Dark Spirit Jiangshi
After the ambush operation ended, Cheonhwa seized a brief stretch of rest and put his heads together with Yeonhwa, pouring himself into the conversion of the sword forms into fist techniques.
“The first twelve forms make up the skeletal frame of the sword art,” Yeonhwa said. “Trying to convert them straight into fist methods right now would be tough.”
“If it were a one-handed sword style, you could link it to fist arts to a degree,” Cheonhwa answered. “But the Thirty-Six Swords Under Heaven is a two-handed sword method, so that’s just how it is.”
“Right. So for the opening forms, temporarily swapping in the Five Elements Fist looks like the better move.”
“The Five Elements Fist is the fist art Senior Brother Yeobhwa has trained the longest. It’s simple and fundamental rather than complex in its internal-energy work, so it should fit well enough.”
Converting the Thirty-Six Swords Under Heaven into a fist method.
The first step had been a thorough review of those foundational twelve forms.
Yet translating the sword postures wholesale into palm and fist techniques proved difficult. Creating an entirely new set of forms would have been ideal, but they simply did not have that kind of leisure. So they substituted the opening sequence with the Five Elements Fist—the most basic fist art of the Zhongnan Sect—as a temporary measure.
“The middle forms should be usable almost as they stand,” Yeonhwa observed.
“They’re the foundation of Zhongnan sword qi as well. Especially faithful to the basics of techniques performed with Inner-Family Energy Arts, so conversion shouldn’t be too hard.”
“Even so, it isn’t free of problems. Especially the forms that rely on Weapon-Qi Infusion. Originally those techniques use the longsword as a medium; now we have to execute every one of them bare-handed. The strain will be severe.”
“The linked forms that absorb impact and then release it are also similar to Stored Jin,” Cheonhwa added. “For the moment we’ll just have to trust bodies hardened by outer martial arts and endure.”
Weapon-Qi Infusion had originally been a method of reinforcing a weapon with internal energy and ultimately achieving unity with it, so that the blade could be wielded as if it were one’s own limb. For a fist artist, that step was unnecessary—after all, the body that threw the punches was already one’s own. Simply training outer and inner arts would naturally strengthen the flesh. Yet the advantage was not pure. The burden that a weapon would have absorbed now fell entirely upon the body, which meant wear would accelerate the longer a fight dragged on.
Of course, bare hands also brought their own advantages.
“Conversely, the Inner-School Heavy Hand Method will be far easier than when performed with a sword.”
“Because the Heavy Hand Method demands such delicate internal-energy control, direct contact with bare hands is better than working through a weapon.”
The Inner-School Heavy Hand Method had begun as a bare-handed art; Under-Heaven Flowing Clouds was the sequence that allowed those principles to be expressed through the sword. They therefore revised the formulas so that only the essential principles of the Heavy Hand Method remained.
They dismantled each form’s oral formula one by one, rewrote it for palm-and-fist use, then tested the revised forms in practice, hunting down every shortcoming and refining it away. The process carried the risk of twisting one’s internal energy and suffering internal injury, yet with Cheonhwa’s powers of Contemplation and heart-intent consciousness, they spotted and corrected every flaw without mishap.
They could not, however, linger forever over martial formulas. War still raged, and unexpected incidents kept erupting. The mission Jang Sam brought Cheonhwa this time belonged squarely in that category.
“Several units have gone missing?”
“Yes. There are clear signs they entered the area, yet no one has come out—and there are no traces either.”
“Any other intelligence?”
“Around the same time, contact was lost with the Haomen members living in that region as well. We dispatched people to investigate, but none of them returned either.”
Jang Sam’s face was a mixture of awkwardness and unease. Haomen intelligence usually came from ordinary people who had never learned martial arts; a complete loss of contact meant something had gone seriously wrong. Under normal circumstances they would have noticed at once and responded, but the fighting that had engulfed the Yan’an region had delayed every reaction.
“Worst of all, the decisive battle at Botap is right in front of us.”
“So most of the forces are concentrated at Botap and can’t be pulled away.”
“Exactly. The only people free to move right now are the secular disciples of Zhongnan and Huashan, plus the Haomen who have been serving as our messenger network.”
“The people who ambushed the Paegeommun supply column aren’t included?”
“They already completed one mission, and they’re also earmarked as a reserve force in case something goes wrong at Botap.”
Investigation mattered, yet if they lost the war everything would come to nothing. Consequently the number of fighters who could actually be spared was vanishingly small. And even first-class martial artists—relatively numerous—were vanishing for unknown reasons. For safety’s sake they would need at least two Peak Experts.
“Sending even Daoist Cheonhwa is already stretching us thin.”
“Since no one knows when the next crisis will hit, people need rest while they can get it.”
Those who had taken part in the ambush were currently recovering. For several days they had forced-marched without proper rest. Cheonhwa, who could maintain peak condition almost indefinitely thanks to the powers of Pupil Breathing and Recovery, was the exception.
“Senior Neungpung of Haomen’s Archer-Hunters has agreed to go. You’ve met him before, Daoist Cheonhwa.”
“Yes. We traveled together during the tiger-head suppression.”
Neungpung was a hunter whose archery had reached the realm of Intent-Guided Arrows; his tracking skill matched his bowmanship. Memories of relying on him while they hunted the spirit beast rose freshly to mind.
“Understood. We’ll link up near the site, then?”
“Yes. Ordinarily we would meet on the ground, but this time we need to approach with extreme caution.”
Bao’an-hyeon, west of Yan’an. That was the name of the county toward which Cheonhwa was now bound.
Near Bao’an-hyeon, Cheonhwa met the others who would share the mission, exactly as planned.
“It’s been a while. You’ve been well?”
Neungpung—the hunter who had reached Peak Expert through archery—greeted him. Perhaps because the last time he had seen Cheonhwa the young man had been a wreck, Neungpung’s eyes carefully checked that every limb was still attached.
“As you can see, all four limbs intact. Thank you for worrying, Senior Neungpung.”
“Back then you looked like a corpse that had just crawled out of its grave. Somehow you’re whole again. You’re destined for a long life.”
Whether the words were a curse or a blessing was unclear, but Neungpung clapped him on the back. Having hunted a spirit beast together, each already knew the other’s skill; the presence of the other felt solid and reassuring.
Neungpung was not the only welcome face. Among the secular disciples of Zhongnan and Huashan who had joined this operation was someone Cheonhwa knew well: Wijiun, young master of Geongonmun—the secular house in Baoji that Cheonhwa, Yeonhwa, and Jeokhwa had once gone to aid—and a flower-character generation secular disciple.
“Junior Brother Cheonhwa, it’s been a while.”
“Senior Brother Unhwa. You’ve come to help.”
“When the main mountain—and the entire Shaanxi martial world—is in danger, a secular disciple can’t just sit on his hands.”
They would have liked nothing better than to catch up properly, but the situation did not allow it. Once greetings were finished, the party set out for Bao’an-hyeon as planned.
The road was unnervingly silent. Cheonhwa, who had sharpened every sense with the Six Harmony Sensory Path, felt a distinct sense of wrongness.
“Senior Neungpung.”
“Yes. Far too quiet.”
Neungpung narrowed his eyes and nodded, having reached the same conclusion. Not only human presence but even the ordinary murmur of nature—birdsong, the rustle of leaves—was completely absent. It felt as though every living thing had fled before some disaster. A clear signal that something waited ahead.
As if to prove the guess correct, a foul stench soon assaulted their noses.
“That’s… blood?”
“The rot mixed in says it’s been some time.”
“Perimeter watch alone won’t be enough.”
“Agreed. Form ranks.”
They arranged themselves around Neungpung, whose bow could cover any direction, and advanced into Bao’an-hyeon under full alert. What greeted them inside was a scene of pure carnage.
Corpses lay strewn everywhere. Discolored bloodstains were splashed across walls and ground. Blood that had poured from countless bodies had pooled and begun to rot. Several of the more squeamish members of the party gagged.
What in the world happened here?
Most of the dead appeared to have been residents of Bao’an-hyeon, yet mixed among them were people still wearing martial robes. The party approached the bodies with care and examined the faces.
“……These are definitely Zhongnan and Huashan disciples who were dispatched.”
“Confirmed here as well. Matches the description of the local Haomen member.”
Every face was twisted in agony. From the remaining traces, they had been killed by fist arts and lightfoot techniques. While inspecting those traces, Neungpung’s brow furrowed.
“These marks… the habits match. Don’t tell me one person did all of this?”
A massacre of this scale carried out by a single individual? Considering that Peak Experts were among the dead, it would mean a monster of a killer had appeared. Even for a Peak Expert the feat seemed questionable.
Wait— a killer who pulls off things that look completely impossible for one person?
Something similar had happened before: the murderer who moved and acted as if several people were one—Wol-ak, the Moon Evil.
The moment the thought struck him, the surroundings suddenly darkened.
This is… demonic qi?
A black wind thick with eerie presence blotted out the bright midday sky. Cheonhwa recognized it at once: a barrier woven from the power of the Black Wind Divine Art. And that darkness pointed to only one conclusion.
“Ambush!”
He shouted the warning and swept the area with the Six Harmony Sensory Path. Multiple presences were closing in, hidden inside the dark. An instant later they rushed the party as one.
Cheonhwa swung Okgyeong at the thing that charged him. A dull, heavy sensation traveled up his arm—hard, tough flesh that even pure-white sword qi struggled to cut. He knew that feel all too well.
He confirmed the shape that burst from the darkness: a living corpse, a Jiangshi—the same kind he had fought to exhaustion near Wuhan.
That impact just now… this one’s a Dark Spirit Jiangshi.
If it was a Dark Spirit Jiangshi, a sorcerer controlling it ought to be nearby. Yet the creature performed its forms without the faintest trace of the usual uncanny dissonance that marked a puppet under external control.
This is different from any Dark Spirit Jiangshi I know.
Its movements were closer to a Demon Spirit Jiangshi, yet far more refined and practiced. Had he not known it was a Jiangshi, he could easily have believed he was fighting a martial artist who cultivated demonic arts.
The deliberately abandoned atrocity of Bao’an-hyeon. The demonic barrier of darkness that had fallen the moment the party stepped inside. And a Dark Spirit Jiangshi that no longer behaved like any previous specimen.
Every element pointed to a single truth.
This place was their hunting ground. They deliberately lured people in so they could fight on terms that favored them!
Caught in a trap he had never anticipated, Cheonhwa fixed a cold glare on the Dark Spirit Jiangshi before him.