Chapter Thirty-One: The Approach

The golden light of the Heavenly Eye surged from Chen Jiu’s forehead, imprisoning Li Jingyi’s soul.

“Will I… will I disappear?” Li Jingyi asked in terror.

Chen Jiu shook his head. “I’m only going to make you the primary soul of that great tiger. After all, the tiger isn’t a demon; it doesn’t have a demon’s soul for me to command. But if I forge your ghost into it, making you and the tiger one, it might just work.”

Li Jingyi couldn’t quite grasp Chen Jiu’s words—primary soul, becoming one—he only felt that this Daoist before him was truly extraordinary.

At this moment, the divine brilliance of the Heavenly Eye on Chen Jiu’s brow glimmered like a heavenly general descended from the skies, awe-inspiring and majestic.

Without further ado, Chen Jiu’s Heavenly Eye gazed at the tiger’s corpse and activated the Art of Spirit Control.

Bathed in golden radiance, the tiger was soon surrounded by countless points of golden light.

Moments later, the golden points detached from the tiger’s body and reassembled in the air.

Soon, a lifelike golden tiger materialized in midair.

Yet Chen Jiu knew all too well—though this golden tiger’s body resembled that of the mountain fiend, he could not command it at all, let alone draw it into his Heavenly Eye Space.

“Quick! Enter at once!” Chen Jiu barked at Li Jingyi, pointing to the golden tiger in the air.

Li Jingyi’s face changed, and he hesitated.

Chen Jiu’s expression darkened, his voice cold: “My patience is thin. You have three breaths to decide.”

“Three…” Chen Jiu raised three fingers, his tone chilling.

“Two…”

Seeing this, Li Jingyi panicked and cried out, “I’ll go! I’ll go!”

This Daoist truly meant to kill him!

In a flash, his form turned into a streak of black light and shot straight into the golden tiger’s forehead.

Chen Jiu’s expression was grave as his Heavenly Eye shone once more, fixing the tiger in place. At the same time, he strengthened his spiritual connection, striving to draw the beast into the Heavenly Eye Space.

Nearly the time it took an incense stick to burn passed before the golden light in the sky slowly dissipated, and the surroundings dimmed once more.

But now, instead of the massive golden tiger, there was a white-browed tiger identical to the corpse on the ground.

The golden color had vanished; its fur, stripes, and form were just like a real tiger.

A stir went through Chen Jiu—he hadn’t expected that after fusing Li Jingyi’s soul, the gold tiger would become like this.

But he was delighted nonetheless; the tiger was now spiritually linked to him and could be stored in the Heavenly Eye Space. The forging had succeeded!

Overjoyed, Chen Jiu summoned the tiger to the ground.

“Tiger Thrall,” he called gently.

A golden light gleamed in the tiger’s eyes as it lowered its great head and nuzzled at Chen Jiu’s Daoist robe.

Though Li Jingyi’s soul was now the tiger’s primary spirit, Chen Jiu kept his consciousness suppressed, lest he cause any trouble.

“Return,” Chen Jiu commanded.

With a flash, the tiger transformed into a streak of gold and darted into the vertical eye on Chen Jiu’s brow.

He had successfully recalled the Tiger Thrall into the Heavenly Eye Space.

Just then, a sudden warmth bloomed in Chen Jiu’s chest.

Startled, he hurriedly pulled out the Anmin Token.

Sure enough, the number on the back, originally “eighty,” now read “two hundred fifty”!

By subduing the man-eating tiger and the vengeful ghost Li Jingyi, he’d gained one hundred seventy merit points!

“So it’s not just subduing demons that earns merit…” Chen Jiu chuckled. As long as it benefited the common folk, even Daoists could accrue merit this way.

Having taken both the Mountain Fiend and the Tiger Thrall, he now possessed two formidable spirit allies.

Neither the Mountain Fiend nor the Tiger Thrall were physical entities but spirits. Thus, even if destroyed, they would not die like ordinary demons or mortals. As long as Chen Jiu lived, as long as the Heavenly Eye endured, and his spirit remained intact, his captured spirits would never vanish.

With his strength bolstered, he might have rejoiced, but Chen Jiu stifled his excitement. This was no time for pride.

Who knew whether the Ascendant Tower of Xinyang County would let the matter rest?

After all, he and Zihuan had taught that Jade Pillade cultivator a lesson; Chen Jiu doubted they would simply let him go.

Some ten breaths later, as voices echoed from up the mountain, Chen Jiu turned to see several torches flashing through the woods.

It was Wu Song leading his men.

In no time, several men bearing torches descended the slope.

“Hero, where’s the big tiger?” one hunter, longbow on his back and clad in pelts, asked urgently.

Wu Song glared at him impatiently. “What’s your hurry? You didn’t kill it. Look! There it is!”

He pointed at the huge tiger lying in the open.

At once the group crowded round.

“Well, I’ll be! It really is dead!”

“This Daoist did it?” someone eyed Chen Jiu skeptically, noting his unimposing stature.

“What, you think I’d lie?” Wu Song snapped. “My friend here is a master of the Dao. He slew the tiger with his own strength. Isn’t that heroic?”

At these words, the hunter quickly clasped his fists to Chen Jiu. “Thank you, Master Daoist, for ridding us of this scourge. On behalf of the sixty households of Liangyang Village, I offer our gratitude!”

Chen Jiu hurriedly helped the man up. “Good sir, it is our duty as Daoists to subdue demons and evil wherever we find them. There’s no need for thanks.”

“Such righteousness, Daoist!” the surrounding hunters all saluted.

A Daoist who could perform magic was not to be trifled with—better yet, if one could establish a connection, there would be much to gain.

Most common folk were friendly toward Daoists—they’d been around since time immemorial. Only those whose ancestors had suffered from the cataclysm at Wangqiao harbored hatred or resentment.

In the end, it was the Wangqiao Demon Release that had caused the Daoist sects of the Great Jin to decline.

The hunters then discussed how to carry the tiger down the hill so the villagers could finally rest easy.

“Strong man, would you help us carry it? The few of us alone can’t possibly move such a beast,” one hunter pleaded with Wu Song.

He pondered a moment, then nodded cheerfully. “Of course.”

He then turned to Chen Jiu. “Brother, why not come back to the village with us?”

Chen Jiu smiled and shook his head. “I have urgent matters to attend to and cannot stay.”

Wu Song’s brows knit. “You’re in such a hurry to leave the hill?”

Chen Jiu nodded, saluted him with Daoist courtesy, and said, “Brother Wu, I must take my leave. Until we meet again.”

Wu Song smiled, clapped Chen Jiu on the shoulder, and said, “Very well. It’s been a pleasure. By the way, I live in Fengming Village in Qiyang County. I’ll be waiting for you to come share a drink with me!”

Chen Jiu silently memorized the name, bowed, and slipped away down the path off the hill—

...

By the time Chen Jiu descended Jingyang Hill, it was already deep into the night.

He gazed back at the forested hill, sighing with emotion.

The tale of Wu Song slaying the tiger had finally drawn to a close.

He looked ahead.

He had entered the bounds of Jingyang County.

Under the bright moon, a vast field of wheat stretched before him.

It was already autumn; the scent of ripening grain drifted on the wind, refreshing his spirit.

Yet suddenly, Chen Jiu’s heart skipped a beat, and a chill crept up his spine.

His expression grew grave as he slowly turned his head.

Atop a tall tree, some thirty feet behind him, two figures now stood silently—he did not know when they had arrived.