Chapter Sixty: Zhang Zuo Must Not Be Killed

Page 1

“Since you claim you’ve never harmed anyone, then why did my father lose control of his cultivation and die?” Zhou Yi demanded, his jaw clenched, unwilling to let Zuo Zhi escape blame even in his final moments.

“Your father’s death had nothing to do with me. It was Ji Yulin who caused it!” Zuo Zhi replied.

Zhou Yi frowned deeply, his mind clouded by preconceived notions. He had always believed that Zuo Zhi was responsible for Zhou Dajiang’s demise. Yet, as the saying goes, a dying man’s words are honest. Hearing Zuo Zhi’s explanation now, Zhou Yi felt a pang of regret at his own rashness.

“Tell me everything from the beginning. If your story makes sense, not only will I spare you today, I will save you,” Zhou Yi crouched beside Zuo Zhi, who lay sprawled on the ground.

“That day, Ji Yulin arrived from Harbin to Mount Changbai. I was the one who received him. I told him everything that had happened to me here. After listening, he insisted I lead him to the heart of the mountain to see the stone egg. When we arrived, none of us could do anything to it—it was impervious to blades and fire.

Helpless, we decided to leave and return once we found a solution. As we exited the mountain’s heart, we saw your father hurrying toward the Taoist temple. Unclear about the situation, we followed him to investigate.”

Zuo Zhi spoke in a rush, but as he reached the crucial point, he coughed up blood and his words grew indistinct.

Zhou Yi quickly channeled his spiritual energy into Zuo Zhi, hoping to prolong his life for a moment longer.

“Go on,” Zhou Yi urged.

“At the temple, your father’s movements were odd. Within moments, he disappeared. We realized there was a barrier outside the temple, and your father’s steps were the means to enter it. I imitated his steps and managed to enter the barrier myself.”

“Who else entered that day?” Zhou Yi asked.

“Ji Yulin, Ji Liang, and five soldiers. The others were too dull to replicate the steps—they couldn’t enter the temple.”

“Then who ambushed my mother?” Zuo Zhi’s energy waned, unable to elaborate, so he focused on what mattered most.

Page 2

Zhi managed to utter only a single word—“Ling”—before blood welled from his throat and he could no longer speak.

“Ling what? Ling who? Tell me!” Zhou Yi pressed his ear to Zuo Zhi’s face, desperate to hear the name.

But Zuo Zhi merely smiled faintly, raised both arms, and embraced Zhou Yi. Earlier, it was said that the Fire Separation Sword measured a foot long—about thirty centimeters. When it pierced Zuo Zhi, it went clean through him, with over ten centimeters of the blade protruding from his chest.

Zhou Yi, anxious for answers and off guard, was caught in Zuo Zhi’s embrace—causing the blade to drive into Zhou Yi’s own chest.

In his dying act, Zuo Zhi left Zhou Yi not only with a single syllable’s name, but also a deep scar on his chest. Ten centimeters of sword blade embedded in his flesh, Zhou Yi realized that the saying, “a dying man’s words are honest,” was a lie—evil men, even on their deathbed, will make sure their enemy suffers.

Zhou Yi shoved Zuo Zhi away, and the blade withdrew from his chest along with Zuo Zhi’s body. Blood spurted out. Zhou Yi quickly sealed the acupoints on his chest to staunch the flow.

But the wound was too deep, and the bleeding wouldn’t stop. He pulled out the Fire Separation Sword, fastened it back at his waist, his strength utterly spent.

The giant python, seeing Zhou Yi wounded, let out a mournful cry. Zhou Yi staggered to its side, gently stroking its head. “Old friend, I’m sorry. I’ve dragged you into this,” he said, pressing his hand to his wound.

“It was fate. I foresaw this day long ago. You are not to blame,” the python replied, its voice weak.

Hearing this, Zhou Yi’s heart grew heavier with guilt. “If I hadn’t come here, you wouldn’t have been caught up in this,” he said, unable to continue—for some things require no words.

The python’s head slowly pressed against Zhou Yi’s chest, its tongue delicately licking the wound. Evidently, its saliva possessed healing properties, for Zhou Yi’s injury began to close before his eyes.

When the itch of healing overtook him, Zhou Yi looked down to find the wound nearly healed. The sensation was soothing, and with his blood loss, a wave of exhaustion swept over him. He leaned against the python and drifted into a deep sleep.

What Zhou Yi did not know was that, as the python tended his wound, it spat out its own demon core, which entered his body through the injury, unbeknownst to him.

This python belonged to the earth element. Earth gives rise to all things, and healing wounds and stopping bleeding were its natural abilities. The demon core would later save Zhou Yi’s life during the most perilous time of his journey, as recounted in the fourth volume of this story—but that is another tale.

Having lost its demon core, the python’s head drooped and its body shrank swiftly. In moments, it became no larger than an ordinary python, though the pair of inch-long horns atop its head revealed it was on the verge of transforming into a dragon.

Without its demon core, the python could no longer speak human language and remained motionless on the ground.

Page 3

Zhou Yi slept only briefly before opening his eyes. Seeing the python’s shrunken form, he assumed it had reduced its size to heal. He stroked its head again. “I must go now. Take care.”

The python nodded gently. Zhou Yi, seeing this, did not linger and returned to the mountain’s heart.

Upon entering, he saw Mu Chen hacking at the stone egg with a coin sword—clearly, he had been at it for some time.

Baozi and Zhang Zuozheng lay sprawled on the ground, each bearing wounds though none fatal. Zhou Yi realized they were simply exhausted from battle.

Xun Feng bared its teeth at Zhang Zuozheng, menacing him, but dared not approach—likely because, being of the yin attribute, it disliked the Buddhist light radiating from Zhang Zuozheng. Dislike was perhaps more fitting than fear. Xun Feng’s dark fur bore a fresh patch of mottled color, indicating it too was badly wounded.

Seeing all this, Zhou Yi could not let Zhang Zuozheng go. He narrowed his eyes and smiled coldly. “Zhang Zuozheng, did you ever think you’d see a day like this?”

Zhang Zuozheng, seeing Zhou Yi approach, fear flashed across his face and he instinctively retreated. “Don’t kill me, I swear I’ll never be your enemy again, I swear!”

“Isn’t it a little late for promises now?” Zhou Yi sneered.

With those words, he raised the Fire Separation Sword to strike Zhang Zuozheng, but at that critical moment, Mu Chen shouted, “You must not kill this man!”

Hearing Mu Chen’s voice, Zhou Yi paused, glancing back at him. “Why must I spare him?”