Chapter Index

    In the Southern Borderlands, home to the Witch Clan, ancient trees covered in broad-leafed ferns surrounded the altar, blocking out all light. The moonlight and starlight vanished completely. The mottled, overlapping shadows of trees and vines cast a pall over everyone’s heads, pressing down with suffocating weight. The faces of the young Witch Clan men and women were illuminated by the torchlight, and every expression was the same—alarmed and uneasy. The soul-summoning bonfire had clearly been lit, yet it had suddenly gone out.

    Was it like last time, where it went out but was still successful? Was it? But the great shamans remained silent for a long time, not speaking a word. A quarter of an hour, half an hour, three-quarters of an hour… The flame of hope dwindled, while an uncontrollable unease grew stronger. Why weren’t the great shamans speaking? Why had the soul-summoning banner on the altar suddenly snapped in the middle?

    Crack.

    A crisp, soft sound. Apart from Wu Luo, who had gone to Yongzhou, the remaining nine great shamans stared blankly at the bonfire, like stone statues whose souls had fled. When they heard the soft cracking sound, they couldn’t even think at first, couldn’t understand where it was coming from. But the sound grew more frequent, louder.

    “No!”

    Wuxian, whose back was hunched like a mountain peak, suddenly awoke, leaped up, and shrieked. His voice was filled with so much despair, so much fear, so much pleading. He threw himself toward the center of the altar, toward the bird skeleton. The fingers he used to hold his pipe were withered and yellow, like old wood. How could old wood catch a flying bird? The bird disintegrated.

    Speck by speck. The shattered bones were like dark red embers, scattering in the air. The soul-summoning bonfire was out, the soul-summoning banner was broken, and now even the phoenix skeleton that protected the soul’s rebirth had shattered… How was their Divine Lord supposed to return? The moment the phoenix skeleton shattered, deep in the Great Wilderness, a figure in red robes crumbled into specks of flowing fire, which swirled and danced in the coldest, deepest darkness.

    Outside the mortal realm, guarding the mortal realm.

    Wuxian seemed to sense something and looked up toward the distant Great Wilderness. He fell to his knees in the rain of fire, an old man wailing like a child.

    “Divine Lord…”

    Why aren’t you coming back?

    ***

    “I should never have trusted you.”

    Mu Di’s scale-covered fist smashed into the Flying Light Sword, and the blade cracked like ice. Ye Anxue was sent flying by the punch, crashing into the sea. He shouldn’t have been so careless, but the sudden retreat of the black miasma and a faint sense of foreboding had plunged him into an icy abyss. He didn’t have time to counterattack, but burst out of the water, intending to chase after the receding tide of miasma fog.

    …Something of utmost importance to Taiyi had departed with that miasma, with that darkness. And it was something Taiyi would protect at all costs.

    A dragon’s claw pierced his left shoulder, and blood splattered onto Mu Di’s face. Mu Di’s handsome face, however, was filled with rage and bloodied rain. He abruptly pulled back his hand, clenched his fist, and punched Ye Anxue hard in the face again. Ye Anxue didn’t dodge, his frost-white hair matted with blood. He didn’t know what had happened… didn’t know why the Little Martial Ancestor’s aura was coming from the Great Wilderness, when he should have been sleeping peacefully in Chao City, waiting for the Witch Clan to gather the remaining six wisps of his soul… when both Taiyi and the Witch Clan had already decided to defy the world, at any cost.

    Mu Di’s pupils had completely transformed into the vertical slits of a great demon, brutal and chilling.

    “You don’t know why?”

    Mu Di suddenly calmed down from his rage. The pouring rain washed over Ye Anxue’s face, but he just stared blankly at the Great Wilderness, silent. “Because of you!” Mu Di burst into laughter, laughing so hard he doubled over. So much love and so much hate mixed together, like a vortex of torrential rain and furious waves, tearing each other apart while embracing. And that was what great demons were like—bloodthirsty, ferocious, extreme in both love and hate. Their human-like appearance was merely a disguise.

    “Because you are—weak—”

    Mu Di leaned in, his arm suddenly bulging with the savage scales of an azure dragon.

    “—lowly!”

    A deep green claw brutally seized Ye Anxue’s throat, lifting him high and throwing him far away.

    “—pleading!”

    A green dragon shadow flashed past, and before Ye Anxue could hit the sea, a fist slammed viciously into his abdomen, sending him flying backward again.

    “—pretentious!”

    The half-human great demon once again seized his throat before he fell, bringing their faces extremely close. Ye Anxue could clearly see the chilling, mocking smile in Mu Di’s azure vertical pupils.

    “You perform rituals, you cry to him, you show him how pitiful and pathetic you are… It’s disgusting. How can such disgusting beings exist?” Mu Di asked softly. “You are so weak, so lowly, how dare you use tears and cries to command the most powerful god? To make him die for you three times without regret?!” His hatred was so deep that his words were no longer directed at Ye Anxue, but were questioning the entire mortal realm, all the weak and lowly humans and spirits.

    It was as if time had turned back, the years rewound, back to the primeval era long ago. The weak at the very bottom, using shamanic arts, using rituals, prayed upward, pleaded upward, and so the Divine Lord descended from the clouds and walked into the mire… All shamanic arts and rituals were poisonous lies, deceptions used by the weak with some tears, some useless emotions and pity, to seek the Divine Lord’s protection.

    “Because of you… because of you weak, selfish, pathetic ants, he abandoned us!”

    Who was it that had journeyed with him through the dark times? Who was it that had stood by his side? Mu Di’s handsome face was filled with venom and distortion. “You might as well have let him die! You might as well have been thoroughly ungrateful! Why show him a ridiculous, pathetic glimmer of hope? Why show him a water moon, a mirror flower that could never be realized?… Pretentious!”

    Ye Anxue closed his eyes in pain. He suddenly seemed to have aged. He was excessively old, a far cry from the man who had slain a flood dragon with his flying sword. He finally understood. He understood why the Divine Lord hadn’t rested peacefully in Chao City… Since they were willing to pay any price, even to become enemies of the world, to protect the Divine Lord, how could the Divine Lord bear to watch them struggle for his sake?

    Those who loved him, more than those who hated him, could force him to his death. There was never any escape. The Divine Lord had long ago arranged his own death. The karmic obstruction was hard to eliminate, so he went away on his own, just as he had gone alone to North Star Mountain, just as he had sailed away from the mortal world in Zhunan… Only this time, he had gone even farther, so far that the mortal realm could never again touch his face.

    Taiyi intercepted the rebellious Thirty-Six Islands and remained the foremost immortal sect. The Witch Clan broke through their confines and were no longer trapped in the miasmic lands of the Southern Borderlands. Shi Wuluo reclaimed the destiny that belonged to him and was no longer limited by the Heaven Beyond Heavens. The threat of Kongsang was exposed, and the secret of the Heaven-Herding Rope would be revealed to the world. As long as the immortal sects joined hands, the mortal realm would have its own sun, moon, and stars… There was never any elopement, never any escape. To the ends of the earth, across vast mountains and rivers, he could never walk out. What trapped him was not hatred, not the past, but this world, which was neither good enough nor bad enough.

    Hate, oh, resentment! Mu Di threw Ye Anxue aside and spread his arms, laughing wildly in the heavy rain. Why did he believe the immortal sects could resurrect the Divine Lord? Why was he so foolish? Now, whether it was gratitude or resentment, it had all turned to ash… Even if the demons of the Thirty-Six Islands devoured more humans, avenged more of their slaughtered kin, what meaning was left besides obeying their violent nature? The Divine Lord they wanted to question was already dead, and they had not yet received the answer they sought… Whatever that answer might have brought, whether a complete break or something else, would never be known.

    This was fine too. Love and hate were past. They no longer needed to restrain their nature, no longer needed to hesitate, no longer needed to waver. All that was left was the slaughter of the weak by the strong! How clean, how neat! But why, as he laughed, was his face suddenly covered in rain?

    ***

    The pouring rain extinguished the remaining fire on the altar. The ashes of the shattered phoenix bones were washed away by the rain, flowing down the dark patterns of the black stone altar. The men and women of the Witch Clan, old and young, stood dumbfounded in the heavy rain, the painted totems on their faces blurred by the downpour. The Southern Borderlands were closest to the Southern Star, cold and damp, a place where foul qi easily gathered, and the area most susceptible to the resurgence of the Great Wilderness. When the Desolate Calamity surged, the other continents and pools were merely pressed by the tide of miasma, but more than half of the ancient forests in the Southern Borderlands were directly submerged by the monstrous black fog. At this moment, the tide of black miasma that had towered over the forests had receded. Only a few thin, dark clouds lingered in the woods, drifting like mist.

    It was brighter and clearer than the best Clear Moon. Around the basalt altar, the vines coiling around the tall trees bore ever-blooming, dark copper bell-shaped flowers, which swayed without wind, tinkling with an ethereal and vast sound. The sound of the copper bells announced a blessing from the unseen world. But they didn’t want this blessing. The black tide had receded, the Southern Borderlands were at peace, and the restrictions that had bound them were gone. From now on, the young people of the Witch Clan would no longer have to hide under fern-leaf shelters, making wine from the twin flowers on the ebony wood to keep warm. Everything was better… but their souls were gone too. The soul-summoning banner lay in the muddy water. Only the Divine Lord had not returned, but everyone had become a walking corpse.

    Wuxian stood up shakily and, step by step, descended from the altar. The young people of the clan looked at him with hope and pleading, but he could no longer see anything, no longer notice anything… The formation on the altar was broken. He was the great shaman of the clan, the one most familiar with the altar’s formation besides Wu Luo, who had gone west to Yongzhou. No one knew better than he what this meant. The fire would not be lit again. Never again.

    One step, two steps, three steps… The moment Wuxian stepped off the altar, he staggered and fell into the rain-soaked mud. But no one came to help him up in time; everyone had become soulless shells, letting the cold rain pour down on them. Wuxian slowly climbed up, muddy water dripping from his beard. He wanted to go back to his grass hut, to lie down, to tell A Yu not to call him, to just let him lie there… He was old, so old he had no strength left. He had become a useless old man.

    “Don’t you dare go!”

    A tall girl in a deep red straight-cut dress rushed up and blocked his path with her arms outstretched. Wuxian saw the silver horns she wore on her head swaying and shining. Today, all the Witch Clan, young and old, had dressed up meticulously, wearing their favorite silver ornaments in hopes of welcoming the god’s return. Wuxian reached out and slowly pushed his granddaughter aside. The light from the silver horns and the extinguished formation patterns swam before his eyes. He hunched over, leaning on his staff, and limped toward the cold, ancient forest.

    “Grandpa!”

    A Yu shouted after him. He didn’t look back. The rain fell monotonously. More and more people slowly rose, their ankles submerged in muddy water, and turned away. No one spoke; no one had the strength to speak. A Yu saw that Sister Liang, who loved beauty the most, had her silver crown fall into the mud, but she seemed not to notice, walking forward woodenly without even a glance.

    “Don’t go! The ritual isn’t over—don’t go—”

    A Yu spread her arms, as she usually did, with a touch of harmless wildness, and commanded loudly. Again and again. People passed by her; she was as pathetic as a drowned rat. Only Sister Liang turned to look at her and stopped. A Yu looked at her and pleaded, “The ritual isn’t over. Let’s continue summoning the soul, okay? My grandpa knows how, I know how too. Let’s continue.”

    Sister Liang neither left nor came over. A Yu wiped the rain from her face and ran to the altar herself, climbing the high platform. Many people passed by her; some stood there blankly, some looked up at her. A small silver knife, blood smeared on the formation patterns. There could be no more absurd, more desolate ritual than this… The formation was broken, the phoenix skeleton at its center was shattered, the fire would not burn, so she would use firewood, firewood soaked by the heavy rain.

    But the blessing song began again. One bow, one kowtow, one kowtow, one bow. The young girl circled the bonfire, bowing and kowtowing. Her song cut through the vast rain, thin and clear, four characters a line, two lines a verse. The fire burned and died, died and burned again. At first, she was the only one kowtowing on the altar. Then Sister Liang came up, and gradually, six or seven other young men and women joined her. A new bonfire, illuminating new faces. Kowtowing, singing.

    More and more people gathered, circle by circle, once again surrounding the altar. Don’t die. Please don’t die for the mortal realm again. Great fire, great rain. A Yu couldn’t remember how many times she had relit the bonfire, nor how many times she had kowtowed and bowed. She was still singing the blessing song over and over… Who among the Witch Clan hadn’t heard the legends of the god? Which child of the Witch Clan didn’t know that the copper bells hanging from the ancient trees were the god protecting them? The copper bells tinkled, year after year, without end.

    But, oh god of the Witch Clan. Please don’t protect us anymore. Whether it’s slaughter or annihilation, it is our fate. The heavy rain extinguished the fire again. In the sound of the rain, the copper bells tinkled sporadically. Gentle as a song. A Yu lit the fire again. The elderly great shamans had stopped at the edge of the ancient forest. They slowly turned and, facing the altar, also knelt down slowly. The desperate ritual had begun anew, completely different from before. This time, the ones presiding over the ritual were as young as flowers. The heavy rain could not extinguish the crimson fire in their hearts.

    The bonfire went out again. A Yu got up to add more wood and relight it. Suddenly, Sister Liang beside her pointed to a spot on the altar and screamed, “Fire!”

    A Yu’s hand froze in mid-air. She whipped her head around to look where Sister Liang was pointing. A speck of dark red flickered in a puddle of rainwater. At first, she couldn’t believe her eyes, her wrist trembling uncontrollably. But the next moment, the flame spread its wings like a phoenix, broke through the curtain of rain, and soared into the sky.

    “The formation… the formation…”

    Sister Liang grabbed her shoulder and turned to look at her, her eyes full of disbelieving joy.

    “The formation has reconnected!”

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