"EVERYBODY STOP! Retreat! Retreat to the bottom of the mountain!"
His sudden shout caught the crowd off guard. Everyone turned their heads to see Mo Ran bounding toward them, black robes whipping in the wind, with a female corpse hot on his heels, keening frightfully.
"Ran-er?!" Xue Zhengyong exclaimed. "What…what's going on?" "Retreat! Everybody retreat!" Mo Ran's gaze was daggerlike beneath his dark brows. "Nangong!" he hollered. "Lower the Soul-Blocking Stone up ahead!"
Nangong Si leapt into action. The burial ground for Rufeng Sect's high-level disciples lay above the servants' graveyard, the two sections divided by a long wall that could separate them in the event of disaster. Nangong Si hastened toward the bulwark, Ye Wangxi close behind.
But before they reached it, Nangong Si stopped short. Above them, a group was slowly descending the mountain path, figures garbed in green robes emblazoned with white cranes, silk ribbons fluttering in the wind. At first glance, they looked like a battalion of Rufeng disciples, valiant and spirited in bearing—as though Rufeng Sect had never been annihilated.
But Nangong Si and Ye Wangxi knew it wasn't so. These disciples were unlike any they had seen in one important respect: their eyes were obscured by a green ribbon embroidered with cranes. A minor detail, but one everyone in the Nangong family understood—this ribbon was not worn by any living person. Before interring every Rufeng disciple, the sect leader bestowed this ribbon as a burial item. It symbolized an auspicious afterlife, in which cranes would carry their soul to everlasting paradise.
The disciples coming down the mountain were Rufeng Sect's walking dead.
Nangong Si took a step back, instinctively lifting an arm to block Ye Wangxi from moving forward. "Go back," he murmured without looking at her.
Ye Wangxi didn't answer.
"Go back! We're running out of time—tell Mo-zongshi." Nangong Si took a deep breath; his voice trembled when he continued. "Rufeng Sect's high-level disciples have already been reanimated. They're making their way down the mountain."
"What about you?!"
"I'll hold them off. Hurry." Nangong Si turned his face a fraction. "Tell them to retreat to the bottom of the mountain. Once everybody's there, set off a signal firework. I'll come down right away."
Ye Wangxi bit her lip. The situation left no room for error. All she could do was untie her own quiver and toss it to Nangong Si. "Take these. You never bring enough."
By the time she sped back down the slope, a fierce battle was unfolding. The previously hidden corpses of Rufeng servants clambered out of coffins and emerged from behind gravestones like a swarm of attacking locusts. In their white burial clothes, they resembled an avalanche pummeling the riotous crowd of cultivators. It made for a dramatic sight, but at a terrible cost. The graves of Mount Jiao were transformed into a killing field, the air choked with the desperate cries of cultivators.
Ye Wangxi glanced into a few coffins that had been cracked open with spiritual energy. The clothes inside had been arranged in the approximate shape of a body. Her yifu was treacherous indeed—he had staged a peaceful burial ground of faithful souls, when in truth he'd long roused the corpses and hidden them away. He only had to wait for the unsuspecting crowd to climb high enough before mobilizing his revenants, attacking from both upslope and down.
He had cast a net, and the fish had swum right in.
"Mo-zongshi!" Ye Wangxi cried out, spying Mo Ran in the melee.
Mo Ran was fighting five corpses at once. He whipped around anxiously. "How are things—"
Before he could finish, he saw Ye Wangxi's face. It was all the answer he needed.
Mo Ran cursed under his breath as one of the revenants bit into the flesh of his arm. Unable to throw it off, he reached into its mouth and tore out its tongue. Black blood fountained into the air, and the corpse let out a strangled yelp as it was forced to loosen its jaw. Mo Ran rammed his elbow into the creature's chest, sending it crashing to the ground.
His black eyes were terrifyingly bright, his face severe. Ye Wangxi shuddered as he turned his gaze upon her. Still, she gathered herself and called, "A-Si wants everyone to retreat with all speed and wait for him at the bottom of the mountain!"
Mo Ran nodded. His magically amplified voice echoed across the chaotic battleground. "Stop fighting and head down the mountain.
Everyone, retreat to the base of the mountain!"
"We've already prepared for an all-out battle with Xu Shuanglin!" Huang Xiaoyue fretted. "These corpses here are exactly as we expected— how can we turn back now?"
Just as birds would die for food, so men would die for riches; if Huang Xiaoyue wanted to make a sprint for the mountaintop just to get his hands on the treasures in Rufeng Sect's ancestral temple a little sooner, that was the old geezer's prerogative. Mo Ran ignored him, raising his voice to repeat, "Everyone, head down the mountain if you don't want to die! Immediately! Go now!"
The revenant servants weren't all that strong, but they were certainly more capable than the hapless commoners on Mount Huang and terrifying in their sheer numbers. They surged up without pause, heedless of pain or injury. By the time the crowd made it back down the mountain, a dozen cultivators had perished on the slope.
Despite his protests, Huang Xiaoyue retreated with the rest. He knew full well he lacked the strength to fight his way to the top alone, but he still huffed through his mustache and snorted, "Mo-zongshi, what do you call this? You were the one who said we should come to Mount Jiao, yet now you're telling us to retreat without a fight. If you're so clever, what are we supposed to do now? How about you take the lead, and we can all cower behind your back?"
In his past life, a useless graybeard like this wouldn't have been worthy of carrying a pair of shoes for Emperor Taxian-jun. He wouldn't have even bothered to kill him for fear of dirtying his hands. But in this life, Mo Ran hadn't become a dark overlord but a forthright zongshi; only due to this did he refrain from backhanding Huang Xiaoyue across the face in front of the crowd, instead turning a deaf ear to his jibes.
Huang Xiaoyue had taken a breath to keep blathering on when he caught sight of a dark mass rushing toward them. Nangong Si rushed forward like a mountain gale astride Naobaijin, who had recovered his full- grown faewolf form, as hundreds of reanimated Rufeng disciples streamed after them in pursuit. Huang Xiaoyue started in fright. "Aiya, we're done for! It's a trap!"
Mo Ran narrowed his eyes. At least the old fart finally realized this much. Perhaps he wasn't hopelessly stupid.
"Nangong Si!" Huang Xiaoyue continued. "You've got some guts! Rallying this Rufeng riffraff on Mount Jiao—are you planning to attack your fellow sects?"
Never mind… Mo Ran was at a loss for words.
Nangong Si was pressed low to Naobaijin's back, the faewolf swift as an arrow. They quickly left the revenants in the dust. Only then did Huang Xiaoyue realize he had misread the situation. Rather than apologize, he glared at the mob of encroaching corpses, eyes bulging and throat bobbing.
Nangong Si rushed into the midst of the cultivators and leapt from his faewolf's back. He thrust the extra quiver into Ye Wangxi's hands. "There are still some arrows left," he panted. "Take them for now. Take everyone with you and retreat."
Ye Wangxi had relaxed at his first words, only to grow tense again with his last. Her head snapped up to stare at him. "What are you going to do?"
"Don't worry."
As they spoke, Huang Xiaoyue watched the crowd of powerful Rufeng disciples draw ever closer, his palms growing clammy at the thought of battling these centuries-old warriors. He turned and snarled, "Nangong Si, you shameless little shit! Just like your father! Why'd you lead these freaks right toward us? So we can slay your enemies for you?" When Nangong Si remained silent, Huang Xiaoyue's anger compounded.
"Very well—I've seen through your schemes now," he said, voice quavering. "You were afraid you couldn't make it to the top alone to claim the treasures your old man left behind, so you goaded the rest of us into climbing this godforsaken mountain to fight the corpses for you! Nangong Si! Your evil intentions are clear to everyone here!"
The old man was growing increasingly out of line. Xue Zhengyong couldn't bear to watch any longer. "All right, Huang-daozhang, that's enough," he chided with a frown.
"Enough? I've just gotten started!"
Huang Xiaoyue thought little of the lower cultivation realm. In calmer circumstances, he might've shown Xue Zhengyong a bare modicum of respect, but he had no patience for feigned politeness now. He jabbed a finger toward Nangong Si. "A black-hearted little son of a bitch! To think you'd exploit these distinguished cultivators to clear your way! The nerve of you!"
Nangong Si blinked, unsure how to respond.
But Huang Xiaoyue still wasn't done. "If you'd crawled off and died, it'd have been a fitting apology to the world," he raged. "Instead you insist on climbing out of a mountain of corpses and dragging those abominations over to us! You—"
The crisp sound of a slap rang out over the mountainside. Ye Wangxi, never anything but decorous, had backhanded Huang Xiaoyue soundly across the face. She stood with her hand still raised, fingers trembling and chest heaving as she caught her breath. She stared at the man sprawled out on the ground with fierce eyes.
"You bastard," she spat hoarsely. "Who do you think you are, speaking such obscenities before the heroes' tomb of my Rufeng Sect?"
Jiangdong Hall's cultivators turned to face Ye Wangxi, swords drawn.
One of Huang Xiaoyue's subordinates, a middle-aged female cultivator, brassily cursed her out. "You freak of nature! You dare strike your elder? You're the bastard here! Disgusting Rufeng bitch!"
The woman rushed at Ye Wangxi. Mo Ran had already started forward to intervene when he heard a whip crack through the air.
Wreathed in golden light, Chu Wanning stepped out from the crowd holding Tianwen, his phoenix eyes narrowed in anger. Turning his back to Ye Wangxi, he faced the group from Jiangdong Hall. "I've said it before." He spoke each word deliberately, so the whole crowd could hear. "Nangong Si is my disciple. If you refuse to defer to Tianyin Pavilion's investigation, you may come to me with your grievances. Whether you intend to speak about justice, or speak with your fists…" In the ensuing silence, he finished, "I will happily answer in kind."
The atmosphere drew taut as a bowstring. Jiangdong Hall found themselves at an impasse, unable to retreat or advance—to retreat would be shameful, but to advance… Could any of them hold their own against the Beidou Immortal, Chu Wanning? And perhaps more importantly—was it worth burning bridges with Chu Wanning and making him their mortal enemy?
Above them, the revenant horde was pressing closer…
One observer finally lost their patience. "Stop bickering! You can settle things when we get out of here! Focus! What do we do?!"
Another voice cried, "Do we fight?!"
Yet another: "Should we face them head-on? Why'd we withdraw then Between fighting them down here and fighting on the mountain— what's the difference?!"
Fair enough, Mo Ran thought. What was the difference? Nangong Si wouldn't have acted without intention. He was the last descendant of the Nangong bloodline and knew the mountain better than anyone—he must have a good reason for sending them all to the bottom. Curious, Mo Ran peered toward Nangong Si, who hadn't said a word since dismounting his faewolf.
Nangong Si's eyes were flashing with an inscrutable light. Mo Ran was taken aback; a shiver raced down his spine. "Nangong!" he shouted, but it was no use—since the moment Huang Xiaoyue had begun his tirade, Nangong Si had been silently mouthing a forbidden spell. By the time Mo Ran noticed, it was too late.
Vines burst out of the ground, winding countless tendrils around
everyone present—Mo Ran, Ye Wangxi, Xue Meng… A moment later, they were flung bodily beyond the boundary of Mount Jiao.
"A-Si!" Ye Wangxi cried, aghast. "What are you doing?!"
She started to run back through the boundary, but Nangong Si waved a hand. The paired tomb guardians lumbered to their feet, gravel sheeting off their shoulders. In perfect symmetry, each raised a paw, and a new, translucent barrier sprang up across the path, blocking the way up the mountain.
Nangong Si stood alone on the other side of the barrier, facing the tide of undead with his back to the assembled cultivators.
"Mount Jiao's vines are made of the dragon's sinews; they can pull anything into the earth. But none of you can remain on the mountain. It doesn't matter who you are—if Nangong blood doesn't flow in your veins, the vines will bury you alive when I cast the spell."
Ye Wangxi was frantic with grief and fury. "Nangong Si! Have you forgotten you're just one person?" She pounded on the barrier, powerless to do anything but shout: "Nangong Si!"
"Just one person?" Nangong Si turned his face a fraction. "Aren't you still with me?"
Ye Wangxi stared at him, dumbstruck.
As though the thought had just occurred to him, Nangong Si beamed.
It was the first time such a brilliant smile had lit his features since Rufeng Sect burned. That fiery, prideful smile brought a bygone vitality back to his face, his eyes dancing like spirited horses given their heads. Just as he had in that first training illusion with Ye Wangxi long ago, he glanced over his shoulder, raised his sword, and laughed. "Girls really are useless. In the end, I'm still the one protecting you."
He turned and strode toward the seething mass of corpses. One, two, three steps. He stopped.
Nangong Si plunged his sword into the dirt. Untying the gauze
bandage from his hand, he swiped it down the length of the sword. Bright blood welled up, running down the groove and seeping into the rich earth of Mount Jiao.
His eyes were cool and fearless, his gaze fixed steadily ahead. In the eyes of Mo Ran, watching from the other side of the barrier, his silhouette seemed to overlap with that of Ye Wangxi making her last stand in the past life. They merged, becoming one figure, indivisible.
"I offer my blood to the Azure Dragon for the use of your sinews," said Nangong Si. "Come forth!"
A forest of vines exploded from the earth, raining sand and mud.
Unlike those that had thrown the cultivators through the barrier, these were a vivid scarlet and barren of leaves or tendrils, like thick blood vessels rising from the heart of the mountain. In an instant, they ensnared each and every Zhenlong Chess-controlled corpse.
Sweat beaded on Nangong Si's forehead, and the hand that rested on the sword shook slightly. Summoning thousands of vines sapped his spiritual energy at a rapid pace. Tendons strained as his wounds from Mount Huang burst open on the back of his hand, soaking the ground with blood.
Face ashen, he gave the final command in a quavering voice. "Bury them!"
Thousands of vines began to drag the corpses into the ground, but the revenants weren't about to go without a fight. They thrashed against their bonds, howling and screaming. The dragon's sinews were animated with Nangong Si's spiritual energy; as the horde of undead fought him, Nangong Si was forced to funnel more energy into the vines and pour more blood onto the dirt. Unless he bolstered the strength of the vines, they couldn't pull the bodies underground.
The revenants' ankles disappeared, then their calves…their thighs… The teeming undead craned their necks and screeched, spittle dripping from their lips. Nangong Si panted for breath. They were buried up to their thighs, but only their thighs… He could feel his spiritual energy was nearly spent, but the corpses weren't yet buried. They still writhed furiously, trying to brace their hands on the ground to pull free. Just a bit more—their waists… They had to be buried to their waists at least… Only then could he let the cultivators through the barrier; only then would the revenants be trapped long enough to give them the time they needed.
At least… Just a little bit more…
His stores of spiritual energy were depleted; he drew power from his spiritual core itself. Nangong Si felt his heart twinge with pain. His core, prone to qi deviation to begin with, shuddered in his chest. Though he clenched his jaw against it, blood seeped from the corner of his mouth.
Just a little bit more. To their waists…
Yes—they could hardly move now. But it was too risky; dead, these cultivators were stronger than they were in life. They might still break free.
Just a little bit more!
Nangong Si doubled over, coughing. The world wobbled as he drew from his spiritual core once more. He fell to his knees, retching blood that splattered and sank into the black dirt. When he looked up through bleary eyes, he could make out, within the tremulous shadows, vines sucking the undead masses deeper into the earth, burying them up to their chests. For the moment, these monstrosities were immobilized.
Nangong Si threw his head back and laughed, his teeth stained scarlet. He heard Ye Wangxi shout through the barrier, "A-Si! Enough! Open the barrier! Open it, hurry up!"
"Open the barrier, Nangong!" Xue Zhengyong cried as well. "We're here to help!"
"Nangong! Open the barrier! Open it!"
More added their voices to the chorus. Not everyone in this world lacked a conscience.
Nangong Si laughed and laughed. Since Rufeng Sect's downfall, he'd endured every indignity without once crying. Yet now, hot tears spilled down his cheeks. "I know, I'll open it," he mumbled hoarsely, words sticking in his throat. "I'll open it…"
He raised a trembling hand to dismiss the barrier keeping the crowd from Mount Jiao. But before he could complete the gesture, the ground juddered beneath his feet, vibrating faintly.
Nangong Si froze. He looked up, disbelief etched into every line of his face. The vines he had commanded to pull the revenants down had begun to loosen. They wrapped around the corpses' torsos, pulling them up, helping them scrabble out from the dirt one after another…
"No…" Nangong Si muttered in shock. "Impossible!"
How could Mount Jiao disobey its master's orders? Even if Xu Shuanglin had given an opposing command, the dragon sinews shouldn't have heeded him. To the demon dragon's slumbering soul, all descendants of the Nangong family were equivalent. If two descendants gave contradictory orders, the mountain would remain neutral, lending its strength to neither.
Unless…
Gooseflesh rose on Nangong Si's arms as a solution crossed his mind. The very idea made him tremble all over, and the pain in his heart seemed to multiply. Gasping for air, he slowly raised his head. He cast his gaze over the interminable white marble steps, over the dense throng of corpses, toward the top of the mountain.
A tall, broad-shouldered man with solemn features was leisurely making his way down the steps. His exquisite robes were embroidered with a jiao amidst the sun and moon, surrounded by billowing clouds. With every step he took, the silver-and-gold-threaded brocade rippled like water under the moonlight.
The silk ribbon of Rufeng Sect's dead was tied neatly above his straight nose, concealing his eyes. Yet this ribbon was black, not green, and embroidered not with immortal cranes, but with a magnificent Azure Dragon.
Nangong Si was white as paper. As he watched the man's calm descent, step by step, his eyes widened with incredulity. "How…how could this be… Sect Founder…"
The moon streamed through the leaves of the forest to illuminate the man's chiseled, gallant face. It was him—the only person on earth who could compel Mount Jiao to disobey the orders of the Nangong bloodline, who could subdue the demon dragon, who could suppress the ancient beast called the gun beneath Golden Drum Tower. The man who established the glorious sect that had stood at the peak of the cultivation realm for centuries.
Hundreds of years ago, he was the world's foremost zongshi. The first in history to relinquish the chance to ascend and remain on the dusty earth to alleviate the suffering of mortals. The founding leader of Rufeng Sect: Nangong Changying.