To Be a Demon - Chapter 2

These were humbling times.

My body was useless, my spiritual power pathetic, and my weak soul hadn’t even settled properly into this weak body.

I couldn’t fly on a sword.

Didn’t even have a sword.

So I walked to the nearest town, hoping to hire a carriage to the Yunyan Sect. The girl hadn’t been carrying much silver. After paying for the carriage, I wasn’t sure I would have enough left for an iron sword to defend myself.

Before I reached the post station, I came across an old drunk with a flushed face.

Huh. Familiar.

I stared harder.

Yikes.

What was Yunyan’s stiff, boring old sect leader doing here? And… what the hell had happened to him?

The dignified elder who once kept every hair and fold of clothing immaculate was sitting casually on the ground, tipping a wine gourd into his mouth. When the last drop was gone, he squinted down its opening and muttered discontentedly, “Empty again?”

Had he gone mad, or had I?

He noticed me too. I had been staring for quite a while.

“Young friend.” He waved. “Would you fetch an old man some wine? The wine shop is ten zhang ahead. I’m rather too drunk to get up and walk.”

I glared at him, convinced he was plotting something.

He stretched out on the ground and crossed one leg over the other. “Never mind, never mind. I won’t trouble you. I’ll go myself after a nap.”

…Fine.

Even if it was a scheme, I would take the bait. The owner of this body had left me an absurd wish, after all.

Imitating those little righteous cultivators, I said politely, “Old man. Gourd.”

He opened one eye and studied me, then burst out laughing. “An interesting young friend!” He handed it over.

I took it and held out my hand again. “Money.”

Righteous cultivators believed in fair exchange.

My impression was spot on.

He laughed again, fishing a few copper coins from his sleeve. “I thought you might want a favor… Seems I was overthinking it.”

What? Why all the insinuations? Why couldn’t he just say what he meant?

I wasn’t encouraging that sort of behavior.

“I do want something.” Out went my hand again. “Not enough money. I’m running your errand, so you owe me a drink.”

I came back carrying his gourd and another jug of wine. Wine was good stuff. I liked drinking it.

We squatted beside the road and drank.

“Where are you from, young friend?” he asked conversationally.

“Yin Mountain,” I said offhandedly.

“Oh, I know a lad from Yin Mountain too. Nothing like you, though. A terribly dull fellow.”

What?

Had I just heard the boring old sect leader call somebody else boring?

Whatever had made him let himself go over these fifty years, I hadn’t forgotten him pointing a sword at me, beard bristling and eyes glaring, proclaiming in that righteous voice, “All who follow the demonic path must die!”

“Oh,” I said, making no effort.

But he was interested now. “Where are you headed?”

“Yunyan Sect.”

He nearly spat his wine. “You really don’t recognize me?”

Sure I did. So what?

He was getting on my nerves. “Why should I care who you are?”

He rubbed his nose sheepishly. “Fair enough.”

Then he asked, “What business takes you to Yunyan?”

“Looking for a master.”

“Oh, well, I happen to have some connections there. Since fate has brought us together, shall I put in a word?”

“No need.”

“Ha! I knew you had backbone.” He gave me a thumbs-up. “I admire that.”

I decided to make myself clear.

“The person I want as my master…” I paused. Those little righteous cultivators weren’t supposed to be too blunt, were they? “…is the sect leader.”

His expression turned peculiar. “A perfectly sensible young person like you, wanting that man for a master… why?”

Why was he putting himself down?

Low self-esteem?

I reassured him. “He’s not that bad. A little rigid, a little long-winded, a little irritating.”

The old man nodded in emphatic agreement. “And an absolute lunatic.”

Really, there was no need to insult himself like that.

“Remember that lad from Yin Mountain I mentioned? The dull one?” He stroked his beard.

I had no idea where this sudden change of subject was going.

“Sure.” I tipped my head back for another mouthful.

I knew a lad from Yin Mountain too. He had nearly killed me fifty years ago.

Come to think of it, we counted as childhood sweethearts.

The old man casually knocked his gourd against my jug. Another mouthful later, his was almost empty and mine was finished.

He wiped his mouth, still wanting more, and continued, “That fellow is Yunyan’s current sect leader. Fu Chen.”

I spat a mouthful of wine straight into his face.

Fuck. When had Fu Chen ended up at Yunyan?