PWE – Chapter 23 Resurrection

That remark made the man’s eyes narrow sharply. His hands, clasped behind his back, tightened as he said in a low voice:
“Then let’s see if you’ve really got the skill!”

With that, he lunged at Xiao Wange.

As he moved, the snow falling in the courtyard grew heavier. The white flakes were beautiful, but now, who had the time to admire such a sight? Zhao Guixiang and the ghost child watched in terror from the side, hardly daring to breathe.

That Daoist Qu shouted viciously and arrogantly:
“Master, kill her! Master, quickly kill her!”
With Master here—invincible in the world—that little girl was surely doomed.

But…

Xiao Wange swiftly dodged the man’s first strike. She twisted her body slightly, her hair swinging through the air in a graceful arc.

Seeing her dodge, the man’s eyes flickered with cold light as he struck at her again.

There was no trace of fear on Xiao Wange’s face. The corners of her lips curled in a brilliant arc as she deftly avoided his attacks.

After two consecutive strikes, she laughed:
“I already let you take two moves. Now it’s my turn.”

Saying that, she lifted her wrist and quickly formed a hand seal.

The man’s gaze darkened, clearly provoked by her words. Let him take two moves? Hah, that was blatant mockery.

Narrowing his cold eyes, he too raised his pale, slender hand and formed a seal.

Zhao Guixiang and the ghost child felt the air in the courtyard churn violently, icy winds whipping against their faces so painfully it was hard to endure. But neither dared cry out.

When two such powers clashed, little shrimp like them could only cower in a corner, trembling.

…

No one knew how long it lasted—it felt like a century.

The air churned too fast, snowflakes fell too wildly. Stirred by the turbulence, they could no longer see the combatants clearly.

Just when Zhao Guixiang was wondering when the duel would finally end, the snow suddenly stopped falling. The violent currents eased, and the courtyard returned to stillness.

At last they could see the two figures again. One stood with blood at the corner of his mouth, his eyes bloodshot, filled with bitter unwillingness.

The other stood leisurely to the side, her lips curved in a dazzling smile—warm in appearance, yet carrying a chilling edge.

Zhao Guixiang let out a sigh of relief. Comrade Xiao had won. The match ended with her victory.

Xiao Wange looked at the man with a faint smile, raised a brow, and said:
“You lost. Looks like saving your disciple is impossible now.”

She glanced at Daoist Qu.

At that moment, Daoist Qu’s face turned ashen, filled with disbelief.

Impossible. How could Master lose to that little girl? He’s so powerful, like an immortal… how could he lose?

“I may not match your skill,” the man said, coughing up another mouthful of blood, staining the snow red, “but I will never admit defeat!”

Then, after fixing a deep gaze on Xiao Wange, his body dissolved into a swirl of violet mist and vanished.

Xiao Wange darted after him:
“Trying to run?!”

Forming a seal with her hands, she cast a spell into the air. Though nothing seemed to be there, a muffled groan echoed—“Ugh!”—laden with pain. Clearly he was badly wounded.

“You’re just as cold and heartless as before! Just as hateful as ever!” the angry voice spat, teeth gritted.

Xiao Wange snorted:
“Against someone like you, mercy is wasted!”

He let his disciple wreak havoc—how could such a man be any good?

She tried to capture his incarnation, but he fled too quickly, and his presence vanished from the air in an instant.

Looking up, her expression grew grim. Letting him escape was frustrating. Still, this was only an incarnation; even if destroyed, his true body would survive, though injured.

Yet what puzzled her was who he truly was. She felt she knew him, but no memory surfaced.

“Xiao Auntie, that Daoist’s trying to escape!” the ghost child suddenly cried.

Her mind snapped back. She turned toward Daoist Qu, who was crouching low, trying to slip away.

Xiao Wange’s lips curved in mockery. She cast a spell, freezing him in place.

Daoist Qu’s pupils shrank in fear as she approached.

“Immortal, don’t kill me, please! I’m just doing someone else’s bidding—I’m nothing but a lackey!” he pleaded.

“At least you know you’re a lackey. Quite self-aware,” Xiao Wange sneered, looking down at him in disdain.

Daoist Qu forced a flattering smile: “Yes, I’m a lackey.”

She let out a cold laugh, suddenly leaning close, her sharp gaze boring into him:
“Who is your master? And how did you meet him?”

Since he was that man’s disciple, he should know something.

Daoist Qu frowned bitterly:
“Immortal, I honestly don’t know my master’s origins. I only know he’s extremely powerful. But… it seems he’s gravely injured, always in seclusion, healing.”

“Healing in seclusion?” Xiao Wange narrowed her eyes, thoughtful.

“Yes. He had me capture many demons. I gave him their inner cores. Even that thousand-year-old fox I caught last time—I gave its core to him. He devoured them all, using them to heal his wounds.”

He spoke truthfully, not daring to lie before someone his master couldn’t even defeat.

Xiao Wange’s face darkened. Her eyes sharpened as she said slowly:
“Using demon cores to heal—truly vile!”

Not all demons were evil; many were kinder than humans. For him to consume their cores for his own gain was cruel beyond measure. Surely many of those he devoured were innocent. Such an act was inhumane.

Her hand clenched tightly. She glared at Daoist Qu:
“Do you know where his lair is?”

“I don’t!” he blurted, struggling but unable to move. “I’ve never known where he lives. We only ever contact each other through a mirror—he summons me, or I summon him.”

“Then how did you deliver those demon cores to him? Surely not through incarnations every time?” she pressed.

“No. He has another disciple, younger than me—about twenty-something. That one always came to collect them. He’s much stronger than me. I tried following him a few times, but always lost him.”

“What does this disciple look like?” Xiao Wange asked.

Daoist Qu sighed regretfully:
“I don’t know. He changes his face each time with disguise arts. I’ve never seen his true appearance. He’s very cunning.”

Xiao Wange frowned. Always using disguise to meet others—indeed, very crafty. Clearly that man recruited many disciples, all to serve him.

Straightening, she looked down at Daoist Qu:
“Later we’re going to find the ghost child’s father. If you want to live, do exactly as I say.”

Of course Daoist Qu dared not refuse:
“I understand, I understand.”

Xiao Wange gave a cold snort, then turned to Zhao Guixiang and the ghost doll:
“Come inside. We’ll deal with the ghost child’s body first.”

Both nodded quickly and followed her into a room.

In the center lay a small coffin.

Seeing it, Zhao Guixiang grew emotional:
“The child’s body is in there, isn’t it?”

“Mm,” Xiao Wange answered as she approached the coffin.

The ghost child’s face lit up with excitement. At last, he could reclaim his body—he would finally be free.

Zhao Guixiang, holding his hand, looked at the corpse covered in talismans inside. She frowned:
“This…”

“Wash off the talismans. Once they’re gone, I’ll return his soul to the body, bring him back to life for a few hours,” Xiao Wange instructed.

Zhao Guixiang froze. “Bring him back to life?” Had she heard right? Revive the dead? Even for a few hours—it was still resurrection. Could Comrade Xiao really wield such power?

Outside, Daoist Qu also trembled with excitement. Resurrection? Only Bodhisattvas were said to command such an art. Could this young woman be one—or a reincarnation?

Following instructions, Zhao Guixiang fetched water and carefully washed off the talismans. She also dressed the body in fresh clothes.

The ghost child’s body, well-preserved, now looked like a sleeping child in fine garments.

Xiao Wange glanced at it, then drew the ghost child close. She touched his eyes and said:
“Close them. When I tell you to open them, then you open.”