The golden lotus, carrying the remnant will of a living soul, settled into Xue Cuo’s palm. He lowered his gaze briefly, then placed it into his spiritual domain.
By now, the thick clouds blanketing the heavens had finally dispersed, revealing a pale wash of sky through the hazy dawn light.
Day was about to break.
The heavy, baleful qi of Broken Head Mountain had thinned somewhat with the passing of the dead. Yet ghosts who would rather scatter their souls than cross over still lingered in that place.
But to dwell within his golden lotus was not true rebirth…
Xue Cuo swept his sleeve, determined to track down the Daoist in white gauze. From his mustard seed space, he carelessly drew out a bamboo hat, placed it on his head, and made to leave.
“Friend.”
The voice came from behind.
Xue Cuo turned, his profile picturesque as a painting. “What else troubles you, sir?”
Yin Feixue, broadsword slung across his back, tried to mimic Xue Cuo’s stance atop the treetop, but his footwork was lacking. The branch beneath him quivered violently.
Xue Cuo couldn’t help glancing at his great big feet. The white-furred tiger rubbed his ears and grinned. “You’re looking for that fellow too?”
Xue Cuo gave no reply, merely adjusted the brim of his hat in silence.
“I’m off to find him as well,” Yin Feixue continued. “The Vampire King promised to serve as my city gate in Tiandu, and now he’s gone missing. I’ve a corpse to reclaim.”
Xue Cuo’s lips lifted faintly. His undertaking was bound to be fraught with obstacles, and if Yin Feixue bore his own designs, then for now, joining forces might add some useful strength.
So he raised his hand in invitation.
At that moment, dawn broke.
The youth stood on the branch-tip, blue robes rippling like water, sleeves drifting like cloud, smiling faintly down.
It was only the fault of the dawn-glow for being so beautiful.
Yin Feixue thought to himself: What a fine morning! To befriend Xue-xiong at such an hour. How marvellous!
Xue Cuo thought to himself: A gentleman’s friendship is as plain as water. We act for mutual benefit and shared purpose, nothing more.
He did not linger. With a light tread upon the pine branch, he vanished into the horizon like a rainbow-feathered plume.
Yin Feixue’s eyes lit up. He hefted his broadsword and gave chase to that ethereal figure.
He hacked apart many a ghost as he ran, yet the youth passed as though untouched by dust. Together they cleared Broken Head Mountain and made for more inhabited lands.
“That fellow’s sorcery is peculiar,” said Xue Cuo. “It demands copious blood and flesh, and particular feng shui veins. You and I should split up. If you find a terrain with such veins, Your Majesty, be sure to inspect it closely.”
“What sort of veins?”
They halted at a cliff. Xue Cuo explained, and seeing Yin Feixue’s incomprehension, he seized his hand and tapped a few points upon his palm.
“Qi like a heart’s core, veins like coiling dragons, yin in excess and yang in decline. Such places bear the omens of three defects and five lacks, most inauspicious.”
Yin Feixue’s ears twitched. He cupped his hands. “I understand.”
Xue Cuo smiled faintly, adjusted his hat, and handed over a little paper figurine. Its features were crudely drawn, yet it seemed full of life. “When you find him, bid this one alert me. I will come.”
Yin Feixue took it and gave it a squeeze. To his surprise, the little thing seemed offended and promptly bit his finger.
“Hss—!”
Xue Cuo wasted no more time. He leapt from the cliff, drifting away like a fallen leaf borne on the wind.
Yin Feixue watched him vanish, then stuffed the figurine into his robe. After a moment, he fished it out again and studied it. “This little thing… Interesting.”
Knife over shoulder, he walked on, musing: A god who controls the path of rebirth is no trifling being, righteous or otherwise. The golden lotus in that youth’s hand is a true treasure.
“Xue-xiong, you’re no ordinary man,” he murmured, eyes deep, lips curved with amusement. He gave the figurine a shake.
The paper figurine glared ferociously, its mouth opening and closing in silence.
Yin Feixue suddenly paused. After a wary glance about, he ducked behind a tree, lifted the paper figure, and inhaled deeply like a ghost.
Sure enough, there was a faint, cold, lingering fragrance.
It was pleasant.
The figurine’s sketched features crumpled in terror. It scrabbled frantically, but the tiger loomed ever closer. By the time Yin Feixue was satisfied, the little thing was half-dead, its line-drawn face breaking into tears like a tattered doll.
It lifted its paper head and wailed pitifully, streaming ink tears.
Yin Feixue: “…”
Elsewhere, Xue Cuo noticed nothing amiss. He had drawn the figurine in idle moments, sealing a talisman within that allowed sound to travel a thousand miles.
Because each was drawn in a different frame of mind, they had differing temperaments. The eldest, Xiao Jia, drawn during the goddess’s descent, was calmest of all.
Xiao Yi, scribbled in passing, was timid, quiet, and obedient. He never caused trouble, so Xue Cuo thought little could go wrong.
At present, Xiao Jia was sitting cross-legged within his sleeve, expression grave. Through Xiao Yi’s eyes, he beheld a huge tiger’s muzzle looming close, whiskers twitching.
Xiao Jia: …
It chose to close its eyes.
Meanwhile, Xue Cuo pressed on in search of human settlements.
From a high vantage, he gazed out. Between the mountains lay a low basin, mulberry trees thick about the fields, a small brook winding through to a village where thin smoke curled skyward.
But the smoke clung too thick, laced with dark qi.
Xue Cuo tapped his toes and dropped down the mountain.
The village was well hidden. Concealed in the foliage, he saw it up close. There were layer upon layer of arrays sealed it tight as a jar. Few folk stirred within. In the fields, some planted rice, some washed silk, some wove nets. All looked content and leisurely.
Yet the washerwoman’s motions repeated with uncanny precision. The old farmer, legs swarmed with leeches, worked on leisurely transplanting rice seedlings.
The longer he looked, the deeper Xue Cuo frowned.
There’s grievance here. And the aura of a fellow path that felt unpleasant, wrong.
He plucked a leaf, thought a while, then flicked it down.
The leaf floated to earth, and so did he.
He changed his clothes, slung a bamboo basket on his back, and before setting out, offered a stick of incense to the Goddess, similar to a dutiful son bidding farewell to his elders before travelling far.
Truly filial.
The Goddess is watching me. Thank you.
Definitely not because he feared danger he might not overcome.
He coughed twice, feeling that familiar gaze. For another god, such scrutiny might well kill a weaker disciple.
But the Goddess knew: Xue Cuo was gifted, thick-skinned, and would always leap into a fight, win or lose.
Under her “loving” gaze, Xue Cuo hobbled down the slope.
Far ahead, on the mountain path, an old woman washed silk, a bamboo basket on her back, leaning on her staff as she made her way to the village.
Xue Cuo plonked himself down on the ground and hastily cried, “Old granny!”
The old woman started, turned her head.
Clutching his foot, Xue Cuo wailed in agony, “Old granny, I’ve twisted my ankle. I was hoping to reach the village… ah, old granny, old granny!”
The old woman gave him one look, her wrinkled face tightening, then quickened her pace with the bamboo basket on her back.
Xue Cuo blinked, cheeks puffing, and leaned over to peer into the stream. Strange, wasn’t this pitiful enough? When he begged from the Goddess, he always did it like this, and she always gave him something.
He scratched his head, scanned the roadside. He was limping but still swift, so he took a short-cut to get ahead of her.
The old woman, with her basket of damp yarn, turned. There stood a young man clinging to a tree, panting hard. “Granny, I’ve twisted my ankle and I wish to…”
Her brows shot up. She fixed her eyes straight ahead and tore past him, so fast he couldn’t even block her way.
Grinding his teeth, Xue Cuo muttered, “I don’t believe this.”
He gave chase. She glanced back, her face darkening, and swerved down a side-path in panic. But he clung to her like a ghost at her back, repeating himself in that maddening sing-song:
“Granny, I’ve most unfortunately twisted my ankle.”
“Granny, don’t run.”
“Granny, wait a moment.”
“Stand still, will you!”
He barked the last with such force that she faltered. A frail mortal, she could never outpace him. Exhausted, pallid as a corpse and close to collapse, she pointed a trembling finger at him.
With a thump, Xue Cuo sat down again, clutching his leg. “Granny, I…”
Her face looked more stricken than if she had seen a ghost. She lowered her voice. “I’ve seen folk go courting death, but never one like you!… Quick, be off. I’ll pretend I never saw you!”
Xue Cuo glared, eyes round. “But I’m injured.”
She drew breath to scold him further, when her ears twitched; instantly she shrank into silence, head bowed.
Xue Cuo too heard the pattering tread. A gleam crossed his eyes as he looked up. A handful of farmers came along the path. The one in front, pipe clenched in his teeth and two grass carp dangling from his hand, was dark-skinned, filthy of hand and foot… yet his grin showed a mouthful of white teeth.
“Well now, where’s this pretty lad come from? Lost your way in the mountains?”
“I’m a humble doctor who came to gather herbs,” Xue Cuo replied. “Sadly I lost my way and fell, hurt my leg. Good sir, the daylight wanes, might I lodge in your village for the night?”
The old farmer blinked, exchanged a look with his fellows. They all smiled… thin, strange smiles with a tang of blood about them.
“Lodge here?”
“Do you know what sort of place this is?”
Xue Cuo answered sheepishly, “Surely there’s nowhere that can’t make room for a living man. I’m not fussy, not fussy at all.”
They stared him up and down with cold eyes. One gave a sneering laugh and came forward to steady him. “Very well. We’ve rooms enough here.”
Like some guileless simpleton, Xue Cuo beamed. “Excellent, excellent!”
They supported him between them and bore him village-wards. The old woman trailed at the rear in silence, slow-footed.
The tracks outside the village branched many ways, but only this one was paved with bluestone. Xue Cuo rested a hand on a farmer’s shoulder, his fingers brushing their skin in passing.
Cold.
As though only a layer of hide.
His expression never flickered. He walked on, until they passed a huge cauldron by the wayside. Blood stained its rim, grass scraps and strands of hair clung there, with splinters of bone.
Xue Cuo’s pupils tightened. Half an arm lay there.
The farmer beside him noticed, raised a brow. “And what d’you see?”
Xue Cuo exclaimed admiringly, “What a fine pot! The ash from such fuel would surely make good medicine.”
Another farmer’s gaze turned hard. He shoved him forward with a growl. “Keep moving. Don’t gawk.”
“Of course, of course,” Xue Cuo said meekly. “Big bro is right.”
Big bro?
That farmer curled his lip, full of disdain. The higher they climbed, the thicker the blood crust on the bluestone steps, all laced with a faint herbal scent.
Xue Cuo’s heart sank.
So much blood, yet such a meagre trace of resentment?
Could it be… sealed by a formation?
His heart gave a jolt.
Just then, they passed under the arch at the village gate, carved with three characters: Xishi Village.
The moment Xue Cuo set foot within, the scene before him shifted utterly.
He cultivated the Xianghuo Divine Dao, his eyes saw differently.
An ordinary mortal or cultivator would only feel the oppression, the stifling air.
But what he beheld was a sky smothered in black-red cloud, resentment and killing intent surging up but held down by the array, blanketing the heavens. Blood-hued vapours roiled like molten rock, and deep in that lava loomed a strange bronze palace.
Blood rain drifted down.
The farmers chuckled, hemming him in. “Why’ve you stopped?”
Slowly Xue Cuo raised his head, then lowered it again. From his basket he drew out an umbrella, snapped it open, and propped it against a farmer’s shoulder. Smiling, he limped forward. “It’s raining. Let’s use a brolly. Come on, into the village.”
Old Farmer: …?
Was he blind?
