Chapter 16 – The Beginning of Trouble
In the forest, with an unbearable pressure pressing down on him and golden light bathing his entire body, Zixiao lay on the ground, leaning against Bai Zun's massive belly, barely conscious.
He lifted his gaze—and the sphere was coming straight toward them, hissing violently. As it drew nearer, the pressure intensified, and the heat became almost unbearable, making every breath a struggle for Zixiao.
Zixiao closed his eyes, a single tear sliding down his left cheek.
Suddenly, a gray shadow appeared before him. He opened his eyes slowly and saw the old man—Mu Feng—standing there, wearing gray robes embroidered with golden patterns. His long white hair flowed down to his waist, fluttering violently under the immense pressure.
Mu Feng's right hand rested gracefully behind him, while his left was lifted, folding into a fist. Two fingers—the index and middle—extended forward, forming the famous sword seal. His face blazed with fury.
With a sharp grunt, Mu Feng shifted his fingers downward, pointing at the ground and letting out a low "hump" sound. As the golden sphere neared, an invisible force rippled through the air. The sphere's course changed abruptly, and it crashed to the ground with a heavy thump—yet there was no explosion.
The sphere dissolved into golden essence, scattering through the air with a faint "slinging" sound as its light merged seamlessly with the surrounding forest.
"Master!" Zixiao shouted, his face lighting up with a relieved smile.
Mu Feng quickly turned around. Without hesitation, he pulled out a white jade pill from his sleeve and knelt beside Zixiao, gently shoving it into his mouth.
A bittersweet taste spread across Zixiao's tongue, but within moments, he could feel the pain in his body slowly fading away. Warmth coursed through his veins, soothing his wounds and easing the ache in his chest.
Mu Feng exhaled softly, seeing that Zixiao's condition was stabilizing. But his relief was short-lived. His expression hardened as he turned toward Bai Zun, who still lay motionless on the ground, faint trails of smoke rising from his massive body.
Without another word, Mu Feng rushed to the great beast's side.
Mu Feng took out another jade-white pill, its surface gleaming faintly under the flickering light of the golden spheres still descending from the sky. Without a moment's delay, he leaped onto Bai Zun's furry chest.
With two fingers, he crushed the pill—ting!—a crisp sound rang out as a pure white light burst forth from the fragments. Mu Feng swiftly guided the light toward Bai Zun's mouth, his movements steady yet filled with urgency.
The glowing essence flowed gently, like a stream of clear water, into Bai Zun's throat. Within seconds, the pill's light faded completely, leaving only the faint rise and fall of the great beast's chest.
But Mu Feng's face darkened once more—his eyes blazing with wrath hotter than fire.
He turned toward the heavens, his robe sleeves fluttering wildly as his left arm swung outward, unleashing a storm of roaring wind that swept across the burning forest.
"Jing Xuan!" Mu Feng's voice thundered, shaking the very air. "What do you mean by this?!"
His words echoed through the entire forest—filled with fury, grief, and disbelief—challenging the unseen figure above the clouds.
"Elder Mu Feng..."
A calm, composed voice echoed across the forest — steady and clear enough to suppress even the roar of the burning trees.
Then, the clouds above split apart with a thunderous boom.
From within the rift, a massive sail ship descended through the heavens, cutting through the mist like a divine beast emerging from the clouds. Its hull was crafted from rich brown and deep crimson wood, and every inch of its interior glimmered with intricate golden patterns, radiating an aura of nobility and power.
The front of the ship curved sharply into a horn-like point, as if ready to pierce the sky itself. Its vast sails fluttered violently in the howling wind, each movement echoing with the creak of ancient timber and the hum of spiritual energy.
On its two sides flew great banners marked with the emblem of the Sunrise Empire — a blazing sun rising over a sea of light. Beneath those banners stood hundreds of armored soldiers, their gleaming spears raised in perfect formation. The aura they released was disciplined, sharp, and suffocating.
As the ship hovered above the forest canopy, the pressure it unleashed made even the flames below flicker and kneel.
At the front of the massive ship stood five figures, their heads clean-shaven, each wearing flowing brown robes that danced faintly in the wind.
At the very center, standing a step ahead of the others, was Monk Xuan. His calm composure radiated quiet authority. Like still water, his presence alone seemed to silence the air.
Just like Xuan, the other four monks stood with half-closed eyes, their expressions serene and detached, as though untouched by mortal emotion. Each of them assumed the same posture as Xuan—their right palms open and facing the sky in graceful stillness, a symbol of reverence and control.
Xuan appeared to be around thirty years old, his features refined and peaceful, yet his calm hid something unfathomable. The four monks behind him were younger, no more than their twenties, yet their auras pulsed with spiritual strength that made the air tremble faintly.
The only difference between them and their leader was in their hands: while Xuan's left hand held a chain of golden prayer beads that glimmered faintly in the light of the burning forest below, the others carried wooden beads, humble and dark, yet filled with spiritual energy.
As the five stood upon the ship's prow, the golden glow from above reflected upon their robes, making them appear like divine judges descending from the heavens.
Behind the monks stood a tall figure clad in silver armor, gleaming faintly under the fractured sunlight. His armor was engraved with intricate dragon motifs, each scale etched with precision, giving off a faint, oppressive aura.
A long sword hung at his side—the dragon's head carved into its grip, its open mouth clutching the blade as though ready to devour souls. The sheath itself bore coiling dragon patterns, shimmering faintly with qi energy.
Upon his head rested a metal helmet that extended down to his shoulders, protecting his neck like a serpent's scales. From its crown flowed a crimson whisk-like plume, fluttering in the wind like a trail of blood.
He stood with hands behind his back—graceful yet ruthless, his sharp eyes scanning the ground below. Every movement exuded the calm confidence of a man accustomed to war.
That man was Qin Mu,the same qin mu two years ago but now known as the Silver Dragon General of the Sunrise Empire—known for commanding ten thousand men and showing mercy to none.
"Amitabha… Elder, what do you mean?" Xuan asked, his gaze lowered, voice calm but wary. "We were simply trying to track where our target went," he added, though the subtle tremor in his tone betrayed the bluff. I thought Elder Mu Feng had perished all those years ago… yet it seems he survived, hiding in some remote place, he thought.
"I mean… why did you hurt my disciple?" Mu Feng's voice grew sharper, anger rising like a storm.
"Elder… I don't know what you mean," Xuan replied smoothly, though beads of unease formed on his brow. "We were merely following the signal of our target, but it seems your disciple… was too close."
"Nonsense!" Mu Feng barked, his finger stabbing toward Zixiao, who lay battered on the ground, wounds crisscrossing his body. "I can tell clearly—you were aiming for him!"
Xuan turned his head to the second monk on his right and whispered, leaning close. "This monk… are you sure the woman was absorbed by the boy?"
"Yes, Elder Xuan," the monk replied quietly. "I saw it. The woman turned into purple essence… and went inside the boy."
Xuan closed his eyes, murmuring, "Heavenly Ruler's Eyes…" As he opened them again, golden light streamed from his eyes, radiating an aura of immense power. His gaze fell on the wounded boy lying on the ground.
He observed carefully, noting the boy was not a cultivator. But what shocked him most was the faint purple crescent mark on the boy's forehead—something ordinary eyes could not see.
"This boy… has no vitality," Xuan whispered to himself, his brow furrowed with doubt. "He's one of those beings. I thought they were trapped in that realm… but how did one escape?"
He paused, his golden eyes glinting with resolve. "We need this boy… to purify him," he declared, his calm voice carrying across the ship, reaching every ear aboard.