Chapter 231: Joyful Ghost Buddha vs Mr. Dusk

The rain fell harder and harder.

Liu Min held Xiaohu and stood at the courtyard gate, her head tilted back. She stared at the oppressively low dark clouds, her pupils reflecting the image of a figure seated upon a jet-black throne.

Her lips trembled, her teeth chattering softly, but she couldn’t make a sound.

Xiaohu, however, wasn’t crying. He just stared with wide eyes as rainwater streamed down his cheeks.

He didn’t try to hide, just gazed straight up at the “person” in the sky.

The Evil Qilin stood in the rain, his head thrown back. His voice was loud, so loud the entire valley could hear it:

“Sir, you wouldn’t make things difficult for a woman and a child, would you?”

He shouted with all his might, his throat nearly tearing.

He was saying this for that “Dusk” in the sky to hear.

He had to ensure the mother and son wouldn’t come to harm because of him.

By calling it out so openly, he figured the “Sir” above would have to maintain some decorum. When he made his move, he would at least hold back enough not to involve the mother and child.

Jiang Chaosheng sat on his throne, leaning forward slightly. He glanced down at the woman holding the child and the little boy soaked by the rain.

He understood the Evil Qilin’s little scheme.

Unfortunately, the Evil Qilin had almost miscalculated—he, Jiang Chaosheng, had never been one to care about saving face.

But…

He still chose to give the mother and son time to escape.

It wasn’t because he was moved by the Evil Qilin’s kindness.

It was just that—when he saw the mother and son, he was reminded of his own mother.

That was all.

Liu Min wasn’t the kind of fool who would dawdle.

She clutched Xiaohu tightly, turned, and ran.

Still, she couldn’t help but look back, again and again, at the young man standing in the rain, her eyes filled with worry.

The Evil Qilin watched her back disappear into the curtain of rain and breathed a sigh of relief.

“Sir,” he said, turning and looking up at the dark clouds. “This humble monk will not be captured without a fight.”

Jiang Chaosheng nodded slightly. “Mm.”

The Evil Qilin took a deep breath, opened the Celestial King Demon-Suppressing Umbrella with one hand, and held the other vertically before his chest, slowly closing his eyes.

“In that case, Sir, be careful!”

Before the words had even faded, his short hair began to grow wildly.

The black strands, as if alive, reached the ground within half a second, yet they continued to grow frantically, plunging into the earth like countless steel needles, lifting his body bit by bit into the air.

The black hair on the ground quickly intertwined, coiled, and piled up—in just a few short seconds, a thirty-foot-tall, black, giant Buddha stood towering between heaven and earth.

The Buddha’s head was kind-browed and benevolent-eyed, a smile playing on its lips.

Its round, rolling torso was charmingly simple, closely resembling the pot-bellied Maitreya statues worshipped in temples.

Its upper body was bare, and the word “Joyful” was carved on its chest.

The Evil Qilin stood on the bridge of the giant Buddha’s nose, his black hair seamlessly connected to the center of the Buddha’s brow.

No. 4-19, Ghost Hair—a long-lost Taboo Item.

Jiang Chaosheng had first encountered it on the Sea Train.

That red-clothed woman, a descendant of the Manchu Qing, had used it to weave a five or six-meter-long centipede.

But the Evil Qilin’s understanding of Ghost Hair was clearly far beyond that woman’s.

The oppressive presence of this Joyful Ghost Buddha was in a completely different league from that centipede.

The Evil Qilin’s eyes snapped open, his pupils filled with killing intent.

His grip on the Celestial King Demon-Suppressing Umbrella tightened abruptly, and the canopy vibrated violently in the rain.

“Sir, here I come!”

From the Celestial King Demon-Suppressing Umbrella drifted countless white, transparent, humanoid figures.

This was Yin Qi.

The Yin Qi condensed into human shapes, pouring out in a dense swarm as if tens of millions of souls were breaking free from their bonds all at once.

The Celestial King Demon-Suppressing Umbrella could absorb the souls of living beings and convert them into pure Yin Qi, much like the sinister “Ten Thousand Souls Banners” from fiction.

A question surfaced in Jiang Chaosheng’s mind:

‘After the body dies, the soul is supposed to go to Hell. How does the Celestial King Demon-Suppressing Umbrella sever this path from the Human World to Hell?’

It didn’t matter.

‘This can be considered an uncontained Taboo Item.’

‘Once the Celestial King Demon-Suppressing Umbrella is retrieved, everything will become clear.’

The humanoid Yin Qi covered the massive body of the Joyful Ghost Buddha, condensing into a kasaya that radiated a pure, shimmering light.

The black Buddha, the white light—the contrast was dazzlingly sharp.

The kasaya billowed without any wind, rustling in the rain, adding a touch of eerie sanctity to the smiling black Buddha.

If one looked closely, something was moving on that pure, glowing kasaya.

They were transparent, expressionless human heads.

Packed densely together, they were arranged on the kasaya like strings of cold beads, swaying gently with the robe’s movements.

The Joyful Ghost Buddha moved.

Wearing that eternally loving smile, it leaped from the ground, soaring straight toward the clouds.

The Evil Qilin’s expression was grave. He formed a Sealing Technique with one hand, pointed at Jiang Chaosheng in the clouds, and bellowed, “Joyful Salvation Curse!”

The Joyful Ghost Buddha mirrored his action, raising a massive black hand.

The faces of beautiful women materialized out of thin air, swarming toward Jiang Chaosheng like a meteor shower.

The faces were joyous, sorrowful, angry, or infatuated—each one was vividly lifelike.

Jiang Chaosheng, sitting on his black throne, drew the rust-spotted scythe from behind his trench coat.

In an instant, it transformed into a Giant Scythe.

He swung it with all his might.

An arc of silvery-white light sliced through the curtain of rain.

The beautiful faces shattered one after another, like colored glass struck by a hammer. Before they dissipated, a strange look of relief appeared on each one.

The Joyful Ghost Buddha was already upon him.

The Evil Qilin raised his right hand, and the Joyful Ghost Buddha raised its giant palm in unison. Its five fingers spread, blotting out the sky as it smashed down fiercely toward Jiang Chaosheng on his throne.

Jiang Chaosheng swung the scythe again.

“SHRIIIP—”

A crisp sound, like a bolt of cloth being torn.

The Joyful Ghost Buddha’s right hand was severed at the wrist. It plummeted from the sky, dissolving mid-air into wisps of black hair that scattered through the rain like a flurry of black snow.

The Evil Qilin’s pupils contracted, his face a mask of disbelief.

‘One strike?’

‘Just one strike?’

‘One strike was enough to sever the Joyful Ghost Buddha’s arm?’

He didn’t even have time to process it, because he saw… Jiang Chaosheng had risen from his black throne.

The Evil Qilin’s instincts were faster than his thoughts.

He violently controlled the Joyful Ghost Buddha to retreat, its body carving a great arc through the curtain of rain.

At the same time, he saw Jiang Chaosheng take a flintlock gun from his coat.

The patterns on the gun’s body swirled with light, extending from the stock all the way to the muzzle like some ancient blood vessel pumping power.

“BANG—”

A crimson, flaming bullet shot from the muzzle, tearing through the rain and flying straight for him.

The smiling Joyful Ghost Buddha placed its remaining left hand in front of the Evil Qilin.

The bullet struck the massive black hand.

“WHOOSH—”

It was like a lit match being tossed into a pile of cotton.

The Joyful Ghost Buddha’s left hand instantly burst into flames.

The fire spread along the fingers to the back of the hand, then leaped from the back of the hand to the wrist.

The Evil Qilin acted decisively, severing the connection to the left hand and detaching the burning limb from the Joyful Ghost Buddha’s body.

In the sky, the flames bloomed amidst the rain, as splendid as fireworks.

The moment the flames dissipated, the Evil Qilin saw it—Jiang Chaosheng, holding the Giant Scythe, was already right in front of him.

His pupils were filled with terror.

“SHRRR-RIP—”

The Giant Scythe swept past, and the Joyful Ghost Buddha’s massive body fractured into several pieces and collapsed with a roar.

Countless black hairs scattered in the air, like a bolt of torn black silk.

The Evil Qilin was still standing on the head of the Joyful Ghost Buddha.

But the head was losing its support, turning back into black hair, dissipating.

The ground beneath his feet vanished. His body went into free fall, wind whistling past his ears, the rain pelting his face like tiny stones.

He saw that Jiang Chaosheng had already raised the Penalty Fire Flintlock Gun, its muzzle aimed right at him.

The crimson bullet flew from the barrel, tracing a thin line of light through the downpour.

In that very instant, the Evil Qilin suddenly had an epiphany regarding the Buddhist Dharma.

He released the Celestial King Demon-Suppressing Umbrella, pressed his palms together, and a smile of relief touched his lips.

“So… this humble monk was attached to form.”

‘To desire ultimate joy for the world is to have an attachment.’

‘With attachment, one cannot become a Buddha.’

‘If one cannot become a Buddha, then where did the Joyful Buddha come from?’

‘It turns out it was merely dust gathered on the Spirit Realm Platform.’

“BANG—”

The gunshot exploded in the rain.

A tragic, beautiful mist of blood burst from the Evil Qilin’s chest.

His head lolled to the side, his hands falling limply to his sides as he fell from the sky.

The Celestial King Demon-Suppressing Umbrella drifted down slowly beside him, its canopy spinning in the wind like a butterfly that had lost its way home.

“THUD—”

A dull thud of impact.

Rainwater mixed with mud splashed up, then fell back onto him.

Blood seeped out from under him, spreading through the rainwater.

The Celestial King Demon-Suppressing Umbrella spun as it landed beside him, its handle plunging into the mud, standing firm.

From within the umbrella, a tall, red figure drifted out.

The Eight-foot Bride.

She knelt in the mud, frantically pushing at the Evil Qilin’s body, over and over again.

Her red wedding dress was soaked with muddy water and covered in stains, but she seemed not to notice.

Her fingers slipped through his lapels, grabbing his shoulders and shaking him hard.

“My love…”

The voice was mournful and shrill, as if rising from deep, deep underground.

Jiang Chaosheng landed, picked up the Celestial King Demon-Suppressing Umbrella, and looked at the Eight-foot Bride.

This was his first time seeing this three-thousand-year-old Fierce Ghost.

‘A Fierce Ghost… has actually developed feelings?’

‘How on earth did the Evil Qilin manage it?’

Too bad he wasn’t a poet; he couldn’t write the heart-stirring story of the thousand-year-old Fierce Ghost and the young monk.

The Eight-foot Bride suddenly raised her head and looked toward the sky.

Beneath her red bridal veil, something glinted.

“My love…”

A single teardrop slipped from under the red veil, landing silently in the muddy water.

“AHHHHHH!!!!!”

She thrust a hand toward the sky, and a torrent of Yin Qi surged from her palm.

Jiang Chaosheng realized what was happening and looked up.

To the naked mortal eye, there was nothing to see.

He opened the Celestial King Demon-Suppressing Umbrella and looked again through its canopy—this time, he saw it clearly.

In the sky, the vacant-eyed Ghost Soul of the Evil Qilin was drifting in a certain direction.

Crimson Yin Qi rose from the ground like a giant hand, grabbing hold of the Evil Qilin’s Ghost Soul and desperately dragging it back down.

The place the Evil Qilin was headed was Eternal Hell.

When people die, they must go to the Underworld.

Three of the four great domains of the Underworld had now been destroyed; only Eternal Hell remained.

The Evil Qilin’s soul was inevitably bound for Eternal Hell.

Jiang Chaosheng did not disturb the Eight-foot Bride.

He just stood there in the rain, holding the umbrella, watching quietly.

The rain was still falling.