Evening.
Behind Luoyun Cave, on the mountain’s rear, the graveyard.
Over a thousand little demons stood in solemn silence, each one with a band of white cloth tied around their arms.
No one uttered a sound, all eyes fixed on the center of the graveyard.
Beside a freshly dug grave, there stood a lavish nanmu coffin.
Hong Lao San, stooped and haggard, stood before Hong Huzhi’s spirit coffin. Hong Yanzhi, clad in a black dress, stood quietly behind him.
Lang Buping, Xiong Ba, and the representatives from each mountain, who had come to pay their respects, silently stood to the side.
Hong Lao San looked as though he had aged several decades overnight.
He reached out, gently caressing the chubby orange cat’s corpse inside the coffin, tears streaming down his wrinkled face as a muffled wail escaped his throat.
“My son, Huzhi, was kind-hearted by nature—innocent and lively,” croaked Hong Lao San, his voice choking.
“He always did as he was told, never set foot in human lands, never once entered that Xichuan County City.”
His gaze suddenly turned ferocious.
“But! That Yang Family of Xichuan, and the Demon-Slaying Bureau, actually dared to collude with the Beast Taming Sect, sending a spirit beast into our Xixia Mountain to assassinate my son!”
“Today, I, Hong Lao San, swear on the thousand-year foundation of Xixia Mountain— I will raze the Demon-Slaying Bureau of Xichuan to the ground, and let the Yang Family and the Beast Taming Sect pay for their blood debt! The heads of our enemies shall be offered to my son’s departed soul!”
Those final words were all but roared out through clenched teeth.
“Blood for blood!” roared the Huagban Yaojiang, raising his arm.
“Blood for blood!” “Blood for blood! Blood for blood!” The chorus of a thousand demons shook the very heavens, startling flocks of birds into the twilight sky.
An old demon stepped forward and said to Hong Lao San, “Cave Lord, the time has come. It’s time for Young Master Huzhi to be laid to rest.”
Reluctantly, Hong Lao San looked at his son’s body one last time, then turned away, eyes squeezed shut, waving his hand as tears streamed down his face.
Eight tiger demons stepped forward, placed the lid on Hong Huzhi’s coffin, and bound it tight with long silk cords.
A troupe of little demons with instruments played somber funeral music at the side.
With the mournful melody echoing, the eight tiger demons heaved on the cords and lowered the coffin into the grave.
A group of mouse demons came forward with shovels and began covering the coffin with earth.
The old demon shouted, “Send Young Master Huzhi on his way!”
All the demons cried in unison, “Send Young Master Huzhi!”
……
By the end of the funeral, night had fallen.
The crowd of demons returned to the main hall of Luoyun Cave.
Everywhere in the hall were mourning banners; white streamers hung low.
One hundred and twenty long tables were set out. The thousand-plus demons took their seats, ten to each table.
Hong Lao San and Hong Yanzhi, father and daughter, along with the guests from each mountain, took the seats of honor upon the dais.
Before every chair was placed a table.
The air in the cave was somber and heavy. In just a few days, there would be a great battle, and battles meant bloodshed and death.
Many of the little demons here were not skilled fighters—especially the mouse demons, who mostly did the hard labor and rarely saw a real fight.
But Hong Lao San demanded that everyone do their part; all must go to attack the human county city and face the Immortal Masters of the Demon-Slaying Bureau.
Many of the mouse demons sat with furrowed brows, fearing they’d never return once they set out.
As the crowd settled in, the kitchen demons emerged in a steady stream, carrying trays laden with food and fine wine to every table.
With the aroma of food and wine, the mood in the hall gradually began to warm.
On the dais, the mountain representatives took turns offering words of comfort and toasted cup after cup with Hong Lao San and his daughter Hong Yanzhi.
Below, the little demons at each table soon let themselves go, eating and drinking with abandon.
After all, the battle was still a few days away—if the good food and wine weren’t enjoyed now, when would they be?
Most of the little demons were the sort to live for the moment, putting off tomorrow’s worries for another day. If they could enjoy themselves today, why not?
Some even began shouting and laughing, starting up games of drinking dice and finger-guessing.
Lang Buping raised his wine cup, grinning smugly at Xiong Ba across the table.
“Hey, Bear, you and I have been rivals for years, but in the end, it was I who won the heart of Sister Yanzhi. She’s already agreed to my proposal—soon, she’ll be my wife. You can give up now. Come on, I’ll give you a chance—offer me a toast, and count it as a blessing for Yanzhi and me to grow old together.”
Xiong Ba snorted, brimming with displeasure. He grabbed a wine jar from the floor and thumped it on the table, glaring with his bear eyes.
“Toast with just one cup? Come, I’ll toast you with the whole jar, Fox! I’ll finish it first!” Standing up, he hugged the wine jar and upended it into his gaping maw.
Glug, glug, glug! In the blink of an eye, the entire jar was empty and in his belly.
Xiong Ba belched, picked up another wine jar, marched over to Lang Buping, and slammed the jar down before him. “There! I drank mine—now it’s your turn!”
Lang Buping’s face stiffened, an awkward smile on his lips. “Heh heh heh, who toasts with a whole wine jar? You really are a brute, Bear.”
Xiong Ba scoffed and sneered, “What, scared? Can’t take it? Are you even a man? Can’t even drink a jar of wine?”
Lang Buping shook his fan and shook his head. “Barbaric! Good wine should be savored. To down a whole jar at once is like a cow munching on peonies—truly a disgrace to culture! No wonder—”
Xiong Ba shot him a sideways glance, his face full of scorn.
“Save your highfalutin nonsense, Fox! Drinking is drinking—what’s with all the fancy rules? Among us demon men, what matters is being forthright! Can’t even gulp down a jar of wine—what kind of man are you? If Yanzhi ends up with you, will you even need a tiny cup just to sip some cold water?”
“I say you’re weak, your constitution’s lacking, you don’t have the guts or the stomach—just afraid to make a fool of yourself in front of me!”
“Just say it: will you drink or not? If you won’t, then admit in front of everyone that Lang Buping is a spineless coward, and I’ll turn around and never trouble you again!”
The other demons all looked over, relishing the drama. Hong Yanzhi also glanced in their direction.
Lang Buping’s face was full of embarrassment—he knew he was caught in a dilemma tonight.
He regretted letting his pride get the better of him and provoking this oafish bear.
Gritting his teeth, he stood up, folded away his fan, and forced a laugh.
“Fine, I’ll drink! Do you think I, Lang Buping, would ever be afraid of a brute like you?”
He hugged the wine jar, just about to raise it to his lips—when suddenly his legs went weak.
He staggered, collapsed onto the table, crushing the dishes, and the wine jar crashed to the floor with a shattering sound, spilling wine everywhere.
Xiong Ba spat disdainfully. “Coward! Playing tricks now? You might as well just admit defeat—why waste a whole jar of good wine?”
Lang Buping lay on the floor, struggling in vain to get up. His face had gone pale as paper.
He shouted, “No! I’m not faking—it’s the wine and food! There’s Rǔangǔ Sǎn in it! I’ve been drugged!”
Xiong Ba was about to sneer again, but suddenly his own legs went numb. With a thud, he too collapsed to the ground.
Seated on his throne, Hong Lao San saw all this and was aghast.
He’d already felt a bit dizzy earlier, but dismissed it as grief and too much wine.
Now, seeing both Xiong Ba and Lang Buping collapse, he realized something was terribly wrong. He tried to get up—
The moment he rose, his legs buckled and he slumped back into his seat.
He’d been struck too! Looking to his daughter, he saw Hong Yanzhi slumped in her chair, powerless to move, panic written across her face.
Below the dais, the little demons had also begun to collapse—some toppled to the floor, unable to move at all. Fear and confusion erupted among the crowd.
Hong Lao San was both furious and terrified.
Who could be so bold as to slip Ruangu San into the food and wine at Xixia Mountain’s funeral feast? Was it the human Immortal Masters—the Yang Family of Xichuan?
He swept his gaze around and shouted, “Who is it? Who dares use such despicable tricks against all the brothers of Xixia Mountain? Show yourself!”
In a corner of the hall, among the tables crowded with mouse demons, a tall figure slowly stood up.
He was a full zhang tall, burly and strong—yet his head was that of a rat.
It was Shu Da.