Chapter 36 — The Dao-Heart and the Demonic Nature

Ling Fei was aghast. "Director, how can Xiang Hui be made team leader? He—"

"How? It's an order. I've got enough trouble explaining things to the Maoshan people as it is. What do you want me to do? I'm under tremendous pressure too—you need to look at the bigger picture!" Director Zhang cut Ling Fei off.

Helpless, Ling Fei drew a document from his coat, set it on the desk, and left without so much as a goodbye.

Director Zhang gave a bitter smile, shook his head, and opened his mouth to speak—then caught sight of Daoist Chenyi in the room and swallowed the words after all.

Shortly after Ling Fei left, Director Zhang asked Daoist Chenyi, "Ling Fei's gone to fetch his master. But if it really is that man from all those years ago, I'm afraid even Daoist Qianji will have a headache over it!"

"It's all a muddled account. The demonic path cultivates at a furious pace, far outstripping the Daoist sects. If it truly is that man, then even gathering all four Grandmasters would be in vain. Only the one who tied the knot can untie it!" Daoist Chenyi mumbled something, and Director Zhang, listening, was more bewildered than ever.

"Ruoshui! Just hear me out!" In front of the office building, Xiang Hui dogged Ling Yan's steps, utterly shameless.

"Hmph! You must have pulled some trick—otherwise how is it my brother isn't team leader and you are? There are plenty in the team with more cultivation than you. Are you telling me it wasn't your doing?" Ling Yan did not mince words.

"How could it be my doing? It was Director Zhang's decision—nothing to do with me at all!" Xiang Hui wore an air of perfect innocence.

"You think I'm a fool? Don't imagine I don't know anything. You Shushan lot have long looked down on us Kunlun—this whole business was surely your doing." With that, Ling Yan turned and walked off without even a glance at Xiang Hui, leaving the latter's teeth itching with fury.

"Little bitch—clever, I'll grant you that. But sooner or later I'll have you, and then I'll make you beg for life and pray for death!" Xiang Hui's face was hideous. He waved a hand, and a figure flickered out—none other than Xie Xiaohong.

"Well? Find out anything? I don't know which immortal has done me such a great favor this time—killing four Maoshan disciples. If not for that, it'd have taken a good deal of work to oust Ling Fei." Xiang Hui asked Xie Xiaohong smugly.

"Brother Hui!" Xie Xiaohong's face was a little grim. "This business is bigger than we imagined. I've learned that besides those four Maoshan disciples, an old Daoist named Chenkong of Ailao Mountain was killed too. That fellow was already in the Spirit-Transformation stage thirty years ago. And I hear it looks like the work of a demonic-path expert."

"What? Someone in the Spirit-Transformation stage killed? By a demonic-path expert?" Xiang Hui drew a sharp breath. As a true disciple of Shushan, he well knew what a Spirit-Transformation expert meant—especially one who had reached that stage thirty years ago. "Seems we'd best not act rashly. If someone has the power to kill a Spirit-Transformation expert, and is a demonic cultivator besides, then we'd better not cross them! Demonic folk will do anything—kill a man in the street over a few cross words, and that's nothing to them. Completely lawless."

"Tell our Shushan junior brothers to be careful on assignments—don't get into conflicts with strange people. If trouble comes, let the disciples of the other sects bear the brunt of it." Xiang Hui said to Xie Xiaohong.

"Should we report to the sect master?" Xie Xiaohong asked.

"No need—telling him would only make trouble. He might send our senior brother out, and if he clashed with the demonic folk, that would be bad. I'm still counting on senior brother to deal with Ling Fei!" Xiang Hui smirked.

A wisp of curling mist rose, and Zhou Xuan waved a hand lightly; the mist melted into the air and vanished—but at once new mist bubbled forth.

Liao Yanqiao watched Zhou Xuan fussing over eight tiny, exquisite purple-clay teapots and cups. The tea set, barely larger than a fingernail, spun and shifted endlessly across the table, seeming both utterly haphazard and somehow governed by a hidden rule.

Steam rose from the vessels, and the scent of tea leaves filled the room with a clear fragrance; a single breath of it refreshed the heart and cleared the head and eyes.

In his left hand Zhou Xuan held Sima Chengzhen's *On Sitting in Forgetfulness*, reading it closely, while his right hand secretly formed hand seals, controlling the motion of the tea set. Cup after cup, brimming full, moved about without spilling a single drop on the table. Now and then, when a little cup stopped steaming, a thread of firelight would shoot from Zhou Xuan's right hand, and the tea would be wreathed in vapor once more.

The leisurely air of it left Liao Yanqiao and Zhou Chen utterly at ease—carefree, without sorrow or joy, a lucid emptiness rippling through their hearts.

"When the heart is about to grow restless, govern it with

tranquility; when it is about to turn crooked, school it with uprightness; when it is about to grasp, restrain it with letting go; when it is about to grow turbid, clarify it with purity." Zhou Xuan read the words aloud slowly. Bang! One teacup suddenly shattered, and at once the rest burst apart as well, scalding water splashing in every direction.

Zhou Xuan waved a hand, and an invisible force wrapped up the shattered vessels and the flying tea. A flash of true fire, the water steamed away, and the purple clay melted, gathering into a fist-sized, round purple sphere that dropped slowly to the floor without a sound.

Eh!? Liao Yanqiao and Zhou Chen were jolted from that lucid state by the bursting of the cups. They looked at Zhou Xuan and made puzzled sounds.

"Ah!" Zhou Xuan heaved a long sigh. "This Blood-Transforming Divine Saber truly wounds others and wounds oneself. The lingering demonic nature has stayed inside me for over a month. Thank goodness I thought up this method—using Dao-nature to restrain demonic nature. Otherwise there's no telling how long it would have taken to drive it out."

So it was that day, when Zhou Xuan drove the Blood-Transforming Divine Saber at full force to slay old Daoist Chenkong, in the final moment Chenkong had self-detonated. Zhou Xuan's internal organs were shaken, and in that instant of distraction a thread of the saber's savage, bloodthirsty demonic nature had passed into his body. Though it was no grave matter, Zhou Xuan cultivated Daoist arts, and to leave demonic nature sitting within him was greatly unwise—in future cultivation, one careless moment and he might fall to qi deviation.

Liao Yanqiao knew of this too, but thanks to Zhou Xuan having devised this method, it was practically a pleasure—so every day Zhou Chen dragged Liao Yanqiao along to watch Zhou Xuan heal himself. Strange to say, the two of them had, for no apparent reason, advanced a great deal in cultivation, reaching the middle-to-late stage of Qi-Introduction.

Looking at the purple-clay sphere on the ground, a trace of blood-light showing through its purple glow, Zhou Chen said in wonder, "How did it turn out like this? It doesn't look at all like melted purple clay—could it be because of the demonic qi?"

"This is only the demonic qi remaining on the surface; inside it's unchanged. In our Daoist art of forging artifacts, at the highest level one can outright reverse an object's properties—turn stone to gold. That is something the demonic path cannot match. The demonic path prizes quick results; the Daoist path prizes gradual progress. Often a Daoist expert of decades' cultivation cannot match a demonic cultivator of a dozen years—and that is where the demonic path excels." Zhou Xuan spoke with great fluency; though he himself was not entirely clear on the matter, he had to keep up appearances before his disciple, didn't he?