After he had caught his breath for a moment, someone roughly used the Water Wave Technique to drench him from head to toe. It was not out of kindness; he simply stank so badly that the smell made people want to vomit. Besides, seeing his face clearly would let them roughly judge changes in his expression, so he could not bluff his way past them.
The Water Wave Technique was applied carelessly, leaving streaks on his face unwashed, but his general expression was clear enough: the very picture of someone so humiliated and furious that he wanted to devour another person.
Hou Niao's thoughts raced as he used the chance to catch his breath to consider how he could get through this ordeal.
There were four people before him. One was a powerfully built man with a red beard, the very man who had kicked him and trodden him into the muck. His manner and words just now suggested a straightforward character with little talent for scheming.
Of the other three, one had a pale, beardless face, one had a fat head and big ears, and one was as thin as a bamboo pole. Between them, these four practically covered the full range of human builds. Who knew how they had come together?
The pale-faced scholar was the one who had used the Water Wave Technique on him, but he was not sure whether he had also stopped the burly man's violence.
The answer soon emerged. The fat man smiled, his voice gentle. "Brother, tell us: why did you come to our Shan Kingdom without cause? Don't tell me you lost your way while admiring the scenery. This brother of mine has a bit of a temper. If he really gets going, even I won't be able to stop him."
The fat man spoke just as Hou Niao's breathing steadied, putting him inwardly on his guard. At the very least, this man's cultivation was several levels above his own, allowing him to see through changes in his energy with ease.
They held the knife and chopping block; he was the fish awaiting the blade. He truly had not anticipated an undercover experience like this, but he was not someone who spoke lightly of giving up.
He struggled to his feet, moved his stiff hands and feet, and twisted his waist, just as any normal person would react in such circumstances. Then he suddenly sprang up and swung a fist at the burly man!
The man showed no surprise, as though he had known all along that Hou Niao would do this. With effortless ease, he reached out and caught his wrist.
"Well, well, quite a fiery one! This isn't how a Daoist should behave. Too impulsive."
The burly man flipped and twisted his hand, and Hou Niao felt his body fly up against his will before crashing heavily to the ground a short distance away. The fellow did not hold back; even Hou Niao's sturdy frame could scarcely bear it.
The fat man remained as unruffled as drifting clouds and a gentle breeze. "All right, you've thrown your punch. That should have let off your anger. We can tolerate it once, but we won't tolerate it a second time! Explain where you came from. If everything checks out, you still have a chance to live."
His words were blunt, sparing no feelings. Resentment after being trampled into the muck was understandable, but doing this again and again would mean throwing their forbearance back in their faces!
Hou Niao's face and neck flushed red, the veins standing out on his neck, his fists clenched. He looked ready to pick someone out and devour them, but in the end he did not strike again. He did not answer, either. Was he determined to remain stiff-necked to the end?
The burly man grew impatient and was about to use force when the fat man waved a hand.
"Wait. Our good friends are here. Hide this fellow first. We'll deal with him after this job!"
This time, it was not the burly man who acted. The bamboo-thin man responded instead. With a flicker, he appeared before Hou Niao. Before Hou Niao could react, he pressed two fingers together like a sword and jabbed him. Hou Niao immediately felt his legs go numb and his arms weak. Just as he was about to fall, the bamboo pole picked him up and leaped into a densely leafed white poplar, finding a fork nearly a hundred feet above the ground and setting him down there.
Hou Niao could neither move nor speak. He could not even let out a fart. All he could do was lie across the fork and watch what happened below.
He saw the four men conceal themselves and lie in wait. Clearly, the words "good friends" deserved a question mark.
Their origins were unknown, but they were certainly cultivators from the Shan Kingdom. Whether cultivators from the Shan Kingdom belonged to the Demonic Sect, however, was hard to say. He felt some regret. He should have stayed in Liuyang for a while and learned something about the Shan Kingdom's cultivation world. He had been rash.
He had thrown that punch as a gamble. If he put himself in the place of a man who had traveled a great distance to seek refuge, harbored resentment over the Daoist Sect's injustice, and was not particularly broad-minded, would such a man immediately bow and scrape, begging for mercy?
Taking his former identity into account as well, the character he presented should be narrow-minded, impulsive, quick-tempered, and certain to repay even the smallest slight!
So he had to throw that punch to fit his character. Nor could he immediately reveal everything when questioned. He would have to meet them with a cold face a few more times; that would be a normal person's state of mind.
His infiltration of the Demonic Sect had begun the moment he stepped into White Poplar Forest. Any carelessness could bring disaster crashing over his head. From this moment on, he had to forget Daoist Chongling's help and devote himself wholeheartedly to recalling and reinforcing the injustice he had suffered at the Daoist Sect's hands. Only then could he behave more naturally and plausibly.
Whether these men were Demonic Sect disciples or vicious bandits, he had to inhabit his assumed identity without the slightest carelessness.
Fortunately, they had not twisted his head off.
...The fork where he lay was a hundred feet high, higher even than the surrounding white poplars, giving him a more distant view. But the dense summer foliage overlapped layer upon layer, leaving him only a rough impression rather than a clear view.
He was also very curious about just who these vicious men's "good friends" were. Privately, he did not think these men were necessarily Demonic Sect disciples. Though he knew little about the Demonic Sect, he had read some travelogues and miscellaneous books about the continent during his boat journey, so he was not entirely ignorant.
Just as the Daoist Sect had many branches, the Demonic Sect did not refer to any single school. Broadly speaking, schools or kingdoms whose conduct was unrestrained, whose cultivation did not shun killing, whose ways followed their own desires, and whose traditions stood outside the Daoist Sect could be called the Demonic Sect, or a Demonic Kingdom.
In fact, speaking purely in terms of cultivation, they could be called the Blood Transformation Sect, the Jade Bone Sect, the Heavenly Demon Sect, Ghost-Driving Mountain, the Quanzhen Sect, the Corpse Stiffening Tomb, and so on. These were among the better-known ones; the smaller demonic schools were beyond counting.
These cultivation schools differed from the Daoist Sect in their ideals, but the essence of their cultivation was actually the same. People had divided them into the Daoist Sect and the Demonic Sect to distinguish them. Of course, there was also the Buddhist Sect, but that was another matter.
From a fair and objective standpoint, could one say who was right and who was wrong? Who was just? Who was evil?
The history of cultivation was written by the victors. Whoever lost was demonic. It was that simple.
In Hou Niao's view, even the Demonic Sect ought to have organization and discipline, surely? Its hierarchy might even be stricter. Seeing these four behave like men of the martial underworld, he rather suspected they might be rogue cultivators.
After all, rogue cultivators in the Shan Kingdom were completely different from those in the Anhe Kingdom. Not one who could survive here was anything but ruthless, vicious, and merciless.
He lay unable to move in the fork, and his perception was also very limited because of his cultivation level. In theory, Qi Gathering cultivators possessed the most basic powers of perception, but the problem was that he had only successfully gathered qi three days ago. Nothing else had even begun.
While his thoughts were still wandering, a sudden disturbance reached him. Only when he sensed danger did he see those "good friends," closing in around him!
Those bastards had not put him in the fork out of kindness to keep him hidden. They had made him bait.
Indeed:
A heart that cannot rest is ever demonic; dense poplars hold the rocky hollow in check. Without the power of the Dao through three thousand practices, what can be done against these snakes of the mound and rats of the well?