Chapter Sixty-Nine: Breaking the Law of Magic

Feeling a bit dizzy, perhaps coming down with a cold...

Upon returning home, Chen Jianchen closed his umbrella. Aba noticed that his left shoulder was soaked and quickly brought a towel to wipe him down. “Brother Liuxian, your clothes are wet. You should change into something dry.”

“Alright.”

Chen Jianchen entered his room, changed into dry clothes, and then came out for lunch. Afterwards, he remained in his study, reading.

Night gradually fell as he turned the pages of his book.

After dinner, Chen Jianchen sat upright in his small room, focusing his mind and calming his breath. Once he felt ready, he stood, brush in hand, and swiftly wrote out a large calligraphy piece.

The characters spanned half a foot wide and three feet long, written in rich, thick ink with rounded strokes. When read together, they formed the phrase, “Pure Thoughts, No Evil.”

Setting down his brush, Chen Jianchen felt the righteous energy within him surge repeatedly. His spirit was depleted, and beads of sweat formed on his brow.

Resting for a moment, he picked up the brush again and wrote another character: “Guard the Home!”

Within a short time, he had produced five characters infused with righteous energy. Though he had refined twelve streams of this energy, he still felt exhausted and quickly closed his eyes, sitting upright to recuperate.

After about the time it takes to drink half a cup of tea, he opened his eyes, took the “Guard the Home” calligraphy to Mo Sanniang’s room, and told Aba to paste it above the bed. He also instructed Aba to sleep with Mo Sanniang that night.

Aba was puzzled, but seeing Chen Jianchen’s serious expression, she asked no questions and agreed.

Chen Jianchen’s actions were precautionary; Mo Sanniang and Aba were his closest companions, and under no circumstances would he allow them to be harmed.

Cultivate oneself, regulate the family, govern the state, bring peace to the world!

The family is a crucial foundation—if one cannot protect their own home, how can they dream of governing the state or bringing peace?

Having finished his instructions, Chen Jianchen returned to his study and tore down the old “Guard” character from the wall. Though that character was once imbued with righteous energy, Chen Jianchen had discovered that—even if the paper and ink remained undamaged—this energy would gradually dissipate over time, weakening the effect.

Once it had faded enough, the righteous energy would be gone, and the calligraphy would become ordinary ink, losing its value. At that point, it needed to be replaced.

So Chen Jianchen pasted the “Pure Thoughts, No Evil” calligraphy on the wall, stepped back to admire it, and felt quite satisfied. As for the rat demon, it had long since retreated to its burrow.

A single lamp glowed like a bean.

Under the lamp, Chen Jianchen cradled “Stone Dreams Chronicle,” reading intently. Outside, the wind whispered and rain pattered, creating a tranquil atmosphere.

Suddenly, a violent gust of wind tore through, ripping the paper from the window and bursting inside, scattering the pages of his book.

Chen Jianchen leapt to his feet, laughing, “The wild wind cannot read—why does it turn my pages?”

He twirled his brush in hand.

In that moment, it was as if a knight had mounted his steed or a swordsman drawn his blade—his spirit concentrated, he fixed his gaze on the whirlwind.

Though wind is formless, the gust in his room appeared as a plume of black smoke, unclear whether the wind carried the smoke or the smoke brought the wind. It howled fiercely, swirling into the vague form of a snarling demon, vicious and menacing.

Suddenly, the “Pure Thoughts, No Evil” calligraphy on the wall erupted in sharp, needle-like rays of light, leaping from the ink and piercing into the black smoke, as though pouring boiling water onto snow—hissing and crackling.

In an instant, the wind ceased, the smoke dispersed, and with a thud, a wooden plaque fell to the floor. It was orange-yellow, palm-sized, engraved with a fierce yaksha figure—compact and muscular, entirely black, with a hump-like head, bald, and wielding an iron trident.

The figure was so vividly carved it seemed ready to leap off the plaque and bite.

But now, the plaque was deeply cracked, its surface shattered.

What was this thing?

Chen Jianchen picked up the plaque, examined it closely, but could not discern its purpose. He decided to keep it for now and ask someone later.

...

In a secret chamber at Chaotian Temple, the room was simply furnished. At the center stood a broad ritual table, covered with implements, incense burning, candles flickering. A straw effigy stood before an orange-yellow wooden plaque identical to the one Chen Jianchen had found.

A Daoist priest, about fifty, with sallow skin and wearing a Bagua robe, wielded a peach wood sword, circling the table while reciting incantations and performing the Seven Stars Step.

Suddenly, the straw effigy on the table caught fire and began to burn; the plaque in front of it leapt, cracked loudly, and when it landed, it shattered into pieces.

The Daoist was shocked, rushed over to grab the plaque, his face twisted with anguish: “My Ghost Messenger Token!”

His heart ached and he was bewildered: “Young Master Wu said the opponent was just a weak scholar—how could he possibly break my spell?”

Furiously, the Daoist tore off his hat and hurled it to the ground. “Now that the token is destroyed, I have nothing to rely on. What can I do? When Young Master Wu comes tomorrow to ask about the result, how will I answer? No, the best plan is to flee—gather my treasures and leave the city early tomorrow. It’s a pity, after this, I’ll have no place in Jiangzhou. Three years of effort, ruined overnight; blocking someone’s fortune is like killing their parents. That Chen Jianchen is truly hateful—one day, I’ll have my revenge!”

Gnashing his teeth in fury, the Daoist hurried out to pack his belongings.

The next day, the temple boy at Chaotian Temple opened the doors and went about his usual duties, but the master never appeared. When Wu Wencai arrived in his sedan chair to inquire, the boy realized the master had absconded.

Hearing this, Wu Wencai flew into a rage, convinced that the Daoist had swindled him, daring to such audacity. Remembering the priest’s calm demeanor the previous day, Wu’s anger grew—he considered reporting the fraud to the magistrate, but realized it would be hard to explain the situation, so he swallowed his frustration and returned home, plotting other ways to deal with Chen Jianchen.

With the master gone, the two temple boys were left adrift. After some deliberation, they decided to abandon Chaotian Temple as well. Thus, the once thriving temple became ownerless, leaving the worshippers baffled, until the authorities sent a new priest from elsewhere to take over.

Of course, Chen Jianchen heard of the farce at Chaotian Temple. It confirmed his earlier suspicions: the opponent was not a formidable cultivator, but a charlatan dabbling in sinister arts, not worth worrying about. The true threat still lay with Wu Wencai.