Chương 3: I'm Not a Demon

Zhu Youchang's appearance caught Fang Cheng off guard. He had fully expected his colleague to be dead. But the man was alive and well. That was even better. It meant Zhu Youchang had allied with the demon to harm others. Perfect. Today would be a day of righteous justice!

"Haha, Youchang, long time no see." Fang Cheng greeted him while secretly channeling Divine Energy to probe his colleague's true condition. To his frustration, Zhu Youchang showed no signs of demonic contamination. His Divine Energy was even more pure and righteous than Fang Cheng's own. A proper orthodox cultivator through and through. What was going on? Had he been mistaken? Fang Cheng glanced back at the villagers. The black smoke between their brows had vanished, and their eyes no longer held that fierce gleam.

They seemed to have regained their senses, aside from their still-swollen pregnant bellies. Perhaps he really had been wrong. He sighed, deeply disappointed. The demon sword's corruption was worse than he thought. It was making him see things.

"What's with the sigh, Fang? Come in, come in." Zhu Youchang urged.

"Oh, right. Coming, Youchang..." Fang Cheng nodded and followed his colleague inside. The house was clean and tidy. A desk sat against the wall with two wicker chairs beside it, a tea set on top. Zhu Youchang motioned for Fang Cheng to sit while he went to the backyard to boil water. Soon the aroma of tea drifted in from the yard. Fang Cheng took a deep breath and felt his spirits lift, as if he were back in last night's joyful moment when he'd run the fox demon through with his sword.

Zhu Youchang returned shortly with the tea, poured two cups, and handed one to Fang Cheng while keeping the other for himself.

"My own blend. Tell me what you think." Fang Cheng looked at the tea in his cup. The liquid was red like amber blood, giving off waves of sweet fragrance. He took a small sip. Slightly astringent at first, with a strong bloody tang. Then, inexplicably, sweetness danced on his tongue, spreading through every pore of his body. Even the demon sword inside him trembled with delight.

"Excellent. Truly excellent." Fang Cheng gave a thumbs up.

"Youchang, this tea reminds me of the sweet potato juice from my childhood. I was small then, and I'd often sneak into the fields with Xiao Ming to steal sweet potatoes.

"Those potatoes had red flesh, so tender you could eat them raw. Xiao Ming said they tasted better roasted, so we'd bury them in the dirt and build a fire. When they came out, red juice would bubble up like blood from a woman in labor.

"Mm, I loved that roasted sweet potato juice. Sweet and warm. Too bad Xiao Ming died. He never roasted potatoes for me again." This tale has been unlawfully lifted without the author's consent. Report any appearances on Amazon. Zhu Youchang laughed twice, pleased with Fang Cheng's compliment.

"Fang, tea and sweet potatoes are the same. You have to pick them when they're young and tender. Old ones lose their flavor." As he spoke, Zhu Youchang drained his cup, licked his lips, and wore an expression of pure bliss. He continued, "I pick the tender tips in spring. Those green shoots are like a brazen woman who's been nurturing life in her warm bed all winter. Come spring, she can't hold back any longer and gives birth to these leaves.

"The leaves emerge from the tea tree's womb, curious and full of hope for the world. That's when I pluck them from the tree's embrace and lay them under the sun.

"They're so fragile. The slightest touch breaks them, let alone the scorching sun. They struggle desperately, but no matter how they struggle, they can't escape the heat. They suffer. They want to cry. But they make no sound.

"That's the fate of tea leaves. We kill them, knead them, dry them until they become blackened corpses, sealed in a box, waiting for some guest to open it one day and soak their bodies in hot water, savoring them slowly." Fang Cheng frowned as he listened. Zhu Youchang's metaphors were disturbingly bloody. He wanted to set down his cup, but his mouth disobeyed, his tongue extending to lick another sip of the tea. He slapped himself, forcing himself to calm down.

"Fang, are you alright?" Zhu Youchang asked with feigned concern. He'd sensed something off about Fang Cheng from the start, but hadn't pressed. Every cultivator had their secrets.

"I'm fine." Fang Cheng shook his head, suppressing the excitement in his chest, and changed the subject.

"Youchang, I noticed your villagers are acting strange. All they talk about is having children. It's like they've been corrupted by some demon."

"Haha, Fang, you're joking." Zhu Youchang chuckled dryly, his eyes flickering. After a moment's thought, he explained, "Mortals having children is only natural. They need more hands. Boys for the fields, girls for weaving and washing.

"That frees the adults to do other business. Life gets better. Families prosper."

"Makes sense." Fang Cheng nodded.

"I remember when I was eight, I worked in the fields too. Our family had an old ox back then. It pulled the plow in front, and I pushed from behind.

"That old ox was pretty sneaky. It took a dump right in the middle of plowing. I was pushing hard from behind when suddenly a pile of dung descended from the sky. Lucky for me, I was far enough back and dodged just in time; otherwise I'd have eaten cow shit. Haha, it's actually kind of hilarious now that I think about it."

"Fang, you're a cultivator now. Stop thinking about the past." Zhu Youchang pointed out.

"Mortals have their way of living; cultivators have theirs. You need to be more focused. Look at me, I've been promoted to City God. I'm about to take office in White Flower City. And you're still a village Land God."

"Right, right. That's exactly why I came, Youchang." Fang Cheng nodded.

"I need your help getting a City God position too. Or at least a bigger village with a thousand people. We've been colleagues for years. Now that you have a new backer, you should give me a hand."

"No, Fang. I don't have a new backer." Zhu Youchang waved his hand.

"The Everlasting Emperor once said, rely on a mountain, and it may crumble; rely on water, and it may flow away. In the end, you must rely on yourself. I became City God of White Flower City through my own efforts." Fang Cheng frowned. He could see it now. Zhu Youchang was spouting platitudes, flat-out refusing to share his new backer. He sneered.

"Well said, Youchang. Us cultivators should rely on ourselves. That Divine Energy our immortals give us? Useless. Throw it all away! We'll gather faith from mortals ourselves. The question is, how do we do that without resorting to demonic methods?" Zhu Youchang snorted, deflecting.

"Fang, you didn't come here to visit. You came to pick a fight, accusing me of allying with demons. I think you're the demon!" Fang Cheng felt a surge of killing intent. But he held back, took a deep breath, and forced a smile.

"Youchang, I'm not accusing you. I'm just upset you won't help me. Fine. I won't push. I have only one request now. I want you to sincerely tell me I'm a good person."

"What are you talking about? We cultivate to ascend, not to be good people." Zhu Youchang thought Fang Cheng had lost his mind. He forgave his earlier rudeness. But that reminded him of something he'd heard recently. A mad murderer who made people call him a good person before killing them. The name was... Fang Cheng? Yes, that was it. Fang Cheng. He'd laughed about it then, thinking it was just a name coincidence. The stupid officials at the Underworld Bureau would definitely arrest Fang Cheng for questioning.

Poor Fang, with no backer, he'd suffer. Wait. Zhu Youchang's expression shifted. Could it be...? He looked at Fang Cheng again, channeling Divine Energy for a probing scan. Finally, he saw it. The blood aura around Fang Cheng was so dense it was nearly solid, the kind that only came from slaughtering tens of thousands.

"Fang, my Fang... you actually...

"Hahaha, we're birds of a feather! Perfect, absolutely excellent!" Zhu Youchang burst into delighted laughter.