Chapter Seventy-Three: The Old Demon of Black Mountain (Mist)

Once calm was restored, Chen Jin resumed eating his roast chicken.

The man did not return, which was a small blessing.

But soon, a wandering specter drifted near.

The ghost had no form or substance, only a faint mist, but Chen Jin spotted it at once. After all, he was no novice; his practiced eye recognized such things immediately.

The specter floated before Chen Jin, pausing, then began to twist and shudder. For three minutes it changed, slowly taking the shape of a human figure.

The figure had a face and wore clothes, garb from ancient times, not of this era.

As soon as the shadowy figure faced Chen Jin, it knelt and performed three bows, each with three prostrations.

In truth, Chen Jin could not harm it. The ghost lacked even the faintest trace of yin energy; he could only observe, not interact. Still, Chen Jin understood spoken language, though his skills were limited to the Mandarin and a few local dialects he was familiar with. If the ghost’s life had been spent speaking some tongue unknown to Chen Jin, there would have been little he could do.

After its ritual bows, the figure dissolved once more into mist, drifting away in the direction the young man had earlier fled.

“So… this is the reward?” Chen Jin muttered, somewhat confused.

But his confusion passed, and he continued to eat his roast chicken.

Though he had achieved the art of fasting and no longer needed food, surviving on the vital energies of heaven and earth alone, he still enjoyed eating. The simple pleasure reminded him that, for all his cultivation, he was still human.

Though his digestion was swift, as a practitioner, the first lesson was that the spirit must master the body. Such a minor thing as digestion was easily controlled—hardly a problem.

A sudden chill wind arose, whistling through the wild grass and undergrowth, making them shiver ominously.

Yet, though the weeds trembled, the fire before Chen Jin did not flicker in the slightest.

The cold wind swept to his side, gathering before him and coalescing into a strange, swirling mist. The vapors quickly condensed, forming the shadow of a man—albeit with a human body dressed in human clothes, but with the head of a dog upon his shoulders.

The dog’s head was unmistakably that of a common native breed.

“So, you’re the priest meddling in my affairs?” The dog’s mouth moved, and human speech emerged.

He spoke in a dialect of the Suzhou region, which Chen Jin fortunately understood thanks to previous dealings with locals; otherwise, he might not have grasped the meaning.

“That was your vassal ghost?” Chen Jin pointed to the pile of ash that had once been the demon.

“So it’s you. Do you know whose territory this is?” The dog-headed creature puffed out his chest and raised his head with pride.

Black Mountain—that’s just something out of a story, isn’t it? But apparently, it truly exists, and here in the lands near Suzhou? Chen Jin’s heart stirred, but soon settled.

“So?” Chen Jin tilted his head, looking at the creature.

“Huh?” The dog’s head cocked to the side, mirroring him.

They eyed each other for several seconds.

Then, without warning, the dog flopped to the ground, whimpered, and shed all human airs, behaving like a proper dog.

Chen Jin had cast an illusion upon it.

“Still too young,” Chen Jin murmured, shaking his head. He tossed a chicken bone toward the dog.

Obediently, the dog snapped at the bone mid-air.

But as soon as the bone touched its mouth, its expression changed. Gone was the dim-witted, docile dog—human awareness returned to its eyes.

It spat the bone out with a curse, glaring at Chen Jin. “You dare use illusion on me!”

“Indeed, monsters are wilier than ordinary folk,” Chen Jin mused, ignoring its outburst.

“You…” The dog’s anger swelled at being ignored.

But before it could erupt, Chen Jin cast another illusion, clouding its senses once more.

“But I can still put you to sleep,” Chen Jin said with a smile.

This time, the illusion was stronger, Chen Jin pouring more of his will into it.

He dispensed with jokes, going straight to his questions.

“What sort of demon is the Black Mountain Elder?” Chen Jin asked.

“I don’t know,” the dog-headed creature replied.

A reasonable answer.

“And what sort of demon are you?” Chen Jin asked again.

Though it was obvious the creature was a dog demon, Chen Jin thought it worth confirming—perhaps, after all, it was a wolf spirit. (Or perhaps he simply wanted to draw out the conversation.)

“Dog demon,” came the unsurprising answer.

“Why were you chasing that man?” Chen Jin continued.

“The Black Mountain Elder ordered us to. I don’t know why,” the dog replied.

“Very well, you may continue your pursuit.” Chen Jin decided he’d asked enough and released the demon.

He implanted a suggestion in its mind, making it forget their encounter.

And so, the dog demon bounded off, “happily” chasing after the young man from before.

This affair was clearly troublesome. Chen Jin had no desire to linger here. He planned to travel through the southern regions, hoping to encounter Master Xu Xun, though it would still be some time before Xu Xun’s rise, making a meeting unlikely.

There were many immortals dwelling in the south, those who, foreseeing the shift in dynastic fortune toward the region, had settled there in advance.

Though Suzhou could be considered part of the south, Chen Jin wanted to travel even farther.

He also suspected that the line displayed on the page when the Black Book brought him to this era referred to a story from Strange Tales from a Chinese Studio. But as there were so many stories in that collection, he thought to tour Jiangnan, perhaps even Yuhang, hoping to chance upon Nie Xiaoqian or Ning Caichen.

But on reflection, those two figures did not belong to this era.

It was a bit of a quandary.

…