Chapter 45: My Fate Is Not Determined by Heaven

Although Yang Pao had cultivated for over a century, his pig brain was simply too dull. Aside from hardening his bristles into an iron-like hide, he had failed to master any real deadly techniques.

Not all pigs can cultivate into Zhu Bajie. The reason Zhu Bajie became a legend wasn’t because he was a pig, but because he was misplaced into a pig’s body.

Yang Pao crashed into the massive hand seal, gritting his teeth against the searing pain on his skin. With increasing force, he pushed me back several steps, my jade ruler trembling as it resisted. I strained with all my might, but in the end, I couldn’t withstand the charge of a century-old mountain boar spirit. I collapsed to the ground, blood trickling from the corner of my mouth.

Clenching his teeth against the pain, Yang Pao yanked out two bristles and hurled them straight at my heart and brow.

I rolled aside just in time. The bristles embedded themselves deep into the concrete floor, stuck fast. Yang Pao lunged after me, and though I flung several demon-slaying talismans at him, he dodged them all—except one that landed on his forehead. With a furious tug, he ripped it off along with a patch of his own skin and fur, leaving half his face a bloody mess.

The sight was gruesome, and his madness only intensified.

As the saying goes: *”Those whom the gods wish to destroy, they first make mad.”*

It seemed Yang Pao’s time was nearly up.

Jiese, hot on Yang Pao’s trail, had donned a trench coat, sunglasses, and leather shoes—only to be intercepted by two ninjas before he could even engage the boar.

These two ninjas, trained since childhood, treated their master’s orders as sacred. Their short blades flashed with lethal precision.

Jiese had no time to protest. His brand-new trench coat, bought for eighty-eight yuan, was shredded into rags, the scraps littering the ground like firework wrappers in midwinter. Several times, the blades nearly took his life.

Worst of all, only one lens of his sunglasses remained.

“I’m not here to fight you!” Jiese yelled. “I don’t want to hurt anyone!” But the ninjas only moved faster, giving him no chance to explain.

Finally, Jiese had had enough. The martial arts he’d practiced since childhood were meant for self-defense—not the flashy moves seen on TV, but brutal, lethal techniques. For every move he mastered, he had to recite Buddhist scriptures to temper the violence within.

So, despite his gentle appearance, Jiese knew some truly ruthless skills. Suddenly, he raised three fingers on each hand, rolled across the ground, and struck like a hawk, aiming directly for the ninjas’ eyes.

This move, called *”Eagle’s Peck,”* was blindingly fast, designed to cripple an opponent’s offensive power by blinding them. Jiese struck with half his full strength—enough to wound the ninjas’ eyes, though his own arms were slashed in the process, blood dripping from two deep cuts.

A stalemate.

Meanwhile, Meng Liuchuan seemed fixated on Xie Lingyu. Even after her sharp rebuke, he refused to back down, stepping closer as his entire body darkened. A foul, deathly stench spewed from his mouth.

Xie Lingyu’s expression changed. “*Corpse Qi*? You’ve practiced such dark arts?”

Meng Liuchuan laughed. “Hah! You’re sharp. Now, why not come with me?”

I barely had time to react before Yang Pao charged again, his face still bleeding, his snout aimed straight for my groin—a vicious, underhanded strike. His boar’s charge was relentless.

Little Rascal, injured and limping, barked frantically at the sight of my peril.

But Yang Pao, now desperate, ignored the dog’s cries. His tusks lengthened, his hooves harder than iron.

Jiese called out, “Benefactor, your Ghost Sect really specializes in rolling around, huh? That *Eighteen Rolls* technique must be unmatched.”

I cursed inwardly—was he mocking me at a time like this? But no, he seemed genuinely impressed. Eighteen rolls later, my pockets were empty of talismans, and my jade ruler was on the verge of shattering if I dared strike Yang Pao with it again.

Then—*BANG!*

The warehouse door burst open as Jun Ge roared in on Gao Mo’s motorcycle, skidding violently and slamming into Yang Pao, sending the boar flying several meters. Dazed, Yang Pao staggered to his feet.

The car door flung open, and Zhang Dagan stepped out, gripping a basket of pig-butchering tools—scrapers, gutting knives, bloodletting spikes. A Baisha cigarette dangled from his lips.

“Finally found you,” he growled.

Drunk on half a pound of liquor, his courage soared. He tossed the basket aside, spat out his cigarette, and faced Yang Pao with a gleaming copper-coin-adorned cleaver.

Yang Pao, sobered somewhat by the collision, took one look at the familiar tools and nearly collapsed, tears and snot streaming down his face.

Begging proved useless. His bristles hardened into crimson spikes as he transformed fully into a wild boar, snorting furiously before charging.

“Watch his snout and bristles!” I shouted.

Zhang Dagan sidestepped, narrowly avoiding the charge. Yang Pao pivoted and came again.

This time, Zhang Dagan leapt forward, his blade flashing gold as it pierced Yang Pao’s iron hide—breaking his invulnerability.

Yang Pao squealed like a slaughtered pig.

Jun Ge, wielding an iron rod, stormed toward Jiese’s fight. “Hey, let’s spar,” he grinned, his muscular frame moving with brutal efficiency. In seconds, both ninjas lay unconscious.

Jiese, drenched in sweat and clad in tattered rags, nearly dropped to his knees in relief.

“You’re a hero, coming just in time!”

Jun Ge tossed the rod aside, lit another Baisha, and dragged the ninjas toward the center of the warehouse.

“I’ll help!” Jiese offered.

But Zhang Dagan, though he’d wounded Yang Pao, still faced the boar’s death throes. Two bristles had lodged deep in his thigh, yet he remained eerily calm.

“Master, rest. A monk shouldn’t be involved in slaughter.”

Yang Pao writhed, black feces oozing from his rear. Zhang Dagan raised his cleaver, glanced at Jiese, and said, “Light me a cigarette.”

A puff of smoke.

The blade fell.

Blood gushed from the boar’s slit throat.

Yang Pao’s last words: “My master… Feitian Wugong Ji Ruyue… will avenge me…”

Zhang Dagan scoffed. “Tell that sorcerer to come find me. My name is Zhang Dagan. My father was Zhang Dapao.”

Years ago, Ji Ruyue had wandered the border of Jiangxi and Hubei, saving a boar from Zhang Dagan’s father. He named it Yang Pao and granted it human form.

Now, Zhang Dagan swapped to a larger blade and, with practiced ease, severed the boar’s head.

Jun Ge dumped the ninjas aside. “Hey, Japanese. Still wanna fight?”

I knew Meng Liuchuan wielded dark arts and feared he’d ensnare Jun Ge like he had Zongbao. “Be careful! He has no limits!”

Jun Ge frowned as Meng Liuchuan’s body darkened further, wreathed in a terrifying aura of death.

Xie Lingyu warned, “Stay back! He’s practiced forbidden arts.”

Meng Liuchuan was now pitch-black, his hands rotting. Xie Lingyu herself seemed weakened, having already fought him earlier.

“What kind of dark art is this?” I muttered.

Meng Liuchuan smirked. “Perfect. More companions for the Yellow Springs.”

Jun Ge snorted. “Cut the crap. I could knock you out with one punch.”

I yanked him back.

Xie Lingyu cried, “He drains life force—kills without a trace!”

Jun Ge blinked. “Seriously? Why bother with wars? Just train an army of these things.”

I gripped my jade ruler. “Everyone, fall back! I’ll handle this.”

I charged, but before I could reach him, tendrils of black smoke coiled around my legs, unshakable even with the ruler’s power. Meng Liuchuan yanked me forward, his ghostly hands pinning my limbs, ready to tear me apart.

The ruler was wrenched from my grasp, nearly snapping.

Xie Lingyu clutched her chest. “*Qing Ling!*”

From the rafters, He Xiaomao—absent all night—dropped like a final trump card.

Her claws shredded the ghostly hands binding Meng Liuchuan, tearing two gashes in his body. Black corpse Qi oozed from the wounds.

Jiese gasped. “I’ve heard of this—grave robbers who absorb corpse Qi to cultivate, turning pitch-black, casting no shadow!”

Xie Lingu nodded grimly.

Jun Ge and Zhang Dagan stared—under the light, Meng Liuchuan indeed cast no shadow. Even their courage wavered.

*Is he even human anymore?*

He Xiaomao, far more supernatural than Little Rascal, growled low, her mere presence disrupting Meng Liuchuan’s undead form. Truly, the world’s greatest cat.

Enraged, Meng Liuchuan spread his blackened arms and seized me in a suffocating embrace.

Then—he leaned in, lips parting—as if to kiss me.