Chapter 22 - The Formidable Priest
By night, the dozen or so Daoist priests retreated into the secluded rear garden north of Guantian Temple. They spent their hours sequestered there, engaged in mysterious activities that kept them out of sight until dawn. Since the completion of the temple, Fan Shaohuang had become a frequent visitor, often hitching a ride with the green-eyed zombie whenever it made its way over.
The other zombies could never quite fathom why this group of priests insisted on cohabitating with them. The enmity between Daoists and the undead ran deep, a historical grudge that made every shared glance a spark of friction. However, they all feared Fan Shaohuang’s prowess and, seeing that the green-eyed zombie had raised no objection, they maintained a fragile, superficial peace.
Only the red-eyed zombie, having suffered more than its fair share at the hands of exorcists in the past, harbored a persistent resentment. It frequently indulged in petty acts of sabotage, surreptitiously mixing sand into the priests' morning porridge or slipping stinging insects into the robes of the younger disciples when they weren't looking.
May brought the season of the Grand Examination at Cuiwei Mountain, an event still presided over by the Sect Leader, Fan Fuqing. In years past, the disciple who took first place was traditionally seen as the likely successor to the leadership. Now, however, the disciples of Cuiwei Mountain had grown numb to the spectacle. To them, the examination had simply become the day the Second Senior Brother systematically dismantled the Eldest Senior Brother. They watched with practiced indifference as Fan Shaojing was once again subjected to a brutal thrashing by his younger brother.
The green-eyed zombie followed in Fan Shaohuang’s shadow, waiting until all the other disciples had finished their bouts before the main event began. As usual, Fan Shaojing was the only one left capable of standing against Shaohuang, and just as predictably, he could not escape his fate of being soundly defeated.
By the time Fan Fuqing stepped in to halt the violence, Fan Shaojing was literally picking his teeth up off the ground. Veins throbbed in Fan Fuqing’s forehead—an expression of fury identical to the one his son often wore.
"Go and kneel before the Ancestors!" the Sect Leader roared. "Do not rise until you have realized the gravity of your errors!"
Fan Shaohuang knelt before the ancestral tablets, but his posture held not a shred of contrition. "In what way am I inferior to Fan Shaojing?" he spat. "When has he ever bested me in a duel? I am your flesh and blood, yet you always favor him!"
"That is because he fights with mercy, while you... every strike you deal is laced with malice!" Fan Fuqing’s voice trembled with rage. "We are cultivators of the Way; benevolence is our foundation. You have mastered countless techniques, yet you cannot grasp the simplest principle of being human! You... you will be the death of me!"
Fan Fuqing’s face turned a ghastly shade of grey as he shook with indignation. Fan Shaojing hurried to his side, offering a cup of Tieguanyin tea to soothe his breathing. After a long silence, the Sect Leader spoke again. "Shaojing, do not be so indulgent with him. Stand guard over him." He cast a cold, disappointed look at his son. "If you cannot understand reason in your daily life, then perhaps you can find it while facing the Ancestors."
With a sharp flick of his sleeves, the old man departed. Fan Shaojing, ever obedient, bowed his head. "Yes, Master."
Once the Sect Leader was gone, Fan Shaohuang’s expression soured even further. The other disciples, clever as monkeys and well-aware of the Second Senior Brother’s volatile temper, wasted no time in slipping away to avoid becoming targets of his wrath.
Fan Shaojing remained. For years, every Grand Examination had ended this way—with his junior brother kneeling in the hall. He lowered himself onto a nearby prayer mat, his voice heavy with sincerity. "Shaohuang, I have never sought to compete with you. Why have you hated me for so long? We are brothers, after all..."
As it had a thousand times before, the attempt at reconciliation was cut short. "Who is your brother? Get out!"
Whenever a new Daoist temple or monastery is established, it is common for practitioners from other sects to visit for the purpose of "discussing the Dao"—which, in plainer terms, meant challenging the establishment's legitimacy. In those days, wandering priests were often driven by a fierce sense of righteousness. Hearing rumors of a nine-headed divine bird, those with any occult knowledge suspected it was a Gui Che. Since the Gui Che was known to feed on spirits and carrion, it was hardly a "divine" creature, prompting several experts to investigate.
In the past, Fan Shaohuang had simply beaten these challengers back. He used orthodox Daoist techniques and possessed such overwhelming power that most could not last more than a few exchanges. Defeated by superior skill, they had no choice but to leave in silence.
But this time, disaster struck. A challenger arrived while Fan Shaohuang was still serving his penance at Cuiwei Mountain.
Though the young priests at Guantian Temple were Shaohuang’s confidants, they were mostly junior disciples. He couldn't deploy his truly powerful subordinates without alerting his father. Thus, when a formidable enemy arrived to provoke them, the temple's residents were caught off guard.
The junior priests were quickly scattered like autumn leaves. The challenger, growing impatient, shouted, "Tell your 'Perfected Gongxi' to face me! Why do you keep sending out these toothless pups?"
It was an unwritten rule of such challenges that a temple master would not deign to fight immediately, sending out disciples in increasing order of strength. The challenger didn't realize that, at this moment, Guantian Temple was occupied by nothing but "pups."
The fight moved into the rear hall, where the junior priests were left bruised and battered. At this point, the zombies decided they had seen enough—if the intruder went any further, he would reach Qiao'er. But who should they send?
As zombies, they possessed an instinctive, bone-deep fear of Daoist priests. It was not a matter of power, but of nature—much like how a mouse fears even a newborn kitten. After a brief, frantic consultation, they reached a consensus: Gui Che would go first. The bird was a living creature and thus unaffected by the natural suppression Daoists held over the undead. More importantly, they figured that since it had nine heads, it counted as nine fighters for the price of one.
The unfortunate challenger, a man known as Perfected Fuxiao, stepped into the rear hall. The light dimmed instantly, and a heavy silence fell over the room. He straightened his robes, assuming the master of the temple was finally presenting themselves. He cupped his hands and announced with a booming voice, "This humble priest is Perfected Fuxiao—"
Before he could finish, a sudden gale rushed toward his face. He reacted quickly, raising his arms to guard his head, but he was unprepared for Gui Che’s unique advantage. Its beaks descended like a hailstorm. Nine heads pecked at him from every conceivable angle, leaving him bruised and bloodied in an instant.
"Dammit!" Even a man of Fuxiao's supposed cultivation couldn't help but curse. Realizing the creature was a Gui Che and thus sensitive to light, he struck a fire-starter. The sudden flare caused the bird to shriek and flee into the shadows.
The hidden zombies watched the bird retreat and panicked. *What now?*
They exchanged looks and reached a silent agreement: *To hell with it, let's go!*
After years of being hunted and suppressed by Daoists, it would be a lie to say they didn't harbor a desire for vengeance. This was their chance. The zombies surged forward, fists clenched and eyes gleaming with excitement.
Perfected Fuxiao had just managed to scare off the bird when he found himself surrounded by a mob of the undead. Before he could even process the situation in the flickering light of his fire-starter, a fist the size of a clay pot smashed through the glow and connected squarely with his jaw.
With the first blow struck, the rest of the zombies lost all restraint. A chaotic flurry of kicks and punches followed. Poor Perfected Fuxiao never even saw the faces of his attackers; his entire world was reduced to a blur of incoming fists.
The brutal beating lasted for a full half-hour until Fuxiao lay motionless on the floor. Qiao'er, hearing the commotion, hurried over from her small wooden hut. With a sharp cry, she commanded the zombies to stop. They froze, looking at one another, and then began to point fingers and chatter excitedly. If their grunts could be translated, they were all saying the same thing: "Ha! You're in trouble now! You've gone and killed the old priest!"
After a lengthy, noisy argument, the zombies reached a convenient conclusion: *A priest this powerful couldn't possibly be killed by the likes of us. He must have been pecked to death by the bird! It has nine heads, after all! Yes, that's definitely it!*
Convinced of their own logic, they abandoned the body and scattered in a flash. They moved so quickly that Qiao'er couldn't catch a single one of them, leaving her to stomp her foot in frustration.
Following this incident, the green-eyed zombie felt that Guantian Temple was no longer secure. Its "toy" could be snatched away at any moment. It wanted to hide Qiao'er again but struggled to find a suitable location. Having spent time with Fan Shaohuang, the zombie had grown more observant. It realized that while Shaohuang’s men were ostensibly there to help, the tools they carried were designed to control the undead.
The zombie began to see through Shaohuang’s scheme: he was using this place to gather unowned incense and merit while simultaneously keeping Qiao'er under his thumb. By controlling her, he effectively controlled the green-eyed zombie and its entire pack.
The zombie chose not to reveal its suspicions. Instead, having learned how to write its own name from Shaohuang, it spent the day teaching the characters to Qiao'er. She initially thought it was some form of Ghost Script, but after much gesturing, she realized it was the zombie's name—a sign that she was permitted to "borrow" its power.
Fan Shaohuang returned and stayed at the temple for several days, expecting Fuxiao’s sect to come looking for him. When no one arrived, he concluded that Fuxiao had kept his journey a secret.
One night, Gui Che stealthily pecked the green-eyed zombie awake from Qiao'er's coffin. Intrigued, the zombie followed the bird as it hopped toward Fan Shaohuang’s quarters. Spying was clearly a habit for the bird; it used its sharp beak to dampen and poke a hole through the window paper with such practiced silence that even the zombie heard nothing.
Peering through the small hole, the green-eyed zombie saw a strange array of lotus lamps arranged on the floor. In the center of the formation lay the corpse of Perfected Fuxiao. Fan Shaohuang sat at the eye of the array. Faint wisps of white mist were rising from the corpse, drawn by an invisible force into Shaohuang’s body.
The zombie watched with a tilted head until Gui Che pecked it again, urging it to leave. Once they reached the safety of the beach, the bird spoke in its peculiar way, its meaning clear: "Could you ask him... once he's finished eating Fuxiao's True Yuan, can I have the body?"
It didn't dare ask Shaohuang directly, but its greed was palpable. To a creature like Gui Che, the corpse of a high-level Daoist was a rare delicacy.
The green-eyed zombie, however, was focused on something else. "He is consuming the priest's essence?"
Gui Che’s nine mouths were all salivating. "Of course! That’s a Soul-Extracting Array. All of Fuxiao’s True Yuan is going to him. So, can I have the body?"
The zombie patted the bird’s hungriest head. "Not this one. I'll get you the next one."
When it returned to the coffin, Qiao'er was still awake. She wrapped her arms around the zombie's neck and rested her head on its chest, tracing characters on its skin: *Where did you go?*
Fearing he might frighten her with the truth, the zombie didn't answer. Instead, it playfully bared its inch-long fangs and made soft "ah-ah" noises to tease her. The cold, sharp sensation made her giggle and dodge away, and in the midst of their play, she completely forgot her original question.
***
