Chapter Eleven: The Armored Corpse

When the headmaster, Master Kongxuan, saw that everyone below had no further questions, he and Master Kongling transformed into a stream of light and disappeared from the hall. Only after the two had left did the crowd finally breathe a sigh of relief. It was not until they walked out of the Maoshan Grand Hall that discussions stirred among them.

Zhang Xiao didn’t return to his bamboo hut; instead, he headed straight to the Sutra Pavilion. After all, the Supreme Yin Mystic Sutra didn’t record any offensive spells, so he had no choice but to consult the pavilion. He wasn’t the only one with this idea—hundreds of disciples were making their way to the Sutra Pavilion. To their surprise, upon arrival, they discovered that entry was forbidden.

An old man was seated leisurely at the pavilion entrance, savoring tea and snacks, paying no heed to the gathering crowd.

“Elder, you see, it’s not easy for us either. Please have mercy and let us in for a look. In the future, we will serve you faithfully to repay your kindness,” one disciple stepped forward, earnestly pleading with the old man.

Others chimed in, but the elder didn’t so much as glance their way, continuing to sip his tea. He merely said, “The Sutra Pavilion is a vital place in Maoshan. If you’d come on a normal day, with fewer people, that would be one thing. But now, so many of you have shown up at once. The pavilion is simply too small to accommodate you all.”

As soon as he finished speaking, several people at the front quickly responded, “Elder, what if we take turns? A few at a time, each group gets an hour—how about that?”

The suggestion was instantly met with approval from the others. Even if each group only got an hour, it was better than going home empty-handed.

“No,” the old man replied, just those two simple syllables. The would-be negotiators were left speechless; after all that effort to come up with a plan, to be rejected so bluntly stung more than a little.

Yet everyone knew that those entrusted to watch over the Sutra Pavilion were always the most formidable in the sect. This was evident from that legendary Sweeper Monk in the Shaolin Temple tales. So, no one dared to try force; and no matter how they pleaded, bargained, or even—some female disciples employing their charms—all they got was the same answer: “No.”

Seeing the crowd’s frustrated and helpless expressions, the old man seemed to have enjoyed himself long enough and finally spoke, “It’s not that I won’t let you in. The headmaster has ordered that, from today onward, disciples are forbidden to enter the Sutra Pavilion.”

At these words, everyone knew there was no hope. Zhang Xiao, too, was bitterly disappointed—it was clear that way was closed.

With no other choice, Zhang Xiao hurried back to his bamboo hut and took a palm-sized coffin from his bone ring. Though this coffin was a spiritual treasure, it was only a basic one. With his cultivation at the Qi Refining stage, refining such a treasure was a simple matter. After channeling several streams of spiritual power into the coffin, the ritual was complete.

“Go,” Zhang Xiao tossed the coffin onto the ground. Instantly, it expanded from palm-sized to much larger. Controlling a spiritual treasure for the first time, he nearly let it burst through the roof, but caught himself just in time and reined in the power. “Open!” he commanded sharply.

The lid slid aside, revealing an ancient corpse. The clothes were clearly not of modern funerary fashion, which marked it as an ancient dead.

But Zhang Xiao was no historian; he couldn’t guess the exact era from the garments. There was little time for that anyway—for as soon as the coffin opened, a breeze swept by, reducing the corpse’s clothes to dust and blowing them away.

Faced with an ancient corpse streaking naked before him, Zhang Xiao was speechless. He wondered if the body, after so many years, could even fight at all, or if it would crumble at the first touch.

Taking out a dagger, he made a small cut on his finger and let a drop of blood fall onto the corpse’s forehead. Without delay, he began forming hand seals, spiritual energy surging through him as he drew a talisman in the air: “Nether Shade, arise! Return, wandering soul! The three souls have scattered, the seven spirits dispersed!”

Zhang Xiao danced and chanted like a shaman at a ritual, hands flying in intricate gestures. Suddenly, he pointed at the corpse and cried, “Awaken!”

The talisman he’d just drawn shot into the corpse’s skull. Instantly, a flood of new knowledge filled Zhang Xiao’s mind—the corpse felt almost like an extension of his own body.

At his mental command, the ancient corpse climbed from the coffin and knelt at his feet. Zhang Xiao’s mind, echoing with the knowledge, seemed to recall its name: Song... Sang?

“Bah, what a terrible name—Song Sang, as if you’re here to mourn someone! From now on, you’ll be called ‘Number One.’ Simple,” Zhang Xiao declared, pointing at the corpse’s head to seal the new name.

Number One truly lived up to the title of iron corpse, just a step away from evolving into a bronze-armored corpse. Zhang Xiao could feel the energy flowing within it and rejoiced that the Maoshan envoy hadn’t palmed off a shoddy product on him.

Circling Number One, he was quite satisfied—if only it weren’t so skinny. With his cultivation at the Qi Refining stage, he could now perform several of the corpse-mastery secret arts.

He pinched his fingers into a seal, and his body suddenly transformed into motes of light that merged into Number One. The corpse shuddered, its once-clouded eyes now clear.

Raising his hands and examining the dry skin, Zhang Xiao flicked his fingers, and razor-sharp nails extended like scissors. He casually swiped at a bamboo chair, slicing it clean in two—a demonstration of the Corpse Armor Technique. This method allowed a union of man and corpse, acting as a layer of armor.

But the technique had drawbacks: once merged, unless he actively dispelled the effect, he couldn’t use other arts; and the corpse itself harbored much resentment and yin energy, making prolonged fusion dangerous. For lesser corpses, the risk was less, but as one approached bronze- or higher-tier corpses—silver, gold, or even winged nightfiends—the yin and resentment became deadly for those without sufficient cultivation.

For Zhang Xiao, however, these dangers were not so dire. Since achieving clarity of mind and the serenity of still waters in the Tiger Valley, resentment had little effect on him. With the Buddhist aura from the Prajna Sutra to protect him, even the yin force caused minimal harm and could be quickly healed.

As for Number One, though he couldn’t possess it forever, spending seven or eight months fused would pose no problem.

Once certain he could safely merge with the iron corpse, Zhang Xiao released the Corpse Armor Technique and found some clothes to dress Number One. It wouldn’t do to let him run around naked.

With Number One as his ally, Zhang Xiao’s confidence grew, but he knew others might have similar assets. Earlier, during the hall discussion, he’d heard someone mention a disciple surnamed Wang who had already subdued an iron corpse.

The first place winner would be recognized as a founding disciple, rewarded with a treasure, and given supervisory authority—hardly something to pass up. But with only an iron corpse to his name, and considering that before the competition the Sutra Pavilion was accessible, others had likely learned offensive spells.

Furthermore, when he’d joined the sect, his master Kongling had given him a storage bone ring, but others might have received different treasures. Possessing only an iron corpse was too meager. Though first place was out of reach, the rewards for second through tenth were still generous—if not treasures, at least freedom from the head disciple’s control.

Zhang Xiao had no desire to be bogged down with chores; that was not his ambition. But with a thousand disciples in Maoshan, a less than one-percent chance was slim odds indeed. His main disadvantage lay in lacking offensive spells and spiritual treasures. Otherwise, with his cultivation, even basic spells or treasures would let him dominate.

Wait—spiritual treasures! He remembered he had two top-grade materials. With his current Qi Refining cultivation, he should be able to forge a basic spiritual treasure.

Spurred by this thought, Zhang Xiao quickly put Number One back into the coffin and hurried toward the Thousand Mechanisms Pavilion. Usually, the pavilion was deserted, as only Zhang Xiao had the skill to forge artifacts at this stage.

But as he arrived, he found a crowd of disciples waiting outside. On inquiry, he learned they were all disciples of Master Kongling.

Just then, a petite novice emerged from the pavilion and announced, “The master says he is tired today. Come back tomorrow. And if your cultivation is still at the Spirit Nurturing stage, or your questions do not pertain to the Meditation stage, don’t bother coming back.”

With that, the disciples dispersed in disappointment. Seeing this, Zhang Xiao hurried forward. “Senior brother, please wait!”

The novice turned and glanced at Zhang Xiao, eyes lighting up. “I wouldn’t dare be called senior brother—I am only a novice under the master’s tutelage. If you seek to see the master, come with me.”

Zhang Xiao was surprised—it was that simple? He’d just heard the novice say the master was tired and wasn’t seeing anyone, so he’d expected to be turned away. Yet, without saying a word, he was invited in. It was truly baffling.

He asked, “You are too polite. Though I haven’t formally become a disciple, I am under the master’s guidance and will eventually become one. But didn’t you just say the master was tired? Will he not be displeased if I come in now?”