearing Qian Chen’s words, a white-browed old fox cautiously poked his head out of the burrow, his posture tense—as if he’d retreat instantly at the slightest sign of danger.

Seeing it was truly Qian Chen, the old fox beamed with joy: “Thank you, benefactor! You’ve saved my entire family!”

He crawled out of the tomb, stood upright, and bowed deeply to Qian Chen. Qian Chen chuckled: “I was practicing nearby and heard the commotion, so I came to investigate. This man had no defenses—I simply caught him off guard! Who is he? Why was he so ruthless, seeking to kill your family to cultivate his arts?”

The old fox tiptoed cautiously to peer, and when he saw only a pile of tangled bones where the monk had died, he relaxed and burst into loud sobs: “I don’t know who he was—I only know he must be from the Mei Mountain Sect. He once threatened me, demanding I surrender my spirit pill, and used it to frighten me.”

Qian Chen sighed. Hearing an old fox with fur as white as snow call himself “little demon” was a bit jarring. Yet compared to Qian Chen’s true age, this fox calling himself “little demon” was practically flattering. He recalled the Dragon Phoenix Ring, retrieved the monk’s skull, and tossed it to the old fox: “Which sect of Mei Mountain produced such a demon? ”

The old fox wept: “Mei Mountain is a vast sect—once one of the dominant powers of the Jin State, commanding thousands of disciples across the land, once a pillar of the orthodox path. But later, they took in disciples without discernment; their members grew arrogant, indulgent, and licentious, accumulating countless evil deeds. Yet they remain a mighty force—if they so much as pinch, our entire family would be reduced to dust…”

“A pillar of the orthodox path?” Qian Chen frowned inwardly. “I haven’t even set foot into the world yet, and already I’ve tangled with a sect that once was a pillar of orthodoxy? Yet its disciples are so weak, their evil deeds so blatant, lawless and unrestrained—how can they still be called a pillar of orthodoxy?”

Though puzzled, Qian Chen reassured him: “This man is dead and gone—there should be no further trouble. But your location has gradually become exposed; it’s no longer safe. You must leave quickly!”

The old fox stammered: “I shouldn’t have let them sneak off to steal the wine offered by humans during ancestral rites… or frighten passing woodcutters.”

Qian Chen chuckled inwardly: So this is how foxes hold their feasts…

But after cursing, the old fox wept even harder: “But half of my sons died this time—now no one will steal wine for me to drink…” He wept so hard he could barely breathe; Qian Chen, watching, felt a quiet sorrow. This old fox’s grief for his family was genuine—clearly not the behavior of a beast.

And the Mei Mountain Sect’s evil disciple—cruel, violent… Qian Chen found himself unable to tell who was more beastly, who more human.

Several small foxes whimpered out of the tomb, clustering around the old fox’s paws; the two white foxes Qian Chen had seen earlier were among them, and the few larger ones that emerged were all wounded, many severely. Qian Chen was slightly moved. Clearly, these small foxes had survived safely only because the adults had fought to the death to protect them; the old fox, though disheveled, remained unharmed.

Respecting the old, cherishing the young—rare indeed.

Under the old fox’s leadership, the entire fox family bowed their thanks to Qian Chen for saving them, then gathered grass and packs, preparing to flee. Clearly, they were terrified—ready to escape under cover of night. Qian Chen guessed they also feared the Mei Mountain Sect and sought to flee danger. Qian Chen picked up the storage pouch from the monk’s remains, pinching his nose as he held one corner to inspect it.

Inside were only clothes, much coin, and miscellaneous items; the only useful things were a Daoist scripture, a gourd, and several talismans.

“My storage pouch was given to me by Miao Kong—I must be cautious. Later, I must replace all these items. Daoist storage artifacts: the Yuan Shi Dao prefer Qiankun Bags, the Ling Bao Dao favor sword pouches for storing trinkets, while my Tai Shang Dao commonly use gourds. This red-skinned little gourd in the demon’s pouch carries some spiritual energy—it can be refined into a storage artifact.”

Qian Chen casually tied the gourd to his waist, tucked away the scripture and talismans, and tossed the pouch to the old fox: “There are some healing pills inside. Moving is inconvenient for you—this pouch is yours.” The old fox once again offered endless thanks and gratitude.

Watching the old fox and his family flee in haste—even the small foxes carried flower-patterned cloth bundles as large as themselves—vanishing into the night toward the mountains, Qian Chen gazed until they disappeared from sight, then turned and sang: “Flower spirits, fox demons—mostly human sentiment, forgetting they are otherkind. Greedy, cruel cultivators—beastly nature laid bare, devoid of human heart… Such absurdity, such unnaturalness—what is human?”

His voice faded into the distance; his figure merged into the night.

Qian Chen found a desolate spot, released the Hundred Ghosts and Demonic Tiger Banner imprisoned within the Dragon Phoenix Ring, and casually suppressed it with the Seven Fiend Banner. Only then did he realize the demonic banner’s seals were extremely crude—barely qualifying as a magic artifact, its power derived entirely from its bloody brutality and cruel ruthlessness, yet still inferior to the Seven Fiend Banner.

The artifact’s rank isn’t determined solely by power. This demonic banner was forged from the remains of a demonic tiger, using the tiger’s innate instinct to command ghostly servitors, making the tiger the primary soul to govern the hundred ghosts—most of its power came from the tiger’s innate abilities. After its forging, it consumed many fox ghosts as servitors, hence its strength.

Yet the crude seals made it difficult to control the ghosts.

Such demonic artifacts rely on the power of ghostly entities; if they cannot subdue the evil spirits, it’s like raising a tiger as a pest. Thus, the more demonic the artifact, the more emphasis is placed on subduing demons—balance between power and control is the way.

This monk’s demonic banner so easily turned on its master after his death—clearly of abysmal quality. Even if Qian Chen hadn’t killed him, he would eventually have died at the hands of his own artifact.

Qian Chen had little desire to use such filth; he spent half an hour with the Seven Fiend Banner, gradually eroding and destroying the banner along with the ghostly tiger upon it.

“This Mei Mountain Sect monk was so cruel, he dared not imprison human souls within his artifact—yet the Jin State still maintains some orthodox order. But his aura of evil is heavy—he clearly has taken more than one life. This shows the Mei Mountain Sect’s discipline is lax. The demonic tiger’s cultivation before death must have far surpassed his own, yet he still managed to forge it into a banner… he likely has some connections.”

“I asked the old fox about nearby cultivation sects—he named several, but I didn’t recognize any. Could it be I’ve been too long in seclusion at Lou Guan Dao? Have all those famed sects vanished like Lou Guan Dao? Shang Qing Palace, Shao Qing Sword Sect, Zheng Yi Dragon Tiger Altar, Yu Xu Palace, Kunlun Sect, Da Xumi Temple, Lei Yin Temple, Three Immortal Isles… Jiuyou, Blood Sea… Ancient Wu Religion.”

“Seeing how terrified Miao Kong was when being hunted—could all these sects be like Mei Mountain?”

“I wonder which sects now govern the Tai Shang, Yuan Shi, and Ling Bao Dao.”

Qian Chen returned to the abandoned courtyard and redoubled his efforts. By the third day, he had prepared everything, emptied his mind, and sank into the Wheel of Rebirth at his chest. When he opened his eyes again, he stood in an indescribable world.

Before him stood an ancient bronze door, carved with countless scenes of war.

The Heavenly Court loomed majestic, Jiuyou profound and deep, celestial gods roared, demonic gods writhed… Immortals rode cranes to the Heavenly Palace, where blurred figures sat before alchemical furnaces. The Divine Emperor seated in the Heavenly Court swung his sword, severing the earth and splitting open a chasm leading straight to Jiuyou. Countless divine soldiers, disciplined and orderly, surged into Jiuyou… At the deepest depths of Jiuyou lay a blurred gateway.

The fierce, bloody aura nearly struck Qian Chen’s face; he lingered long, sighed, then snapped back to awareness. Just as he raised his hand to push open the door, he accidentally glanced upward—and froze.

On the door, he saw himself…

At the very top of the bronze door’s carvings, an indescribable figure raised a faintly glowing pearl.

Qian Chen inexplicably knew: this was him.

Before he could move, the bronze door burst open—beyond lay endless clouds, swallowing the unprepared Qian Chen. The bronze door vanished behind him; he stepped onto a platform paved with white jade, gazing at the empty expanse above, and muttered: “I thought it’d be an ancient heavenly palace with ‘Lingxiao Treasure Hall’ inscribed above!”

“Ancient Heavenly Palace, Lingxiao Treasure Hall theme background… Three million Morality Points. Exchange?”

A vast, cold voice echoed.

The voice instantly pulled Qian Chen back to reality. He grumbled inwardly: “This must be Tencent’s main god! No wonder there’s only this crude jade platform… Turns out it’s a paid feature.”

“I have no money at all—how do I exchange?” Qian Chen spread his hands.

“Preliminary Reincarnator possesses the Lingbao Tai Shang Dao Dust Pearl—eligible for three million Morality Points!” The voice unfolded a golden scroll before Qian Chen, listing countless divine weapons, magic artifacts, elixirs, ancient relics, heavenly scriptures, each with a corresponding exchange price.

Qian Chen didn’t even glance at it. Dust Pearl? That’s my life!

Qian Chen, suspiciously petty, wondered if the Reincarnation Lord was trying to trick him out of the pearl… “Does it know the pearl is my true body? How could I possibly sell my true body? But then again—if I sold my true body, what would happen?”

He quickly banished his suicidal thoughts.

“No pearl. Only my life.” Qian Chen quickly regained his composure and smiled: “Lord, I’d like to view my mission!”

“This is the Multiverse Reincarnation Realm. I am the Reincarnation Lord.”

“Fake Lord! I want to view my mission!”