The Talisman

The caverns nested beneath Qingqiu were a labyrinth of rock and shadow. Li Huowang’s group stood in a patch of silver light, staring at the exit ahead.

“That high… and it’s almost sheer. How are we supposed to climb that?” Gouwa craned his neck, struggling to make out the pinpricks of stars beyond the cave mouth.

For others it might have been an impossible obstacle, but for Li Huowang now, it was easily solved. And even if he couldn’t manage it, someone at his side could.

He turned to look at Bai Lingmiao. A slight jerk of his chin. She hesitated, visible uncertainty on her face, but in the end she nodded and draped the red bridal veil over her head.

Li Huowang’s expression tightened. He said nothing.

“Dong dong dong~! Head wrapped in gauze, feet treading the Purple Microcosm~! Today is auspicious at the Upper Pass—Southern Dipper leans on Northern Dipper, the Southern Dipper’s star lords dwell there, the Northern Dipper’s mouth is thick with Purple Profundity~!”

The drumbeat rose, and with it the spirit-tune. Possessed by the immortal, Bai Lingmiao abruptly threw her head back, staring through the red veil at the scattered stars overhead.

Her body convulsed briefly. When the spasms stopped, she snatched the iron chain that Gao Zhijian had been using to bind Li Huowang, and then—as if she had no bones at all—collapsed limply to the ground.

Her sinuous, boneless body twisted, and like a human serpent she slithered straight up the slick cave wall.

The nearly vertical face posed no obstacle to her. She reached the opening in moments, moving impossibly fast.

Soon the chain meant to bind Li Huowang came rattling down, landing before the others. The problem was solved without further effort.

“You go first. I’ll hold the rear.” Li Huowang stood planted in the moonlight, his gaze fixed warily on the darkness beyond.

“Brother Li, you’re wounded like this… you should go first.” Sun Baolu stared at Li Huowang’s injuries, deeply worried.

He had reason to be. Li Huowang’s condition was wretched—the mutilated fingers of his left hand still dripping blood, most of the skin peeled from his chest, not a single patch of his body left whole.

“Stop wasting time. When I say go, you go.” Li Huowang cut him off flatly.

He understood the situation. He was the strongest here. If something went wrong during the retreat, he could handle it. If anyone else held the rear and ran into real trouble, they might not survive.

Under Li Huowang’s repeated orders, the others began climbing the chain.

Everyone managed well enough—except for the ceaselessly writhing Black Tai Sui. It took considerable effort to lash the squirming mass to the chain so Gao Zhijian could haul it up by brute force.

Li Huowang tilted his head, watching the others struggle up the chain. He was estimating how much time remained when his expression froze. He pivoted sharply, staring into the darkness to his left.

Han Fu emerged from the shadows, looking somewhat disheveled, his two malformed heads clearly visible. The yellow Daoist robe he wore was stained with a great deal of blood—the aftermath of Li Huowang’s earlier attack, clearly.

He did not step into the moonlight. He halted at the boundary where light met shadow.

Looking at Li Huowang, whose hand was already tight on the sword’s hilt, Han Fu’s lips curved into something that was not quite a smile. “Fellow Daoist Xuanyang. It seems all the irrelevant people have gone, haven’t they?”

“Yes. All gone.” Li Huowang’s right fingers cracked audibly as he clenched his fist.

“Brother Li! Is everything down there?! Who are you talking to?” Gouwa’s shout echoed from the cave mouth above.

Hearing the hollow reverberation overhead, Li Huowang furrowed his brow and shouted back, “Nothing! I’m talking to a hallucination! Just keep climbing!”

Then his gaze turned cold as he fixed it on the Daoist before him. “You were here early, weren’t you? You waited all this time for me to be alone. Do you really think you can take me?”

Han Fu shook his head, a flicker of smugness on his face. “Heh. You didn’t notice, did you? Those talismans on my sword earlier—I’ve already driven them into your body. They’re wrapped around your internal organs right now.”

As he spoke, he spread his arms wide. The broad sleeves flapped noisily through the air, and all around Li Huowang, a massive ghostly talisman three zhang long materialized on the ground.

The talisman’s colour matched the rotting teeth in Han Fu’s mouths. The moment it appeared, it enveloped Li Huowang entirely. He immediately found himself unable to move.

“Oṃ te da pin na ji ji li she!!”

With Han Fu’s low incantation, the great talisman on the ground seemed to come alive. Twisted, black-and-yellow lines crawled over Li Huowang’s body, worming into him through every wound.

Watching Li Huowang stand frozen in place, utterly still, Han Fu’s face twisted with satisfaction. “A live Heart-Element, caught this easily. They always said not to force things with a Heart-Element—I never understood what the fuss was about.”

“What would they know?” his fist-sized secondary head chimed in, a perfect duet. “Heart-Elements are so rare. A bunch of people who’ve never seen a pig, arguing about how to butcher it—of course they don’t come up with anything useful.”

Han Fu walked over, still sizing up his immobilized prey. “Heart-Element, huh. From the outside, doesn’t look any different. What makes it so special? Who should we sell it to?”

“Selling it to some outsider doesn’t seem right. They might just take it from us, seeing how weak we are. Better to use it ourselves.”

“How, though? Strip it bare and throw it in a pot to boil? Everyone talks about how rare a Heart-Element is, but nobody says what makes it worth anything. Better to sell.”

“If we don’t even know what makes it valuable, how do we set a price? We might sell it for too little. Better ask the master—he’s seen plenty.”

“And what if the master decides to kill us and take the Heart-Element for himself?”

While the two heads of Han Fu were still debating his fate, Li Huowang, who had been frozen solid, suddenly shot out his hand.

Before Han Fu could react—puchi—the longsword plunged into his belly.

“How… how is this possible! I sealed your…” Blood trickled from the corner of Han Fu’s mouth as he stared in disbelief at the manic, murderous fury in Li Huowang’s eyes.

“Kid, if you haven’t mastered your craft, don’t go around trying to rob people!” Li Huowang growled, twisting the blade embedded in Han Fu’s gut. He turned it vertical, gripped the hilt with both hands, and drove it upward with all his strength. The edge sliced through the navel, climbing straight toward the skull.

Even now, Han Fu refused to yield. He raised his hands to form a seal—but by the time his fingers reached his chest, Li Huowang’s sword had already arrived.

Blood sprayed. Severed fingers flew through the air.

“How is this possible!” It was Han Fu’s last, unwilling cry as Li Huowang’s blade cut swiftly but steadily across his Adam’s apple, his mouth, his nose, and finally his forehead.