Chapter 612: Chapter 612
In Xijiang, a land of desolation and wilderness...
Treacherous mountains and perilous waters abounded. Sheer cliffs were everywhere, poisonous mists appeared frequently, and fierce beasts and venomous insects lived side by side.
Even when the occasional mountain path wound its way through, it was invariably filled with danger and hardship.
Despite these perils, Xijiang held a strange, secluded beauty. There were bizarre peaks and jagged rocks, cascading waterfalls and bubbling springs, overlapping ridges and rising crags, with landscapes shifting in endless variety.
This place was not devoid of human presence.
On the contrary, many mortals lived in Xijiang. They were natives whose ancestors had dwelled there for generations. Most of them lived in fortified villages, well-versed in martial arts and the art of insect control, surviving by navigating the gaps between deadly threats.
A narrow river flowed between the cliffs. The waterway was not wide, but its current was swift. Where the water struck the rocky banks, it sent up sprays of white foam.
Like most rivers in Xijiang, this one followed a winding, erratic course.
It was often blocked by rocks and cliff walls. In places where the flow was obstructed, small whirlpools formed, gathering clumps of broken branches, tangled weeds, and fallen leaves that piled up over time.
Some sections even had thick logs lying across them, covered in scars and damage, clearly the remnants of trees that had snapped and tumbled into the river from the mountains.
Yet there was no need to worry about them rotting in the river.
Rainfall was frequent in Xijiang. Within a few days, a heavy downpour would wash the mountains clean again. After the rain, the river would swell dramatically, and the debris would be flushed away completely.
As the saying goes, "Cicadas make the forest seem even more tranquil, and birdcalls render the mountains more secluded."[1]
The river roared as it flowed, and birds and beasts called from both sides of the deep forest. Yet this vibrant noise made the surroundings feel even more serene.
Especially now, in the early morning, a light drizzle had just fallen. Fine mist still drifted through the air. The moisture gathered into thin fog that draped over the mountain peaks, creating a scene that looked like a realm of immortals. Tʜe sourcᴇ of thɪs content ɪs Novᴇl_Fire(.)net
Suddenly, a sharp wind-breaking sound came from downstream.
The mist swayed. In the distance, a flash of golden light sped along the river from below, cutting through the fog at great speed.
The golden light stopped and hovered mid-air, revealing a middle-aged man in strange robes.
He was tall and broad-shouldered, floating in the air. A glimmer of golden light swirled around him, faintly taking the shape of a sword.
His features were rugged and fierce. His face bore many intricate markings, and three claw marks of unknown origin stretched from the corner of one eye to the opposite corner of his mouth.
The claw marks were a lifeless gray, as if laced with lingering poison, making the man look even more savage.
His robe was strangely fashioned, appearing to be stitched together from irregular scraps of beast hide, forming a bizarre and colorful pattern.
Unknown pigments had been used to paint strange symbols on his neck, wrists, and even his face. He also wore ornaments made of bones, fangs, and strange insects.
Had any villagers from the nearby mountain settlements seen him, they would have immediately fallen to their knees in reverence, crying out titles like "Bimo"[2], "High Priest," or "Emissary of the Witch God."
The beast hides, fangs, and bones he wore all came from the most ferocious and poisonous creatures in the frontier. They were items mortals feared most.
Only the legendary emissaries of the Witch God, or the priests and Bimo of the largest villages, were believed capable of hunting such beasts.
From the perspective of a cultivator from the Small Cold Domain, however, this man was clearly a fellow cultivator. His eccentric appearance was unheard of in the Small Cold Domain, and his cultivation level was not high. He was merely at the tenth stage of the Qi Refining Realm.
Hovering in the air, the man's sharp gaze swept across the river below. Just beneath him, the river curved sharply, and a thick mat of broken branches and leaves had gathered on the water’s surface.
Amidst the debris, a pale white arm extended outward.
The people of Xijiang valued martial strength. Clashes over resources between villages were common, and seeing corpses in the river was not unusual. At first, the man paid it no mind.
But after a brief glance, he noticed something peculiar that made him pause.
In a flash, he landed by the riverbank. Extending his palm toward the river’s center, he released a stream of spiritual power and easily drew the corpse out of the water.
As the corpse was pulled from the whirlpool, the debris scattered. Some of it was swept away by the current, but more drifted down from upstream, including several thick logs as wide as a man’s thigh.
The corpse hit the riverbank with a dull sound, face up. It was a young man with delicate features, looking to be in his early twenties.
His body was shrouded in dense corpse qi, clearly indicating he had been soaking in the river for a long time.
His eyes were tightly shut. No breath could be sensed from him; he was already dead. His left arm had been severed at the shoulder, and whether the blood had drained completely or had been staunched by some method was unclear.
This was a corpse with a severed arm.
"So he really is a Witch God's emissary!"
The beast-hide-clad man's expression lit up with delight. Greed filled his eyes. He had not expected to stumble upon such a windfall along the way.
"This robe must have been a fine piece! What a pity."
He eyed the tattered robe on the corpse. Though it was badly torn and full of holes, he could tell from its material that it had originally been of excellent quality. It was a shame it was now damaged beyond use.
Even in such a state, the robe had still provided some protection against the rushing river.
"Drifting down from upstream... Was he from Tianyue Village? Has something happened again over there?"
The beast-hide man cast a glance upriver, frowning slightly. His spiritual consciousness swept over the corpse, including the iron thumb ring worn on one finger, but nothing unusual stood out.
At last, his gaze locked firmly onto two pouches hanging at the corpse’s waist.
"What are these pouches? Why do they look so strange? Which one is the Mustard Seed Pouch?"
He muttered to himself. He had dealt with priests from major villages, as well as some visiting Witch God's emissaries, and knew that human cultivators often used a type of storage artifact called a Mustard Seed Pouch, which was far more convenient than those used by his own people.
Over time, the Witch God's emissaries among his tribe had begun adopting the customs of the human cultivators. Even the title "Witch God's emissary" was falling out of use in other regions, replaced by terms like cultivator or immortal cultivator.
Only remote places like Xijiang still clung to such traditions.
But the pouches on this severed-arm corpse did not resemble Mustard Seed Pouches at all.
"Could they be used to carry Gu insects? Or... have they already been ransacked?"
The man’s face darkened, and the smile on his lips vanished. He reached out and grabbed one of the pouches, then sent his spiritual consciousness into it, easily unlocking it.
In the next instant, a sharp buzzing filled the river valley.
A massive cloud of blood-red mist burst out from the pouch. When the beast-hide man saw what was within—a swarm of eerie, blood-winged demonic bees—he froze in terror. His face turned even paler than the corpse at his feet.
With a shriek, he summoned a flicker of green light from his dantian.
It turned out to be a jade-green mantis the size of a finger, its forearms raised like blades.
But faced with the ferocious blood mist, the jade mantis seemed frail and feeble. It was immediately engulfed by the swarm, not even leaving a scrap of bone behind.
Just as the beast-hide man raised his golden sword, the blood mist engulfed him in an instant.
A blood-curdling scream echoed through the mountains, startling the birds and beasts in the forest.
1. This is a line from an ancient Chinese poem. ☜
2. These are shaman-priests who are also masters of Yi language and scriptures, wearing distinctive black robes and large hats. ☜