Chapter Forty-Three: The Deal

The so-called Chang Ghosts are the spirits of people devoured by tigers, who often lure lost travelers to be eaten by tigers as well. The idiom "working for the tiger as a Chang" refers to these very ghosts.

When the King of Nanshan prepared to step down from his throne, the mouse demon hurried over, flattening itself onto the ground so that the tiger demon could use its body as a step. All eyes among the gathered demons focused intently on this scene.

“That’s the one, King of Nanshan,” the monk Sanhuo intoned solemnly.

Before them stood a tiger demon, with only a sparse covering of tiger fur on its face. Its aura of power was so overwhelming that it was incomparable to any ordinary lesser demon.

Fortunately, this demon had not yet fully shed its beastly form; had it become a blood demon, even Sanhuo would have struggled to match it.

The arrival of the King of Nanshan set the whole assembly of demons abuzz, each scrambling to exchange pleasantries. Though these creatures could not recognize a single written word, they were masters of flattery and sycophancy.

“King of Nanshan, what elegant taste you have! It seems your magical powers have grown even more refined since we last met.”

“Who knows how many cultivators have perished at your hands, my lord? These Chang Ghosts are no ordinary souls.”

“With your power, my lord, everlasting fortune and celestial blessings are surely yours.”

“King of Nanshan, your fame resounds throughout Yangzhou—who does not know your name?”

Zhou Bai was momentarily speechless, surprised to witness such elaborate flattery among demons; it was enough to raise the goosebumps on his skin.

The King of Nanshan, however, clearly enjoyed the attention. He patted his belly and let out a hearty laugh, then took a priest’s robe from a Chang Ghost and draped it over his shoulders, looking rather out of place.

“Thank you all for coming to my banquet. Decades have passed since we last gathered, and it seems our ranks have grown without my noticing.”

His gaze swept the hall, landing on Zhou Bai and the monk Sanhuo. Fortunately, both men had used talismanic water to mask their auras, so nothing seemed amiss.

The King of Nanshan’s eyes moved on. “Since you honor me by attending my banquet, you do me a great favor. Bring out the dishes!”

No sooner had he spoken than the mouse demon waved its hand obsequiously, and its underlings—a great multitude of mice—once again poured out, each bearing platters of food.

The fare mostly consisted of whole roasted cattle and sheep, garnished with vegetables and exuding the rich aroma of meat.

Zhou Bai’s gaze instinctively sharpened. The demonic aura from the talismanic water conveniently shielded his Yin-Yang vision, but he detected nothing unusual—just ordinary beef and mutton.

The King of Nanshan settled himself cross-legged on the meditation mat in the very center of the grand hall, while the mice arranged the dishes before him.

Neither Zhou Bai nor Sanhuo touched the food—the former out of caution, the latter out of monastic discipline forbidding the consumption of flesh.

The other demons, however, were unburdened by such constraints. Beneath the gaze of the Great Sun Tathagata’s statue, the horde of demons fell upon the beef and mutton like gluttonous beasts—even the ox demons joined in.

Yet the King of Nanshan closed his eyes, murmuring incantations as he turned a white bone reliquary in his hands.

“My lord, why do you not eat?”

With great dignity, he intoned “Amitabha,” remaining unmoved. “I am a Buddhist at heart; I must not break the precept against meat.”

“There’s an old saying,” a sheep demon piped up, “the Buddha sits in the heart, while wine and meat pass through the bowels—”

But before he could finish, a wave of murderous intent washed over him.

“Spare me, my lord…” the sheep demon begged.

The King of Nanshan opened his bloody maw, demonic energy roiling around him, nearly tangible in its intensity. Though the sheep demon was himself a lesser demon, he was little more than prey before this half-transformed blood demon.

“Amitabha. What you have said is the gravest disrespect to the Buddha. You court death.”

With that, the King of Nanshan lunged, his head swelling to half a meter in width, and in a single bite, half of the sheep demon vanished into his mouth.

The sickening sound of chewing filled the hall, blood seeping from between his teeth. When he had swallowed the first half, unsated, he curled his tongue and gulped down the rest.

Sanhuo raised an eyebrow. This demon, bound by no rules yet forever invoking the Buddha, was an abomination that must be eradicated.

“My apologies, gentlemen, but today I’m forced to break my vegetarian vow! Hahahaha!”

The King of Nanshan burst out laughing, and the rest of the demons laughed along, no one sparing a thought for the sheep demon who had died so gruesomely.

The banquet lasted only a short while before coming to an end. Once the King of Nanshan stopped eating, not a single demon dared to continue, even if still hungry.

“That will be all for now. Clean up.”

The mouse demon nodded respectfully, and at once countless mice scurried to clear away the leftovers, leaving the grand hall empty once more.

The King of Nanshan, now sated, picked up a bone needle polished from human remains and began picking his teeth. When he was finally done, he spoke:

“I recently acquired several fine treasures and would like your opinions on them.”

The demons whispered excitedly among themselves. This was the highlight of the banquet—the King of Nanshan, every few decades, would bring out spiritual materials and treasures he no longer needed. The trading was about to begin.

Meanwhile, the marketplace in the mountains, established by lesser demons unable to enter the temple, bore witness to the great allure of this gathering.

Once more the mouse horde appeared, and five exquisite but modest wooden boxes were placed before the King of Nanshan.

He lifted his head with pride, scanning the crowd, and opened the first box.

“This is about two hundred years old—yellow essence root. If an ordinary beast consumes it, so long as it doesn’t burst, it can become a lesser demon. Of course, for lesser demons, it’s no longer of use.”

Many in attendance were lesser demons, each having been sponsored by a minor demon to enter the grand hall. To them, two-hundred-year-old yellow essence root was quite enticing—it might just help them break through their current limits.

“My lord, I have a five-hundred-year-old pine branch.”

The King of Nanshan shook his head.

“My lord, a Daoist talisman for escape.”

“No.”

…

After several rounds, the root was finally traded to a lesser demon for a few healing pills.

Once he had the yellow essence root, the lesser demon wasted no time, hastily bidding farewell to the King of Nanshan and departing the temple.

The next two boxes also contained spiritual herbs the King of Nanshan no longer needed, and these too were exchanged with lesser demons.

The fourth box, however, was different: inside lay a tattered book, the cover half-rotted away, with only the faintest trace of the words “Alchemy” and “Art” remaining.

“This is a secret manual of Daoist alchemy. I have paged through it many times over the years but never managed to master its contents, so I am offering it now.”

The assembled demons glanced at one another in silence.

To them, alchemy held little real interest—abandoning it would be a shame, but pursuing it was pointless. Their innate ability to absorb spiritual herbs far surpassed that of humans, so none of them bothered to study pill-making.

Zhou Bai, however, was intrigued. No matter what, a secret manual of alchemy was still a valuable text. So long as the system recognized it, it would count as his own mastery.