Chapter Forty-Two: The Proper Strategy

On the small tree by the cliff, the sorcerous crow transformed into a wisp of thin black smoke, and the howling mountain wind swept it away without a trace.

Within the Cold Creek Valley, Ji Hao sprang up, leaping several times to arrive at Qing Fu’s side. Lowering his voice, Ji Hao leaned close to her ear and recounted in detail what he had witnessed in the river valley.

Qing Fu, holding the Life and Death Thorn—a long, slender, green needle—was replenishing the vitality of a wounded tribesman. Her actions suddenly froze; she struck her waist forcefully, then slowly straightened her body. In her beautiful eyes, a profound, icy gleam flashed. In a low voice, she said, “Hao, call your father over. We have things to do.”

The sun drifted lazily across the high sky and slowly sank into the western mountains.

The heavens were filled with countless stars, their multicolored light coalescing into visible clouds of mist, heavy and dropping from above. In the boundless mountains and forests, myriad sentient beings absorbed the power of the stars; from deep, unfathomable valleys and pools, high-pitched roars echoed—like clouds, dragons, and tigers.

Ji Hao sat on a great tree. Lord Hengluo, astride her crimson leopard, carefully smeared poison onto more than a hundred finely crafted arrows.

In a jade jar the size of a human head, over half was filled with pale green poison, clear as water and exuding the faint fragrance of plants. Under the starlight, serpentine runes occasionally twisted and flashed in the poison, igniting a splendid glow.

“Hao, I always thought your mother only healed people. Who knew the poison she concocts is so terrifying!” Lord Hengluo dipped a leaf into the poison and let a drop fall onto Old Stone’s shoulder, curled beneath the tree. The poison sizzled, emitting pale blue smoke as it swiftly corroded a transparent hole in Old Stone’s jade-like shoulder.

Old Stone grumbled, “Wine,” pressed his palm to a boulder under the tree, and with a crack, it shattered to dust. The poison-corroded wound on his shoulder healed completely, leaving not a trace.

The old tree demon raised its head, muttering and rumbling, a long branch writhing like a spirit snake. It dipped lightly into the poison and dripped some into its gaping mouth.

With a hiss, a faint black smoke spurted from the old tree demon’s mouth; it shook in pain, its scant leaves drooping. With reverence, it glanced at the jade jar and mumbled, “Qing Yi… witch… woman… frightening!”

From above Ji Hao’s head came a flurry of squeaks and rustling leaves. A black-furred old ape, nearly three zhang tall and covered in knotted muscle, landed heavily, clutching a thick wooden staff.

The old ape pointed at Ji Hao, baring its fangs and growling, “Hao… boy… wine… I’m stronger… I want two jars of Old Stone’s wine… Hao, I won’t go mad this time… You must give me more jars!”

Crow Lord perched on Ji Hao’s shoulder, cawing softly. Ji Hao waved his hand and declared confidently, “Don’t worry. As long as everyone helps me eliminate the enemy, good wine and roasted meat—there’ll be plenty!”

Ji Hao gently stroked Crow Lord and whispered, “Crow Lord, thank you for your hard work!”

All day long, Crow Lord had flown tens of thousands of miles, bringing several powerful foreign beings Ji Hao befriended in the mountains to Cold Creek Valley. Lord Hengluo, Old Stone, and the old tree demon—all three were stronger than Ji Ying and the others who had just entered the Great Witch realm; otherwise, they wouldn’t have been able to teach Jiang Yao such a miserable lesson days ago.

As for the black-furred old ape, aside from his terrible drinking habits and penchant for drunken rampages, his strength was the greatest—so much so that even the combined efforts of Lord Hengluo, Old Stone, and the old tree demon could not match him. Ji Hao judged that the old ape’s power, if not equal to Ji Xia’s, was not far behind.

Night fell. At the entrance of Cold Creek Valley, atop an altar built of massive jade stones, three bloody beast heads were arranged in a row, each pierced by a green wooden blade.

Qing Fu stood before the altar, her ten fingers dripping with blood as she drew strange runes upon the stones with her own life force. She chanted softly, her beautiful face shrouded in a peculiar gray-white mist. The night air was thick with fog, swirling around her, her slender form ghostly and indistinct, as if she existed both in this world and another mysterious, unfathomable realm.

Winds rose suddenly; gray whirlwinds swept from all corners of the forest.

With Qing Fu’s incantations, within half a quarter-hour, thousands of gray whirlwinds of varying sizes gathered, spinning around the altar. An icy chill emerged from nowhere, and thin sheets of ice formed over the swift creek, while the vegetation was coated with heavy frost.

Ji Hao played with Lord Hengluo’s leopard’s tail, watching Qing Fu intently. “Fierce woman, don’t say you didn’t know my mother could make such dreadful witch poison, I didn’t know she was skilled in witch ghost secrets either.”

A sudden whoosh sounded as green flames burst from the seven orifices of the three beast heads on the altar. The eerie flames floated upward, outlining a hideous face. From the surrounding woods came faint calls, and thick mist billowed forth, flowing slowly through the grass and trees like water.

Strange figures appeared within the fog, opening their mouths wide to swallow the falling power of the stars.

Ji Hao’s hair stood on end, staring in awe at these unimaginable beings. The witch priests of the Fire Crow Tribe were not adept at witch ghosts or mountain spirits and water monsters; their arts were direct and destructive.

Though Ji Hao had studied witchcraft with Ji Kui and the other priests since childhood, he had never seen such oddities as now.

“Spirits of the mountains and forests, deities of rivers, marshes, and caves, accept my offering and grant my request,” Qing Fu chanted, dancing an eerie ritual around the altar.

It was as if countless shadows danced with her. Under every blade of grass, beneath every leaf, a subtle breeze arose.

Ji Xia, his face dark, led a host of warriors, dragging over a thousand barbarian captives taken during the day to the altar. Each barbarian had already consumed Qing Fu’s witch medicine, leaving them dull and mindless.

“Sacrifice to the spirits!” Qing Fu waved her green wooden blade lightly.

Ji Xia drew his axe and swung it hard; dozens of barbarian heads soared high, blood spraying into the sky.

The gray whirlwinds surged in, and the barbarians’ blood vanished instantly. Their bodies shriveled and withered, turning to dust and scattered by the night wind within moments.

Over a thousand barbarians became ashes, and not even a trace of blood remained in the air.

Ji Hao suddenly whistled, waving at Ji Xia and Qing Fu. “Father, Mother, I see them!”

A flash of red light crossed Ji Hao’s eyes. In the woods ten miles away, the pupils of seven or eight sorcerous crows glowed with the same red light.

***

National Day—family reunion and dinner!

Today Xiaoxiao is taking a day off and will only update two chapters!

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