Old Zhang's wine shop had been open in Fenghuai for many years, until an outsider offered to buy it early that month. Old Zhang had been unwilling at first, but the man offered a great deal of silver.
From then until today, the wine shop had never opened its doors again. A few outsiders occasionally came and went, but they were not talkative, and people guessed renovations were underway inside.
Behind the building stood a moderately sized grove. The wine shop's underground cellar lay beneath it.
The cellar had originally contained only two rooms. When business improved, Old Zhang had paid to excavate deeper and expand it to five. Fearing a collapse, he had even brought in an old craftsman from the commandery.
The expanded cellar had two entrances. One was in the grove, reached by a narrow path; its opening was fairly spacious, meant for moving large barrels of wine. The other was in the wine shop's back room, wide enough for only one person at a time, allowing wine to be brought up promptly for sale.
Now the entrance in the grove stood open. People with vacant eyes and ghostly blue flame sigils on their foreheads kept walking stiffly inside, as though plunging headfirst into a vicious beast's mouth.
Inside the cellar.
Everyone had gathered in the largest chamber. Had an ordinary resident of Fenghuai walked in, they would inevitably have covered their eyes in astonishment.
It was a peculiar sensation: their vision suddenly brightened, yet at the same time a layer was stripped away. As though the light, while illuminating the darkness, also robbed them of part of their sight.
Only when they slowly lowered their hands would they realize what it was-the darkness was dispelled not by the bright, gentle orange of an oil lamp, but by an eerie white and blue.
Most people had seen only three colors of light-the brilliant white of sunlight, the orange-yellow of firelight, and the clear radiance of moonlight. But burning fiercely at the center of the wall was a fourth color, as though it came from some nameless, secret realm of ghosts.
The flames moved quite differently from ordinary fire as well, much more slowly and faintly, imparting a feeling of stillness, hardness, viscosity, even cold.
On the wall behind the flames, that enormous abstract flame symbol had been drawn with meticulous precision and colored in, half black-purple and half crimson-gold, giving it a solemn yet uncanny ritual air.
Before the flames stood a rack, bearing a strangely shaped rod that appeared to be bronze, covered in intricate, dizzying patterns. One end was extremely sharp, seemingly fashioned for stabbing; the other was gourd-shaped and appeared to be a container. Perhaps it was an illusion caused by the strange light, but the gourd seemed to breathe and writhe.
Seven people already stood in the chamber. Six stood before the flames with vacant eyes; the seventh wore white robes and a sword at his waist, waiting by the entrance.
After an unknown stretch of time, heavy footsteps sounded, drawing closer and closer, followed by the sound of the door opening.
The smell of blood filled their nostrils. With one hand, the newcomer unfastened his black robe and tossed it aside, threw the final sacrifice onto the floor, then took out a porcelain bottle and swallowed several medicinal pills.
He was covered in blood. A slashing wound across his back had soaked through his clothes, and several trails of blood running down his left arm had already dried. The worst wounds were on his chest and abdomen: two punctures. All these wounds had stopped bleeding, but none had yet been properly bandaged.
For Wu Zaigu, tonight had also been a night of considerable running about.
In truth, the seeds had been sown the previous night. That fish, which had somehow suddenly escaped the net, had caused an error in the ritual. Although he had corrected it in time, the backlash from asking Dragon Tongue to make a second selection would not be lessened in the slightest.
Fortunately, that father and daughter had been there for him to amuse himself with. Otherwise, he would truly have had nowhere to vent his anger.
To prevent last night's incident from happening again, Wu Zaigu had had no choice but to go in person tonight.
Yet when he arrived at the county office, the magical artifact that appeared at just the right moment was already an unexpected complication. Who could have guessed that the five-meridian good-for-nothing was also a direct disciple of Little Cloud Mountain? Those two coincidences together had actually posed something of a threat to him.
He could have withdrawn calmly, avoided the man's edge for a time, and returned later. But the man's careless squandering of his opportunities after joining a great sect had truly enraged him. So he neither dodged nor evaded, meeting force with force and hacking him to death, blow by blow.
That battle, however, had also killed almost everyone on his side, leaving him no choice but to personally capture the missing sacrifices one by one and bring them back.
There had been a few disturbances, but all seven portions of material were finally here. Once the appointed hour arrived, he would be granted a sacred body to receive divine grace.
Wu Zaigu swept his gaze over the row of vacant faces before him and nodded in satisfaction, closing his eyes as the white-robed man bandaged his wounds.
Time passed little by little.
There was no water clock in the cellar, but Wu Zaigu seemed to have a precise dial in his mind. After a long wait, at a certain instant, that dial clicked, and he opened his eyes.
The hour had come.
The next moment, the handle of the pointed gourd-rod glowed like fire, and seven ghostly blue tentacles suddenly sprouted from it, like a bizarre flower bursting into bloom. The tips of these tentacles were conical spikes, and a viscous liquid seemed to ripple inside them.
The white-robed man, who had long been waiting at one side, picked up the seven small bronze cups prepared beforehand and placed them beneath the tentacles one by one.
Wu Zaigu changed into a brand-new black robe and a brand-new pair of boots, then solemnly washed his hands with meticulous care, overlooking not the slightest detail. Once his hands were clean, he took two steps forward and stood quietly beside the pointed gourd-rod with his eyes closed.
The white-robed man stood solemnly before him, lifted a booklet in both hands, and began to recite. His deep, far-reaching voice echoed through the cramped space: "We look back in reverence to the most ancient antiquity, when the cosmos was boundless and spiritual wisdom lay in chaos; Panwa manifested great works, and heaven and earth first parted..."
The almost "majestic" prayer echoed through the room, as though they stood in a solemn temple of remote antiquity, or upon the lofty summit of Mount Tai, where the Son of Heaven led his ministers in reporting his achievements in governing the realm to Heaven, affirming the rightful bearer of its mandate.
But this was merely a dark, damp underground wine cellar in a remote little town. There were no emperors, generals, or ministers-only a sickly pale man, the lingering stench of blood, and men and women like walking corpses.
"We revere the Supreme One True Dragon Immortal Lord, who succeeds Heaven and establishes the highest order, ruling divinely and governing in holiness; all beings bow their heads, all spirits follow in admiration..."
The strange flames, elegant as ghosts and dangerous as ice and fire, danced in the cramped space. Accompanying the prayer, the tentacles moved as though possessed of intelligence, reaching into the bronze cups one after another and slowly injecting their liquid.
"The world has received your boundless grace; now we return a little of what you have nourished, reverently presenting living blood, humbly announcing it beneath your immortal steps..."
This was a sacrificial invocation, and this was, of course, a sacrificial rite. And the only sacrifices here were...
Fanaticism rose in seven pairs of vacant eyes. They stirred restlessly where they stood, but only the first boy received permission, dragging his feet toward the little cups.
"We humbly beg the sacred spirit not to forsake us, but to condescend to accept this meager offering..."
Reverent and ravenous, the boy grasped the little cup.
The man craned his neck and intoned, "Partake!!"
The boy lifted the little cup in both hands, his expression witless and fanatical, tilted back his head, and drained its divine nectar in a single swallow.
The small bronze cup clattered to the floor. The boy's arms dropped, and he stood motionless.
Chapter 18: Shattered by Shock
At that moment, Wu Zaigu opened his indifferent eyes. With steady, powerful hands, he grasped the pointed rod beside him, its tentacles now withdrawn, and approached the boy from behind.
He aimed the point at the boy, bent forward, and focused his gaze, waiting for the moment to strike.
Suddenly, footsteps sounded outside the door.
Wu Zaigu whipped his head around, his body taut as a bowstring. One hand pressed against his saber's hilt as he narrowed his eyes at the doorway.
The footsteps gradually drew closer and stopped before the door. Then came a knock.
Wu Zaigu frowned. The white-robed man drew a dagger and slowly walked over.
Before he reached it, however, the door was pushed open without permission.
A shifty-looking old man poked his head inside and, on seeing them, gave two of his trademark chuckles.
"Heh heh... you're back? None of you were here when I came earlier. Well... heh heh... honored immortals, could you grant me a cup of Immortal Water too? Look, I have one on my forehead as well-oh! Young Pei, you're here too. You-you put in a good word for me-"
Old Xiangzi's voice was abruptly cut off. His whole body curled around his abdomen like a bug. Mouth open but voiceless, he stared at the white-robed man before him, blood trickling from the corner of his mouth.
The white-robed man pulled out his dagger and swung his arm, shaking off the shriveled old man clinging to his forearm like a rat. Without sparing him a glance, he returned to the center of the ritual.
Wu Zaigu, however, cast a faintly mocking glance at the old man hunched on the floor, wheezing. Unlike most dull believers, he always enjoyed harvesting amusement from others.
But there was serious business to attend to, after all, so he soon turned his attention back to what lay before him.
Then a question rose from the bottom of his heart: Why hasn't it started yet?
As though answering that question, the boy before him suddenly turned around.
A cupful of viscous liquid splashed toward his face. At such close range, it was practically poured straight onto him.
Wu Zaigu's heart clenched. His body twisted into an impossible curve, dodging by a hair's breadth without allowing a single drop to touch his skin.
But in the next second, a dagger came at a treacherous angle, already against his chest.
True qi surged through his meridians like a gale. Wu Zaigu toppled backward, rigid as a board, then shot away along the floor, once again narrowly avoiding the strike.
After flying twenty feet, Wu Zaigu pressed one hand against the ground and flipped upright, staring at the boy ahead in disbelief.
The ambush had come from so close, erupted so suddenly, and struck so swiftly that a faint cold sweat seeped from his body beneath his black robe.
He understood at once. This was the fish that had slipped through the net last night!
Yet when he raised his eyes again, his opponent had already hurled the dagger into the throat of the white-robed man, who had only just reacted.
Wu Zaigu tilted his head slightly. Rather than rush to attack, he first pointed with the rod. The remaining six people filed out of the chamber, and he then calmly and respectfully returned Dragon Tongue to its original place.
Glancing back at the boy, who was drawing a second dagger from his waist, Wu Zaigu bent down and brushed the dirt from his shoes. Unhurriedly, he said, "Why aren't you affected by Dragon Tongue's 'Immortal Lord Spirit Summoning'?"
Pei Ye said nothing. His body was like a tightly compressed spring.
Only when facing this man alone did he truly feel that suffocating pressure.
He had activated [Quail Head] and swallowed the Little Flood Dragon Heart. His reactions, strength, and speed were all several times what they had been. Yet even with such a surprise attack, he had not so much as cut a thread of his opponent's robe.
When Pei Ye did not answer, Wu Zaigu was not annoyed. "Fortunately, you're right here this time. Otherwise, I'd have to endure Dragon Tongue devouring my body again... That feeling really is unpleasant..."
At this point, Wu Zaigu seemed finally to remember the suffering the boy before him had caused. As he bit out each word, his gaze grew savage.
In an instant, every hair on Pei Ye's body stood on end. He saw his opponent's hand reach toward his waist, saw a flash of cold steel drawn out, saw his wrist twist to present the saber's spine.
Then that flash of cold steel was already before his eyes!
Even with [Quail Head] enhancing him, Pei Ye still could not see the intervening movement. Almost entirely on instinct, he raised his dagger. Clang!-he had actually blocked it!
Those wounds and that backlash were more than a single hair off nine oxen to his opponent!
But the next moment, the dagger flew straight out of his hand. This was Pei Ye's first time facing an expert like this. Even grievously wounded and weakened, the man's saber blow felt like a mountain crashing into him.
Fortunately, he had blocked that blow after all.
Yet before Pei Ye's relief could fully rise, the saber moved like a nimble venomous snake. Within that impossibly cramped space, without gathering any momentum, it changed direction and unleashed its force, turning sideways to strike Pei Ye across the waist!
The force of this blow sent Pei Ye's entire body flying,
This was the privilege of true qi.
The blow was meant to cripple, not kill. He was a sacrifice, after all-he could be maimed, but not slain. At that moment, the mark on his forehead changed from a death warrant into a life-saving talisman.
Pei Ye crashed heavily to the floor, landing on the white-robed man's corpse.
The dagger still stood straight up from that neck, and the blood had already spread into a large pool. Pei Ye's eyes immediately fell on the corpse's waist.
"Hmm... you swallowed that magical artifact?" Wu Zaigu's sharp eyes noticed that the bones at the boy's waist had not shattered. "In that case, I held back too much."
Wu Zaigu smiled faintly. Two blows had laid the boy's strength bare. The third would finish him without any surprises.
Just as Pei Ye tried to struggle upright, Wu Zaigu lunged before him again.
This time, the blow held nothing back. Dense true qi poured into the blade, visible even to the naked eye, while Pei Ye had no time whatsoever to stand.
There should have been no further surprises.
But a surprise came nonetheless.
Because the boy had grasped a sword.
He was not getting up. He was unleashing his sword.
It was a sword strike of supple, soaring movement, challenging the greater from below. Cold steel swept up the blood from the floor, like a silver dragon rising from a sea of blood.
This was a sword strike that should never have appeared here. It belonged on the Cloudglaze Sword-Questioning Platform, before Heaven's Gate Trial Sword Stone, at the Divine Capital's military examinations-even at the Five Seas Nine Provinces Feather-Scale Trial!
Before you continue