Chapter 44: The Mountain Demon

Deng Yurong’s arm hung from a rough strip of cloth, and the town doctor had declared that it was likely ruined for good.

He ground his teeth with hatred for Fang Yue, the man who had crippled him, wishing he could tear him apart and devour his flesh alive.

“This can’t end like this. He’s crossed me—I’ll see him dead.”

With that, Deng Yurong headed into town, bought two pounds of pork, and, carrying the raw meat, hobbled into the vast forest stretching behind Fishhead Town.

He did not realize his every move was being watched by a dark-skinned youth of about fifteen.

This youth was Fang Baomu, a native of Fangqiao Village—the very one who had run to warn Fang Yue when Deng Yurong last came to propose marriage at Lady Li’s house.

This time, the village scholar had given him a task: keep an eye on Deng Yurong and report any suspicious behavior.

Seeing Deng Yurong disappear into the woods, Fang Baomu did not follow. Instead, he returned straight to Fangqiao Village to inform the scholar of what he had seen.

Fang Yue, meanwhile, was in his courtyard, busying himself with strange concoctions—pouring black powders into jars and sealing them tightly.

It was dusk. In the village school, lessons were only held in the mornings; at noon, the children would return home to eat, then spend the afternoon either studying on their own or helping with chores.

The villagers were poor, and most children attended the village school just long enough to learn a few characters. No one expected they would ever become scholars—they would eventually return to the fishermen’s life of their forebears.

As for sending a child to take the imperial examinations, that was an impossible dream for most fishing families, lacking the means to support such a venture.

After hearing the youth’s report, Fang Yue’s expression turned cold. So Deng Yurong was up to something after all.

He took out a string of copper coins, intending to pay the boy, but Fang Baomu refused.

Fang Yue insisted, “I asked you to watch Deng Yurong. This is payment for your trouble.”

Shaking his head, Fang Baomu replied, “Sir, I know you want to avenge Uncle Bai Kuan. I want that too. Uncle Bai Kuan was a good man, but after offending Deng Yurong, he was killed by a wild beast in the mountains.

“When I was little, I once had a terrible fever and nearly died. My father was out fishing and hadn’t returned, but Uncle Bai Kuan carried me all the way to town to find a doctor.

“So I want to avenge him too. I can’t take your money.”

Fang Yue hadn’t realized that Bai Kuan had helped Fang Baomu in such a way; no wonder the boy had run to warn him when Deng Yurong went to Lady Li’s house to propose.

“Blood for blood,” Fang Yue said quietly. “Bai Kuan was of my clan and kin. If we find proof that Deng Yurong caused his death, I will not let him go.

“Now that I’ve crippled him, he must hate me to the core. He’s sneaking into the forest—clearly, there’s more to this. I want to see just what kind of fiend he’s hiding, one that can set wild beasts on people.”

Fang Yue’s mind raced. There must be some monster behind Deng Yurong.

If it were truly powerful, it wouldn’t need to lurk in hiding—after all, there were no formidable characters in Fishhead Town.

Now that his Daoist Fist had reached its second level, Fang Yue had some means to protect himself. He couldn’t face great ghosts or demons, but ordinary mountain spirits and monsters were within his reach.

Besides, he had other cards up his sleeve.

After Fang Baomu left, Fang Yue thought for a moment. “To be safe, I’d better take a look first. Reveal!”

Before him appeared an ancient bronze mirror.

“Last time I used this art to spy on the Lady in Red, she marked my face through the mirror. But now, with my body strong as iron and my blood vigorous, I’m not so easily cursed.”

His plan was to use this divine art to peer at the monster behind Deng Yurong. If it was powerful enough to harm him through the mirror, then he would know to run at once.

But if it could not affect him, then it was something he might be able to handle.

...

Fishhead Town was set on a peninsula, surrounded on three sides by the sea. The only connection to land was a broad stretch of forested hills, cutting off the road out.

To leave, the townsfolk could only take a fishing boat, or go to a small dock on the eastern side and cross the water by skiff—half an hour’s journey to the nearby town of Greenfish, from where roads led further inland.

The forest behind Fishhead Town isolated it, making it remote, but also provided resources—precious herbs, and the pelts and meat of wild animals.

But with wild beasts, there was danger too.

Anyone venturing into the forest to gather herbs or hunt would travel in groups, for safety.

Deng Yurong, carrying two pounds of raw pork, hobbled through the woods alone, unarmed, swaggering as if he feared nothing.

At dusk, the woods were alive with the chatter of birds returning to their nests, and in the distance, the roars of beasts echoed through the trees.

After crossing a hill, Deng Yurong came to a small stream. Several wild goats were drinking at the water’s edge. They looked up warily at his approach, but seeing he meant no harm, lowered their heads to drink again.

Glancing around, Deng Yurong walked to a large cave near the stream.

“Blackie! Blackie!” he called, waving the meat in his hand.

He called several times, but there was no answer from the cave.

The wind rustled the branches and leaves, and the sky grew steadily dimmer. In the distance, the howling of beasts grew louder and more frequent. Deng Yurong began to feel uneasy.

Two wolves crouched in the grass, creeping toward the goats by the stream. One seemed to catch the scent of meat in Deng Yurong’s hand and looked his way.

Deng Yurong gulped, hastily pulling a small cloth pouch from his breast and drawing out a beast’s tooth, clutching it tightly.

It was a tooth, twice as thick as a man’s thumb, sharp at the tip, clearly from a canine creature.

But for a dog to have such a massive tooth, its size must be beyond imagining.

With this tooth in hand, Deng Yurong seemed to regain his composure. He shouted at the wolves, “This is your mountain king’s tooth—be gone, now!”

The wolves sniffed, their fur bristling in terror. Retreating, they howled and fled, not daring to snatch the goats now just within reach.

The goats, less sensitive than the wolves, soon sensed something was wrong too. They pawed the earth anxiously, then bolted into the trees.

Suddenly, the clearing was silent; all the animals had vanished.

“Blackie! Blackie!” Deng Yurong called again at the cave mouth, uncertain whether to go in.

He called for a long while. At last, a distant howl answered him.

“So you’re not in the cave after all,” he muttered.

He turned, and met a pair of blood-red beast eyes.

At first glance, it seemed an ordinary black dog, the kind kept by any peasant household. But its body was as large as a wild ox, eyes blazing red, muscles swelling—the very picture of ferocity.

“Blackie, I brought your favorite pork,” Deng Yurong said, waving the meat, his nerves tight. In just a few days, Blackie had grown even larger and more fearsome.

It was hard to imagine that little more than a month ago, it was a scrawny mongrel.

Now, it was king of the forest—other beasts fled at the mere scent of it.

Blackie lowered its head, recognizing Deng Yurong. The fierceness faded from its gaze.

Deng Yurong tossed the meat to him. Blackie caught it in one gulp—a mere mouthful for such bulk.

Deng Yurong tried to pat its head, but Blackie’s stature was now so great he had to stretch on tiptoe to reach.

Blackie hesitated, then slowly crouched, lowering his massive head so Deng Yurong could stroke him with ease.

As he caressed Blackie’s head, Deng Yurong finally relaxed. After all, he had raised this creature from a pup, though it had grown ever more savage and wild.