Chapter 137: Another Self

Lang Fei, the young demon, had his first truly deep sleep since leaving the demon town.

He curled up in the corner of the tent like a dog, using both arms to tightly guard his head, trying his best to bring his face and knees close together. It seemed only in this posture could he fall asleep with a sense of security.

Listening to the boy's faint snores and steady breathing, He Chang'an found no sleep.

In the darkness, he kept his eyes open, trying to calm his mind as much as possible.

Yet the effect was minimal. Even the breathing and meditation technique imparted by Old Man Chen proved useless; instead, it stirred his internal energy into chaos, making him extremely uncomfortable.

He Chang'an knew very well that this was the so-called inner demon.

He had once believed that, having lived two lifetimes, his mental fortitude would be much stronger than that of ordinary people—this was also the fundamental reason for his rigorous cultivation. But now, it seemed still far too shallow and naive.

He had been restless and arrogant, always thinking that with the small black stick by his side, he would sooner or later reach the pinnacle and look down upon the world with disdain.

In truth, he was still far from it.

Look at him, He Chang'an. When someone casually stuffed a young demon by his side, it instantly threw him into restlessness, making him unable to even continue the ancient fist techniques he had practiced tens of thousands of times.

As he pondered and untangled these thoughts, looking back, he was suddenly struck with a chilling realization: in fact, the very first time he laid eyes on this boy, the intent to kill had already taken root in his heart.

He thought back carefully, yet found it absurd—why would he harbor murderous intent toward a stranger with whom he had no ties or prior intersection?

After thinking for a long, long time, until the eastern horizon turned pale, He Chang'an finally figured it out.

It was not that he wanted to kill another; rather, he was dissatisfied with himself.

From the very first day he transmigrated, he had been "kept" by a female ghost. Following that, every step He Chang'an took was cautious and walking on thin ice, terrified lest others discover his little secrets, and worried he would be swallowed whole by this Great Tang empire without even a scrap of bone left...

He merely looked glorious on the surface, having gained some fortuitous encounters and befriended "high-level figures" like the old scholar, A Fei, Lord Zheng, and Zheng Hongxiu, which allowed his cultivation to advance smoothly like a bamboo being split.

Yet deep down in his heart, how was he any different from another dog?

Having thought this through, He Chang'an suddenly felt a sense of relief.

Yes, this young demon was actually just another He Chang'an, another version of himself.

The reason he had always disliked and detested him was simply because He Chang'an was dissatisfied with himself. He wanted to do better and make himself even stronger.

Once the root cause of the illness was found, the rest was merely a matter of prescribing the right medicine to heal the patient.

He Chang'an lowered his head. Catching the first gleam of dawn before sunrise, he looked intently at Lang Fei, the young demon, nodded imperceptibly, and smiled.

Regardless of whatever schemes the old man of the Chen family in the demon town harbored, to He Chang'an, it simply meant he had acquired an extra whetstone by his side.

Indeed, this was a top-tier whetstone.

Another version of himself, another young demon—he was a mirror for He Chang'an, as well as an object for tempering and transformation.

As for who was actually cultivating whom—who cared!

Early the next morning, when the boy woke up, he saw He Chang'an practicing boxing in the open space outside the tent. Every stance and movement was meticulous and possessed a clear rhythm.

Sunlight filtered through the dense branches and leaves of the tall trees, casting dappled spots of light all over the ground, resembling scattered gold coins that were pleasing to the eye.

He Chang'an's boxing style was archaic and even somewhat clumsy, which aroused the boy's aversion, causing him to deliberately turn his head away to avoid looking.

Yet strangely enough, even though he refused to look, He Chang'an's earnest posture seemed deeply engraved into the depths of the boy's soul, impossible to chase away.

Agitated, the young demon climbed up, walked outside the tent, faced the direction of the sun, and relieved himself with a long, heavy stream of urine.

At the end, he even grabbed himself, thrust his hips toward the sun, and only then did his mood improve slightly. He muttered inwardly, "That son of a bitch He Chang'an, I wonder if he has a woman he loves."

After finishing, the boy casually squatted beneath a large tree, squinting his eyes half-shut, enjoying the bright sunshine and the calls of birds in the empty mountains. He felt that living like a dog was actually pretty damn good after all.

Having finished his several rounds of boxing, He Chang'an felt refreshed and invigorated from head to toe. His state of mind was calm and detached as never before, and his entire demeanor quietly underwent a subtle transformation.

In short, it was utterly abstruse, suddenly reminding him of a line of poetry the old scholar had mentioned several times: *At dawn, looking where the red is moist, flowers weigh heavy on Brocade Official City.*

This phrase "where the red is moist" was used so wonderfully. He Chang'an found it vivid and evocative, far better than lines like *"When the waning moon leaves the door, the beauty weeps her farewell."*

For the very first time in his life, He Chang'an stood before a mirror, meticulously arranging his attire and appearance. He changed into a cyan robe and, for the first time ever, hung a jade pendant at his waist.

With a bamboo sword strapped to his belt as well, he looked entirely like a scholar who had read his fill of books.

In the past, he had held a rather dim view of scholars, thinking they were a bunch of fellows who loved to brag and bicker, so poor they were about to pawn their trousers, yet spending all day dreaming of visiting pleasure quarters to listen to music and compose poetry.

Now that he thought about it, scholars weren't so bad after all—at least their appearance was quite presentable.

Just as he was about to pack up the tent, he caught sight of the young demon out of the corner of his eye. He stopped his hands, said gently, "Pack up the tent," and turned to walk into the mountain forest.

In the distance, three or four li away, he spotted a patch of verdant bamboo forest—a rare sight in the northern regions.

He Chang'an wanted to find some work for Lang Fei to do; otherwise, this son of a bitch would spend all day scheming how to kill him or how to secretly learn profound martial arts and flee in a flash to wreak havoc everywhere.

The mere thought gave him a headache.

Since the boy was He Chang'an's whetstone, then starting today, he would slowly grind him down and see just who could smooth whom out.

The bamboo forest was not large, less than twenty or thirty mu in area. Surprisingly, however, a bamboo known as "Gold-Inlaid Jade" grew here.

This variety of Gold-Inlaid Jade was common in the north and not particularly thick, but it gave a unique impression; almost all the other moso bamboos leaned toward it, growing like stars surrounding the moon.

He Chang'an took a fancy to it at a single glance.

He walked up to that stalk of Gold-Inlaid Jade bamboo and reached out to touch it. He felt the bamboo body was cool to the touch, overflowing with spiritual energy—truly a fine specimen of spiritual wood!

Originally, he had only intended to craft a book satchel to hold idle books, writing brushes, and inkstone, letting Lang Fei carry it. Firstly, it would give the boy a sense of purpose; secondly, since he, He Chang'an, lacked a pageboy, placing a "sage's classic" inside the satchel could also serve as a method of spiritual suppression.

Discovering that this Gold-Inlaid Jade had already matured into spiritual wood was even better, genuinely counting as an unexpected windfall.

He Chang'an examined the bamboo, murmured thoughtfully, grasped the bamboo sword "Chunli" tied to his waist, and prepared to swing it out.

With his current level of cultivation, even an ordinary bamboo sword should easily be able to sever this bamboo.

"Young master, wait!" someone suddenly cried out in shock to stop him.

He Chang'an turned around and witnessed a bizarre sight: on the damp ground of the bamboo forest, a ball of clear light struggled and wavered, gradually condensing into a solid form—it was a white-bearded old man less than two feet tall.

What particularly piqued He Chang'an's curiosity was that the old man was actually dressed in a scarlet official robe, with a refined countenance and a tall official cap. Judging by the style of the official uniform, the rank badges, and the water patterns, his official rank should not be high.

He Chang'an estimated that this official uniform represented roughly a ninth-rank sesame seed official among the civil bureaucrats of the Great Tang, or perhaps even lower.

This was because the style of this official robe differed slightly from the official attire currently in use by the Great Tang, appearing somewhat plain and shabby; whereas the Great Tang's official attire advocated luxury, demanding that even the garments of eighth and ninth-rank officials be magnificent and reflect the grandeur of a great nation.

Regarding this, the old scholar had once commented, *"Like a beggar picking his teeth—are you digging out meat or scraping up shit?"* Of course, the remark was extremely harsh, and even He Chang'an felt it was going a bit too far.

Seeing that He Chang'an was somewhat dazed, the short old man cupped his hands in greeting and took the initiative to speak: "I am the Earth God of this place. Young master may simply call me Lin Xiuzhi."

Earth God, Lin Xiuzhi?

He Chang'an sighed once again at how ignorant he, a Yellow-rank demon slayer, truly was. He had always assumed it was enough that the Great Tang was overrun with fiends and plagued by demons and ghosts, but now an Earth God had popped up as well. Things were getting truly chaotic.

However, his mind quickly cleared.

Since demons, monsters, ghosts, and phantoms all existed, why couldn't there be mountain gods and earth deities? Perhaps in places unknown to him, river lords, river deities, and lake dragons also existed; it was just that he had never witnessed them.

The Earth God, Lin Xiuzhi, seemed to guess He Chang'an's thoughts. He chuckled dryly, cupped his hands again, and said, "Actually, I am not much of an Earth God anymore. This scarlet official robe of mine was bestowed by the emperor of the Great Jin and custom-made by officials of the Ministry of Rites. Now it has all become an antique.

Hehe, somewhat out of place nowadays."

As he spoke, the short-statured Earth God spun around in place with a comical air, and that scarlet official robe vanished.

In its place was a simple cyan robe, transforming him into the likeness of a scholar.