Chapter Forty: The Despicable Testimony of Zhang

The middle-aged man, from the opposite side of the grave pit, attempted to seize the Wind of Xun from Zhou Yi’s hand by employing swift movement techniques. As he leaped halfway across the pit, the rats within suddenly sprang up, launching themselves at him. If a rat leapt with all its strength, it could easily reach four or five meters, and the pit’s ceiling was only about four meters high. The man was startled and swung his Fire of Departure weapon. The rats, oblivious to danger, were instantly sliced apart by the weapon’s watery blade; over a dozen were dismembered in a flash. The man stepped on a rat’s head to propel himself upward again.

Suddenly, a rustling swept across the pit’s ceiling, and countless strange vines and tendrils emerged, winding tightly around the man and pressing him firmly against the top of the pit. This all happened in an instant; both Jiechen and Zhou Yi were stunned, unable to react.

“Master, please save me!” the man called out, his voice weak, clearly suffocating as the vines constricted ever tighter. Another moment and he would surely die from asphyxiation.

Jiechen, being a disciple of the Buddhist order, could not ignore a plea for help. He recited a Buddhist chant and leapt up, attempting to tear the vines apart and rescue the man. Zhou Yi and Baozi had witnessed the toughness of these strange vines before; even hacking at them with swords was laborious, and tearing them barehanded was impossible.

After Jiechen leaped up, he grabbed the man’s collar and tried to pull him down with all his strength. Yet the vines only tightened further. Below, the rats—seeing Jiechen leap—jumped up again. Jiechen, focused on saving the man, failed to dodge. Several rats bit into Jiechen’s monk’s robe, their limbs clawing upward. Jiechen quickly released the man and dropped back to the ground, chanting, “Amitabha, this humble monk has done all he can.” Seeing he could not rescue the man, Jiechen was ready to abandon the effort.

The Fire of Departure weapon was still in the man’s hand. Zhou Yi could not stand idly by. As soon as Jiechen landed, Zhou Yi, gripping the Wind of Xun, leapt up, seized one of the strange vines, and sliced it with his sword.

Zhou Yi was alert for any rat attacks, knowing they would leap at anyone who ascended in the pit. Strangely, this time the rats merely watched him, their thousands of eyes glowing green in the darkness, but none leapt. Zhou Yi looked down and saw, from his vantage on the pit’s ceiling, the vast multitude of rats below—far more than thousands, with countless burrows along the pit’s edges, teeming with rats coming and going.

The rats killed earlier by the man’s watery blade were now being devoured by their fellows, and even the vine Zhou Yi cut down was instantly snatched and eaten by the swarm. Witnessing this scene sent chills all through Zhou Yi.

He swung the Wind of Xun again to cut more vines, but they grew unchecked, faster than he could cut. The last time Zhou Yi and Baozi struggled amid these vines, their contraction was never so severe. A brief thought clarified the key for Zhou Yi.

“Give me the Fire of Departure now, or you won’t get out!” he shouted. The strange vines were of an unknown species, and in the five elements, wood generates fire. The wood energy the vines produced was evidently meant to fuel the Fire of Departure. The weapon’s core was elsewhere, and now, separated from its core, the vines attacked it, seeking to keep it in the tomb.

The man, seeing Jiechen and Zhou Yi ascend to the pit’s top and that the vines only entangled him, realized it was because he held the Fire of Departure. Understanding this, he twisted his wrist, cut several vines with the weapon, and Zhou Yi quickly seized it when it became visible.

Once the man released the Fire of Departure, the vines began to retract, letting him go. Unfortunately for Zhou Yi, as soon as he was freed and before he could descend, the vines wrapped tightly around him.

The man smiled faintly and leapt straight for Zhou Yi. Zhou Yi, thinking he was being rescued, handed the Fire of Departure to him. Yet the man, his intentions far from pure, snatched both the Fire of Departure and the Wind of Xun.

Landing, the man smiled. “Thank you, young brother, for saving my life. I, Zhang Zuozheng, will surely reward you someday.” With that, Zhang Zuozheng took the Wind of Xun and Fire of Departure and escaped along the tomb tunnel he had dug.

Only then did Zhou Yi realize Zhang Zuozheng was a despicable scoundrel—how could he let the treasures he had fought so hard for be stolen? As soon as the vines released him, Zhou Yi landed lightly and chased after the man.

Jiechen, seeing the situation resolved, returned to the main tomb, climbing out of the pit by rope.

Meanwhile, Baozi had awakened, but his brow was shrouded in blackness, clearly suffering from the poisonous gas released by the Wind of Xun. Ignoring his own condition, Baozi rushed to check Beiqiao’s injuries. Beiqiao’s spirit was waning, his life evidently near its end.

Baozi shook Beiqiao desperately, tears streaming from his eyes. “Beiqiao, wake up! You mustn’t die—you’re the descendant of the Wolf King of Changbai Mountain. You’ve just come of age, and countless she-wolves await your return. Wake up, Beiqiao!”

Beiqiao struggled to open his eyes, glanced at Baozi, then turned his head searchingly, as if seeking Zhou Yi. Not seeing Zhou Yi, Beiqiao closed his eyes again, ignoring Baozi.

His last wish was to see Zhou Yi once more before death—Zhou Yi was his everything.

Baozi knew he had been revived by Mingkong of Shaolin and had not yet thanked him. He turned to Mingkong. “Master, you are a wise monk. Save him, please save him!”

Mingkong recited a Buddhist chant. “Amitabha, this creature’s lifespan is exhausted. Forgive this old monk’s inability.” With that, he and the other monks began chanting to release the souls of Yin lingering in Zhuolu.

It was now two quarters past midnight; four quarters would mark dawn. The number of Yin spirits in Zhuolu was increasing, the earth bubbling up with black vapors, which only grew thicker.

At this moment, Baozi cared nothing for Zhuolu’s troubles. His heart was wholly with Beiqiao. Hearing Mingkong’s words, he closed his eyes, tears falling. He knew he had done all he could—failure was not his fault. He only regretted Zhou Yi’s continued absence, fearing Beiqiao’s last sight would never be granted.

Meanwhile, Zhou Yi had been chasing Zhang Zuozheng out of the tomb tunnel. Zhang Zuozheng, also a cultivator, could leap a hundred meters at a time. Zhou Yi’s agility was not so advanced, for he had not yet reached the Purple Qi stage—below that, movement techniques were crude, and his leaps managed only seventy or eighty meters. Zhang Zuozheng, knowing Zhou Yi could not catch him, turned back with a mocking laugh, his contempt obvious.

Such shamelessness—repaying kindness with betrayal.

Zhou Yi, after battling the transformed Wind of Xun, was already depleted of spiritual energy. Now, seeing Zhang Zuozheng’s ridicule, his rage surged, blood rushing to his throat. He spat out a mouthful of blood.

With his spiritual energy spent and poisoned by the Wind of Xun’s black mist, Zhou Yi attempted to leap but dizziness struck, and he fell from the air.

Seeing Zhou Yi collapse, Zhang Zuozheng slowed his escape. He took out the Wind of Xun and Fire of Departure, admiring them and murmuring praise.

Yet as soon as he tucked the Wind of Xun into his belt, the short sword began to hum violently, as if struggling to break free from his control...