The Battle of Mount Dingjun

In the small courtyard nestled in the mountains, Old Yao was whetting his blade. He had received word from Qiu Zhiheng: all thirteen Mourning Cultivators were dead. Thirteen lives of Mourning Cultivators would bring the foul fortune of the Mourning Array to its absolute zenith. The Mourning Array would bring a catastrophe upon Yaowanggou. Where would this catastrophe begin? Needless to ask, it had to begin with the local spirit. The Star of Mourning would direct the array's calamity upon Old Yao first. He would also bring all the vengeful spirits of those Mourning Cultivators straight to Old Yao. Under ordinary circumstances, the Star of Mourning would never dare strike Old Yao head-on inside his own home. Now that all the foul fortune was concentrated in Old Yao's home, he dared to make his move. "Come on, you old cur!" Old Yao tested the edge of his three-pointed double-edged blade. He intended to take the Star of Mourning alive, then force him to divulge how the array had been laid. Even if it cost him this old life, he had to break the Mourning Array! As long as this old life remained, no one would touch Yaowanggou. Having drunk his fill of wine, Old Yao waited for the Star of Mourning to come knocking. *Clatter—* Against the base of the wall lay hundreds of wine jars stacked together. The topmost jar slowly slid down, on the verge of crashing to the ground. With a flick of his long blade, Old Yao knocked the jar back into place. This wine was Old Yao's combat power. Piled against the wall for who knew how many years, it had always sat there undisturbed, yet an accident happened right at this moment. Foul fortune. The Star of Mourning had arrived. One measure of wine aura countered one measure of foul fortune. Old Yao attempted to suppress the foul fortune with his wine aura, but the Mourning Array was simply too powerful; the gap between the wine aura and the foul fortune was far too vast. Gusts of sinister wind surged up as five plumes of green flame burst into the courtyard, thrashing around wildly. These were the departed spirits of the Mourning Cultivators, serving as the vanguard to trigger and destroy the traps in the yard. With the tip of his long blade, Old Yao scooped up a wine jar and tossed it into the air. The wine showered down, and the spirits howled in anguish, reducing to ash and smoke in the blink of an eye. "Son of a turtle!" Old Yao spat. "Your grandpa has been waiting this whole time, and you insult me with these useless small fry?" Before his words faded, over a hundred departed spirits surged into the courtyard. Instead of attacking, they swirled continuously around Old Yao. Were all of these Mourning Cultivators? Where could so many Mourning Cultivators have come from? Not all of them were Mourning Cultivators. Some were spirits tormented to death by them. The Star of Mourning had spent decades collecting them, and in his hands, each departed spirit was a weapon drenched in foul fortune. Old Yao swung his long blade once more. From beneath the wall, hundreds of wine jars took flight, splashing wine across the air in a torrential downpour. Normally, this rain of wine would have wiped out the entire horde of spirits. Yet as luck would have it, a fierce gust blew in, knocking the mouths of the jars off course. The wine splashed wide and poured too fast, emptied completely in an instant. Such was the power of the Mourning Array. The wine rain scattered in the gale, while the spirits continued circling around him. Old Yao tapped the hilt, and the three-pointed double-edged blade shot forward. Its shaft lengthened over a hundred feet, skewering dozens of spirits like candied haws on a stick. With a twist of the blade, those dozens of spirits disintegrated into flying ash. The long blade returned steadily to his grip. The remaining spirits shrank back into the distance, not daring to advance. Old Yao yawned and said, "Old cur, your grandpa's about to nod off!" Having lost so many spirits, had the Star of Mourning gained nothing in return? Those spirits had turned to ash, yet the ash had not dispersed; it still lingered above Old Yao's head. The ashes quietly coalesced into a single mass, and Old Yao seemed completely oblivious. This was immense foul fortune. If he truly took this hit, Old Yao would be unable to dodge the subsequent attack—because no matter which way he dodged, an accident would befall him. The ash descended swiftly, while Old Yao still appeared defenseless. Just as the ash was about to drop onto his crown, Old Yao suddenly drew a carved bow from behind his back. At the same time, four back-flags soared into the air, fluttering and snapping wildly, dispersing the dust above his head. Nocking a feathered arrow, Old Yao drew the carved bow taut, spun around abruptly, and loosed an arrow directly behind him. *You dog thief, your grandpa anticipated your strike long ago.* Old Yao knew the foul fortune was closing in overhead. If he dodged, he would fall prey to the Star of Mourning's sneak attack. If he didn't dodge and took the brunt of the foul fortune, he would suffer grievous injury from what followed. And precisely because he had anticipated his opponent's tactics, Old Yao had also deduced his opponent's position. The arrow pierced the air, but unfortunately, it missed. Missing was only natural. No matter how superb his archery was, probability still applied, and under such dense foul fortune, landing a hit with a single shot was simply impossible. Old Yao fired another arrow; it missed again. Drawing on his seasoned experience, Old Yao adjusted his aim and loosed five arrows in rapid succession. Finally, one arrow came to a halt midair. A hit! Old Yao exhaled a burst of flame toward the arrow. Amid agonized wails, a figure materialized. The Star of Mourning had shown himself! The four back-flags formed an encirclement from all directions, weaving and crisscrossing, pinning the figure firmly to the ground. "Die, dog thief!" Wielding the three-pointed double-edged blade, Old Yao thrust out and took off the Star of Mourning's head with a single blow. To prevent the Star of Mourning from resurrecting, Old Yao took out his wine pot and poured half a flagon over the neck. Scorching smoke curled up, confirming that the enemy was dead as dead could be. Old Yao let out a long breath. Yet the Star of Mourning's death brought its own trouble: how was he supposed to break the Mourning Array now? Old Yao intended to take a sip of wine to settle his nerves, when the corpse on the ground suddenly burst into a cloud of smoke and ash, lunging straight at his face. Foul fortune hit him full in the face! Had this exploded from the Star of Mourning's corpse? No! That wasn't the Star of Mourning. What had been pinned to the ground just now was still just the departed spirit of a Mourning Cultivator. How could I have mistaken it? How could I fail to tell the difference between the Star of Mourning and a ghost? A dream realm! Old Yao had been dragged into a dream realm. All his perceptions and judgments had been warped by the dream. When had he entered the dream realm? Old Yao knew the Star of Mourning possessed the methods of a Dream Cultivator, and he had taken precautions beforehand. His mind had been in a state of intense concentration; logically speaking, it should have been impossible for him to fall into a dream. Could he have had a lapse of concentration earlier? When foul fortune clings to you, anything can go wrong. Overthinking was useless. Old Yao exhaled a ball of fire onto his own palm. As the flames scorched him, Old Yao snapped back to reality. Before his eyes, there were no spirits and no Star of Mourning. His foot seemed to have stepped on something. It felt like loose grains of distiller's yeast. Damn it, a trap! Old Yao had stepped straight into a trap he had set himself. The courtyard in the dream differed considerably from the real one. While chasing the Star of Mourning in the dream realm, his steps had been distorted, and through cruel twists of fate, he had walked into his own trap. The medicine jar hanging from the storehouse shattered, dumping powder all over Old Yao. To think the foul fortune had reached such an extent! This was poison he had painstakingly concocted, and now every bit of it had landed on him. The poison instantly seeped into his skin. Old Yao's body stiffened, and the wine aura enveloping him dispersed by more than half in an instant. This shroud of wine aura was Old Yao's vital shield against foul fortune. Raising his wine pot, Old Yao tried to rinse the poison away with wine. Whether from sweat or wine on his palm, the pot slipped from his grasp and tumbled to the ground. As Old Yao bent down to retrieve the pot, two departed spirits pounced from behind. Guided by Old Yao's intent, the three-pointed double-edged blade flew behind him of its own accord to parry. As ill luck would have it, the poison flared up violently at that precise moment. Wracked with agony, Old Yao's intent wavered and his technique destabilized. The three-pointed double-edged blade spun out of control and plunged directly toward his back. The strike struck both fiercely and true, piercing right through Old Yao's chest. Old Yao pulled out the blade. Unsteady on his feet, he stumbled and triggered yet another mechanism he had rigged. A jar of strong liquor crashed down, drenching him completely. Could this jar of liquor wash away the poison? No. There were many kinds of wine in the courtyard, and almost any of them could have neutralized the poison—except this one. This jar of liquor had been specifically prepared by Old Yao to intensify the poison's virulence. With the virulent poison erupting all over him, Old Yao's skin began to slough off, leaving behind a mangled mess of blood and flesh. He stood in place, barely able to move. Departed spirits brandished assorted weapons and swarmed to attack. The four back-flags struggled to fend them off, but as Old Yao's wine aura neared complete exhaustion, he could no longer even manipulate the flags. Old Yao heard the voice of the Star of Mourning: "Look at the state of you. What kind of wretched thing do you think you are?" Mournful Words. The Star of Mourning suddenly appeared, slipping past the back-flags, hoisting the weakened Old Yao, and tossing him as if toying with him toward another Star of Mourning. Why was there another Star of Mourning? Gripping Old Yao, the Star of Mourning mocked, "A drunken sot like you dares call himself a local spirit? I don't even need to dirty my own hands to kill you. Any random bunch of lonely wandering ghosts could take your miserable old life." Under the influence of the Mournful Words, Old Yao's fighting spirit ebbed away completely. Three spirits lifted the three-pointed double-edged blade and drove it into Old Yao's chest. The Star of Mourning said, "Do you have any dignity left? If you care about that old face of yours at all, hurry up and kill yourself. I'm saying this for your own good. If a local spirit really dies at the hands of stray, wandering ghosts, wouldn't you become the laughingstock of the whole world?" Dying would indeed be easy. But what about Yaowanggou? The Star of Mourning had already worked it out for him: "As for the living souls in Yaowanggou, I'll spare half. The other half, I'll bury alongside you as sacrificial companions. What are you waiting for? Can't bear to die? Living to this ripe old age, don't you feel any shame?!" Kill half?! *You son of a bitch, just you try!* Old Yao violently snatched back the three-pointed double-edged blade and slashed toward the Star of Mourning. As the heavy blade swept through the air, Old Yao's ears suddenly rang with tinnitus. His blade veered off course, missing the Star of Mourning completely, and another Star of Mourning kicked him sprawling to the ground. One measure of wine aura could counter one measure of foul fortune. A mouthful of wine! Just one mouthful of wine, and I can pull through! There were still several jars of wine against the base of the wall. Old Yao struggled to his feet, trying to summon the jars over. A harsh gust blew past. The wine aura on him vanished entirely, and his technique failed. Old Yao lunged toward the jars by the wall. The Star of Mourning materialized once more, planting a kick squarely into Old Yao's chest and sending him flying over ten feet. Before Old Yao could get back up, yet another Star of Mourning appeared beside him, condensing foul fortune into a longsword and thrusting it toward the back of his heart. Old Yao barely evaded the thrust, only for another Star of Mourning to turn foul fortune into an iron hammer and slam it straight into his face. The hammer blow cracked Old Yao's skull. As foul fortune poured in, his vision dimmed, leaving him able to discern only faint outlines. Why were there so many Stars of Mourning? A dream realm? Old Yao was certain he had not fallen into a dream. These had to be avatars. How could the Star of Mourning's avatars be so formidable? Was this also an art bestowed upon him by the Inner States? Old Yao struggled to his feet. Before he could steady himself, several Stars of Mourning and the swarm of spirits charged in to surround him. Wine... Just one sip of wine and I can still fight him. After holding out through several grueling exchanges, Old Yao finally got hold of a wine jar. But before the wine could touch his lips, an avatar of the Star of Mourning smashed the jar to pieces with an iron hammer, and another blow sent Old Yao crashing into the wall. The wall collapsed. Old Yao crawled out from the rubble and stood leaning against the side of the bed. Beside the bed sat the wind-up gramophone that Li Banfeng had delivered. He knew what this gramophone was for, and he knew where the record had come from. Should he listen to it? He didn't have the face to listen. He had wronged her back then; today, he had even less face to meet her. He had fought this battle so miserably that to this moment, Old Yao hadn't even caught sight of the Star of Mourning's true body. The Star of Mourning was right: I've truly discarded every shred of dignity left on this old face. Old Yao spotted the wine vat in the room. This was his last chance, and the only fallback he could still rely on. Yet in his heart he knew full well that given the current battle and his sheer bad luck, if he charged straight for the vat, he might not touch a single drop. Even if he couldn't, he still had to try. Old Yao had taken only a single step toward the wine vat when his knee buckled under the misdirected strain, suddenly dislocating. Old Yao collapsed completely to the floor. Supporting his weight with both hands, he crawled toward the vat. Two spirits rushed forward and pinned Old Yao to the floor. Old Yao pushed up with all his might, throwing the two spirits off. One of the spirits stumbled backward and bumped into the gramophone by the bed. Given his luck at this moment, the gramophone ought to have been smashed. Yet the spirit didn't break the gramophone; instead, it accidentally tripped the switch. *Crackle, crackle—* The gramophone emitted a burst of static. Inside the room, every single Mourning Cultivator spirit froze in place. Old Yao's heart clenched. He did not know what he was about to hear. He did not know what the Marshal would say to him. *Clang-clash-clang—* The gongs, drums, and percussion burst into sound. The cluster of the Star of Mourning's avatars trembled with terror at the sound of the drums and gongs. Was this gramophone a dharma treasure?! The Star of Mourning immediately commanded his avatars to destroy the gramophone. But the moment the operatic singing rang out, the Star of Mourning's true soul was shaken, and his true body was forced back dozens of feet along with them. "This letter arrives just in the nick of time, Heaven aids Huang Zhong to achieve great merit. Standing at the camp gates, I sound the rallying cry, Officers and men, heed my command!" It was *The Battle of Mount Dingjun*. Old Yao's eyes went wide. It was the Marshal! It was her! When they set out on campaign all those years ago, what she sang for the soldiers was *The Battle of Mount Dingjun*! She still remembered an old codger like me! Two avatars of the Star of Mourning lunged toward the gramophone once more. His true body lay in ambush beside the wine vat. According to the Star of Mourning's reasoning, Old Yao would throw caution to the wind and charge the wine vat. Once the avatars destroyed the gramophone, his true body could finish Old Yao off, securing absolute victory. Yet contrary to his expectations, Old Yao did not head for the wine vat; instead, he threw himself into protecting the gramophone at all costs. The Star of Mourning was secretly startled: *This old bastard is a Wine Cultivator! What he needs most right now is wine! Could this gramophone possibly be more important than wine?!* *All the more reason it cannot be spared!* The Star of Mourning dispatched five more avatars to besiege Old Yao. Amid the struggle, Old Yao was thrown to the ground by an avatar, crashing into the table behind him. The table knocked over the cabinet, and the cabinet crashed right into the wine vat. Luck was truly a fickle thing. Logically speaking, this was bad luck pushed to the extreme. Yet nobody could have foreseen that when Old Yao went down and the vat shattered, the entire vat of wine would splash down squarely, perfectly, soaking Old Yao from head to toe. The Star of Mourning gasped, sensing something had gone terribly wrong. Had this old bastard just struck good luck? Under the zenith of the Mourning Array, how could he possibly have good luck?! …… *Hoo-ha, hoo-ha—* Inside the Portable Abode, Li Banfeng lay sprawled on the floor, panting heavily. *Chuff, chuff—* The Portable Abode heaved and panted alongside Li Banfeng. Li Banfeng rubbed his hips. "One foot inside the door, one foot outside, digging up dirt like that is exhausting work." The walls trembled, and Li Banfeng heard the voice of the Portable Abode: "Switching back and forth between four tracks—do you think I'm not tired?" Glancing at the bloodstained dirt in the burlap sacks, Li Banfeng suddenly burst out laughing. "Bwahaha!" A whistle blew, and the Portable Abode seemed to be laughing right along with him. *Hoo-ha, hoo-ha—* The wife shouted praises again and again, drums thundering without pause. The Mourning Array was broken! …… *Rumble! Rumble! Boom-rumble-rumble!* In Old Yao's courtyard, the foul fortune dissipated with the sound of the war drums. The gramophone was still playing *The Battle of Mount Dingjun*. The drums resonated loud and clear, shaking the Star of Mourning to his very soul. Word by word, line by line, it terrified the horde of spirits into clutching their heads and cowering. "At the first roll of drums, prepare the battle rations!" The wine pooling on the ground vanished, swallowed down by Old Yao along with the grit and sand. "At the second roll of drums, tighten your battle robes!" Old Yao rose to his feet and straightened his robes. The four back-flags flew up and slotted back into his harness. "At the third roll of drums, draw your blades!" The three-pointed double-edged blade returned to Old Yao's palm. "At the fourth roll of drums, join battle!" The Star of Mourning summoned the departed spirits to block Old Yao, but amid the singing from the gramophone, the spirits had long since lost the power to move. Old Yao swung his long blade. Wherever the edge passed, wine vapor billowed, pervading the room. Over a hundred spirits turned to ash in an instant. Whether from his injured leg or because he was drunk, Old Yao staggered toward the Star of Mourning. In a flash of blade light and a rush of wind, the Star of Mourning was cleaved in two. This was an avatar. Where was his true body? Old Yao could not see clearly. "What does it matter if I can't see clearly? Your grandpa will just hack every last one of you down!" Old Yao laughed. In an instant, wine mist engulfed the entire courtyard, the pungent fumes stinging the Star of Mourning's eyes so hard he couldn't keep them open. Amid whirling flashes of steel, more than a dozen avatars were reduced to severed limbs and shattered remains strewn across the ground. With the Mourning Array broken, the foul fortune was steadily submerged beneath the wine aura. Seeing that the tide had turned against him, the Star of Mourning manipulated an avatar to flee outside the courtyard. Old Yao hurled the three-pointed double-edged blade, sending it flying in pursuit of the avatar. Taking advantage of the opening, the Star of Mourning's true body tried to make his escape. His movement stirred a slight breeze, causing the wine mist to ripple. The back-flags shuddered within the mist, and Old Yao pinpointed the Star of Mourning's location. "Dog thief, where do you think you're going?!" Old Yao thrust a hand into the wine mist and clamped down hard on the Star of Mourning's skull. With his skull seized, escaping would not be so easy! The Star of Mourning shaped foul fortune into daggers, stabbing and hacking frantically at Old Yao's arms. Old Yao seemed oblivious to pain, clutching the Star of Mourning's head as he charged forward. The Star of Mourning commanded all his remaining avatars to swarm Old Yao. The four back-flags fluttered and whipped, helping Old Yao parry. If he could parry, he parried; if he couldn't, he took the blows! Old Yao cared nothing for how many slashes he took; gripping the Star of Mourning's head, he focused only on charging forward. The Star of Mourning dragged Old Yao into a dream realm. Old Yao's footing was warped by the dream, yet he continued to charge ahead regardless. Was he dreaming right now, or was he awake? The Star of Mourning couldn't tell, and Old Yao couldn't be bothered to distinguish. So what if he was awake? What did it matter if he was dreaming? Just keep charging forward! Having dispatched the avatar, the three-pointed double-edged blade flew back, waiting in the courtyard for Old Yao. "Step forward, and every man shall be rewarded; Fall back, and you cannot escape the blade! Generals, sound the retreat back to camp with your commander!" The veteran general gave an enraged roar, hoisting the Star of Mourning's head and impaling it straight onto the blade! In Yaowanggou, the foul fortune dissipated. From the Star of Mourning, wails of agony rang on without end.