Chapter 3: The Preacher’s Flesh

“Worthy brother, what good ideas do you have for subduing the preacher and his disciples?” After a few rounds of beer, the Boss grabbed my hand—his palm hair stabbing me like steel needles. I winced but forced a grin, my other hand nervously picking at the edge of my burger bun. Around us, little demons laughed and swapped stories, the cave echoing with wild, animal whoops.

Subdue the preacher and his disciples? I’m afraid I couldn’t even beat the preacher himself. I pictured the preacher as some cross between Billy Graham and Dwayne Johnson—a guy who’d flatten me just by flexing. But I couldn’t let my nerves show. Not here, not now.

But to survive, I had to keep up the act: “Boss, know yourself and know your enemy, and you will never be defeated. This preacher on his journey west—every mountain lord he meets is either the Lord’s errand boy or an angel’s favorite pet. May I ask, Boss, what’s your background?” I tried to sound strategic, the way my old fantasy football buddies would analyze playoff brackets. The Boss puffed up a little at my respect.

He looked embarrassed. “Honestly, I have no connections in the Heavenly Court. I was just a wild mountain lion in the Rockies, happened to soak up some weird energy, learned to walk upright, and got along with the Second-in-Command, so we teamed up and took over Maple Hollow, calling ourselves ‘Maple Hollow Kings.’” There was almost a hint of pride in his voice, like a self-made man recounting his first business venture after a long night at the bar.

I racked my brain—Journey to the West, the sequel, spin-offs, later chapters—never heard of a ‘Maple Hollow King.’ Looks like he’s a minor villain, not even part of the official ‘eighty-one tribulations,’ not even a walk-on part. My mind flickered through memories of bootleg VHS tapes, summer afternoons binge-watching with my cousins, never once spotting a mountain lion demon in the credits.

If a demon like this could eat the preacher’s flesh, even the White Bone Spirit would be sobbing in the bathroom. I pictured her, ghostly and glamorous, mascara running, muttering about unfairness—just another day in the demon hierarchy.

Still, I had to keep up the positive spin: “No background means more freedom! Outside the system, you can do as you please—not subject to anyone. Look at the Gold and Silver Horn brothers: the preacher’s flesh was almost in their mouths, but the moment the Lord gave an order, they had to obediently return to Heaven.” I wagged a finger, like a coach giving the underdogs a halftime pep talk. The little demons looked at each other, nodding with newfound hope.

“Heard about it, heard about it.” Maple Hollow King raised his cup, looking regretful. He took a long swig, foam dripping down his chin. For a second, he seemed lost in memories—battles won, chances missed.

“So we must learn from their mistake: don’t dawdle. Whether it’s roasted or fried, as soon as we get the preacher, eat him immediately—no nonsense. Bad guys always lose because they can’t keep their mouths shut.” The Second-in-Command stroked his beard and nodded. “Truly insightful.” He looked at me as if I’d just revealed the secret of a winning Super Bowl play.

The Boss’s eyes glazed over, as if the preacher were already stripped and lying in the smoker. “Since that’s the case, worthy brother, what methods do you have? Tell me!” He leaned in, the burger forgotten. Around us, the little demons craned their necks, eager for more.

“Well…” I was stalling for time, but had to say something. “I do have some methods, but to do a good job, you must first sharpen your tools. Boss, what treasures do you have here that I could use?” I tried to sound thoughtful, the way a detective might at a crime scene, but really, I was just buying time, hoping for an out.

I meant it as a trick question, hoping to get myself off the hook—surely these minor demons had nothing special. But the Boss leapt up: “If you want to talk about this, I’m wide awake! Worthy brother, follow me to the Treasure Room!” Oh crap.