Chapter 28: Enlightenment

Liuchou stepped forward, followed by the other demons, each moving to stand beside the opponent they had slain. A wolf demon with white fur on its forehead had two corpses at its side, while another wolf nearby had only one. After a moment’s thought, the white-furred wolf pulled the other wolf closer, dragging the corpse over as well, indicating that the three bodies were the work of the two of them together.

Two demons remained seated on their beds, unmoving. One was tall, dressed in gray, exuding a cold, damp aura, his tongue flicking out to lick his lips from time to time. The other was lively and alert, his eyes darting restlessly, his whole demeanor sharp and bright.

“Obedient, yes, but too dull. My preferences may need some adjusting,” Tuzu mused aloud, tapping his forehead with a finger, as though struggling with a difficult decision. “Yesterday I angered Jian Keng, so today I’ll let it go, lest he trouble me again... Which means, no killing today… Ah, but I really do like it, and I can’t lie to myself…”

After some time, he pouted, then smiled. “Now, those of you whose opponent survived, crawl down. You’re in luck and have caught my fancy, so you’ll get only ten lashes. Those who managed to kill, five lashes.”

The young demons looked around at one another, some trembling, some calm, but all obediently lay down on the ground. The soldiers raised their bristled whips high and began to lash them one by one.

Just then, a piercing cry echoed from the neighboring room, followed by the desperate wails of several young demons, pleading for mercy: “Spare us, Immortal! We dare not again, we’ll kill them right away—ah!”

The pleas were abruptly cut off.

It sounded as if those who had failed to kill their opponents had been killed themselves.

The three young demons who had not managed to kill their adversaries turned pale, finally understanding what it meant to have good luck.

They also firmly remembered the third rule of the valley:

“Strength is not enough; one must also be ruthless!”

Within twelve hours of arriving in the Ghost Valley, Liuchou had learned many things—what it meant to obey orders without question, to be strong and merciless, to walk on thin ice.

He also knew that in these twelve hours, nearly five or six hundred demons had perished in the valley, leaving only about half remaining.

In the end, not only he, but all the demons learned one thing: three years from now, of the five hundred or so young demons left, fewer than a hundred would leave alive. This had always been the custom since the Ghost Valley’s founding, never once broken.

After the corpses were dragged from the rooms, Liuchou and the others were herded onto a vast training ground. According to their lodgings, they were divided into five companies of a hundred and lined up as the soldiers commanded.

Half an hour later, all the instructors left, save one, who strode gracefully before the assembled demons.

Tuzu had changed his clothes. He now wore a brilliant red robe, dazzling as blood and as fierce as flames, though the clusters of blossoms from yesterday were gone, replaced by golden petals across his body. His face was caked with even more white powder than before, the edges faintly swollen and red.

He stood before the demons, not sparing them a glance, raising his left pinky finger to his eyes and glancing about. He spoke softly: “Run!”

And so, the bloodstained demons began to run at Tuzu’s order, following the winding mountain road upward. Each time a demon collapsed, they were whipped mercilessly to force them up again, only to fall once more, and be whipped again…

Liuchou even thought he would die there. He could only run with all his might, striving to remember every word the soldiers barked. Eventually, he realized there was a pattern: the soldiers only whipped those who fell behind and refused to get up. As long as you stayed ahead of the bottom half, you could even sit and rest, and they would ignore you.

Thus, Liuchou kept a steady pace, running and resting, using his speed and stamina to remain in the middle of the pack until the ordeal ended.

He was not the only clever one. Some demons, though lagging behind, kept running steadily without being whipped. Others, like Liuchou, ran and rested, hanging on. But some failed to grasp the trick, running themselves to exhaustion, only to collapse and be whipped until they could rise no more.

By the time the order was given to return, nearly two hours had passed. The young demons collapsed along the mountain road, gasping for breath, only to see the whips raised again.

They could only force themselves up, staggering along the mountainside back down, another four hours before they returned to the valley. The soldiers did not whip them on the way back, only watching with cold sneers.

Liuchou was utterly spent, but upon seeing the soldiers’ expressions, he gritted his teeth and quickened his pace, making sure to reach the lower half of the group. The counting soldiers then led him and the others to a spacious hall.

There, trays of food awaited—meat, vegetables, fruits, all in abundance, for the young demons to eat as they wished.

But the last fifty to arrive received nothing. They were led back to their quarters, unable to eat after such exhaustion and whipping—their fate was grim.

Dozens more did not return on their own, but were dragged back by the soldiers—those who had died from whipping on the way up, or from exhaustion on the way down. Their bodies were hung from the stakes at the entrance.

Tuzu did not appear again. According to what he later told Jian Keng, the punch he took the day before had affected him greatly, and he needed sleep to heal—so he returned to rest, nearly suffering another blow for his trouble.

After eating, the demons were led into a cave. After walking for dozens of yards, they entered a vast hot spring. The soldiers drove them into the water, forbidding them to come ashore.

Liuchou entered, and though the wounds burned at first, he endured, and soon the pain eased. His bones and muscles relaxed in the warm water, his fatigue fading, his injuries slowly healing.

Suddenly, a sharp scream rang out. A young demon burst from the water, vomiting the contents of its stomach, gasping desperately with a purple face. It slashed its own throat, but food continued to pour from its windpipe and esophagus.

In moments, the demon collapsed, its corpse floating to the surface.

Liuchou coldly observed, understanding well that this was the result of overeating. He had anticipated this and eaten with restraint; otherwise, he might have suffered the same fate, if not death, then unbearable misery.

When they were brought back to their quarters, the demons collapsed onto their beds and fell into a deep sleep.

He was awakened by the sudden din of drums and gongs. Instantly, countless figures grabbed their clothes and rushed out at top speed, the motion tearing at their wounds with searing pain.

Yet none hesitated; those who survived here had already steeled themselves.

The drums lasted only a short while. Those who arrived last, or forgot yesterday’s assigned place, were lashed five times each, but more than that, thirty-eight demons unable to get up remained in bed, all of whom were hung from the rack at the entrance.

The day’s trial was running again, but this time under the command of a squad leader rather than Tuzu. They were made to run twenty miles and return, back to the large hall. As before, the last fifty to arrive ate nothing, forced to sit outside, stomachs growling with hunger.

After eating, the soldiers gathered the young demons on the training ground. Jian Keng had left, replaced by a new instructor, a scholarly man in a deep ochre robe, his face the color of pale gold, dressed with meticulous care and holding a ruler. Another soldier carried a basket filled with rolls of parchment.

This man’s expression was calm, neither rough and hearty like Jian Keng nor strange like Tuzu—just perfectly ordinary. The young demons whispered among themselves, feeling somewhat reassured.

He walked onto the earthen platform and had the demons sit. Then he spoke:

“I am Instructor Shi Xingyi of the Hundred Schools. I will now teach you the arts of letters and words. There are only three rules; remember them well.

First: There is a test each day. The lowest hundred are lashed ten times, the next hundred, five times, the next, three. The rest are spared.

Second: Each month, there is a major examination. The lowest ten are executed.

Third: During my teaching, any who cause disruption or disturb my peace of mind will be executed.

Now, observe the parchment in my hand. This character is ‘Zhou,’ as in our Great Zhou. Its meaning is…”

Without further ado, he began to explain each character on the parchment to the demons, with painstaking detail. Whether or not they understood, he lectured on, content with himself.

Meanwhile, soldiers distributed bamboo slips to each demon, inscribed with the day’s lesson.

The writing was archaic and obscure. Liuchou could not recognize most of it, but his memories from a later era gave him some advantage. He struggled to discern the characters, memorizing them carefully, his fingers tracing the shapes on the ground to commit them to memory.

As he concentrated, a commotion broke out nearby. A young demon collapsed to the ground. Liuchou glanced over, recognizing it as one who had lagged behind yesterday and, it seemed, had not eaten today either. The beatings and hunger had finally taken their toll.

Shi Xingyi paused, frowning. With a wave of his hand, the soldiers dragged the young demon away and, without hesitation, beheaded it in the open.

Shi Xingyi resumed his lesson, his face unchanged.

The young demons, who had begun to relax, suddenly realized that this seemingly mild instructor was as merciless as the rest, killing without a flicker of hesitation.

So the day ended with an examination. Thanks to his previous life’s knowledge, Liuchou remained near the top and avoided a beating. The three hundred lowest, however, were whipped until their bodies were covered in welts, no better off than after the previous day’s run.

This time, though, there was no soak in the hot spring to ease their pain. Shi Xingyi led them to eat, then back to their quarters. Given that they would run again the next morning, those most injured would only fare worse, likely unable to eat breakfast or keep up.

Liuchou had already sensed the pattern: the strong would only grow stronger, the weak ever weaker. Unless one could rise up in a burst of power, there was only death ahead. The supposed ‘hundred survivors’ must be the number the valley ultimately demanded.

One in ten surviving from a thousand—truly, not an easy feat.