Chapter Thirty-One: Awakening

Countless beams of light flashed rapidly, making Ji Hao feel as if he were floating, utterly devoid of strength.

Crude torches made of beast fat jutted from the cave walls, casting flickering light over a massive altar of ancient stone. Upon the walls, mixed with the blood of unknown beasts and powdered minerals, a great three-legged crow had been painted as a totem. In the wavering torchlight, the crow’s eyes gleamed with an uncanny brilliance, casting its gaze down over the entirety of the cavern.

A wild, ancient aura filled the cave, which stretched for miles in every direction. An elusive presence seemed to enfold Ji Hao, and it was as if he could hear countless whispers brushing past his ears.

“Ancestral spirits, I, Ji Xia, stand here, nourishing my child with my life’s blood. Grant him a body stronger than mine, make him the greatest warrior of the Southern Wilds! Restore the honor owed to the bloodline of the Three-legged Golden Crow, and return our tribe to its rightful place!”

Ji Xia prayed aloud, placing Ji Hao upon the altar. He glanced down at the infant, let out a rough laugh, then drew a bone knife and swiftly slashed his own wrist.

Qing Fu, pale-faced, rose to her feet and began to chant an ancient incantation. A strange humming resonance echoed throughout the cave.

Blood dripped from Ji Xia’s wrist, each drop suspended in the air, writhing and changing shape at Qing Fu’s command. Eventually, the blood gathered to form a three-legged crow, large as a human head, radiating intense heat.

Qing Fu, too, drew a bone knife across her wrist, letting her blood flow into the burning crow.

“Spirits and gods of heaven and earth, I, Qing Fu, beg for your mercy and blessing upon my son. I wish for him to grow up healthy, to possess wisdom beyond all others, to live a life of peace and happiness!”

She murmured her prayer, and as her blood was absorbed, countless lively runes flickered within the blazing crow. Qing Fu’s pallor deepened, her face growing nearly transparent.

Newborn Ji Hao lay upon the altar, staring in shock at Ji Xia and Qing Fu.

The three-legged crow, formed from their mingled blood, descended with searing heat and slowly merged into Ji Hao’s body.

...

With a strange “whoosh,” a frigid wind swept in from the cave entrance, carrying with it countless razor-sharp black ice shards.

In the wind tumbled several mangled corpses—towering, robust figures, their bodies torn apart by the ice. Even in death, their honest faces bore expressions of utter disbelief.

Ji Xia and Qing Fu turned in horror. A giant, barrel-thick, several-zhang-long, one-horned black serpent slithered in on the cold wind, spewing frost and venom. Its massive tail lashed down with a shriek, slamming toward Ji Hao lying on the altar.

Having just given most of his vital blood to Ji Hao and thereby gravely weakened, Ji Xia bellowed in rage. Fire erupted from his arms as a dragon-scale-forged shield and a spear with a green mulberry wood shaft burst forth from the flames. The shield blocked the serpent’s tail, while the spear, trailing fire, pierced the serpent’s skull with deadly force.

“Who dares intrude upon the sacred ground of our Fire Crow Clan at Golden Crow Ridge?” Ji Xia roared, his voice tinged with incredulity and confusion. “How did you get in? This is the ancestral temple of the Fire Crow Clan!”

With a wet squelch, the black serpent’s body exploded, and a shadowy figure leapt forth, flinging two dozen ice blades in a single wave. Ji Xia cried out as the blades pierced the burning shamanic nodes across his chest, blood spraying from the wounds and drenching Ji Hao on the altar.

Qing Fu wailed in grief, three black needles flying from her long hair to impale the shadowy figure like lightning.

The shadow screamed in agony, howling wildly as a blast of frigid air shot from his mouth—black frost forming several thumb-thick icicles that ruthlessly tore through the three shining shamanic nodes on Qing Fu’s chest.

...

Beside a great fire pit, Ji Hao blinked his round, bright eyes with curiosity, staring at Ji Kui, who wore a cloak of beast hide and a skull helmet fashioned from animal bones.

Wrinkles covered Ji Kui’s face as he muttered curses through clenched teeth. “Those damned, stinking serpents! I curse their souls to be forever burned by the flames of the Golden Crow, never to find release… Ah, look at our little one! What a fine vessel for the shamanic rites he is. Just born, and already his soul’s power is on par with an ordinary shaman. Such a remarkable child, and they nearly killed him!”

Ji Kui bit his finger and used his blood to paint complex runes upon Ji Hao’s small body.

“Xia, your blessing ritual was interrupted. The vital blood of you and Qing Fu, as great shamans, has missed its chance to perfectly fuse with the child. I can only seal this blood within him. When he comes of age and nears the upper ranks of the lesser shaman stage, my seal will gradually unravel, and the blood will be absorbed slowly.”

“Rest assured, the child’s innate talent remains unspoiled… My seal may affect his training as a warrior, but his path as a shaman will be unhindered. Such powerful soul force—a born shaman!”

...

With a faint groan, Ji Hao opened his eyes.

Dark stone walls loomed around him, and beneath his body was a thick, soft beast pelt. An acrid medicinal taste lingered in his mouth—a flavor he recognized as Qing Fu’s concoction.

“Huff, huff.” The massive head of Fat Bear poked into view, baring its teeth in a wide grin.

“Fat Bear, where’s Aunt?” Ji Hao asked, noticing a fresh string of drool on the bear’s lips. He smacked its head aside with a palm.

The raging heat within his body was once more sealed away; a portion of Ji Xia and Qing Fu’s great shaman blood hovered over the multicolored flame in his lower abdomen. The flame worked tirelessly to devour and transform the blood, turning it into radiant currents to nourish his body.

Ji Hao felt brimming with strength. He glanced at the stone wall beside him and struck it with his palm.

His hand sank deep into the black stone, yielding as if it were tofu—his fingers slicing through effortlessly like a blade.

His physical power had not increased much, but his bodily toughness had doubled, at least. Over ninety percent of the great shaman blood sealed within him remained untapped, and even among what had been released, more than half still awaited transformation by the multicolored flame.

“Great shaman blood is truly formidable!” Ji Hao sprang to his feet and gave his fist a vigorous swing.

Surveying his surroundings, he strode out of his resting cave. A swift stream rushed from west to east, and the starlight cast a silvery glow over the mountain valley, illuminating everything.

Under the stars, thousands of barely-clad slaves toiled in silence, felling trees in the valley with crude tools, sweat streaming down their bodies.

Not far away came a voice, proud and disdainful:

“Ji Xia, you are no longer our chief warrior. Now you are one of us. What right do you have to rebuke us?”

***

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