The emergence of the Blood Pupil Curse not only caused panic in the village at the foot of Lingxia Mountain, but Jiuding Palace also began to involve itself in the matter. Yuyang Zhenren had not left his quarters since, draped in the demon-warding and disaster-averting talismans drawn by Head Daoist Xingzhi Zhenren. But the black shamanism of the Southern Frontier had always been unpredictable, and even Xingzhi Zhenren had no way of knowing how effective those talismans would prove.

Jiuding Palace dispatched a large number of disciples to search for clues about the shaman, and Qingxu Monastery, fearing further harm to innocent people, also sent disciples down the mountain. But Qingxu Monastery was no match for Jiuding Palace — the former devoted itself primarily to doing good and cultivating the Dao, while the latter emphasized martial training and self-improvement, so in terms of actual combat strength, Jiuding Palace’s disciples held a decided advantage.

The shaman lurking in the shadows likely hadn’t anticipated that Jiuding Palace would involve itself, and temporarily went quiet with no further moves.

Qingxu Monastery, on account of these events, also temporarily closed its mountain gates to take in and treat the wounded.

Perhaps because incidents kept occurring, He Bang had been sleeping less lately. At the tail end of the si hour and the beginning of the wu hour, she was already up and about, watching Qingxuan lead the disciples in martial practice in the training ground. The disciples of Qingxu Monastery were a versatile lot who studied a broad curriculum. Alongside the scriptures and classical texts, they were also required to learn at least some martial arts and musical instruments.

The martial training served two purposes: first to strengthen the body, and second because insufficient stamina simply wouldn’t do when catching demons and driving away ghosts. As for the musical instruments — first, for the cultivation of one’s temperament, and second, so that when conducting religious ceremonies there was no need to hire a separate musical troupe. =_=

He Bang sat beneath the eaves in front of the Heart-Examining Mirror, idly toying with a divination tube out of boredom. The September sunlight was soft and lingering, casting a shimmer over the hems of garments. The disciples stole glances at her from time to time, putting extra effort into their every movement.

About half a shichen later, the meal hall announced that lunch was ready. Qingxuan was having his junior brothers run through one final practice round when suddenly a villager came running straight toward him from outside. Just as Qingxuan was about to step forward to meet him, half a bamboo divination stick came whistling through the air and with a soft thud drove itself straight into the villager’s right eye, sending blood and foam splashing in all directions.

Qingxuan was startled, and ran over quickly to find the villager screaming to the heavens with his hand clutching his right eye. He looked at the half-stick still embedded in the man’s eye socket, then turned to look at He Bang sitting at the divination table. “You—”

He Bang stepped forward too. She leaned down and watched the villager rolling on the ground for a moment, and without any visible movement, the bamboo stick was already out. A trail of blood-tears slowly ran down, and the villager had fainted on the ground.

Having spent so long with Rong Chen Zi and the others, Qingxuan had inevitably absorbed a righteous bearing of his own, and he was instantly somewhat enraged. “How could you just injure someone like that?! That’s an eye — do you understand how important eyes are to a person?!”

He Bang had nowhere near the patience for Qingxuan that she had for Rong Chen Zi. “Son of a — if I hadn’t moved fast, you’d have been hit too, you idiot! I don’t have Xingzhi Zhenren’s brilliant Daoist arts; I can’t draw talismans, and your master isn’t here. By the time he rushes back, he’d probably only be in time to burn you incense sticks!”

Qingxuan was left speechless. After all, in the presence of this creature, whether in terms of seniority, rank, age, or experience, he was nothing more than a junior. He turned away and urgently ordered his disciples to stanch the wounded man’s bleeding.

He Bang was still indignant. “No good deed goes unpunished!” She glanced down at the half-stick smeared with blood, and immediately brightened, for written on the stick were the words: The way ahead is clear, and then it is not.

She clicked her tongue with genuine admiration. “Son of a — this little turtle is too accurate!!”

And by dusk, Rong Chen Zi returned in haste. The head daoist Xingzhi of Jiuding Palace was none too righteous — he had already gone to Rong Chen Zi to report He Bang’s conduct before the man had even set foot through the gate, so now Rong Chen Zi’s face was dark as iron. Every person in Qingxu Monastery held their breath and tucked in their necks and tails, walking about with the utmost care.

Rong Chen Zi first went to Ninghui Hall to check on the wounded, and upon hearing what had transpired that afternoon, it was as good as pouring oil onto a blazing fire. He promptly summoned all the monastery’s disciples to the Patriarch’s Hall for a lecture.

When He Bang saw him return she had been very happy, and now she too followed along to the Patriarch’s Hall.

The Patriarch’s Hall of Qingxu Monastery enshrined the golden effigy of the Celestial Master Pu’an. Incense smoke wound and curled about the offering table, and beneath the table every single disciple wore an expression as though grieving a parent’s passing. Rong Chen Zi set down his whisk with force, and though the skies had been clear and sunny moments before, they now seemed to darken with wind and rain — Qingxuan immediately dropped to his knees right there on the ground, not daring to raise his head.

Rong Chen Zi’s fury did not relent. “I have always taught you: the Immortal Way holds life precious, and we ferry all souls without limit! Yet in the mere few days I have been away from the monastery, look at what you have done. You sent a patient to Jiuding Palace — why did you not first inform Xingzhi Zhenren of the patient’s symptoms, but instead went directly and prostrated yourself in supplication? You learn nothing good! Instead you mastered deceit and fraud, and the art of passing the buck and empty flattery!”

“Master, your disciple knows his fault, knows his fault!” Qingxuan dared not expose He Bang as the instigator, and just kept kowtowing and admitting his error. Rong Chen Zi gave a cold snort. “This poor daoist does not deserve to be called your master! At your young age you are already so calculating and scheming — this poor daoist’s learning is shallow and abilities lacking. It seems there is nothing more I can teach you.”

Upon hearing this, Qingxuan was horrified, and his forehead had already been knocked bloody against the floor. “Master, your disciple was momentarily bewitched — your disciple truly knows his fault! In the future your disciple will certainly bear your teachings to heart, hold life precious and keep to honest practice, and will never again engage in such opportunistic shortcuts…”

As Qingxuan knelt in penitent confession, He Bang clicked her tongue. “Tsk, Rong Chen Zi, you’re terrifying!! If my Chunyu Lin would ever kneel before me like that, I’d stop hitting him!”

Rong Chen Zi was in the height of his fury and would not tolerate being interrupted. “Silence! And you!” He pointed straight at He Bang, his anger boiling over all at once. “Qingxuan’s character would never have resulted in such outrageous behavior without your instigation! You hold a position but neglect its duties, spending your days idle and lazy, eating your fill and sleeping away the hours — have you ever done a single worthwhile thing?! I have long turned a blind eye to your usual behavior, but today you have blinded someone in one eye—”

The more he spoke the more furious he became, but He Bang was hardly one to be trifled with. She immediately slammed the table and leapt to her feet, her brows blazing in defiance. “Curse your celestial ancestors! Did I come to this godforsaken place of my own free will?! What gives you the right to lecture me?! I’m not your disciple — why should I have to watch your face?!” Her voice was even louder than Rong Chen Zi’s, and she had not a shred of care for her own dignity. “Damn it all, I’ve been living out my days here like a prisoner — can’t eat my fill, can’t sleep properly! I’m living in a Daoist monastery and I get headless ghosts coming to frighten me! You’ve got no real ability yourself, so you point your nose at your disciples and berate them, and after you’re done with your disciples you still have the face to lecture me!”

More than a hundred pairs of eyes in the Patriarch’s Hall were all staring at her, and every jaw had dropped wide enough to fit a large goose egg. She was still righteously fuming — and as she thought about everything, she began to feel aggrieved too. “A few days ago you were in bed and you promised you’d take me out to play! And then the other day you snuck away without telling anyone! Is it written in your scriptures that Daoist cultivators are allowed to make promises they don’t keep?!” Her eyes blinked and blinked, and tears began circling the rims. “I was the one who had Qingxuan send that person to Jiuding Palace — who did I do that for? You’re all righteousness and principle — would you have been content just watching them be sent to their deaths?”

She spoke and spoke until she began to cry. “And besides, it’s not like I intentionally hurt that person — if I hadn’t acted, what if he had really seen Qingxuan and you couldn’t undo the shamanic curse? …Sob sob, you were gone so many days, and when you come back you don’t even show a shred of concern for me, all you know is how to glare and shout at me…”

“…” Against someone like this, Rong Chen Zi was completely helpless — truly, utterly helpless. They were simply operating on completely different levels.

“All right, stop crying.” High tenor.

He Bang’s tears flowed without stopping.

“Don’t cry now, the Dharma ceremony isn’t anything worth your time; you’d only be bored if you went.” Mid-range tone.

He Bang cried until she was a pear blossom washed with rain.

“All right, all right, I was wrong — no more crying.” Rong Chen Zi rose from his seat and walked over to stand before her, dropping his voice into a low bass: “I traveled extensively for a period and know a little about Southern Frontier shamanism. Although undoing the Blood Pupil Curse is troublesome, it is not without a method. All right — it was never my intention to blame you. No more crying, yes?”

He Bang was still aggrieved: “But you shouted at me so loudly!”

“Mm, I was wrong.”

The atmosphere in the hall transformed with startling suddenness, like a small sun breaking out after a thunderstorm. He Bang pressed her advantage and wiped her tears on the snow-white sleeve of his robe. Despite having hurried back to the monastery dusty from the road, his clothes remained neat and dignified. Not a trace of sweat about him — a fragrance drifted from him, intoxicating and alluring.

Afraid that refusing would send her back into tears, Rong Chen Zi did not pull away. He Bang was still sniffling. “Then you’re not allowed to shout at people anymore?”

Rong Chen Zi nodded. “Mm. Go back to your room first.”

This time He Bang was actually well-behaved and obediently nodded, standing to take her leave. The corner of her feathered robe swept past Rong Chen Zi’s face — the faintest, softest graze, like fine wine flowing down the throat, the sweetness lingering long after the taste was gone.

Rong Chen Zi rose to his feet, and she suddenly turned back. “You cultivators practice self-discipline of body, mouth, and virtue — you can’t keep having such a bad temper like this.”

Rong Chen Zi dared not provoke her, and fixed his gaze on his nose and his nose on his heart. “Mm, I understand.”

Only then was she satisfied, and she went bouncing and hopping out the door, just like a little spotted deer.

Not a single junior daoist dared raise their head, though two pairs of shoulders were shaking furiously, straining so hard to hold in their laughter that their faces had contorted out of all recognition.

“May the Infinite Heavenly Venerable watch over us — this little daoist has finally understood why our school of the Dao emphasizes the harmony of Yin and Yang.” One junior daoist covered his mouth and snickered.

Qingxu Monastery had taken in many patients. Rong Chen Zi ordered that each of them have their eyes covered and then administered talisman water to them. After swallowing the talisman water, the right eye began to discharge a yellow viscous fluid. Rong Chen Zi instructed his disciples to collect each person’s discharge and analyze the catalyst used in the shamanic curse. Southern Frontier black shamanism had always been shrouded in mystery — different catalysts called for different methods of cure.

Jiuding Palace, whose Yuyang Zhenren had also fallen victim to the curse, refrained from causing trouble this time, and also sent disciples over to help. Rong Chen Zi numbered all the fluid samples and their corresponding patients, then began testing talisman catalysts from the Five Elements against them.

In the end he drew up one long medicinal formula and instructed his disciples to go into the mountains to gather the herbs.

The preparation of the antidote was a painstaking process. Rong Chen Zi went without sleep for several nights, and naturally had no time to attend to He Bang. But the monastery’s disciples still each carried out their duties, and her daily meals and provisions went unaffected.

The medicine room housed several large furnaces, day and night brewing herbs without rest. Rong Chen Zi kept watch beside them tending to the fire, his robes soaked through with sweat. He Bang was averse to heat and rarely went in, instead spending her days following Qingxuan on herb-gathering trips. Rong Chen Zi gave Qingxuan a few reminders and then troubled himself no further.

By the afternoon, a woman of foreign appearance had arrived at the monastery — dressed in a red robe, her hair slightly curled and tinged with a burnt yellow, claiming she could undo the Blood Pupil Curse. Rong Chen Zi naturally received her with the proper courtesies, and she showed no hesitation; she quickly formulated an antidote, sparing considerably more effort than Rong Chen Zi’s method.

Jiuding Palace was overjoyed and sent people several times to invite her away, but the woman was unmoved. Instead, she proposed that she wished to stay at Qingxu Monastery for a while, in order to track down the black shaman who had been recklessly injuring people. Rong Chen Zi was a hospitable man, and besides, the instigator of the Blood Pupil Curse had yet to surface — having a Southern Frontier shaman present was simply more reassuring. He therefore instructed a disciple to clean out a quiet room and settled this shaman within it.

The woman’s name was Fuya, and she said she had come in pursuit of an errant shaman from her tribe who had gone astray. Rong Chen Zi had traveled through the Southern Frontier himself, and the two of them found they had much to talk about.

When He Bang and Qingxuan returned from their herb-gathering, they of course heard about this female shaman Fuya. Qingxuan went to check on the patients and saw that the bloodiness had faded considerably in everyone’s eyes, and could not help clicking his tongue in wonder. He Bang was also crouching down to examine the patients — whether intentionally or not, she parted her lips and gave a cold laugh: “Naturally it takes the one who cast the spell to break it — hm hm.”

She said no more and returned to her room. Rong Chen Zi, who had been awake for several nights without rest, changed clothes and bathed in Qingxuan’s room and, utterly exhausted, instructed Qingxuan to receive the guests and manage affairs in his place while he rested in Qingxuan’s quarters.

That evening, he shared a meal with Fuya and the other disciples in the meal hall. While the two of them were deep in animated conversation, the sound of golden bells rang out from outside, and He Bang came floating in. Rong Chen Zi immediately furrowed his brow faintly and turned his head at once to look at Qingxuan. Having spent so long at his side, Qingxuan instantly understood: “The evening meal was sent over.”

He Bang paid no heed to any of this and stopped right before the table where Rong Chen Zi sat. The atmosphere in the meal hall at once became somewhat tense. The junior daoists all kept their heads down over their bowls, but their eyes drifted — with seeming indifference or not — entirely in this direction. It’s all over — Master’s back courtyard is about to catch fire!!

Fuya’s garments burned like flame, and on her wrists she wore two Tibetan silver bangles engraved with the figures of creatures with human faces and serpent bodies. She too was now sizing up He Bang, but she did not stand — merely gave a faint nod, and in her expression bore the haughtiness of a shaman. “And this is…?”

Rong Chen Zi gave a dry cough. He Bang said nothing, unhurriedly sauntered over to Fuya’s side, picked up the soup basin — and before Fuya could react, with a swiftness like a snake she upended the entire basin of white cabbage and tofu soup all over Fuya’s head and face!!

The meal hall went so silent a needle dropping could have been heard. Every daoist stood there stupefied, and only a piece of bright green cabbage leaf still plastered to Fuya’s hair went on swaying and swaying and swaying.

Rong Chen Zi’s lungs nearly burst with fury. “HE BANG!!!!!”

That great river clam said nothing further, turned around, and went bouncing and hopping away. Rong Chen Zi had entered the Dao many years ago and had encountered countless people. Good and bad alike he had seen aplenty, but someone this childish he had witnessed but once in his entire life. Though his fury had him fuming from every orifice, he could not very well chase after her to strike her. He could only apologize to Fuya over and over again.

Fuya gnashed her teeth, and ultimately had no choice but to return to her room to change her clothes. The disciples, terrified of being caught in the crossfire as the city gates burned, all kept their heads down over their meals with an expression that plainly said: Don’t look at me, don’t ask me, don’t scold me — I saw absolutely nothing.

Rong Chen Zi walked swiftly back to his sleeping quarters, but He Bang had arrived first and was already curled up in a ball with her blanket wrapped around her.

Rong Chen Zi could no longer attend to the proprieties between men and women. He stepped forward and yanked the blanket aside — the very picture of fury at its peak. He Bang naturally knew this, and she drew her knees up to her chest, her feathered robes cascading open in layers, her long black hair loose — half draped over the robe and half streaming across the bed. Rong Chen Zi’s fury was like a volcano on the verge of eruption, yet for want of an outlet it strained without release.

After a long while, he abruptly drew an immobilization talisman, pressed it onto He Bang’s forehead without a word, and then carried her straight into the sealed chamber.

He Bang finally quieted down. He dispatched a disciple to deliver some necessities to Fuya, and then settled into his own room to rest.

This time he was genuinely furious, and refused to enter the sealed chamber to check on her. He Bang could store nourishment, and as long as she was not left baking in scorching sunlight, she could go several days without food or water and would not die — and besides, she was a river clam spirit. Rong Chen Zi simply washed his hands of her.

Early the next morning, Rong Chen Zi was teaching the disciples calligraphy. Fuya was deeply interested in Central Plains culture and wished to attend the lesson. Rong Chen Zi could hardly refuse and allowed her to join. In the classroom, the disciples’ eyes lit up — Where is Master’s cauldron vessel today? This shaman… could she be moving in to usurp the nest?

Fuya could not write Chinese characters well. Rong Chen Zi stood beside her, his expression gentle: “Your grip on the writing brush is already wrong.”

Fuya tried several times but could never get it right, and finally could not help herself: “Would Daozhang teach me?”

Rong Chen Zi faintly gathered his brows. In the end he took a cloth from the table used for wiping off excess ink and lightly covered the back of her hand, then — through the cloth — clasped her hand and guided her in writing together. Fuya stole a sideways glance at him with subtle eyes; he was absorbed in full concentration, attending only to the brushstrokes on the paper, his mind completely clear of all else.

That river clam spirit is both impulsive and foolish — she is hardly worth concern. But this man is the reincarnation of a true god, his Daoist foundation firm and solid, utterly indifferent to romance — he will not be easy to approach. She mused in silence.

At noon they ate again in the meal hall, and after some deliberation, Rong Chen Zi ultimately did not send a meal to He Bang. Qingxuan wanted to ask several times but dared not, and could only set the thought aside. This time Rong Chen Zi was truly set on teaching this creature a lesson — without giving her a taste of the consequences, she would only grow more and more unbridled!

That evening, Qingxu Monastery held a ceremony to perform funeral rites for the villagers who had died from the Blood Pupil Curse. The Dharma ceremony was set up in the open-air training ground, still presided over by Rong Chen Zi. An altar was erected at the center of the grounds, on which were arranged flower vases, incense burners, incense holders, candle stands, and the five offerings of incense, flowers, water, fruit, and lamp. Also laid out were ritual implements including jade seals, jade tablets, ceremonial scepters, and command banners.

Before the ceremony began, the disciples performed the Step-to-Emptiness melody, and all the officiating masters chanted the Step-to-Emptiness verses in unison, opening with the tune known as the Minor Deliverance.

As Rong Chen Zi led the chanting of the scriptures, his thoughts unexpectedly drifted again to He Bang, and he forcibly gathered his mind back to the task.

Fuya had been listening at one side for a while, but when no one was paying attention, she turned and slipped along a small path to a side hall — none other than the location of Rong Chen Zi’s sleeping quarters. She had clearly scouted the route beforehand, for she navigated the place with extraordinary familiarity, and in no time at all had entered through the chamber door.

No lamp had been lit in the room. In the absolute stillness, one could almost hear one’s own heartbeat. She turned her right hand over and closed her fingers around a bone staff — a staff still entwined by a creature with a human face and a serpent’s body, evidently the true deity her people revered.

She murmured an incantation briefly, and a cluster of dark green flame rose from her fingertip. Without almost needing to search at all, she pressed her hand against the ink painting of a pine tree on the wall. Before entering the hidden passage she tested it several times with great caution. But the path was uneventful throughout, and she made her way smoothly into the sealed chamber.

She had been subtly asking the junior daoists questions around the monastery and learned that this clam spirit was actually Rong Chen Zi’s cauldron vessel. The revelation astonished her greatly — if she didn’t remove this obstacle, eating immortal flesh was going to require considerably more trouble.

Fuya was confident: as long as she obtained a single strand of this clam spirit’s hair, she could devise one hundred and eight ways to kill her, all without a trace.

The room was in pitch darkness, only the incense burner in the corner burning fragrant herbs. Fuya examined the surroundings by the cold light of the flame in her hand, and found herself believing the cauldron vessel claim several degrees more. She cast a protective technique around herself, never quite daring to take this clam spirit lightly.

She waited a moment with no sign of movement, then with extreme care used her ritual staff to lift aside the gauze curtain. Within the red gauze canopy, He Bang lay quietly still — eyes closed, silent and unmoving, an immobilization talisman still on her forehead. Fuya was instantly wild with delight. She swiftly plucked out a single strand of her hair, then turned to leave — when suddenly a bronze luohan lamp lit up on the wall, and someone entered the sealed chamber. It was Qingxuan.

Their eyes met, and Fuya was somewhat flustered, though she quickly steadied herself: “I heard that Daozhang Rong Chen Zi punished her over the last incident, and came specifically to check on her.”

Qingxuan appeared as though he noticed nothing amiss: “Master has always disliked others entering his sleeping quarters without permission. Please return, shaman.”

Fuya gave an acknowledgment, turned and left the sealed chamber. As she departed her eyes swept sideways and she caught sight of Qingxuan holding a clay jug of water, already mixed with sugar, which he was now spooning slowly into He Bang’s mouth. He sighed softly: “Master only told me to feed her water, so I don’t dare release you. Sigh — why do you keep stirring up trouble for no reason? In a couple of days when Master’s anger cools I’ll plead for clemency on your behalf. For now drink a little water first…”

Two more days passed in this way, and Fuya began to grow somewhat unsettled. She had plucked out a single strand of the clam spirit’s hair, but in the two days since, she had exhausted every form of curse magic she knew, all to absolutely no effect. It was as though this strand of hair had never grown on any living creature’s body at all.

On this particular morning, Rong Chen Zi finished washing and dressing, and thoughts of the great river clam in the sealed chamber suddenly surfaced in his mind. He smoothed down his sleeve and stepped into the sealed chamber. He Bang was still lying on the bed, her very posture unchanged. Rong Chen Zi stood before the bed for a while, hesitating inwardly — releasing her now would inevitably lead to weeping and wailing. Better to have Qingxuan come release her this evening, so as to avoid having to comfort her again.

With that thought settled, he was about to leave — when he cast one final glance at the figure behind the gauze canopy. Rong Chen Zi’s expression changed drastically in an instant, and he reached out and swept the gauze curtain aside with one hand. Within the canopy, the figure lay with eyes closed — but from the right eye, a thread of blood-tears traced slowly downward, stark and startling against the pale whiteness of her cheek.

The Blood Pupil Curse!!