Chapter Seventeen: Fury

"The Yellow Immortal is here!"

Old Zhen, crouched in his room, was so startled by the commotion outside that he nearly stumbled to the ground.

In truth, to bestow the title of “Immortal” upon a creature like the yellow weasel would have been laughable to any cultivator. Yet the villagers, in their ignorance, held such beliefs. The yellow weasel was notorious for its cunning and malice, and above all, its vindictive nature. Ordinary folk could not afford to provoke it. Thus, the creature earned its revered name.

Old Zhen had been driven to desperation by the yellow weasel's outrageous behavior. Not only had it stolen all his plump chickens, but it also injured the pillar of his household, and still refused to relent. It was as if it meant to force his family of seven to their doom. Helpless, he had fled to the Daoist temple on Little Jing Mountain to seek Master Pang’s aid. In the end, he had brought Fang Xiao back to his home, almost by accident.

Now, Old Zhen regretted his decision. He pressed himself to the door, peering anxiously outside, his heart filled with unease. But the night was dark, and his failing eyes could only make out the swaying silhouette of Fang Xiao—nothing more.

Old Zhen and his family listened to the relentless sounds of whipping and howling from outside, each of them pale-faced and trembling with terror. Yet the tumult lasted only a short while; soon, calm returned. The family exchanged bewildered glances.

Then, the shouts of villagers echoed from outside. Old Zhen felt a surge of courage. He gritted his teeth and said to his trembling wife, “Stay here, old woman. I’ll go take a look.”

His wife clutched his sleeve, sobbing, “Let’s go together, husband.”

With a sigh, Old Zhen steeled himself and opened the door.

Flickering firelight rushed into view. Old Zhen, his wife, and daughter-in-law found the courtyard gate wide open, and a crowd of villagers, torches in hand, gathered noisily outside.

“So many yellow weasels!”

“That’s the Yellow Immortal—don’t call it by the wrong name.”

“It’s dead, so what Immortal is there to call it? Really!”

“You think all the Yellow Immortals in the mountains are here?”

“They’ll come for vengeance!”

Old Zhen’s eye twitched involuntarily as he hurried to the gate, leaning on his wooden staff. At a glance, he saw the bodies of yellow weasels scattered across the ground.

Fresh blood, still wet upon the “Immortals,” gleamed harshly in the torchlight.

Disaster had struck!

Old Zhen’s vision darkened, his body nearly collapsing. Had his wife not caught him, he would have fainted.

At that moment, Fang Xiao spotted Old Zhen, who had just stepped outside, and called out with a smile, “Uncle Zhen, I’ve dealt with these yellow weasels. Sell their pelts to pay off your debts!”

He felt he had performed a great deed, restoring justice for Old Zhen. Yet Old Zhen was nearly moved to tears, his lips trembling, eyes glazed, on the verge of a heart attack.

“Make way, the village chief is here!”

The crowd parted, and a tall, gray-robed elder rushed in, followed by two sturdy men.

The villagers showed him due respect, clearing a path.

When the gray-robed elder saw the corpses of the yellow weasels, his face changed drastically. “Who killed them?”

All eyes turned to Fang Xiao—and to Old Zhen.

Fang Xiao frowned, his joy evaporating. He was no fool; he could see something was amiss.

He had thought that by ridding the villagers of this menace, he would earn their admiration and gratitude, especially from Old Zhen. He had even resolved to refuse any reward should Old Zhen offer one.

But reality proved otherwise. Old Zhen looked utterly bereaved, and the onlookers showed not a trace of thanks. The village chief, who had just arrived, seemed ready to devour him.

Despite his irritation, Fang Xiao answered calmly, “I killed these yellow weasels.”

They deserved it.

“You’ve brought disaster upon us!” the gray-robed elder shouted, his face flushed with anger. “Do you know that these yellow weasels have an ancestor? You can walk away after killing their kin, but we must remain here. When their ancestor descends the mountain seeking revenge, how many lives in Zhen Family Village will be lost?”

His words were met with uproar among the villagers. When trouble came knocking, who could bear it?

Their gazes toward Fang Xiao grew hostile.

Fang Xiao’s frustration boiled into fury.

“My name is Fang Xiao!” he declared, clenching his fists and speaking in a deep voice. “I alone am responsible for my actions. I live in the Daoist temple on Little Jing Mountain. If the yellow weasel’s ancestor wants vengeance, let it come for me!”

He had no wish to argue further. He gathered the yellow weasel corpses, preparing to take them back to the temple.

These spoils were hard-won!

“Don’t leave!” A villager blocked his path, demanding, “What if you run away?”

Others quickly surrounded Fang Xiao, determined not to let him go.

Fang Xiao was furious. These people were utterly unreasonable.

“Let him go,” the gray-robed elder said, his expression dark. He waved his hand. “If he runs, I’ll speak to Xuan Pingzi.”

Xuan Pingzi was Master Pang’s Daoist name.

As village chief, the gray-robed elder wielded authority in Zhen Family Village. Though many villagers were disgruntled, none dared defy him, and they silently stepped aside.

Fang Xiao dragged five yellow weasel bodies back to the temple. They were heavy, but his strength had grown, so he managed easily.

Instead of hauling his spoils into the courtyard, he left them before the temple gate.

The lantern hanging at the entrance cast a warm orange glow, stretching his shadow long and thin, lending an air of desolation and solitude.

Fang Xiao reached into his robe and pulled out a small booklet. As he opened it, lines of text emerged:

“Sometimes the situation seems bleak. In such moments, one must remain steadfast, not be misled by temporary appearances, not be deceived by the darkness of the hour…”

His gaze grew resolute. All his grievances, confusion, and anger melted away.

He clenched his fist and tucked the booklet back into his robe. Fighting spirit burned within the young man’s heart!

Fang Xiao fetched a hatchet from the kitchen and chopped down several small trees beside the temple, whittling five long wooden stakes, sharp at both ends.

He planted them firmly in the ground before the temple.

Then, lifting a yellow weasel’s corpse, he impaled it upon a stake. Two large and three small—five in all—hung there.

When he finished, Fang Xiao looked out at the distant mountains shrouded in darkness.

So, the yellow weasel ancestor, is it?

I’ll be waiting for you!