Chapter 65: Warm Morning Sun, Cold Human Hearts

Zhong Ming had many friends: Liu Chengyin, who was half-human, half-ghost; Guo Dexing, a legendary figure through the ages; the old mountain demon of Mount Suiyun... As long as he didn’t give up, there would always be a way to resolve things.

With that thought clear in his mind, Zhong Ming felt much more at ease. After all that had happened, sleep was out of the question. With such turmoil unfolding, how could he possibly rest?

Earlier, Hu Su had said he would take Li Guangling away, and now the Seven Stars Array was about to collapse. Zhong Ming decided it was time to inform Liang Yu and the others to go home. He turned over in the room to retrieve his scabbard and strapped the Yan Luo’s Final Echo blade across his back.

He couldn’t stand to part with the blade for even a moment now. In recent days, so many chaotic events had erupted that he felt uneasy without the blade at hand. Yang Yanlang had once told him: “To roam the martial world, you need only yourself, a blade, and a horse.” Now Zhong Ming understood the sentiment—so long as the blade was near, his heart found peace.

For those of the martial world, their weapon was their life. Sometimes, the blade in their hand was more precious than life itself.

Blade on his back, Zhong Ming crossed the ridge to find Liang Yu. As he left, the big rooster stood atop the wall, peering into the distance, a trace of confusion in its eyes.

Once Zhong Ming disappeared over the hill, the Iron General flapped its wings and flew back to its nest, tucking its head beneath a wing and drifting back to sleep. Perhaps only this carefree rooster could sleep again; too much had happened tonight, leaving the entire borderland sleepless.

The night wind was still chilly. Zhong Ming tightened his thin shirt around him—Sun Luolian had taken his robe for mending, leaving him in only a white silk undershirt. When the breeze swept by, he felt a deep, biting cold.

He crossed the ridge and, from afar, spotted Liang Yu dozing at the edge of the array, his head nodding like one of those little bugs Zhong Ming had played with as a child—press its body, and it would bob its head up and down, twisting about, earning the apt nickname “nodding bug.”

Shaking his head with a sigh, Zhong Ming walked up to Liang Yu and nudged his calf. “Get up, stop dozing.”

“Huh? I didn’t spill the lamp oil!” Liang Yu startled awake, still clutching the bronze lamp tightly in his hand. The flickering, eerie red glow from the lamp lit up the surroundings.

Scratching his head hard, Liang Yu finally came to his senses and looked at Zhong Ming in confusion. “Ming, what are you doing here? Has something happened again?”

“No need to guard the array anymore. Come with me.” Zhong Ming followed the crimson lines drawn with powder. He had to notify Queya and Fei Dacheng too; there was no point keeping the array running. Better for everyone to go home and rest early.

Liang Yu scratched his head in confusion but didn’t ask further. He could see that Zhong Ming was not in a good mood, and he trusted that Ming always had his reasons. In all their years of friendship, Ming had never once made a wrong move.

From the bottom of his heart, Liang Yu trusted Zhong Ming—so much so that even if Ming asked him to jump off a cliff, he would not hesitate. It had become his habit never to ask questions. Often, when Ming tried to explain, Liang Yu found it bothersome.

As they walked, Zhong Ming called over the nervous Queya, who had nearly wet his pants, the ashen-faced Fei Dacheng, and Caogen, who had jumped in fright at the shadows. Six streetwise youths trailed behind Zhong Ming to the large stone at the entrance to Muddy Village.

The stone at the village entrance had long since shattered—Old Man Sun had smashed it to pieces with a sweep of his blade that day. The rock, once as tall as a man, now lay in fragments, the largest piece no higher than a calf.

Zhong Ming stood atop the largest fragment, gazing into the distance, toward the direction of the border city.

With Liang Yu and the others gone, the Hidden God Seven Stars Array ceased functioning. The red glow surrounding Muddy Village vanished, and the small village reappeared in its original place.

The corpse tide had already moved on; now they surged beneath the broken city walls. From the village entrance, Zhong Ming and his group could hear the wailing and cries from within the distant city. The noble residents there were probably scared out of their wits.

Seeing the corpse tide recede from the village, Fei Dacheng’s pale, chubby face finally regained some color. He shouted happily, “Those walking corpses are gone! Ming! Hei! They’re gone!”

Liang Yu yawned, plopped down on a stone, and started picking at his feet. “I saw them go. What are you all shouting for, looking so scared? Honestly, even that kid Li Guangling has more guts than you. If this gets out, how are we supposed to hold our heads up around here?”

Faced with Liang Yu’s scolding, the boys lowered their heads, eyes downcast, not daring to retort.

Fei Dacheng scratched the fat on his face and muttered, “Hei, I’m not the worst. Look at Queya, he wet his pants.”

At this, everyone glanced at Queya’s wet trousers. Queya, clutching his waistband, snapped, “What are you staring at? I was doing my duty! Even if I had to pee, I couldn’t leave my post—had to carry out Ming’s orders!”

“So you peed your pants?” Liang Yu pinched his nose and teased, as if he could actually smell something foul.

A burst of laughter erupted from the boys, all pointing at Queya and calling him a coward.

All this while, Zhong Ming never smiled nor looked back at these ignorant youths. He stared long into the distance, toward the town.

Once the laughter died down, Liang Yu put on his shoes and walked over to Zhong Ming, looking out as well. “Ming, what are you looking at?”

Zhong Ming sighed, turned toward the reddening east, and murmured, “It’s almost dawn.”

…

Over the border town, black vapors rose into the sky, a stench-laden haze shrouded the city walls, darker even than the storm clouds of the past two days.

A new sun was rising in the east, orange light warming to pale white.

Daybreak broke through the darkness. The most chaotic night in the borderlands had finally passed, and new light had arrived.

On the broken city walls, Tian Xingjian stood in the bell tower, watching the demonic corpses rampage through the city, his eyes full of mirth.

Within the border city, cries and wails filled the air. Countless demonic corpses roamed the streets and alleys, ravenous for flesh.

Near the city gate was a noodle shop run by a slightly plump middle-aged man. He had a wife of similar build and a ten-year-old daughter.

Owning a shop in the city should have promised a comfortable life.

But today, the fat man cursed himself for ever coming to the border town to open a noodle shop.

His door had been forced open the previous night—not for business, but by a horde of rotting corpses.

Those corpses devoured his wife, and he could only climb onto the roof with his daughter, hoping to survive.

Fortunately, the monsters didn’t know how to scale the walls; they just wandered around the courtyard, unwilling to leave.

His daughter had cried all night, her voice now hoarse, muttering, “Mama, mama…” over and over.

The fat man covered his daughter’s eyes, not letting her see her mother’s ravaged corpse. He moved his lips, wanting to comfort her, but no words came, despite several attempts.

At the hour of the Tiger last night, the demonic corpses breached the city, killing and devouring, over a thousand civilians falling victim.

The fat man didn’t know if he and his daughter would live through this calamity.

Tian Xingjian, watching from the city wall, flicked his peach blossom fan and smiled even more gleefully. “Interesting, so interesting! Yi Chongtian, look at how nimble that fat man is, climbing the high wall with his little girl.”

“Uncle Tian, you have such refined tastes, finding amusement among these common folk,” Yi Chongtian replied with a feigned smile and a subtle compliment. Since meeting Tian Xingjian less than two hours ago, he had already offered such flattery five times.

In truth, Yi Chongtian was already disgusted. He was the one who broke open the city gate, and now he was stuck watching this farce with Tian Xingjian.

He grew more uneasy. He saw no amusement in such scenes, and all the dirty work had fallen to him, while his fellow disciples got to bask in the limelight. Jealousy gnawed at him.

He glanced at the sun—dawn had arrived. By his estimation, their master should be making a move soon.

Still, there was no sign from the other disciples. Growing restless, Yi Chongtian bowed and said, “Uncle Tian, Master Yu has yet to act. Should I check if something’s amiss?”

“No rush. If Yu Tu can’t handle it, what could you do?” Tian Xingjian didn’t even turn his head, still fanning himself. “Look over there—a seventy-year-old running faster than a horse. Now that’s a rare sight.”

Yi Chongtian could only force a smile, his anxious gaze drifting to the corpse tide outside the city.

…

South of the border city, before the Immortal Stone.

Yu Tu, porcelain-doll-like in appearance, stood atop a long-eared rabbit, facing the spiritless Immortal Stone.

Once, the Immortal Stone brimmed with vitality, a living presence seemed to swirl within, now and then flashing with golden light.

Now, a crack ran from the top down the middle, splitting it in two. Even the “Immortal” inscription was severed.

Yu Tu was staring at words left by Feng Ning: “Retreat ten miles, and Penglai will not contest. Take one step further, and the Eastern Sea’s waves will rise a thousand feet, engulfing New Tang, flooding the Jade Capital.”

Yu Tu’s face was dark, fury burning in his violet eyes.

“Feng Ning, you’ve played your lute long enough. Perhaps it’s time someone taught you to play the suona instead!”

His words were laced with anger. In the Jade Capital, custom dictated that when a disciple passed away, bells and drums were played at the funeral—while the suona was reserved for the lowest-ranked.

Suddenly, a massive arm appeared atop the shattered stone, palm pressing down, grinding the Immortal Stone to dust. When the arm vanished, only an enormous handprint remained.

Behind Yu Tu stood the old man, Zeng Li, whose face was equally grim. “Master, what should we do? Shall I plant a new Immortal Stone at the Southern Han border?”

With a violent toss of his sleeve, Yu Tu gazed southward.

He watched for a long while before speaking. “No need. Beyond this lies the Suiyun Mountains. If the Immortal Stone is placed too far, the Myriad Demon Wood may misunderstand.”

“Then what should we do?”

Zeng Li was even angrier than Yu Tu. Everyone knew the Jade Capital cherished its reputation above all. Penglai had always seemed aloof, but now they were showing their claws, growing ever more brazen.

Yu Tu’s face shifted through many expressions, deep in thought, yet no answer came.

To erect the Immortal Stone or not—either way was a dilemma.

If he followed Feng Ning’s message and retreated the stone ten miles, where would Jade Capital’s honor be?

If he defied Feng Ning and kept the stone here or pushed it forward, conflict with Penglai Palace would surely follow.

Many would love to see Jade Capital and Penglai Palace at each other’s throats.

When the snipe and clam quarrel, the fisherman profits.

Feng Ning had his reason to smash the Immortal Stone. Jade Capital had grown too quickly, squeezing Penglai Palace into the small territory of Southern Han, and Kunlun was forced into the snowy northwest. Sword Cliff claimed to want only the Youlong Range, but who could say they’d stick to their word if it came to a fight?

This could be the perfect excuse for Penglai Palace to declare war.

The more Yu Tu pondered, the more convinced he was that this was Penglai Palace’s scheme.

He slowly withdrew his gaze and urged the long-eared rabbit toward the border city, never once answering Zeng Li’s question.

Knowing his master was troubled, Zeng Li hurried after him on ice lotus, saying, “Master, it’s about time. Shouldn’t we deal with the corpse tide in the city first?”

Suddenly, the rabbit stopped. Yu Tu glanced back. “Zeng Li, do you know why, after following me for two hundred years and three cycles of reincarnation, you’re still only at the Gathering Elixir realm?”

Zeng Li froze, sweat breaking on his brow, and slapped himself hard across the face.

The slap echoed crisply.

“I never need anyone meddling in my affairs,” Yu Tu said coldly.

The long-eared rabbit resumed its playful hops toward the city, but Zeng Li dared not follow. He dismounted from his ice lotus, knelt on the ground, and did not so much as raise his head. This kneeling would last three days and nights.

Yu Tu, master of the Jade Capital’s second tower, was infamous for his strictness. Among the twelve towers and five cities, all knew his ways.

It was common to see people kneeling outside the second tower; there was no need to ask—they had surely incurred Yu Tu’s displeasure.

Kneeling was the least of it; those he truly disliked had long since been scattered in soul and turned into puppet dolls.