Chapter Thirty-Nine: Magical Artifacts = Demonic Artifacts

Booklets, silver, a dozen or so clay jars sealed with mud, and a jumble of medicinal herbs, materials, and dried animal skins and viscera were scattered everywhere in the house. Looking at the clutter filling the room, Qi Xiu fell into deep thought.

All these were Wu Changqing’s legacy. The Taibao Sect had no use for them, and with Ye Wen nowhere to be found, they had simply decided to do a good turn and send everything to him. Qi Xiu fiddled a bit with the odd-shaped herbs and materials, then rubbed his nose. These must be the food for feeding poisonous insects and strange snakes. The entire Yuhua Temple specialized in the art of nurturing spiritual insects, so it was only natural that most of their belongings would be sustenance for these creatures. And inside those mud-sealed jars, various insects of all kinds were packed tightly.

“Nothing of real value here,” Qi Xiu muttered, stuffing a few silver notes—barely three or four hundred taels in total—into his shirt, then picking up the stack of booklets. He flipped through them one by one, his brow furrowing deeper with each page. Aside from some daily chants, the texts were all about methods of breeding and controlling insects. Since he harbored a natural aversion to arthropods and reptiles, he had no intention of learning insect-taming arts. Tossing the lot into a trunk, Qi Xiu picked up a particularly thin volume, its paper unusually smooth to the touch.

“The Lesser Seal Script of Spiritual Insects.”

As he turned the pages, the writing seemed to wriggle like living things, crawling toward his hands and threatening to climb up his arms. Having already encountered such strangeness once before, Qi Xiu was much calmer this time. He casually grabbed a stack of “Suppression” talismans from the side and began sticking them onto the booklet, one after another. With each talisman, the aura of corruption attached to the text diminished, until at last the writing settled down and became docile. Only then did Qi Xiu stop affixing the charms.

“Compared to martial arts, these methods of cultivating magic are of an entirely different order. Everything exudes a sense of the uncanny—any object might harbor a power that twists and distorts.”

He flipped through the entire book at a glance, then set it aside, scratching his head. This “Lesser Seal Script of Spiritual Insects” was Wu Changqing’s cultivation method, its essence being the nurturing of spiritual insects, then swallowing them whole to achieve symbiosis between man and insect. Through them, one could refine spiritual energy and wield various magical arts. None of this interested him much, especially since the cultivation process was revolting—the core principle was to make oneself a nest for insects, allowing them to breed and multiply within. In the end, though outwardly still human, one became little more than an empty shell, the inside entirely hollowed out by the insects. At that point, man was insect and insect was man.

What he truly gained from reading was a clearer understanding of the difference between cultivating magic and training in martial arts.

In essence, one path is of the body, the other of the mind. The ultimate goal of martial arts is True Intent—mastery of which allows one, aided by the diagram of True Martiality, to wash the body repeatedly with divine power, granting the flesh supernatural abilities. The pinnacle of magic, however, lies in spiritual brilliance—when wisdom and spirit condense into a pill, the resulting supernatural power is vaster and subtler still. Yet, whether it is magic or martial arts, both ultimately pursue transcendence. This transcendence is called: The Ancient Gathering of Heavenly Gang. But what exactly this “Ancient Gathering of Heavenly Gang” is—whether a state of being or a place—the scripture did not say. Perhaps even the founder of this path never reached it.

“Ancient Gathering of Heavenly Gang...” Qi Xiu silently committed the phrase to memory and continued flipping through the remaining texts. One after another he examined them, finding almost nothing of value, until at last a scroll tied with red cord caught his eye.

“A Treatise on the Sacrificial Refinement of Magical Implements.”

“At last, something useful,” Qi Xiu said with a smile, examining the scroll. With Wu Changqing dead, all three magical implements passed down in Yuhua Temple for over a hundred years had fallen into his hands: the Hundred-Faced Mask, the Jade Bodhisattva, and the Autumn Sandalwood Staff. Before dying, Wu Changqing had also given him the methods for refining the Jade Bodhisattva and the Autumn Sandalwood Staff. Yet Qi Xiu had hesitated to use them, wary that the old sorcerer might have tampered with the instructions, leading him into danger.

He unrolled the scroll and, as before, pressed “Suppression” talismans onto it. Strands of golden light rippled through, gradually quieting its eerie writhing and hissing. Eyes full of anticipation, he pulled open the scroll, and eight large blood-red characters leapt out at him: “To wield the instrument is to suffer its harm!”

From high noon, when the sun blazed overhead, until the sunset bled across the sky, Qi Xiu studied the scroll, finally closing it with a long sigh.

“These marvelous magical implements truly harbor hidden perils. Magical implements, demonic implements—just a single word apart, yet the gulf between them is an abyss from which one may never return.”

Two-thirds of the scroll detailed methods for refining and controlling the three magical implements. The remaining third was a warning about their dangers.

In truth, so-called magical implements are forged from the essence of demons. Their supernatural power stems from the demonic spirits within. That is why most such implements require blood sacrifices to suppress their ferocity, as this is the demons’ most primal instinct. Yet, the more blood offered, the more the lingering demonic nature revives, until at last it erupts and turns upon its master. Both Wu Changqing’s father and grandfather died this way—overusing demonic implements until the demon within broke free and consumed them.

“Wu Changqing’s instructions for refinement were not withheld, but he concealed the fact that magical implements are actually demonic implements, always at risk of turning on their wielder. A truly venomous stratagem.”

Clicking his tongue, Qi Xiu stood and fetched the Autumn Sandalwood Staff and the Hundred-Faced Mask. Of the three implements, the Hundred-Faced Mask possessed the weakest magic—beyond transforming into a grim-faced specter or altering one’s appearance, it served no other purpose, and so its demonic nature was easily suppressed with a “Suppression” charm, making it safe for regular use. The Autumn Sandalwood Staff, however, was the most powerful. A single swing unleashed a blade of demonic energy, as deadly as a real sword; and once it drew blood, it would instantly corrupt the victim’s blood, causing them to perish in an explosive torrent. This implement’s demonic nature was fierce—Qi Xiu had once inscribed a “Suppression” charm on it, but even a single use wore the charm away, leaving the wielder vulnerable to its backlash.

As for the Jade Bodhisattva... Qi Xiu glanced at the jade statue draped in white cloth in the corner of the hall and pursed his lips. Of all the implements, this was the most mysterious. According to the scroll, it had one night simply fallen from the sky and landed at Yuhua Temple. The method for controlling it was developed over many generations of temple masters, with great effort. What was most notable was this: both Wu Changqing’s father and grandfather had been killed by the backlash of a demonic implement—and the very implement that turned on them was this Jade Bodhisattva...