Chapter 17: The Tragic Master and Disciple

“Master, I feel a chilling wind blowing from above. Maybe we shouldn’t go any further,” Qingxu Daoist said nervously when they reached halfway up the mountain.

Seeing his disciple’s timid demeanor, Master Qingyang’s face darkened with anger.

“There’s wind on the mountain—that’s nothing unusual! How did I end up with such a useless disciple?” Qingyang said sternly.

With that, he continued ascending. Although frightened, Qingxu had no choice but to follow.

“Ma… Master… what is that?” Qingxu stammered suddenly, pointing ahead after a few steps.

Qingyang turned to look and saw a flock of dark shapes diving toward them in midair.

He was momentarily stunned too, having never witnessed such a strange sight.

“C-crows,” Qingxu finally recognized the ominous birds.

Crows were long considered harbingers of ill fortune, and seeing them swoop down like that made Qingxu’s legs tremble with fear.

But Qingyang remained calm, a cold glint appearing on his face.

“A band of malevolent spirits. I am a descendant of Dragon Tiger Mountain—wise ones should leave at once,” Qingyang barked, pointing at the diving crows.

Hearing this, Chen Fan, who had been hiding nearby, couldn’t help but laugh.

“Master, they’re not afraid of you! Let’s run!” Qingxu urged as the crows drew closer, his anxiety mounting.

Yet Qingyang showed not a trace of fear, only anger.

“Impudent! I am a proud inheritor of Dragon Tiger Mountain. How could I flee at the sight of some evil spirits?”

Qingxu’s face hardened as he chastised his disciple.

“But… what should we do?” Qingxu’s voice trembled as the crows approached.

“I have been exorcising demons and subduing devils for thousands of years. One incantation is enough to obliterate these fiends,” Qingyang declared confidently.

He began forming intricate hand seals in the air, his expression composed as he glanced at the crows now mere steps away, intoning an ancient spell.

Seeing his master prepare to fight, Qingxu’s fear lessened considerably. After all, Qingyang was a true scion of Dragon Tiger Mountain—dealing with malevolent spirits was his specialty. Qingxu hadn’t even mastered those complex seals himself, but he trusted his master completely.

Chen Fan, watching with suspicion, wondered if this old Taoist truly possessed magical powers.

Suddenly, with a loud “thud,” the crows surged forward.

Qingyang continued weaving hand signs and chanting, but to no effect.

The crows viciously attacked, focusing on the two’s backsides.

There were simply too many; Qingyang and Qingxu had no means of defense, not even a chance to retaliate.

Soon, they felt a scorching pain on their behinds.

Chen Fan couldn’t contain his laughter at the sight of the two masters hopping around, clutching their sore posteriors.

It seemed Qingyang was nothing but a fraud.

The strange behavior of the crows was all thanks to Chen Fan. He had found their nest and stolen their eggs.

When he had deliberately knocked the two over earlier, he had smashed the eggs and smeared the yolk on their pants.

The crows, smelling their stolen eggs on the pair, had mistaken them for thieves and attacked in fury.

By now, the two’s pants had been torn by the crows, exposing their pale, bare behinds.

The crows showed no sign of relenting; after all, avenging their offspring was a matter of life and death.

They continued pecking mercilessly.

The masters tried to fend them off with their hands, but to no avail—their hands were bitten through, leaving holes.

Their backsides soon turned bloody and raw.

Only then did the crows disperse.

“Master, didn’t you say one incantation would obliterate these spirits? Looks like it’s us who might be obliterated!” Qingxu wailed, wiping away tears.

Qingyang was embarrassed. According to the texts, the seals and incantation he had used should have wiped out the evil spirits.

This was his first attempt; why hadn’t it worked? He was puzzled.

“I underestimated these fiends. Ordinary seals and spells no longer affect them,” Qingyang admitted reluctantly.

“Luckily, I used the pure Yang blood within me just now to scare them off,” he added confidently.

Qingxu looked doubtful. His master had screamed louder than him earlier—were the evil spirits really frightened away?

Seeing the skepticism in his disciple’s eyes, Qingyang felt a twinge of guilt.

“The crows are creatures of extreme Yin, while I am a descendant of Spirit Tiger Mountain, with pure Yang blood flowing through my veins. Naturally, these fiends fear me,” he explained.

Qingxu pondered briefly, then looked on with admiration.

“Master, you truly are amazing. I wonder when I will have pure Yang blood flowing in me like you,” he said enviously.

Qingyang, basking in the admiration, resumed his proud demeanor—head held high, nostrils flared, stroking his beard as if ready to lecture.

“As long as you follow me faithfully—”

“Ah! Oh!” Qingyang suddenly yelped in pain, having accidentally struck his sore backside.

“Quick, come help me check if it’s still bleeding!” he said, lifting his rear toward Qingxu.

Obediently, Qingxu crouched down and began inspecting.

“Ah!”

“Ah!”

Qingyang screamed like a butcher as Qingxu’s probing aggravated his wound, causing Qingxu to cry out in pain as well.

Finally, through their careful cooperation, the bleeding was staunched.

“Master, should we continue up the mountain?” Qingxu asked nervously.

“Of course! Didn’t you see those powerful spirits were scared away by me? Who else could stand against me?” Qingyang replied confidently.

Hearing this, Qingxu followed him onward.