Chapter 52: Spiritual Bamboo and Envious Admiration

Page 1
Since Cao Kong slew several wicked demons three years ago, he had not truly wielded his power since.
Though he practiced daily, refining his swordsmanship and deepening his cultivation, he lacked any tangible sense of his own progress.
Now, as he revealed his skill once more, the sword of law whistled, summoning celestial force, aligning with the constellations, manifesting divine intent and condensing form.
The two great swords—one of wood, in harmony with the east; one of metal, aligned with the west—moved with a sound like the roar of tigers and the thunderous cry of dragons, the dragon's voice like a storm, the tiger's roar like clashing arms.
After the cries and the stench of blood, silence fell amid the yellow smoke, which lingered, refusing to disperse.
Cao Kong soared above, scanning all directions, and soon spied a yellow-furred creature, half the size of a man, revealing its true form as it darted from the smoke, fleeing south at astonishing speed.
It hugged the ground, missing its forelimbs, its body scored with countless wounds, leaving a trail of blood in its wake.
“Go!”
Clang!
The two swords spun in pursuit. The Yellow Wind King, hearing the sound, turned and howled:
“I am a great demon under the command of the One-Horned Reverse-Scaled Dragon King! The Demon King will soon send envoys to collect my essence blood. If you kill me and delay his alchemy, you will surely die!”
Cao Kong paid him no heed. These so-called demon kings, once Nezha descended, would all be reduced to ashes.
He summoned the golden sword to his hand, stepped into the dry position, and struck from the exchange position. The essence of metal surged forth, a golden ribbon blazing, the sword’s song like a tiger’s roar.
The Yellow Wind King’s face was ashen, his beast eyes reflecting seven stars, as if he saw a white tiger pouncing upon him.
Slash!
The white tiger passed through the Yellow Wind King’s body; the yellow-furred creature fell with a crash, its form dissolving, scattering into countless fragments.
“The King is dead!”
The lesser demons cried out in terror, scattering in all directions, only to be pierced one by one by the golden and wooden swords, each falling to the earth, their true forms revealed.
All evils were subdued.
The Money Leopard hovered in the clouds, observing the scene. This leopard always liked to follow Cao Kong for excitement; beside him was a troop of foxes, their mouths agape in awe.
The villagers who had survived the ordeal, not knowing who started it, all knelt in Cao Kong’s direction, calling him a deity.
Seeing the matter settled, Cao Kong did not wish to linger. He conjured a ball of water and washed the two five-element swords.
The Yellow Wind King’s power was mediocre, far inferior to the Yellow Lion Spirit; it was only his foul trickery that truly disgusted.
Page 1

Page 2
Though Cao Kong’s five-element swords were forged of pure energy, untouched by filth, he cleaned them nonetheless, if only for his own peace of mind.
He then swallowed, returning the swords to their rightful places, hidden within his liver and lungs.
“Pain... it hurts...”
Moans and sobs arose—it was the blood-brave man from before, his chest torn open, exposing broken bones and organs, barely clinging to life.
Beside him, his family wept, bowing repeatedly to Cao Kong: “Please, immortal, save our man!”
“Do you still have the salve from before? Bring me some,” Cao Kong said to the Money Leopard by transmission, and soon a small bottle flew to him.
He walked over to the wounded man, smeared his palm with the ointment, added a drop of innate dew, and applied it to the wound, channeling a strand of Dao energy through the man’s body.
The pain eased greatly, and the family thanked him profusely.
“Keep this bottle safe. Change the ointment in half a month, and avoid strenuous labor in the meantime.”
“Thank you, immortal! You have saved our whole family. Please, immortal, leave your name—we will erect a tablet for your longevity and worship you for generations!”
“No need. I dwell in the wilds, a nameless Daoist, unworthy of worship.”
As he spoke, Cao Kong observed the lingering yellow smoke, which wind could not disperse and whose toxins corroded all it enveloped. It was harmless to him, but a curse for the villagers nearby.
A thought arose: this smoke had substance and form; wind could not move it—perhaps fire would suffice?
He summoned a strand of tail-fire, flicked it onto the smoke, and soon the flames spread, consuming all the yellow miasma. Then he called for rain to extinguish the fire.
Once all was done, Cao Kong prepared to depart, only to find himself surrounded by villagers.
“Immortal, you saved our village. Though you may care not for gratitude, we cannot fail to repay you. We wish to offer you goods and food in thanks,” said an elder with white hair and beard, respectfully.
Cao Kong sensed their gratitude and replied with a smile, “Indeed, I am fond of brewing—why not give me some grain?”
At his words, a rush of footsteps echoed, and soon the villagers brought bags of grain for him.
Knowing the hardships of mortal life, Cao Kong took only a portion from each family, gathering them with a gust of wind, as if a true immortal, rising into the clouds.
The rescued man, though weak, stared at Cao Kong in awe. He was the village carpenter, and wished to carve Cao Kong’s likeness for perpetual worship.
Yet strangely, no matter how he tried, he could never recall Cao Kong’s appearance; in the end, he could only carve a vague figure to offer incense.
Page 2

Page 3
······
In Misty Mountain, a circle of young foxes surrounded Cao Kong, their eyes sparkling with reverence.
“Master, there is a bamboo grove in Red Cloud Mountain, where spiritual bamboo grows. The Yellow Wind King once had us gather it. Shall I fetch it for you now?”
Hearing this, Cao Kong’s heart stirred, instantly recalling the Pi Tong wine described in the Wine Classic.
It required grain sealed in bamboo tubes, letting the fragrance of bamboo infuse the wine, lending it a scent that drifted through forests—the finer the bamboo, the more exquisite the flavor.
Now that he had grain, his hands itched to try brewing a few vats and taste the results.
Moreover, the Money Leopard knew the method for refining spiritual bamboo, which, when consumed, cleared the mind and fortified the Dao heart, aiding him in seeking the Wood Mother’s divine power.
Thinking thus, Cao Kong did not hesitate, taking Hu Yan along to Red Cloud Mountain, so named for its crimson clouds at sunset.
His timing was fortunate, arriving amid the spectacle, enjoying both the journey and the beauty of the heavens, his mood lightening, his spirit recovering from the Wood Mother’s influence.
Hu Yan led the way, twisting and turning, soon bringing Cao Kong to a cave guarded by a lesser demon. Upon seeing Hu Yan, the demon brandished his weapon and shouted:
“You fox, you’ve come courting death!”
Yet before he could act, Cao Kong blew forth a breath; golden mist drifted to the guard, sending his soul to the Underworld.
Inside the cave, there were two more—monkeys.
Hu Yan hastened to explain, “Master, they are friends of mine from the mountain, never having done evil. They were forced by the Yellow Wind King to stand guard here.”
Cao Kong smiled, “Rest easy. Both bear pure energy—I shall not harm them.”
The monkeys exclaimed, “Hu Yan, didn’t you run away? Why are you back? Go, go! If the Yellow Wind King sees you, he won’t spare you!”
Hu Yan recounted the events, leaving the monkeys dumbfounded. Hearing his earnest words, they knew the tale was true, and gazed at Cao Kong with both awe and fear.
“Now that the Yellow Wind King is dead, will you not return to Red Cloud Mountain?”
Hu Yan shook his head, “I wish to serve at the master’s side. I’ve come only to collect spiritual bamboo.”
The monkeys scratched their ears, realizing their old companion had gained immortal fate, and would now tread a path utterly unlike their own.
They could not help but envy Hu Yan deeply.
Page 3