Chapter Fifty-Six: Awakening

Flames roared and soared, and Ji Hao’s spirit drifted far beyond, as though he had fallen into a dreamlike trance.

...

A clear, boundless azure sky stretched to infinity, and dozens of three-legged Golden Crows hovered silently in the air, each with a span of a hundred li. Around every Golden Crow shimmered a radiant golden halo, glistening in the sky like bejeweled ornaments upon blue silk.

Beneath that endless heaven, mountains rose in layer upon layer, draped in clouds and veiled in mists—primeval forests untouched by time.

Tens of thousands of humans, naked and wild-haired, stood atop the mountain peaks. Their hands were raised high, offering up bloodied prey, their gazes filled with hopelessness as they looked up at the unmoving forms of the Golden Crows above.

An elder, white-haired and frail, trembling as he lifted his arms, blood trickling from his lips, cried out hoarsely to the largest Golden Crow, “Spirits birthed by Heaven and Earth, have mercy upon us—the weak and humble ones of our kind!”

“We do not have sharp claws or mighty strength; we cannot fight off the beasts that prey upon us.”

“We have no keen eyes nor great wings; we cannot escape the myriad deadly dangers that surround us.”

“We cannot find enough food, and our people die one by one from hunger. We cannot find shelter, so wind, rain, frost, and snow fell our kin without end. The mountains and forests are perilous, and so many of us perish for reasons unknown.”

The largest Golden Crow slowly bowed its head, its wise gaze coolly regarding the silver-haired elder. “You are the race favored by Heaven and Earth, kin to the mighty dragons and phoenixes... Humans, what is it you wish us to grant you?”

“Strength—and hope!” The elder cried, his voice ragged. “We only ask for the power to survive!”

The Golden Crows remained unmoved, watching the humans upon the ridges in silence.

From the forest came a bloodcurdling roar—a saber-toothed tiger burst forth, swatting a dozen feeble humans to death with a single paw before gulping them down and belching contentedly as it sauntered back into the woods.

A great serpent, thick as a vat, slithered from the shadows. With a languid inhalation, it drew in dozens of screaming humans, swallowing them whole.

A swarm of savage vultures ignored the Golden Crows above, who released no aura, and swept down with harsh cries, snatching up humans two at a time and flying proudly toward distant peaks.

“Strength, and hope.” The leader of the Golden Crows sighed softly. “We shall grant you strength. In return, let us partake in your hope.”

“Before Heaven and Earth, let us forge an unbreakable pact. The blood of our kin shall grant you power and shelter you in these wild lands, that you may flourish. In return, you shall guard our souls—so that we might escape the dreadful eternal darkness.”

...

The Golden Crows all raised their heads in unison, releasing deafening cries to the heavens. Their bodies erupted in fierce flame, and from the roots of their feathers, golden blood seeped and transformed into firecrows, each the size of a human head, whistling as they plummeted downward.

The humans on the ridges opened their arms wide, pressing their chests forward to receive those falling firecrows.

The firecrows, formed of Golden Crow essence, burrowed into the humans’ chests, transforming into torrents of golden heat that raced through their bodies. Within the dense, interwoven meridians of their flesh—countless in number—dozens that had once been dim began to glow.

Streams of golden energy surged into these awakened meridians, igniting them with a fearsome heat. As the golden current swept through, clusters of pea-sized “witch-holes” on these meridians began to spark to life.

The pattern traced by those glowing meridians resembled, at a glance, the form of a three-legged firecrow.

The humans on the ridges burst into flame, their forms cloaked in a faint golden fire that grew ever brighter. Points of light sprang to life across their skin as the influx of Golden Crow blood rapidly opened their “witch-holes.” Nourished by the boundless power of that primordial blood, these holes became mighty in the span of mere breaths.

Dozens of meridians, each lined with scores or even hundreds of witch-holes, all awakened at once. Golden flames erupted from the newly formed nodes, transforming tens of thousands of humans into beings wreathed in fire.

A black tiger with wings on its back roared and charged from the forest, pouncing as it always had upon the “feeble” humans.

But this time, the humans it had hunted at will responded with a thunderous roar. One among them, his form suddenly doubled in size, now standing nearly five meters tall, strode forth and struck the black tiger’s head with a mighty fist.

The tiger exploded into a shower of sparks.

From the man’s fist burst a torrent of flame, like a river of molten rock streaming for dozens of li, slamming into a distant mountain. The towering peak, ten thousand zhang high, collapsed and melted with a thunderous crash, leaving only a vast, boiling crater behind.

“Strength!” Every human raised their arms in unison, releasing a triumphant cheer to the Golden Crows above.

The Golden Crow chieftain gazed calmly at the ecstatic crowd, and suddenly his voice echoed through the heavens: “Humans, hear me! You have cast aside your boundless potential to inherit the power of our kind. From this day forward, you shall call yourselves our descendants. You shall build altars, offer us sacrifices, and ever praise the name of the Golden Crow!”

Between heaven and earth, threads of violet and gold mist arose from nothing, streaming toward the Golden Crows overhead. They opened their beaks wide in delight, swallowing the mingled vapors. Their forms swelled, the flames around them blazed brighter, and the divine light in their eyes grew more profound—untouchable, as if they were gods enthroned above all.

...

“The people of the Firecrow Tribe are not truly descendants of the Golden Crows. Our ancestors merely received a single drop of their blood, mimicked their power and meridians, and thus gained the Golden Crows’ cultivation arts.”

“Humans are still humans. The meridians within us are infinite, while the Golden Crows have only a few dozen. The potential of humankind dwarfs that of the Golden Crow race by a hundred, a thousand, ten thousand times.”

“External power is never to be relied upon; true strength comes only from within!”

With a faint smile, Ji Hao was struck by sudden understanding. The Golden Crows’ external arts could not bring true strength. To become truly powerful, one must rely on one’s own cultivation and effort, digging deep for the limitless potential within the human form.

Fire blazed in his eyes as he opened them, the vital energy within him surging like a tide. Dozens of blood vessels burned fiercely all at once. His eyes ached, his feet burned, and a searing fire roiled in his chest, desperate to be released.

With a whoosh, the blazing fire behind Ji Hao exploded outward, and the spectral form of a three-legged firecrow unfolded its wings in the flames.

Relying on the mighty blood of the Grand Shaman, Ji Hao leaped over the eleventh and twelfth levels of the Witch realm in a single bound, instantly awakening all the Golden Crow blood within him and unlocking three innate magical powers of the Golden Crow race, entering the secret domain of the Lesser Shaman.

***

Well, that was a bit about “bloodline inheritance.”

The bloodline power of the Southern Wilderness doesn’t mean these clans are direct descendants of some great beast and humankind. Rather, they received a legacy of power and the unique cultivation arts from those mighty beings.

This chapter touches on a significant subplot of the novel.

So—please, give your recommendations!