Chapter Six: The Corpse Demon

After expressing his thanks, Yi An retreated to a corner to rest. The Mountain God Temple was not large, but it could easily accommodate a dozen people without issue.

Feng Qichuan clasped his hands behind his back and gazed at the fine rain beyond the threshold, his expression somewhat dazed.

“Once this escort is over, everything will be finished. May everything go smoothly—Heaven bless us!” Feng Qichuan slowly closed his eyes. No one knew what he had endured, and no one could help him; everything depended solely on himself.

...

“Ah! Something’s wrong, Chief—come quickly!”

At dawn, Yi An was jolted awake by a startled cry. He saw a guard, face pale and voice trembling with terror, stumble as if about to collapse.

Feng Qichuan, ever alert, snapped awake, a sense of foreboding gripping his heart. In a flash, he rushed forward to steady the man and asked, “What happened? What’s wrong?”

The guard, still visibly frightened, pointed at the escort cart and cried, “I just saw the cart move on its own, and then a faint black mist appeared around it. Have we encountered something unclean?”

“Don’t speak nonsense!” Feng Qichuan shot him a glare, his face darkening.

“Brother Jiao, have you not woken up yet? Are you still dreaming? Look at the cart—it’s perfectly fine. How could it move by itself? That talk of black mist is utter rubbish!” another guard chimed in supportively.

“No, I didn’t mistake what I saw. I refuse to continue with this escort. Chief Feng, forgive me,” the guard surnamed Jiao declared firmly.

With that, he bid a hasty farewell and left alone.

Feng Qichuan did not try to stop him. Their relationship was one of cooperation, not command; besides, there’s no point forcing someone to stay when their mind is made up.

After the incident, unease rippled through the group. All eyes turned to the cart, tinged now with a subtle sense of dread.

“Chief, what exactly are we transporting this time? Why don’t we open it and take a look, just to put everyone’s minds at ease? Living in constant fear is no way to go on,” one of the guards suggested.

This proposal was immediately echoed by several others—after all, fear of the unknown is only natural.

Feng Qichuan sighed, looking troubled. “You all know our trade. Whatever the client wants transported, we’re not to ask. If we open the cargo without permission, the reputation of Zhenyuan Escort Agency would be utterly ruined.”

A heavy silence fell. Their earlier panic faded, replaced by sober reflection. Escorting goods was their livelihood; if they lost this work, what would become of their families?

“That trunk might contain something unclean. We shouldn’t linger here—whatever is inside may soon break free,” Yi An observed after a careful look. He noticed a layer of deathly aura circling the trunk, likely the seal had been damaged by the recent rain. If it wasn’t reinforced soon, whatever was inside would escape.

After some thought, he approached Feng Qichuan and said, “Chief Feng, I know it’s not my place, but these boxes are suspicious. We should proceed with caution. If possible, it might be best to abandon this escort altogether.”

Feng Qichuan looked at him in surprise, but before he could respond, another guard scoffed, “What does a scholar like you know? If you’re scared, best leave the mountain now.”

“I don’t care what’s in the box. If there’s really something evil inside, it’ll have to get past my blade first!” With that, Zhou Cong struck the trunk forcefully.

“Don’t—” Yi An tried to stop him, but it was too late.

Feng Qichuan realized what was happening and turned to reprimand Zhou Cong, “Mr. Yi is only warning us out of goodwill. What do you think you’re doing? Put your knife down at once!”

Bang!

Before Zhou Cong could reply, a humanoid shadow burst from the trunk, splintering the wood into fragments.

Zhou Cong froze, petrified with terror, but the evil thing showed no mercy. It lunged, piercing through his chest and abdomen, ending his life instantly.

Feng Qichuan drew a sharp breath, his face darkening. He shouted, “Everyone, be careful! Don’t try to fight it head-on. Spread out! Don’t stay together!”

A guard swallowed hard, his voice quivering, “Chief, we’re only ordinary men. How can we possibly fight such evil? We should scatter and run for our lives, or we’ll all be doomed.”

They had wandered the martial world for years, facing bandits and bullies without flinching, but this evil spirit was something else entirely. To provoke such unclean things was to risk more than death—their families could be endangered as well.

In short, the only wise course was to avoid it altogether. Such malevolent beings were beyond the means of worldly martial artists to handle.

“Don’t act rashly! If you run, that’s certain death. The evil spirit hasn’t fully formed yet. Together, your combined yang energy gives you a fighting chance. Separately, your fate is uncertain,” Yi An cautioned.

This time, no one dared disobey, for Zhou Cong’s fate was a stark warning.

Hiss!

The sound of steel scraping filled the air.

Feng Qichuan drew his long saber, its glint flashing like thunder on clear ground. The other guards followed suit, brandishing their blades and striking at the creature’s head and body.

To their shock, the evil thing seemed invulnerable—as if made of steel—leaving not a single mark even when struck by their blades.

“It’s a corpse demon! Who could be so cruel as to commit such a monstrous act?” Yi An exclaimed, startled. At first, he’d thought it a ghost, but as the black shadow approached, he recognized its true nature.

Corpse demons are created from living people, stripped of consciousness and sensation, mere walking corpses. Because they are made from the living, the resentment after death is immense; they kill indiscriminately, a great menace wherever they appear.

Soon, most of the guards had perished, with only a handful still struggling desperately.

“Chief Feng, use blood from your heart! Smear it on your blade and strike at its eyes!” Yi An shouted from the side to Feng Qichuan, who was locked in battle with the creature.

Unable to harm the corpse demon otherwise, Feng Qichuan decided to take a desperate gamble. He bit his tongue, spat heart’s blood onto his blade, and seized the right moment to strike.

Alas, his aim was off.