Chapter Forty-One: Borrowing Spirits for Rebirth

Zhang Zuozheng hurriedly grabbed the hilt of the Xunfeng Sword, intent on forcibly taking it away. Yet a spirit resided within the short sword, and such a spirit only recognized a single master. Just now, when Zhou Yi had seized the blade, his blood had dripped upon its edge. Ordinarily, when Xunfeng was used in battle and stained with blood, it would not acknowledge an enemy as master. But by a stroke of fate, when Zhou Yi grasped the sword, Xunfeng was ownerless, having lain buried for over two centuries. That drop of blood upon its blade marked the first time it had tasted blood since it was forged, making Zhou Yi its master by a twist of destiny.

Zhang Zuozheng knew full well that an item with a master could not be seized by force; all he needed to do was kill Zhou Yi, and Xunfeng would once again have no owner. With this thought in mind, he advanced on Zhou Yi.

Not only was Zhang Zuozheng repaying kindness with malice, he now sought to kill his benefactor and claim the treasure in the blink of an eye. Knowing Xunfeng would no longer serve him, he drew the Li Fire Water-Splitting Dagger from his waist and thrust it at Zhou Yi.

At this moment, Zhou Yi was still unconscious. The dagger stabbed toward his chest; if it struck home, there would be no chance of survival.

At that critical instant, a clear, ringing clang echoed through the air. The dagger was knocked askew. Zhang Zuozheng looked down and saw that Xunfeng had shielded its master, warding off the fatal blow.

Seeing the short sword act on its own to protect its master, Zhang Zuozheng deemed it useless to keep. He raised the Li Fire Dagger and stabbed at Xunfeng instead. Xunfeng, animated by its spirit, fought back out of instinct. Yet now that it had chosen its master, its fate rested with Zhou Yi—who remained unconscious and could not command it to resist. Against Zhang Zuozheng, it was no match.

After several sharp clashes of metal, there came another crisp sound—and Xunfeng snapped in two.

At the very instant the sword broke, Zhou Yi seemed to sense it. He leapt up from the ground, and the first thing he saw was Zhang Zuozheng breaking Xunfeng. A cry of anguish escaped him.

Zhou Yi held no particular affection for the sword itself. What pained him was that, now that Xunfeng was broken, the eight keys needed to open Nurhaci's tomb could never be gathered. Without gaining entry to the tomb, the hope of Zhou Dajiang regaining his memories after reincarnation was utterly lost.

“You despicable, shameless Zhang Zuozheng! Today, I swear I will kill you!” Zhou Yi’s eyes blazed with fury, the whites instantly suffused with blood. Forcing his spiritual energy to stir, he charged at Zhang Zuozheng.

Seeing that Xunfeng was destroyed, Zhang Zuozheng knew staying to fight would bring only trouble. Brandishing the Li Fire Dagger, he fled.

“You treacherous wretch! If I cannot kill you today, I will find your den, and in five days’ time I will come to Beijing and end you!” Zhou Yi, seeing that Zhang Zuozheng would not stand and fight, spat these words after his retreating figure, consumed by wrath.

This was different from when Zhou Dajiang had been secretly harmed by Zuo Zhi. Then, Zhou Yi had not been at his side, so the blow had not struck as deeply. Now his rage stemmed from two causes: first, he had shown Zhang Zuozheng kindness, only to be repaid with betrayal—a slight that would enrage anyone; second, he had finally found Xunfeng, and with it, a slim hope for Zhou Dajiang’s recovery. There is no disappointment without hope; the cruelest fate is to see hope snatched away just as it is born.

Zhang Zuozheng had already fled far away. In his current state, Zhou Yi could not give chase; to do so would be reckless bravado.

He picked up the broken pieces of Xunfeng from the ground and turned back to find Baozi and Beqiao. He still didn’t know Beqiao’s condition, and he was eager to see both companions.

Earlier, the phantom Gu Tower, conjured by Li Fire, had warned that in two days’ time, the spirits of Zhuolu would rise, threatening calamity for all living things. He had believed it at first, but after learning the tower was merely Li Fire’s illusion, he no longer doubted.

For Li Fire had no reason to deceive him.

On the way back, Zhou Yi stumbled several times; his spiritual reserves were depleted, and by night he could barely see the path. He staggered beneath the ancient locust tree, arriving just as the third watch was ending. The Shaolin monks were chanting sutras, reciting prayers for the countless wandering spirits.

He saw Baozi keeping vigil by Beqiao’s side. Seeing Baozi unharmed, Zhou Yi’s heart eased, but the sight of Beqiao, barely clinging to life, made it clench with dread.

Beqiao seemed to sense Zhou Yi’s return, opening his eyes a fraction to glance at him. A single tear slipped down from Beqiao’s eye.

“Beqiao, get up. You’ll be all right, you must be all right!” Zhou Yi saw Beqiao’s state and understood at once. Panic overtook him; he had never considered Beqiao a mere pet. The bond between man and wolf was more like that of friends.

Beqiao whimpered once, closed his eyes, and fell into a sleep from which there was no waking.

“Amitabha. Young master, do not grieve. What is lost in the east may be gained in the mulberry groves,” said Mingkong gently, seeing Zhou Yi’s sorrow.

The enigmatic words made little sense to Zhou Yi. He turned to Mingkong, meaning to speak but swallowed his words, managing only a bitter smile.

He gathered Beqiao’s body in his arms and walked away from Zhuolu. The chaos of vengeful spirits meant nothing to him now; he only wanted to bury Beqiao far from this accursed place. He could not abide leaving the wolf’s remains here, not even his spirit.

“Baozi, find Beqiao’s soul and take him out of this place. I don’t want his spirit to linger here after death.” After so many blows, Zhou Yi’s spirit was spent and his body exhausted; he could not even perform the Soul-Searching Spell.

Baozi nodded and turned to cast the spell. Since Beqiao had only just died, his soul could not have wandered far. As Baozi chanted the incantation, he sensed a familiar presence: Beqiao’s soul.

He was just about to envelop Beqiao’s soul in spiritual energy and carry it out of Zhuolu, when the spirits of the place, like ravenous ghouls, swarmed to devour it.

Baozi, already gravely wounded, could manage the spell, but he was powerless against such a horde of spirits. He watched helplessly as Beqiao’s soul was gnawed away by the vengeful dead, his face contorted in pain.

Seeing Baozi’s expression, Zhou Yi guessed what had happened. “Baozi, what’s wrong?”

“Beqiao’s soul has been devoured by these spirits. There’s nothing left of him now.” Baozi’s voice trembled with grief, a tear sliding down his cheek.

Zhou Yi knew there was nothing to be done. He shook his head. “Let’s just bury him.” With that, he carried Beqiao’s body out of Zhuolu.

But just then, Beqiao’s body stirred slightly in Zhou Yi’s arms. Though the movement was faint, Zhou Yi noticed at once.

“Did those spirits really devour Beqiao’s soul?” Zhou Yi turned to Baozi, seeking confirmation.

Baozi nodded. “I saw it with my own eyes. There’s no mistake. I know you’re heartbroken, but his death is a fact. Let’s lay him to rest.”

At that moment, Beqiao moved again, a little more noticeably. Zhou Yi was certain he was not mistaken. Quickly, he set Beqiao on the ground. Before their eyes, the wounds on Beqiao’s body began to knit together, and his silver fur slowly darkened to a deep black.

Zhou Yi was overjoyed. He grabbed Baozi’s shoulders and shouted, “Look! Beqiao is alive! He’s come back to life!”