Burn Away All the Filth Beneath Heaven

"With the identity of a Demon Suppression Bureau field agent, we could investigate in secret. Who knows? We might uncover a few threads to follow!" A glint of cunning flashed in Zhang Xuan's eyes.

The monk's thick, rugged brows drew tighter and tighter as he weighed the idea. Seeing that he seemed tempted, Zhang Xuan struck while the iron was hot. "Even if we find nothing, once we assume Xu Ming's identity, the mastermind will come knocking on our door!"

"Monk, your goal is to vanquish demons and exorcise evil. But do you know that sometimes the living are more frightening than dead ghosts? Unless we root out the rotten sheep in the Demon Suppression Bureau, more innocent people will be sacrificed."

Zhang Xuan's righteous declaration left the monk stunned for a moment.

From what he knew of Zhang Xuan, this was hardly a man who would put himself in danger lightly, especially without knowing anything about the mastermind's background.

"Monk, I see something offensive in your eyes." Zhang Xuan chuckled, a teasing note in his voice.

"Amitabha."

In truth, Zhang Xuan's insistence on obtaining a Demon Suppression Bureau field agent's identity had one simple reason—he was completely and utterly "off the books."

No household registration, no identification token, no travel permit. Damn it, he did not even have his memories!

Zhang Xuan urgently needed a legitimate identity, and that of a Demon Suppression Bureau field agent came with official backing while remaining secretive and difficult to investigate. It was practically tailor-made for him.

As for the danger posed by the forces behind Xu Ming, Zhang Xuan did not care. With the celestial master's ordination and nether candle mystic eyes, he could at least steer toward good fortune and away from disaster. Deep down, he even faintly hoped they would come looking for him...

In the end, the monk was persuaded by Zhang Xuan's words. He walked over and smoothed the creases in his collar. The gesture amounted to tacit approval of Zhang Xuan's impersonation of a Demon Suppression Bureau field agent.

With a change of clothes, Zhang Xuan transformed into the newly minted Azure Dragon Guard Captain of the Demon Suppression Bureau—Zhang Xuan, Lord Zhang!

As the saying went, clothes made the man.

Having shed his Daoist robes, Zhang Xuan now looked exceptionally heroic. Beneath the Azure Dragon Crown was a handsome face, with brows that swept toward his temples without seeming fierce, a straight, prominent nose, and a distinguished bearing.

Though he knew no martial arts, he was tall, lean, and upright, with a wasp's waist and an ape's broad back. A scarlet cloak complemented his fitted black outfit, embroidered with intricate Cloud-Thunder Patterns and golden Eight Trigrams Totems. A jade belt cinched his waist. With his lapels fluttering and his wide sleeves billowing, he radiated nobility.

Judging by appearances alone, Zhang Xuan was the genuine Demon Suppression Bureau field agent. Xu Ming looked like the impostor!

Even the monk clicked his tongue in wonder at the outfit, silently admiring the fine looks the Daoist had been born with.

After a brief rest, the two found a clearing in the dense forest, dug a deep pit, and buried the stark-naked Xu Ming.

It was not out of kindness. Considering what Xu Ming had done, they should have left his corpse in the wilderness to feed the dogs. They simply felt that leaving his body where it lay might leave clues, so they buried him instead. If there were others behind Xu Ming, the lack of a corpse would keep them searching for a while.

Of course, the monk did all the digging while Zhang Xuan merely watched. With his vitality so badly depleted, only his mental resilience had kept him from passing out. Physical labor was utterly beyond him.

The monk did not reproach him. He simply told Zhang Xuan to rest, stripped off his tattered monk's robe, found a pointed wooden stick, and began digging with steady, crunching thrusts. He dug the pit and buried the body in one smooth effort.

After burying Xu Ming, the two returned to the ruined temple. A search turned up two things: a badly damaged little wooden horse and a sheet of coarse, yellow, grease-stained paper used to wrap a fried flatbread. These had belonged to the grandfather and grandson...

Leaving the ruined temple, they set fire to the Mountain God Temple that had devoured countless living people.

Although Zhang Xuan had blasted the Corpse Buddha possessing "Meng Changxi" into shredded flesh with a single Palm Thunder, who knew whether that Evil God had another trick in reserve? They might as well finish what they had started and burn the place clean!

Thick smoke billowed, flames shot skyward, and the ruined temple walls cast long, thin shadows in the sunset. The long night had passed, and a thread of morning sunlight slowly rose along the distant horizon.

The two found a hilltop with an open view and sat down.

Zhang Xuan's fingertips brushed the chipped paint on the little wooden horse. Missing one leg, it had once been Gouwa's treasure—earlier, the little boy had clutched it beside the campfire and imitated a horse's neighing, his straw-like hair trembling with his laughter.

Now dark red seeped through the cracks in its hooves. He could not tell whether it was the boy's blood or mud from the Mountain God Temple.

He recalled the earlier scenes in the ruined temple...

The old man and the boy had been ghosts, not humans, yet their hearts had been warmer than those of most living people.

The pine needles shaken from the old man's bundle of firewood had all lined up to form two words: "Run now!"

The wooden horse had begun spinning on its own, each strand of its bloodstained mane standing on end as it carved into the blue-brick floor—run, run, run now!

"You two had such kind hearts. Even after becoming sinister spirits, you were still thinking of the living."

Remembering Gouwa's words—"Daoist big brother, Gouwa hurts. It hurts so much!"—Zhang Xuan felt an inexplicable surge of anguish.

The monk seemed to notice his low spirits. He took the cup of rice wine from his cloth bundle and handed it to Zhang Xuan. "Don't dwell on it. We... did all we could."

Zhang Xuan sighed. Yes, they had done all they could. But even his best efforts could not bring the old man and Gouwa back to life. That was the most fucked-up part of all.

"We were pressed for time, so we couldn't find you two some auspicious burial ground. But this place has an open view and lovely scenery in every season. It's a good place to rest."

"We've killed that murderous mountain god. No one else will die an unjust death because of it."

"Come to think of it, old sir, that fried flatbread you gave me smelled wonderful. It really is a shame I never got to taste it."

A handful of yellow earth scattered over the wooden horse wrapped in greaseproof paper as Zhang Xuan rambled on alone.

The monk stood to one side with his arms folded, watching Zhang Xuan bury the paper-wrapped wooden horse. A little pinwheel fashioned from four tender twigs was planted atop the grave. When the mountain breeze swept past, its blades actually turned with a faint creak.

"I've never been able to bear people being kind to me for no reason. Since I accepted your kindness, old sir, I have to do something in return!"

With that, Zhang Xuan brushed the dirt from his palms, took the wine cup from the monk, and waved it toward the pinwheel. "Take your time on the road to the Yellow Springs, and watch me take those filthy things..." He tipped his head back and swallowed a mouthful of strong wine. As his throat bobbed, wine trickled down his jaw. "I'll drag them out one by one and grind them into funeral money for you!"

Once, Zhang Xuan had asked the old Celestial Master, "Don't you have any instructions for me?"

The old Celestial Master's reply still rang in his ears: "You're a good boy. You know what you should do!"

He had not understood then, but now...

Borne by the mountain breeze, a few pine needles drifted gently onto the grave where the wooden horse lay buried. From afar came Zhang Xuan's fading song. It was the same off-key Herb-Gathering Ballad the old man had sung to soothe his grandson, but its words had already been tempered by strong liquor into a battle hymn...

"Cut three thousand loads of ghostwood, burn away all the filth beneath heaven!"