The Lama

The sky was fully dark now. The glowing green fluorescent stones were brought out, illuminating everything around them. Li Huowang did not call for a halt. Every face was taut, everyone pushing forward without a word.

Gradually, a razor-thin crescent moon began to rise, hanging in the sky, its silver light spilling across the earth.

Standing atop the cart, Li Huowang kept glancing back. He noticed that the black mass from before had disappeared from sight at some point.

“Gone? What the hell was that? What drew it here? Was it me? Or the newborn child?”

His expression flickered uncertainly as he made wild guesses.

Just then, he felt the oxcart beneath him stop. “Don’t stop! Keep moving!”

But for once, his command did not get the cart moving again.

When Li Huowang turned to look ahead, he finally understood why they had stopped. The very black mass from before was now blocking their path!

This time, Li Huowang could finally see what the black ring really was.

The black was actually a vast herd of black sheep. These dark-fleeced animals stood in utter silence, motionless as puppets.

And at the center of the herd stood an old lama draped in black hide. Hung at his waist was a small, wax-yellow drum. Around his neck and both wrists were necklaces made of small bone discs. Beneath his cockscomb-shaped lama hat were a pair of pitch-black pupils, utterly without impurity. He was staring at Li Huowang with a sullen expression.

The lama’s face looked strange—patches of yellow and black. Only when Li Huowang looked closely did he realize it was age spots.

Just from the look of him, Li Huowang knew this man was no friend.

Suddenly, the lama raised his bony right hand slightly. A vulture, nearly featherless, its skin sagging, descended from the sky and landed on his arm.

For some reason, the moment Li Huowang saw that vulture, he recalled the day on Woman Mountain with Bai Lingmiao, watching the sky burial—those flocks of vultures that fed on human flesh.

“Brother Li, this lama…” Chun Xiaoman’s expression flickered as she pulled out her bell, her words trailing off.

“Don’t panic. You go on ahead. Pretend he isn’t there.”

At Li Huowang’s order, everyone lowered their heads and followed the cart as it slowly passed by the black sheep.

Li Huowang remained standing on the cart, completely focused on the enemy before him.

As they drew closer, he could see more clearly. These black sheep were all ancient, their teeth long gone.

Both the lama and the sheep gave him an indescribable, deeply unsettling feeling.

For a split second, Li Huowang’s vision shifted. What stood before him was not a herd of black sheep at all, but a crowd of white-haired, senile old people with black sheepskins draped over their backs!

The sensation vanished as quickly as it came. The black sheep were still black sheep. Nothing had changed.

Li Huowang could barely tell whether what he had just seen was real or another hallucination.

“Baa—” The black sheep around the lama let out a unified cry. In response, the white sheep on Li Huowang’s side bleated as well.

Then the two herds began calling back and forth, their cries rising and falling, grating on the nerves.

“Enough!” Li Huowang pressed his tongue to the roof of his mouth and roared. The bleating stopped.

If trouble was coming, it was coming. Li Huowang looked at the old lama in the midst of the black flock and decided to speak first.

“Senior. I am Er Jiu, a cultivator of the Ao-Jing Sect, merely passing through your lands. If I have given any offense, I beg your forgiveness!”

Whether it worked or not, Li Huowang decided to try a false identity. He was gambling that the lama had not yet discovered his nature as a Heart-Element.

It was also a threat. He was not some masterless rogue cultivator. He belonged to the Ao-Jing Sect. The lama should think twice before making a move.

Hearing Li Huowang’s confident words, the old lama stood there without any reaction at all.

Li Huowang’s expression shifted. He waved at the others again. “Let’s go.”

He had no idea what the lama was thinking. With the strength of both sides so unclear, Li Huowang really did not want to start a fight.

The wheels began to turn again, carrying the group slowly away from the black lama. For a long while, no one spoke. They moved forward in terror, their hearts in their throats.

Li Huowang could feel a prickling sensation on his back, like needles stabbing. His whole body was tense, his mind racing through every possibility.

Then, suddenly, that strange presence reappeared. This time, it was not far away. It was right behind Li Huowang!

He planted his feet and spun around. To his horror, the lama was now less than two meters away.

Now he could clearly see the age spots on the old man’s face. He had seen age spots before, but he had never seen them cover an entire face.

The lama’s mouth seemed toothless—or nearly so. His lips were sunken inward, like those of the most decrepit old people. He looked like a man aged to the absolute extreme.

When such a terrifying face appeared right in front of him, Li Huowang nearly swung his sword. But he forced himself to stop.

His gaze slowly moved downward. Only then did he notice that the lama’s legs, buried among the black sheep, had no flesh at all. His entire lower body was a prosthesis made of bone.

That alien sensation radiating from the other man kept hammering at Li Huowang, trying to soothe his breath, to calm him down, to make him close his eyes.

But Li Huowang could not do that. His hand gripped his sword hilt. His expression was grim, almost savage. “Senior. I don’t think I’ve offended you, have I? If you keep this up, don’t blame me for being rude!”

As he drew his sword, the thick killing intent instantly dispersed everything.

The old lama’s pitch-black pupils narrowed slightly as he stared at the cloth-wrapped hilt of Li Huowang’s sword.

The oppressive atmosphere crushed everyone. Lü Xiucai had already wet himself in terror.

Li Huowang put his strength into one hand, about to draw his sword and fight this man to the death, when the stalemate suddenly shifted.

“Dong!” The lama struck the wax-yellow drum at his waist. From behind Li Huowang, another drum answered—the one Bai Lingmiao used for her spirit-dance.

“Dong dong dong—dong dong dong—”

The two drumbeats rose in rhythm, like a strange duet, as if some different beings were conversing through the sound.

After the time it takes to burn a stick of incense, the drums gradually fell silent. The stifling tension in the air dissolved like smoke.

The vulture on the lama’s arm shot into the sky. In the distance, the black sheep gathered like a dark cloud, covering his terrifying lower half, carrying him slowly backward as he retreated.

Watching the lama recede, Li Huowang did not dare relax. He led the others forward.

They walked all night. When the sun came up and Li Huowang finally called for a halt, everyone collapsed to the ground, utterly exhausted, gasping for breath. Half of it was fatigue; the other half was sheer terror.

That lama the night before had been too creepy. He looked like a living man, but his appearance was even more terrifying than a ghost or fiend.

Li Huowang scanned the area. There was no sign of the lama anywhere. He turned to Bai Lingmiao, whose lips were pale. “Was that lama saying something to you through the drum?”

Bai Lingmiao nodded. “He said… he’s from the Supervisory Heavenly Office. He’ll let it slide this time. But don’t do it again.”