Chapter 28: The Ghostly Bow’s Startling Arrows, the Ancient Jinchan Temple

Just as the peach-blossom-eyed man watched the fearsome one-horned demon ape lunge toward him and collapsed helplessly to the ground, a brilliant yellow talisman-inscribed peachwood sword suddenly appeared before him, thrusting forward inexplicably.

The event occurred so abruptly that the Demon King's gruesome grin froze into one of shock. Yet his forward momentum could not be halted; he twisted his body, barely avoiding a fatal blow, but the blood-talisman peachwood sword still pierced into his left flank.

A piercing, wretched howl tore from the one-horned demon ape as it clutched its smoking wound with its left paw, while its right paw lashed out frantically. Shadows flickered around the demon's claws, and anyone caught by them would surely be maimed or killed.

Hidden from sight, Han Chong was forced to dodge, yanking the peachwood sword free and retreating swiftly. The demon-slaying captains rushed in, swords drawn, to surround the demon ape king. Yet their strikes, even against its wounded form, landed as though hacking at iron or stone—this fiend's flesh was unimaginably tough!

"If you don't want to die, act now!" a voice sounded beside the peach-blossom-eyed man. A hand seized him by the nape, hauling him upright.

Only then did he snap out of his terror, fumbling for a moment before recalling himself. He slapped the pouch at his waist and drew forth a white and yellow-patterned longbow and a feathered arrow.

His hands shook as he nocked the arrow, channeling his essence into the bow, which radiated an intensely sharp aura. With effort, he drew the bowstring taut.

Han Chong's eyes brightened, though his heart clenched to see the man's trembling hands. Though this man's cultivation rivaled the late Captain Jiang and his bow was surely extraordinary, Han Chong doubted he could shoot true—especially with the Demon King thrashing about, making any aim near impossible.

Han Chong slapped his storage pouch, summoning a golden demon-binding cord, which he cast around the Demon King. The cord wound itself several times about the fiend, glowing with a faint golden light, exuding formidable power.

Yet Han Chong could sense the Demon King's strength was overwhelming; it thrashed and roared, the cord stretched to its limit, unable to tighten.

"Aim quickly and shoot!" Han Chong barked at the ashen-faced, sweat-drenched archer.

So overwhelmed with nerves, the man let out a cry, and at last the white-and-yellow feathered arrow shot forth.

Another howl split the air as the arrow embedded itself upright in the demon ape king's thigh. Black smoke hissed from the wound.

"Damn, you missed! Again!" Han Chong urged, his tone low and forceful.

But before the archer could nock another arrow, the Demon King suddenly surged with renewed force, shrieking as it bounded toward the river.

Hundreds of river wraiths had already gathered at the shore, launching their attack. Among them, four ghost generals stood out for their ferocity.

Though any one of the demon-slaying captains could dispatch a single water ghost with ease, the sheer number converging at once was harrowing. The captains were forced to fight while retreating.

Alas, the one-horned Demon King leapt into the river, as though entering its element; its demonic power intensified, and with a final effort, it tore apart the golden demon-binding cord and vanished into the vast waters.

The demon-slaying captains fought desperately, slaying over a hundred minor ghosts within half a stick of incense's time, finally driving the ghost army back into the river.

"Captain Han, we owe you our lives. Without you, our Peijun Command would have been annihilated today," Captain Ning said gratefully.

"Hahaha, Han Chong, I've said it before—you're the Peijun Command's lucky star! Every time you turn the tide!" Captain Wu came over and clapped him heartily on the shoulder.

All eyes turned to Han Chong, full of praise—save for the peach-blossom-eyed man, whose gaze flickered with a trace of annoyance.

Yet he could not vent his frustration; after all, Han Chong had just saved his life. He put away his bow and arrow with a snort.

"A shame we failed to slay that one-horned demon ape king—it escaped, leaving trouble for the future," Han Chong said, gazing at the river with a frown.

"Indeed, a pity. Had that arrow struck true, we'd have ended it today. Still, we've learned much; tonight, let's drink heartily, and there will be other chances to hunt it down," Captain Wu sighed, smacking his lips, already thinking of drink.

"Hmph! Do you think my Spirit-Scaring Bow is so easily mastered? Let me tell you, unless you've reached the level of Qi-Refining and Spirit Transformation, you can't even pull it!" the peach-blossom-eyed man finally snapped, unable to endure the slight. As the newly appointed Captain of Pacifying the Barbarians, he felt humiliated and jabbed a finger at Captain Wu in rebuke.

"Come now, Captain Chen, no need for offense. Captain Wu meant nothing by it. Tonight, let us host a banquet in your honor—please, grant us the pleasure!" Captain Ning interjected with a smile, thinking to himself that, though Captain Chen was a bit of a fop, vain and timid, he was not entirely without merit.

"Hmph! That's more like it!" the peach-blossom-eyed man replied, half laughing.

Yet he suddenly noticed everyone had drifted far from him—especially Leng Yue, who looked at him with utter disdain. Only then did he realize, to his mortification, that his moment of terror had become common knowledge, though he himself had quite forgotten.

Flushing crimson with shame, he hurried away with his four attendants. The others fought hard not to laugh aloud, especially Captain Wu, whose face turned beet red with the effort, making for an amusing spectacle.

...

The next morning, Han Chong left the command post and made his way straight to the residence of Ouyang Jingguan.

"Brother Han, what brings you here today?" Ouyang Jingguan greeted him with his usual cool elegance, inviting Han Chong to sit in the pavilion for tea.

"To be honest, I've come to seek your help," Han Chong confessed.

"Oh? Is it about that one-horned demon ape king?" Ouyang fanned himself with a silver fan, arching an eyebrow with a faint smile.

"Exactly. The Demon King's strength is formidable. The new Captain of Pacifying the Barbarians may have high cultivation but is as timid as a mouse—not someone I can rely on. So I've come to ask for your assistance."

Han Chong truly admired Ouyang Jingguan's abilities; only he might lend the necessary aid.

Ouyang replied with a chuckle, "You give me too much credit, Brother Han. Even if we join forces, it would be difficult to slay that fiend in its watery lair. However, I did hear from a senior brother that northeast of Peijun prefecture stands Mount Weituo, upon which sits the Golden Zen Temple, presided over by Master Benchen. His mastery of Buddhist arts is profound, and he shuns fame and fortune, dwelling in seclusion. Should we secure his aid, even if the Demon King had three heads and six arms, escape would be impossible!"

"Master Benchen!" Han Chong's eyes shone. Buddhism had always been the nemesis of ghosts and demons; with such help, their task might indeed succeed.

"Thank you, Brother Ouyang. Why not accompany me to Mount Weituo?" he asked.

"How could I refuse?" Ouyang replied. He instructed the steward to prepare two horses.

Ouyang Jingguan, clad in white upon a white steed; Han Chong, in black upon a black steed—they rode out from Peijun prefecture, galloping northeast. By dawn the next day, they reached the foot of Mount Weituo.

The mountain resembled a reclining arhat, and a peal of bell echoed across a hundred miles. At its peak, shrouded in mist, nestled an ancient temple of blue bricks among the woods.

"Brother Han, how about a contest? Whoever reaches the temple first must answer one question from the other—truthfully, without concealment."

"Brother Ouyang, your mood is lively; I am impressed. Very well, a fair wager," Han Chong replied, knowing what Ouyang wished to ask—where he had learned his arts. Yet Han Chong, too, had his curiosity: was Ouyang truly a prince's disciple, and why had the governor turned so pale at the sight of the dragon-jade token at his waist?

Ouyang tucked his silver fan behind his belt, focused his energy, and with a sword-finger tapped key acupoints on his legs. Lifting his robe, he dashed upward—his figure flickered like a white colt, swift as lightning!

Han Chong raised his brows, surprised by such adept lightness skill; few masters, even at the peak of inner cultivation, could match that speed. Yet Han Chong was not to be outdone. He channeled essence into his legs and vaulted upward like a black antelope, ascending ten steps at a stride.

He soon outpaced Ouyang, surpassing him by mid-mountain. Ouyang's gaze sharpened—he had not expected Han Chong to cultivate both body and spirit. At mid-stage refinement, such prowess was extraordinary.

Half an hour later, Han Chong stood before the ancient temple atop the mountain. Ouyang arrived half a stick of incense later.

"Brother Han, you are indeed remarkable. Ask your question—but if it concerns my jade token, please choose another."

"How ungallant, Brother Ouyang! Very well, I shall change my question. Why do you not pursue an official career? With your talents, you could achieve great things!"

Ouyang sighed, a rare hint of melancholy in his eyes. "Alas, the court of the Great Feng is mired in corruption and peril. One misstep means ruin. Better to remain a humble student at the Astronomical Bureau, leisurely studying the stars, calendars, and the mysteries of divination!"

At that moment, a young monk in a coarse gray robe, head shaven, aged fifteen or sixteen, approached with palms together. "Gentlemen, are you here to offer incense and seek blessings?"

Only then did they realize how small and dilapidated the temple was—no other monks were in sight. Yet the boy's face was pure as spring water, his large black eyes luminous and serene; though young, he possessed the deep-rooted wisdom of a born adept.

"We have come not to worship, but to seek instruction from Master Benchen," Han Chong replied with a bow.

The young monk gazed at them, as if seeing into their hearts, then nodded.

"Amitabha. Please, follow me inside," he said.

Han Chong and Ouyang exchanged glances, both quietly amazed. That look just now seemed to pierce their very thoughts—could this be the legendary mind-reading of the Buddhist adepts? Extraordinary!

Following the boy through two small courtyards, they entered the main hall. There, an old monk with white brows sat on a mat, eyes closed, fingers rolling prayer beads, tapping a wooden fish.

"Master, two guests wish to see you."

"Amitabha. You have come from afar. If this old monk is not mistaken, you seek aid in subduing a demon?"

The white-browed abbot opened his eyes briefly, then closed them again, speaking slowly.

Han Chong and Ouyang were filled with admiration. Master Benchen's reputation was well deserved—his profound Buddhist wisdom saw straight into their hearts.