Chapter Six: The Fallen Deity Encounters the Calamity Fiend

The man gave no answer but simply removed his sunglasses. In the moonlight, Ma Sufeng could see a dark, gaping hole where his left eye should have been. There was no doubt—it was Ye Huan.

“Junior brother,” Ye Huan chuckled, “I see the spot you’ve chosen is quite good, but it’s a bit small and can only hold one person. My eyesight isn’t what it used to be—mind lending me a hand up?”

Ma Sufeng replied without the slightest courtesy, “Help you up? Hah! Traitor, demon, today I’ll cleanse the sect on behalf of our master!”

“Demon? Heretic? Who decided that your path is righteous and mine is corrupt? Tell me, then, what is the Dao?”

“You wish to debate the Dao with me? You are unworthy!”

“That’s enough—I’ve no time to spar with words, and I don’t care for old grudges tonight. If you know what’s good for you, let me up.”

Arrogance demands substance, and Ye Huan—known as Black Sunglasses—certainly possessed it. With innate talent, he had unlocked the Ghost Path, a forbidden Daoist practice known to only a select few. In his mind, the Heavenly Path, the Human Path, the Ghost Path—all were but means to a final end. If so, why draw lines between good and evil? Only the result mattered.

Ma Sufeng remembered well the regret in his master’s eyes before death, the two words of warning he would carry for a lifetime. How could he not avenge his sect? He leapt forward, drew the Seven-Star Sword, and, transforming into a streak of light, brought it down from above with a shout, “With me here, there’s no place for you!”

A metallic clang rang out as the Seven-Star Sword collided with the Soul-Summoning Banner. Ma Sufeng, having launched himself with all his might, felt his tiger’s mouth go numb from the force of the impact. Ye Huan, however, merely looked a shade darker but had not moved a single step; his block seemed almost casual.

As Ma Sufeng landed, Ye Huan pivoted with his right foot, his left sweeping low to the ground, catching Ma Sufeng before he could steady himself. The blow landed square on his shin—pain shot through him, and with a cry he collapsed.

Looking at the gasping Ma Sufeng sprawled on the ground, Ye Huan said coldly, “Since we were children, have you ever bested me at anything? You were inferior then, and you’re still inferior now!”

The old hatred in Ma Sufeng’s heart now flared with fresh rage. He refused to yield, trying to rise, sword in one hand, bracing himself against the earth. But a black rod swung down and struck his wrist with a thud. Pain clenched his breath, trembling down to his heart. His right hand lost all strength, and the Seven-Star Sword rolled away.

Ye Huan threw his head back and laughed, grinding his shoe against Ma Sufeng’s face, using him as a stepping stone to stride up the Skywatching Terrace.

He pulled out his compass, sat cross-legged, and put his sunglasses back on. Glancing at the mottled wine gourd on the platform with disdain, he sneered, “Useless, all of you. The master drank himself stupid, and the disciple followed suit—drunkards, the lot, pretending to be immortals!” With a kick, he sent the gourd rolling to Ma Sufeng’s side.

The gourd, left by Ma Dingyan, was of some repute—harvested from Penglai in Shandong, the same origin as the legendary purple gourd of the Supreme Elder. Both Ma Dingyan and Ma Sufeng were fond of drink; even the poorest wine tasted sweet from that vessel. Now, its stopper knocked loose, wine spilled across the ground.

Seeing the spilled wine, Ma Sufeng thought of his master—a man more like a father to him, for he had been abandoned as an infant and surely would have frozen to death at the foot of Mount Qingcheng were it not for Ma Dingyan. The hatred of a slain father added to the master’s final command; the rage in Ma Sufeng’s heart was boundless. The scattered wine seemed like a mirror, reflecting a lifetime of vengeance and grief.

Suddenly, a bright star streaked across the sky, roaring from the western horizon. Ye Huan spotted it from afar. The star shone with an intensity rivaling the sun, trailing a tail longer than any meteor, eclipsing even the moon’s glow.

Ye Huan was transfixed. What a portent! Such celestial phenomena herald great events.

The star moved at incredible speed. That night, it was said that half the people in China saw it.

“Grandpa, there’s a shooting star! I want to make a wish!” a little girl clapped. Her grandfather scooped her up and hurried into the house, muttering, “Silly child, get inside and do a good deed. That’s no shooting star—that’s a broom star!”

Ma Sufeng, struggling to his feet, looked up and caught the scene in the sky. The brilliant star streaked toward the Big Dipper, and as it passed the vertical line between the fourth and seventh stars, a previously dim star suddenly flared bright, illuminated by the newcomer.

A sharp arc of light sliced across the sky, and the long-tailed star plunged precisely into the Big Dipper. In that instant, the heavens erupted in a dazzling display—the two stars collided, unleashing a light so intense that some would later claim that on the fifteenth of the seventh lunar month, two moons had appeared in the sky.

A massive burst of radiance expanded into a giant circle, then faded. A single red spark shot off in a certain direction. Ye Huan, sunglasses off, fixed his gaze on the red flash. In just three seconds, he would pinpoint its destination—he had waited long for this moment.

Only here, atop Mount Tai, at this precise time, could one see the red arc left by the collision of two stars—a meteorite, the fragment born from their impact. Who knew how many years until they would meet again?

The blazing, long-tailed star appeared once a century, named the Lone Calamity, also known as the Death Star. Its arrival always presaged chaos. In 1960, during the peak of the Great Famine, countless lives were lost to disaster.

The dim star within the Dipper had another name: the Calamity Fiend.

These two stars were a pair, foretold by the ancients to meet some destined day. Yet they were so feared that their very mention chilled the heart, so ominous their reputation in divination.

There is an axiom in fate studies: “Of all the baneful configurations, none bring more harm than Death and Calamity.” This is the opening formula of the Baneful Stars doctrine, underscoring the peril of these two stars.

The second line reads: “Should one encounter fortune and longevity, even calamity may turn to power and fame.” Thus, their meeting does not always spell doom; all depends on interpretation and combination.

Yet, if Death and Calamity unite, then: “All who wield power must bear calamity; the star of power needs calamity as its aid. The five elements aligned but lacking calamity bring only hollow authority and loneliness.”

As the saying goes: “Creation cannot grant perfection; harmony without calamity brings long life, but only ordinary fortune. When calamity and power converge, one may rule the masses, but must endure the loss of kin and die alone—a true outcast star, seen only once in a thousand years!”

Born of the collision between Death and Calamity, Calamity arises from the end of the five elements—external disaster, internal loss. It signifies harm from the world without; only when united with Death does it become the true Celestial Outcast Star.

Death appears once a century, Calamity waits a hundred years for each collision. Usually, they only pass by, but this time—they collided, and a new life was born. Divination holds that every fate corresponds to a star above; none are exempt.

One thus born will be a dragon among men—peerless, but doomed to harm those closest, fated to solitude and loneliness. Ma Sufeng’s mission was to find the place of this one’s descent—a sacred duty of the Celestial Dao, passed down since the founder Ling Zhengyang.

Only by cultivating virtue and performing good deeds can the Celestial Outcast Star avoid bringing disaster to the world. The Celestial Dao has handed down a secret maxim for generations:

The Celestial Outcast Star cannot be stopped,
It brings doom to kin and parents.
But the Noble One can redeem it,
Cultivate virtue and accumulate merit as the remedy.

“Die!” At that moment, Ma Sufeng, trembling, stood behind Ye Huan. Ye Huan, intent on the path of the red light, did not notice the wind at the back of his head.

With a crack, a blinding pain struck the back of Ye Huan’s skull, and he collapsed, consciousness snuffed out.

On the Skywatching Terrace, Ma Sufeng stood bloodied, a stone—roughly the size of a shoe sole—in his hand, its sharp corner still dripping. Now, only he remained on the platform; Ye Huan had likely tumbled down the cliffs of Mount Tai.

In the final moment, Ma Sufeng looked up to see the red light touch down. The once-dim Calamity Fiend now burned bright red, ablaze. When it returned to darkness, the Celestial Outcast’s life would end.

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