The Deadly Moths and a Mutual Kill

“Hmph! Don’t get too cocky!”

“Use your head! We two brothers got lucky enough to be sent to the same spot—that’s already a huge stroke of luck. At least our chances of survival are way better than the others. Killing that one guy was pure luck too. Don’t go thinking you’re some big shot, playing that stupid ‘wait by the tree for the rabbit’ game! What if we run into a real monster, and we end up losing both our teeth and our lives? Besides, nobody’s coming to this ghost of a place. Hurry up and get to the central area to fish in troubled waters—that’s the smart move!”

The older Spirit Beast Mountain disciple was clearly more commanding than the younger one, and also much craftier. Even as he lectured his companion, he kept shooting sharp glances into the surrounding woods.

Seeing this, Han Li grew even more cautious. He pushed his Qi Concealment Art to its absolute limit, suppressing his aura completely, not daring to let out the slightest trace. As for the idiotic notion of taking on two opponents at once, Han Li had never even considered it, and certainly wouldn’t be foolish enough to try.

Between the two, one had a cultivation of the early twelfth layer, the other at the late twelfth layer. If they joined forces, Han Li had no great chance of victory. He didn’t possess some magnificent power to sweep through a hundred enemies single-handedly.

So Han Li could only watch helplessly as the pair plucked the last few Cold Smoke Grass sprouts from beside the pond, then burned the corpse of the Tianque Fort disciple to ashes. Finally, the two stored the Cold Ice Toad into a red leather pouch and disappeared into the dense forest opposite.

After they left, Han Li did not immediately rise from his hiding spot. Only after a brief pause did he shake the fallen leaves off his body and straighten up, gazing thoughtfully in the direction the pair had gone.

It seemed quite a few people were thinking the same way as him.

No surprise there. Since they’d dared to risk entering the Blood Forbidden Trial, how many wouldn’t have their eyes on the Heaven-and-Earth spirit treasures at the central zone? A fierce fight was unavoidable. After all, the amount of spirit medicines that formed and ripened each time was extremely limited, nowhere near enough to distribute among all the sects.

A scowl on his face, Han Li stood still for a moment, thinking sullenly.

He had just watched a blue-robed man—someone every bit as cautious as himself—vanish silently from the world. And similar events were playing out countless times across the corners of the forbidden land. This shook Han Li’s confidence in achieving his goal.

Was this trip into the forbidden land really the right call? Maybe if he just took the two Foundation Establishment Pills, he could successfully build his foundation without needing to take this extraordinary risk.

Han Li thought dejectedly, a faint urge to withdraw creeping into his mind. After all, it was easy to talk big, but when the shadow of death really hung over your heart, it was hard not to feel a little unsettled.

A few hours later, Han Li set off from the spot, still heading toward the center of the forbidden land.

After weighing his options, reason had won out. He knew that those earlier anxious thoughts were just excuses for his own cowardice. So he forced himself to pull together and set out once more.

Han Li did not follow the same path as the pair of Spirit Beast Mountain disciples. Instead, he took a detour, moving in a roundabout way, even though their route was the shortest and fastest.

He wasn’t worried that they might detect him through their own abilities. What he was wary of were the Spirit Beast Mountain sect’s bizarre and unusual beast-driving techniques. He had no idea if they possessed special means to discover someone tailing them, so he preferred to give them a wide berth.

After all, he himself had once used a small, semi-intelligent Cloud-Wing Bird to track and monitor specific people from a distance. Surely the Spirit Beast Mountain’s equivalent techniques were far more covert and insidious—they were cultivators, and their methods were not comparable to those of mere Jianghu practitioners!

Speaking of the Cloud-Wing Bird, Han Li felt a little regret. Back when he first entered Yellow Maple Valley, to avoid drawing attention, he had released the bird into the Taiyue Mountain Range, letting it roam free.

At first, the bird often returned to him, its owner, to beg for its favorite “Yellow Chestnut Pills.”

But as time passed, it came less and less frequently. By the time Han Li realized his mistake, the bird had become completely wild. One day it simply flew away and never returned. Han Li was deeply upset by this, because this time, during the forbidden land journey, it could have been immensely useful.

What Han Li didn’t know was that his decision to take a detour had actually saved him from a deadly trap.

The two Spirit Beast Mountain disciples, since joining forces after leaving Black Dragon Pool, had each released a swarm of colorful moths from certain pouches.

Once these vibrant insects were released, they scattered in all directions, covering an area over a hundred zhang wide. Their body colors gradually shifted to match the surrounding scenery, creating a perfect camouflage—if not examined closely, they were almost impossible to spot.

Moreover, even if someone did notice the moths, they would most likely take them to be native creatures of the forbidden land and not think twice.

Thus, these colorful moths became a natural surveillance network for the pair. As soon as anyone approached their detection range, the two would be immediately alerted and could prepare countermeasures.

This living sentry network, composed of countless insects, was nearly flawless in alarm capability—it was a signature trick of Spirit Beast Mountain disciples. Even if other sect members knew about this beforehand, they had no way to get past these bugs without triggering an alarm.

In truth, Han Li had already gotten lucky back at Black Dragon Pool. The two Spirit Beast Mountain disciples had not released their moths while still at the pool; they only started after leaving. Otherwise, Han Li would never have escaped their search.

This wasn’t an oversight on the pair’s part. Rather, this type of moth was born with a fear of cold. If the temperature dropped even a little, they would freeze to death—an unfortunate limitation.

And the water of Black Dragon Pool was naturally frigid, turning the area around the pool as cold as winter. Under such conditions, how could they dare release the moths and court death?

Han Li, completely unaware of the danger he’d just escaped, was now standing at the foot of a strange cliff, silently gazing at two corpses lying in front of him, both with miserable deaths.

One corpse wore black tight-fitting clothes. It was burly, with large, rough hands. A thin red line encircled its neck, and its head had a pair of wide-open eyes, a face full of resentment—clearly a disciple of the Greatsword Sect.

The other corpse was of medium build, its body covered in blood and wounds. Most notably, its face was utterly unrecognizable: a greatsword had been driven straight through the front of its skull and pinned it to the ground. Brain matter and blood pooled everywhere. However, wrapped around the curled ring finger of its right hand was a strange, translucent strand that glinted faintly in the sunlight.

Han Li stared at the Greatsword Sect disciple’s corpse for a long moment. Then, suddenly, he raised a foot and gently nudged the head with the red line on the neck. The large head rolled off to the side without any effort.

The body had already been separated from its head.

Han Li sighed, then turned his gaze to the other corpse, whose identity was unmistakable even without a face. Though its face was gone, the yellow robes it wore—identical to Han Li’s own—were proof enough. He didn’t know which senior or junior brother from Yellow Maple Valley this was.

Clearly, these two had killed each other in a joint death.

Han Li looked up at the top of the cliff, motionless, but in his mind he had already reached this verdict. Most of the scene where these two had met and immediately launched into deadly combat was already replayed in his imagination.

From various clues, the Greatsword Sect disciple had likely been a shade stronger than Han Li’s fellow sect brother.

The blood and wounds on the yellow-robed body, and the resentful expression on the black-clothed head, both pointed to this.

And this unknown fellow disciple, though on the losing side, had clearly been a schemer. The magic tool he had used was a transparent strand of silk. He had probably exploited his opponent’s overconfidence as victory neared, launching a surprise attack at the last moment that severed the head, taking down the Greatsword Sect man.

But apparently, he hadn’t anticipated that for some reason, before his death, the black-clothed man still had enough strength to strike with his greatsword. The sword had pinned the yellow-robed disciple—either too wounded to dodge, or making the same mistake of premature celebration—dead to the ground. A desperate battle without a victor.