The Wounded Survivor

In the western part of the central zone, a certain hollow rich in rare spiritual herbs was the scene of a fierce struggle. Three cultivators were fighting desperately against a three-eyed fire wolf. A middle-aged man in the regalia of the Giant Sword Sect held the brunt of the wolf’s assault with a massive cyan sword, while an elder in a yellow robe and a young man in gray Daoist robes launched auxiliary attacks from either flank.

Before long, the Giant Sword Sect disciple took a large fireball head-on, but in the same instant, his sword flashed down and severed the demonic beast’s head. He retracted his flying sword and burst into loud laughter.

“Brother Meng is truly a master of profound magical power! To behead a three-eyed fire wolf with a single strike—worthy indeed of a high disciple of the Giant Sword Sect!” The yellow-robed elder scurried over the moment he saw the outcome, piling on flattery without a trace of shame.

Had Han Li been present, he would have recognized this elder as Xiang Zhili, the same man who had once eagerly proposed a “weaklings’ alliance.” The junior sect brother who had accompanied him back then was nowhere to be seen—likely scattered by the teleportation.

“Hah! Without Fellow Daoist Xiang and Swordsman Li’s assistance from the side, how could I have succeeded so easily?” The black-clothed middle-aged man holding the giant sword was surprisingly modest.

“Brother Meng need not be so humble! You deserve the greatest credit for slaying this demonic beast—there is no question of it.” The young Daoist priest’s words were measured and mature for his age, neither servile nor arrogant.

A glint of pleased satisfaction flashed across the black-clothed man’s face, but he quickly deflected with a few more polite words.

“Speaking of which, those other fools still busy killing each other are truly blind. If they knew that three of us from different sects could work together to hunt demonic beasts and gather herbs—don’t you think they’d be so shocked their jaws hit the ground?” The black-clothed man suddenly shifted the topic.

“Isn’t that the truth! It’s all thanks to Brother Xiang’s efforts to bring us together. If he hadn’t laid out the situation so clearly, Brother Meng and I would still be locked in a life-or-death struggle right now!” The Daoist priest nodded repeatedly.

“Not at all, not at all! Both of you are exceptionally intelligent men. I merely spoke plainly. There is simply no reason for us to throw away our lives over something that could never fall into our hands anyway. Better to spend that time sweeping clean every rare herb outside the central zone. And if we work together, dealing with these demonic beasts is a trivial matter!” Xiang Zhili grinned, brushing off the praise with glib self-deprecation.

The other two exchanged a round of enthusiastic compliments in response.

“Enough, enough. Let’s collect the Flame Dragon Grass quickly. We’ll split it three ways,” the black-clothed man said, unable to contain his eagerness. He stepped toward the few red stalks growing behind the wolf’s corpse.

Xiang Zhili and the Daoist priest exchanged a meaningful glance, then smiled and followed.

Neither of them noticed the flicker of grim intent that flashed across the black-clothed man’s face the moment his back was turned.

—

To the south of the central zone, a barren stretch of yellow sand lay under the sky. A man and woman, both disciples of the Moon-Masking Sect, were repeatedly stabbing the sandy ground with icicle spells, searching a small area for something.

After a long while, they found nothing.

“That bitch. Where did she hide? When I find her, I’ll gouge out her eyes!” The female disciple was delicate and stunningly beautiful, but her words were dripping with such venomous cruelty that anyone listening would feel a chill run down their spine.

“Junior Sister, perhaps we should let it go. The time set by the sect is almost up. If we delay any longer, we’ll be late,” the male disciple said weakly, clearly intimidated by his companion.

“Hmph! It’s all your fault, you useless piece of trash. You couldn’t even keep watch over a little girl at the tenth layer. You let her slip right under our noses! If this gets out, won’t I and my sister—the Twin Beauties of the Moon-Masking Sect—become a laughingstock? I can’t believe the sect paired me with a waste like you as my cultivation partner!” The woman’s anger exploded with every word. She jabbed a finger at the male disciple and berated him until his face flushed crimson, but he could only endure it helplessly.

Still, scolding aside, she glanced at the light level in the sky and did not dare to keep searching. Missing the sect’s deadline was no trivial matter, even with her special status and backing.

Yet the thought of slinking away empty-handed rankled her deeply. After a moment’s hesitation, she gritted her teeth and drew out a blue talisman.

A sinister smile tugged at her lips. She tossed the talisman behind her, then dashed forward dozens of paces before turning back to watch.

The male disciple, silently cursing his luck, had no choice but to follow closely.

The talisman transformed into a massive black cloud covering dozens of feet, blotting out the sky. In an instant, the temperature plummeted, turning the air bitterly cold.

Soon, countless glittering, oversized icicles began to fall from the cloud—slowly at first, then faster and faster—until the entire patch of sand was studded with them, as densely packed as the spines of a cactus.

After the space of a single incense stick, the black cloud gradually dissipated. The sand now glittered like a crystalline field.

The female disciple widened her eyes and swept her gaze across the impaled ground, but found nothing unusual.

Her face darkened with frustration. She barked an irritable order at the male disciple and stalked off, leading the way out. Her so-called cultivation partner followed without a word.

What the departing Moon-Masking Sect woman did not notice was that, in a corner of the icicle-covered sand, a faint trace of crimson liquid was seeping upward. The stain was too light to catch her eye.

Half an hour later, as the red patch began to spread, a small mound suddenly rose in the sand, growing taller and more prominent by the moment.

Finally, the mound erupted with a violent surge, and a green-clad young woman rolled out from beneath it. A long, slender icicle was embedded in her shoulder, fresh blood streaming down, soaking half her body. In her hand, she clutched a yellow silk handkerchief that shimmered with light—clearly no ordinary item.

The woman slowly pushed herself up. Frowning at the wound on her shoulder, she reached back with her other hand, gripped the base of the icicle, and, gritting her teeth, pulled it out in one sharp motion. A pained whimper escaped her, tears streaming from her eyes. Blood gushed from the wound.

She did not bother to wipe the tears from her face. Without a moment’s delay, she fumbled in her storage pouch, pulled out a porcelain bottle, and poured yellow medicinal powder over the injury. The bleeding stopped instantly.

Only then did the green-clad woman sit down on the sand, hugging her knees and remaining completely still. After a long pause, she suddenly buried her face in her hands and began to sob quietly, careful not to let the sound carry too far, afraid of attracting unwanted attention.

A full meal’s time later, the disciple of the Spirit Beast Mountain finally stopped crying. She lifted her head and looked at the empty, silent stretch of sand. An involuntary shiver ran through her.

She bit her lip and struggled to her feet. After a long moment of hesitation, she fixed her direction and began to stumble toward the central zone. The faint traces of tears still clung to her lovely face, but they were accompanied by a stubborn expression that seemed to contradict the vulnerability.

This young woman was the same girl who had sold Han Li the Gold Bamboo Brush. Now wounded and alone, walking across the silent sands, she seemed more pitiable than ever—so fragile that it stirred a deep sense of sympathy.

Before long, figure still clutching her wound, she slowly vanished into the yellow dust.