Zhi Xuan continued his difficult journey for almost an hour in the darkness interspersed by the faint light of his horn lantern. His own shadow danced among the trees, twisting and lengthening like a ghost following him. His back began to feel cold, and the slight dizziness left by the energy boost to light the lantern had not completely faded.
The thirst for mortal water now mixed with a strange thirst from his cracked wheel, which pulsed softly in his chest, reacting to every curved root and every stone he passed. After winding through dense thickets and rocks covered with thick moss, he finally reached a small clearing. There, in the middle of the deep darkness, were three grim-looking path forks; he raised the lantern, its light cutting through the darkness and illuminating faint signs.
The right path descended to a low, wet, sandy plain, leading to an area called the black jade swamp. This path was far from the hunting grounds, but also far from the jade valley. It would take hours and bring him too close to dangerous swamp areas. Meanwhile, the path that was barely visible was covered by thorny bushes. There were no clear footprints, only faint traces indicating that it was a rarely or never used path.
"Damn it, if I walk left, I'll definitely be discovered by Uncle Chen and the other hunters," Zhi Xuan muttered. The left path led to a higher ridge, a path marked by heavy footprints and occasional axe marks. This was the known path. This path was the main route to the hunter's camp, and from there, to the northern hill where they would hunt the fire-roaring ape. Uncle Chen or Fourteen might still be there, completing the final preparations.
Zhi Xuan sighed. The safe way home was to return via the right path, or continue the mortal task he had promised. But he couldn't. He had to return to the jade valley.
"The jade valley should be between the hunter's path and the black jade swamp path," he thought. The left path, although the fastest, was too risky. If he met Uncle Chen, his secret about the injured cultivator would be revealed, putting the village in unexpected danger.
The middle path. That was a dangerous gamble. Normally, Grandfather Wu would forbid any mortal youth from using an unmaintained path, because it meant unknown danger: beast traps, hidden ravines, or low-level beast nests.
However, Zhi Xuan narrowed his eyes. The middle path was the only option. If it was the path taken by the stranger—for example, the injured cultivator, or the entity pursuing him—then it was the fastest route to the destination.
"Minimum risk, fastest route," Zhi Xuan whispered, forcing himself to calm down, reactivating Bashan's philosophy of internal focus. "If Uncle Chen and the hunters are busy, this middle path will be completely empty."
He lowered his head, inhaling deeply to calm himself; he knew that this middle path might never have been passed by anyone, which could bring him danger. The other paths might be safe, but the middle path... felt hot and cold simultaneously. There was a trace of leaked energy—like blood disappearing into the air—mixed with a strange cold residue, similar to the laughter he heard. An energy he couldn't define. Something foreign.
Zhi Xuan gripped his heavy staff tightly. The choice had been made for him. He had to take the middle path. With determination burning in his sapphire eyes, Zhi Xuan took his first step onto the middle path. He ducked, using his solid staff to push aside the thorny and thick bushes. The staff served as a shield, protecting his hands from scratches and muffling the sound of his movements.
The path was indeed difficult. After a hundred steps, the forest became much darker and more frightening. The ancient trees here grew closer together, their branches curved like claws, and the ground was unstable. Suddenly, he stepped on something.
CLANG!
A sharp metallic sound echoed in the forest silence, breaking the night's tranquility. It was a loud sound, a dangerous sound. Zhi Xuan froze, his heart pounding in his chest. He immediately extinguished the lantern and buried it in the damp mud beneath his feet, allowing absolute darkness to swallow him. He crouched, hugging his staff, and held his breath.
He knew the sound came from an ancient hunting trap. Not a trap made by the Star Village hunters—they used ropes or silent traps—but an ancient trap made by outside merchants or cultivators hunting in forbidden areas.
After an eternity of silence, he heard a sound.
Thud. Thud.
The sound came from a distance, from the same direction as the jade valley. It was the sound of heavy, yet irregular footsteps, as if the source was dragging itself. The sound stopped for a moment, then was heard again, louder.
THUD.
Something was approaching. Zhi Xuan knew he couldn't stay put. He needed to see. He had to confirm whether it was the injured cultivator or something else. He slowly rose, retrieved the lantern from the mud, and lit it again carefully, ensuring the resulting light was as minimal as possible.
With the lantern in hand, he looked at where his feet had stepped. It was an ancient trap, a rusted piece of metal, harmless, but loud enough to ring out. Near the trap, there was something strange.
In the bushes he had just pushed aside with his staff, he saw a small line of dark liquid. The line was not thick, but clearly visible under the lantern light.
Blood.
The blood looked darker and thicker than ordinary wild beast blood. The blood led forward, in the same direction as the source of the approaching thudding sound. He moved forward, stepping very carefully, avoiding other traps. He followed the line of blood. Each step increased the tension. The sound of heavy, irregular footsteps became clearer, now mixed with the sound of rough cloth scraping.
He reached a sharp turn in the middle path. There, between the shadows of the ancient trees, his light illuminated a sight that made him catch his breath. A man was standing—or rather, leaning—against the side of a large tree. His dark, shabby robe was dirty with mud. His long black hair was messy, covering part of his face. The man had his back to him, mumbling unclear words like a drunken old man.
"My friends... where are my friends... everything evaporated... everything evaporated..."
Zhi Xuan froze, immersing himself completely in the shadow of the ancient tree trunk. He turned off the lantern once more, leaving a dense darkness. There was only one faint light source—a greenish glow from the distant jade valley behind the man. The dim light was not enough to illuminate Zhi Xuan's face, but enough to observe the man in front of him.
The man wore a dark robe, the dull rips now clearly visible. On his shoulders and back were large, dark black stains—dried blood mixed with mud. From his stooped posture, Zhi Xuan could see that the man was severely injured. The regularity of the heavy footsteps, Thud. Thud, was not walking, but a desperate attempt to drag his paralyzed body.
"Great Immortal... living is like a storm... when will my friends return... everything is gone..." the man mumbled again, his voice hoarse and distant, full of mad grief.
Zhi Xuan held his breath, his chest pulsing with tension. He tightly gripped his staff, which now felt more like a shield. He was between two dangers: staying put and risking discovery, or retreating and risking making noise.
Suddenly, the man coughed hard. The cough was dry and painful, and was followed by a raspy sound that made Zhi Xuan shudder.
"Hahaha... Hahaha... in this world who wants to be immortal... Hahaha..."
Zhi Xuan froze behind the shadow of the ancient tree trunk. The cultivator's hoarse laughter—laughter that was similar, but much louder and sharper than the whisper he heard in the pasture—made every hair on his body stand on end. It was laughter full of pain and loss, more terrifying than any wild beast's roar. It was madness.
The cultivator staggered, as if the balance holding him against the tree suddenly disappeared. He began to move slowly, his heavy, uneven steps, Thud. Thud, getting closer, moving away from the faintly glowing jade valley. He moved toward the middle path, directly towards where Zhi Xuan was hiding.
The man got closer. The faint moonlight, breaking through the gaps in the canopy, briefly illuminated his profile—a face smeared with dry blood and tears that had likely long dried. His eyes were wide open, yet unfocused, staring into the void. Then with one more step, he suddenly disappeared.
"Gone?" Zhi Xuan froze, every muscle fiber tensing. The dry, mad laughter disappeared, and the shadow of the man he had just seen staggering suddenly vanished from sight. Before his surprise at the cultivator's disappearance was over, a cold, thin, old hand patted his shoulder from behind.
"Immortal... where is the Immortal's place..." the whisper was hoarse and smelled of moss, right in his ear.
Zhi Xuan's reaction was pure instinct ingrained by Grandfather Wu's harsh training. He didn't scream or run away. Instead, he dropped forward and sideways, moving at the maximum mortal speed that far surpassed his age. His heavy staff, which had been his anchor all this time, swung upward in a wild defensive move, rotating from bottom to top.
CRACK!
The solid ironwood staff hit something hard and impenetrable; the wooden staff immediately broke and shattered with the spiritual fluctuation, a golden light spread and sent Zhi Xuan sprawling forward, landing hard on the muddy ground, groaning softly as the pain from the impact spread from his spine. He didn't even feel the pain from his staff shattering; the pain was swallowed by the powerful energy that propelled him forward. The dizziness left by his internal energy burst now became a throbbing headache.
He stumbled, kneeling on the wet ground. There was only dense darkness—he didn't dare to light the lantern. The old man paced behind him and stared blankly everywhere, the hood of his robe revealing the silhouette of the old man's eyes which were a dark purple spiral color.
"I just want my friends back... escaping the void of the Great Dao... who is alive, who is dead..."
The cultivator's voice, which he now realized was not hoarse, but a voice trembling with deep madness, sounded right behind him. The man didn't seem interested in Zhi Xuan, but in the emptiness around them. However, Zhi Xuan felt an indescribable coldness from the energy that had just shattered his staff. It was not just physical strength; it was pure spiritual fluctuation instinctively released by the cultivator.
His ironwood staff, which had accompanied him through thousands of grueling training sessions, now lay in small pieces in the mud near his feet. The damage felt more painful than the impact on his back. The staff was a symbol of the mortal limit, and that limit had just been shattered.
Zhi Xuan struggled to rise from his kneeling position, his body trembling slightly. He slowly turned his head toward the old man who was still pacing there, his steps feeling heavy as he walked closer to the old man. "Old grandfather, what are you talking about?" Zhi Xuan mumbled softly and patted the man's shoulder. There was no answer, the old man kept speaking in strange sentences.
Zhi Xuan touched the back of the cultivator's hand. His skin felt cold, like jade stone just taken out of the ice. His instincts screamed to run, but a deeper necessity—a push from the pulsing wheel in his chest—forced him to stay put. He needed to know.
The old man finally stopped, his thin shoulders slightly raised when he felt Zhi Xuan's mortal touch. However, instead of turning around, he just tilted his head, and his hoarse whisper now spoke directly to Zhi Xuan, but as if speaking through Zhi Xuan, not to him.
"Great Immortal... they say it's glory... they say it's emptiness... why must emptiness be achieved, young one? Why?" The voice trembled, more like the sound of grinding sand than a human voice.
Zhi Xuan pulled his hand away. He had to stay vigilant. This man was not in his right mind. The dark purple spiral eyes he had just seen—that was a sign that this cultivator was on the brink of madness or even something Zhi Xuan didn't understand.
"I don't understand," Zhi Xuan whispered, his eyes darting to the fragments of his ironwood staff on the ground. The symbolism of his defeat. "Who are your friends? What happened to you?"
The old man staggered, as if the simple question hit him like a hammer. He turned slowly, his body leaning helplessly. His face, now illuminated by the faint moonlight, was clearly visible to Zhi Xuan. A face that might have once looked dignified, was now etched with lines of cruelty and confusion. Dry tears mixed with blood, and on his temple was a thick bluish vein, throbbing irregularly.
The dark purple spiral eyes focused on Zhi Xuan—but still didn't truly see him. The man touched his neck with a trembling hand. "My friends... they are gone..." he mumbled. "They are not alive, they are not dead... They are the glory of the void. We sacrificed everything for the Immortal. But the Great Dao... he laughs at us..."
Zhi Xuan felt a piercing coldness from the old man's palm, as if he had been through unimaginable ancient eras. The old man turned his back to him and Zhi Xuan's grip on his shoulder released. The old man started to stagger again, moving away from Zhi Xuan, his steps heavy and dragging. Thud. Thud. He returned to his strange mantra again, "Immortal... emptiness... laughter..." The man seemed to be following a trail only he could see, a trail that led him deeper into the darkness of the forest.
Zhi Xuan, sensing something strange about the old man, moved to follow him, leaving his initial goal of going to the jade valley and looking for clues about the injured cultivator. He patted the old man's shoulder again, perhaps there was something that could help him.
Zhi Xuan gripped the old man's shoulder. "Old grandfather, you—" His voice broke off, Zhi Xuan's eyes widened as he suddenly moved in the blink of an eye. The old man took another step and time seemed to warp around him; one step seemed to cover a distance of several miles.
Zhi Xuan could see the space in front of him fold, then different scenes appeared before his eyes—a glimpse of a snow-capped mountain peak, a flash of a silent bamboo forest, and then back to the damp darkness of the forest, but this was clearly not the same place.
"O-one step..." Zhi Xuan gasped, he was no longer in the place he stood a few seconds earlier. This area was foreign to his eyes, even far from the Star Village area.
The old man, who was now just standing still, seemed unaffected by the reason-shattering displacement. He just looked down, his dark purple spiral eyes fixed on the ground beneath their feet.
"Look, young one," the old man whispered, his voice returning to a sad, hoarse tone, but now calmer. "The Immortals... they seek silent places... places where the void resonates... places where we can talk to the Immortals..."
The old man raised his thin finger, pointing to a large rock covered with black moss near them. "A safe place, a quiet place. So He doesn't hear us laugh. So He doesn't hear us cry."
Zhi Xuan released his hand, stepping back two paces. The speed he witnessed—it surpassed everything he had ever heard. It wasn't just speed; it was a cultivation technique related to space and distance. He knew he had just fallen deeply into a very big problem. His broken wooden staff, the symbol of his only defense, lay dozens of miles away, back in the Star Village forest.
"Who... who is He?" Zhi Xuan asked, his voice trembling violently. Acute dizziness struck him again.
The old man smiled madly, a smile that didn't reach his eyes. "Who is He? Of course, the Destroyer, the Bringer of Emptiness... The one who laughs at all Immortal ambitions. The Great Dao."
The man staggered and sat on the large rock covered with black moss, patting the spot beside him. "Sit, young one. Sit. We are safe now. They won't chase this far."
Zhi Xuan remained standing, looking around. The environment felt ancient and silent. The trees here were taller, thicker, and much older than those around Star Village. He could feel the energy in the air—not pure jade essence, but something denser and colder, like lead.