Chapter Fifty: Grand Finale (Part One)

A biting, chilling wind pressed down from above, engulfing us as if we were being baptized in “icy water” in the dead of winter. Waves of cold seeped from my head to my feet. I glanced up—clouds overhead swirled like a vortex, tendrils of white frigid mist spiraling out from the eye, with faint flashes of lightning flickering within.

Ren Tianxing shivered, teeth chattering as he said, “How did the Thunder Array turn into a Frost Array? At this rate, we’ll be ice sculptures within five minutes.” As he spoke, he noticed Yueyue’s small face flushed purple from the cold, her little nose standing out all the more adorably. He teased, “Miss Yueyue, if you become an ice sculpture, I wonder if I’ll get a glimpse of your beauty. I imagine it must be enchanting enough to topple kingdoms.” He shook his head, feigning regret.

Yueyue, with feigned annoyance, chided him for his glib tongue.

Ren Tianxing’s jest eased the tension somewhat. Looking into his eyes, I read his helplessness. As a member of Blade’s Edge—the police force’s elite—he was already rare among his peers for not being arrogant. Yet in the few days with me, his skills had been of little use. Anyone would feel a sense of frustration in the face of such events, let alone someone as outstanding as Ren Tianxing.

Still, he understood that dealing with the Nine Chrysanthemum Sect was not something ordinary people could accomplish—unless the Dragonfang agents intervened. There were few in Dragonfang, but each was a national treasure. Take Li Baoguo, who could read minds; a single glance, and he’d know your thoughts effortlessly. Compared to such abilities, hypnosis or lie detectors were mere child’s play.

The formation had shifted to a higher level. Around us, the sinister laughter of Sakurako and Morita echoed. I gave a cold chuckle, “You little devils have never seen a real feast. Soon you’ll taste the agony of backlash.”

Morita and Sakurako hesitated. I’d deliberately mentioned backlash to provoke them. For any practitioner, the greatest fear was not having their spells broken, but suffering backlash from their own magic—reaping what they had sown. In cultivation, the ultimate challenge is oneself. Reaching this point is akin to facing tribulation; fail and one goes mad, and the higher one’s power, the stronger the backlash.

Morita, startled, sneered, “It seems you and your son are the same. Even at death’s door, you still have a mouth on you. I’ll see to it that your entire Wanyan clan is wiped out by my hand.”

My expression changed. I had never uncovered the cause of my father’s death. When the Living Buddha of Tibet delivered my father’s last words to me, he instructed me not to investigate further. Suspicion had always lingered in my heart, but in deference to his wishes, I had refrained. Now, hearing Morita’s words, I was nearly certain he was involved.

I had to capture Morita and get the truth from him. Gritting my teeth, I had wanted to wait a bit longer and break the formation at the source, but to prevent Morita’s escape, I’d have to spend some of my energy to keep him here, whatever the cost.

I took off my belt and told Ren Tianxing and Yueyue to hold on to it tightly, no matter what. Though they didn’t know what I intended, they obeyed. Nakamura followed suit behind us. Although a third-rate practitioner, he was experienced. Seeing my actions, he blanched and cursed, “Crazy, crazy, baka, baka,” in broken Chinese.

No wonder—what I was doing was tantamount to suicide.

“Curse all you want, but wait till you’re back in Japan to do it,” Ren Tianxing retorted, smacking him on the head.

With my belt wrapped around my hand and everyone holding on, I began to break the Thunder Array. This formation was simple, as was the method to undo it. The Thunder Array borrows the power of thunder, creating an electrical effect within, while the bone-chilling wind is merely a side effect. Thunder is never far from wind, and vice versa.

There was an eye of wind above us—smaller than a tornado, but the lightning within was deadly. The lightning flashed, a searing white light stabbing my eyes, making them ache.

A bolt slashed from the sky, striking the ground nearby, sending up wisps of white vapor.

The Tai Chi formation I’d deployed began to activate, a red glow tracing the circle. Bolts of white lightning danced along the arc. On the yin side, strange waves of heat rose; on our side, the cold intensified.

I cursed Morita, “Damn you, boiling us in a yin-yang hotpot!” He laughed maniacally, full of arrogance.

“Old Ren, keep an eye on Yueyue and the little Japanese. Don’t let them move while I cast the spell.” I pressed a seal into Ren Tianxing’s palm—a palm-thunder mark that, if struck, was deadlier than a gun.

Sitting cross-legged, I steadied my mind, gripping the belt, and raised my spiritual power to its peak. We sat on the formation’s yang side, and under my energy, the temperature rose, a gentle warmth welling from below. The growing heat gradually drove away the cold above. Where hot and cold met, a thin mist formed, enveloping us.

We felt much better, the cold repelled outside, the mist crackling as lightning from above struck and exploded around us.

I made a hand seal, chanted the incantation, and shouted, “Go!” pressing both palms toward the wind eye.

A wave of energy surged from my palms, striking the wind eye. It roared with a flood-like “buzz,” then howled with a piercing wail, the cries chilling to the bone. Yueyue, trembling, asked, “What’s that sound?”

Nakamura, panicked, called out for Morita and Sakura to save him, but they ignored him, leaving him to howl in vain.

The Thunder Array’s core was above—Morita and Sakura had tampered with it, sealing it with some unknown thing. My energy wave hadn’t broken through. The wails now came from all directions, and the searing heat ahead and the cold above hemmed us in. Were it not for my Tai Chi formation, we’d have been burned below and frozen above—a sure death.

The cries around us grew ever more mournful—like the tormented screams of fiends in oil cauldrons in hell, or the weeping of restless souls crushed beneath a train. The hoarse, sharp lamentations alternated between the anguished shouts of young men and the wails of women, laced with an oppressive, terrifying aura.

Yueyue clutched my sleeve, her little hands shaking. Seeing her so frightened, I gently patted her, reassuring her, “Don’t be afraid—these are illusions, not real.”

Yet, despite my words, a chill rose in my own heart. I should have realized earlier—they wouldn’t have stopped at a mere Thunder Array. The corpse energy used in the Black Fiend Array was already suspicious.

Corpse energy comes in two types: one is the vapor from the evaporation of bodily fluids, fairly common; the other is the final breath held by someone who dies with grievances. If this breath isn’t released, it can lead to corpses rising—at worst, becoming zombies. The foul odor in the Black Fiend Array was precisely this death breath.

Finding such corpses is no easy task—perhaps one in a hundred, and the time since death matters. Worse, in seeking such corpses, one might encounter a zombie—then, you’re out of luck. Catching ghosts is easy; catching zombies is not. Zombies are of two main types: red-haired and green-haired. Either way, if a normal person gets involved, it’s over. The dozens of people in this restaurant became walking corpses because of this corpse energy.

An American archaeological team once sought Genghis Khan’s tomb—a modern, well-armed team of six went in, and none came out alive. Gathering this corpse energy is more valuable than gold.

Why had the Nine Chrysanthemum Sect gone to such lengths—what were they plotting?

From the moment Gangzi was afflicted with the layered curse, I should have realized things were not so simple. Only a true master could use such a curse—employing ice talismans, Southeast Asian black magic, and corpse gu—truly ruthless.

Thinking further, the layered curse used on Gangzi showed that the enemy understood Gangzi, and even me, very well. I suspected their true target was me. But if so, why not come for me directly, instead targeting Gangzi? Was this meant as a challenge?

I took a deep breath. Those wailing voices were vengeful ghosts—spirits of those who died unjustly or with grievances, now collected by the Nine Chrysanthemum Sect and trapped within the formation. It seemed that in gathering corpse energy, they had also captured these wandering spirits.

Now, the Thunder Array seemed premeditated, the formation’s core stocked with ghosts. Had I not struck, by chance, the hidden mechanism with my energy wave, I might have fallen victim.

To cure illness, one must find the root. Since Sakurako placed the vengeful ghosts in the array, they were the death gate. As the ancients said, “In death, there is life.” To break the formation, the ghosts must be dealt with first.

I gathered my breath in my chest, using spiritual energy to intone, “All illness in this life arises from the seeds of sin sown in a previous life; the four elements out of balance in this one are the conditions. Illness in life, release in death—the best treatment is to let go. Why do you not understand?”

My voice, like a Buddhist chant, echoed around us. The ghosts’ howling quieted. Then Sakurako’s incantation arose, inciting them: “You were bullied in life, died in vain—the cruel driver, the evil doctor, the bloodstained villains, the numb judges—none were good. Can you rest in peace?”

She was stoking their resentment, and sure enough, the ghosts began to whirl around us, taking on myriad shapes. Yueyue gripped my hand, pointing at one, and shrieked, “A hanging ghost! Such a long tongue—her eyes fell out!” She fainted with a thud. Ren Tianxing quickly caught her, tying the belt around her.

The Six-Syllable Mantra, also called the Avalokiteshvara Mantra, like the Great Compassion Mantra, has been recited for ages. I saw the chill above press ever lower, and the thin aura I’d set up was wavering under the strain. Lightning boomed, ice cracking audibly.

There was no more time for compassion toward these manipulated ghosts.

“Om Mani Padme Hum—” I closed my eyes and recited the mantra with all my heart, raising my spiritual force. The power from the mantra rippled through the Tai Chi formation in waves.

The ghosts’ rage was gradually suppressed by the mantra. Suddenly, a deafening crash—a bolt of lightning struck down, a flash of white light flaring, sparks erupting as if the earth had just quaked. Several mobile phones on the formation’s yin side were split apart by the strike, flames consuming them in seconds.

Ren Tianxing gaped, “Damn, is it going to blast a hole in the ground?”

The thunder rumbled again, threatening another strike. I looked up—my formation was about to collapse, cold sweat beading on my back.

Damn, this was a disaster—thunder above, ghosts within, barely able to handle one without neglecting the other.

Panting, I felt a surge of fear. The ghosts, wild again after the thunder broke the mantra’s hold, swarmed. I was nearly spent—first breaking the Black Fiend Array, then marking Ren Tianxing and Yueyue with Avalokiteshvara’s seal, then marking Ren Tianxing with palm-thunder, and now chanting the Six-Syllable Mantra. Without time to recover, I wouldn’t last much longer.

Ren Tianxing, since putting down the gun found in the Terracotta Warriors, had been keeping a close eye on it, as if afraid someone would steal it. After the lightning struck, less than twenty seconds later, another bolt hit the gun. Electricity crackled, tossing the gun around before it shot straight toward the wind eye.

Ren Tianxing, alarmed, leapt up to chase it, but I grabbed him. “Don’t go,” I said.

Frustrated, he protested, “If I don’t get it back, how will I explain? I went to such lengths to retrieve it—it’s worth more than my life!”

I retorted coldly, “How do you plan to chase it? Can you fly? The wind eye is right above us, a swirling vortex. Unless you can fly—and avoid the ghosts, and insulate yourself from the lightning—otherwise, you’ll be fried to a crisp, or frozen into an ice sculpture within seconds.”

He fell silent, only grunting that it’d be good if the lightning struck the two villains outside, turning them into ghosts for a taste of their own medicine.

Lightning? Ghosts? His words sparked inspiration in me. So that was it. Finally, I knew how to break the formation.

For a spirit like a ghost to appear where there’s lightning—nonsense. I should have realized sooner. Lightning destroys even the strongest spirit. They all fear it. But here, the ghosts summoned by Sakurako showed no fear. The only explanation: something in the array was isolating the lightning from the spirits.

I stood, seeing the array’s structure clearly. Breaking it now would be effortless.

I gathered my energy, bit my right index finger, drew a Shangmao incantation on my left palm, then pressed my palms together, stamping three times on the ground, and shouted, “I call upon the Patriarch Xuanyang to descend!”

Suddenly, a warm current surged from my soles to my forehead. My body shuddered, no longer under my control, though my mind remained clear.

Patriarch Xuanyang took over, forming a lotus seal with my right hand, pointing into the distance. A sword-like wind shot from my fingertip, striking the descending lightning.

White, dazzling bolts crackled, reverberating more thunderously than before.

As soon as he pointed, my body returned to normal. The descent lasted but a moment. With a thunderous crash, lightning blasted down, searing my face. The ghosts wailed and were all consumed by the lightning. The Tai Chi formation’s yin side was left with a large smoking pit.

Ren Tianxing and I looked up—the black clouds above were dissipating. We both sighed in relief, thinking, At last, the formation is broken.

Suddenly, thunder cracked above our heads, and we ducked instinctively, ears ringing. Something fell with a thud beside us.

Ren Tianxing snatched it up, delighted. “It’s the gun!”

He gripped it, inspecting it closely. Suddenly, an explosion erupted nearby, the shockwave nearly swallowing us. Startled, Ren Tianxing squeezed the trigger, firing a shot straight upward.

The bullet vanished into the formation’s core; the black clouds dissipated instantly.

Morita, hair disheveled, appeared, cackling, wielding a submachine gun in one hand and two black grenades in the other. “So you broke our formation? Now taste my bullets,” he sneered.

As he spoke, a burst of gunfire swept toward us. I’d already prepared to dodge. Seeing Morita armed, I scooped up Yueyue and shouted to Ren Tianxing, “Get down!” Suddenly, I felt a hot, sticky sensation on my shoulder—blood.

We rolled behind a pillar as bullets sprayed past. I knew I’d been shot in the right arm. “Damn,” I muttered.

Nakamura, tied up, tried to scoot away from Morita’s gunfire, but was hit by his own ally’s bullets and died after a few feeble crawls.

“Let’s see how you like my ‘blackies’!” Morita laughed, tossing the grenades toward us. The speed was terrifying; my face paled as I shielded Yueyue.

But Ren Tianxing was calmer—he was used to gunfights. Seeing Morita throw the grenades, he instinctively raised the gun and fired three shots without looking.

After three shots, Ren Tianxing froze. I tried to pull him down, but he was dazed for a full minute.

Yueyue stirred and moaned, regaining consciousness. I told her to stay down, and glanced over at Morita—he lay on the ground, clutching two black leather shoes in his hands.

I snapped Ren Tianxing out of his stupor; Yueyue gave me a resentful look before turning away to tidy her hair.

Ren Tianxing stammered, “The gun, the gun…”

“What about the gun?” I didn’t understand.

“It… killed him.”

“The gun killed someone?” I was stunned. At first it sounded ridiculous—guns kill people, that’s normal, but could a gun kill on its own?

When I looked at the spot where the explosion had occurred, I understood. Ren Tianxing was right—the gun had killed.

Not the person wielding it—the gun itself.

There lay a deformed pistol—Ren Tianxing’s sidearm. The one in his hand was the gun Yueyue had retrieved from the Terracotta Warriors.

When Yueyue gave it to him, I’d joked about whether it would work if loaded. Ren Tianxing had rolled his eyes, accusing me of insulting a national treasure.

Now, this supposedly empty gun had killed Morita.

I recalled: after being struck by lightning and sucked into the wind eye, the gun fell back down. Ren Tianxing, startled, squeezed the trigger, and the clouds vanished from the formation’s core.

And the two ‘blackies’ in Morita’s hands—clearly not just for show—transformed into two black leather shoes after the shots.

No wonder Ren Tianxing was stunned for so long. Such a mysterious event—something we’d only heard about in tales of the Bermuda Triangle, yet now experienced firsthand.

Even I couldn’t explain it. This was no superstition.

Ren Tianxing, breathing hard, stared at me in terror. I gestured for him to hand me the pistol.

As I took it, a warm current surged through my hand, startling me into dropping it. Nervous, I picked it up again, closely examining the gun.