"It really is a bow… When did such a terrifying golden bow appear in the East Sea? And why try to kill me out of nowhere…"
Now that Ewu had identified the incoming threat, the terror in his heart subsided slightly, replaced by a surge of deep, simmering hatred. The golden body from before had bought him a moment's pause, allowing him to perceive that the mystic arrow—resembling a golden fenghuang—had come straight from ahead of him.
"The arrow came from the front, which means he is to the east. Damn it… I fled that way for nothing!"
Deducing that his assailant lay to the east, he immediately wheeled around, riding his magical radiance to fly westward.
At the same time, his hands cast a spell. The two long staves flared with golden light, thick and unyielding, giving off wafts of burning incense. An arc of light radiated from either side of the staves, thickening until it formed a circular shield.
"Qinling Shield Aegis."
Ewu possessed few defensive techniques. He braced one staff behind his back and planted the other against his chest to guard his vital heart and torso, driving the wind to race onward.
Though Ewu had never seen this man before, he gambled that an attack of such sheer devastation could not be loosed casually. He flew with his head down, when suddenly an ominous humming ripped into his ears once more, and a piercing agony struck straight through his chest and back.
The sound tore at his ears, reverberating incessantly until blood flowed from both canals. Cold terror washed over him in waves. Ewu knew this was no ordinary sound, but an effect wrought by the enemy's immortal foundation or its attuned mystical techniques.
*A direct descendant of an immortal sect… but not the Tangjin Sect… Which other sect possesses such razor sharpness? Could it be the Sword Sect?*
A colossal shockwave smashed into his chest. The long staff in his hands let out a mournful wail and was ripped from his grip, spinning through the air. Ewu clutched his chest, where a new hole the size of an ox's eye had been gouged into his left side.
A Shakya cultivator's artifacts were never exceptional. When he dredged the staff back into his grasp, it had already warped. Ewu was struck with overwhelming dread.
*From the front again! He did it on purpose!*
The man's archery was profound beyond measure; Ewu had never encountered such terrifying immortal arrows in his life. The archer was tormenting him like a cat toying with a mouse. The arrow striking from ahead had nothing to do with where the archer was located—it was simply because he chose to shoot from that angle.
Hardened by a hundred battles, Ewu plunged headlong into the sea in this moment of life and death, diving desperately toward the seabed. His nape ran with creeping chills.
*Here it comes again…*
He tried to channel an incantation, only to feel surges of gangqi coursing through his body, tearing open minute perforations as they raced through his skin and viscera. Twice his casting was violently broken before he could even form the seal.
The panic in Ewu's heart finally crested. With a savage snarl, he forced his hands together:
"Paramita Secret Art—Body Renunciation!"
In an instant, his body blazed with golden light. His flour-pale flesh melted away, transmuting into a radiance that wrapped around him like armor. A formidable aura erupted forth, yet Ewu felt not the slightest sense of safety—only a biting chill through his entire marrow.
Sure enough, the buzzing in his ears swelled like the cries of ten thousand birds, and blood poured from his ears. Straining his eyes to their absolute limit by consuming his dharma body, he at last glimpsed five streaks of golden light shooting through the water from ahead like falling stars, following one right after the other.
*Hum!*
Vast clouds of steam erupted through the seawater. Ewu threw his head back and howled, venting the terror in his heart. The five golden beams vanished as swiftly as they had appeared, leaving behind only his head attached to a pair of arms. The rest of his dharma body had been entirely vaporized into nothingness.
Now that things had come to this, Ewu's heart turned stone cold. He raised those two surviving arms, and before the next streak of golden radiance could arrive, clamped his hands around his own neck and twisted with all his might.
*Crack.*
Ewu's neck instantly twisted like twisted hemp. He deliberately refrained from unleashing the regenerative abilities of his dharma body, choking the life out of himself right there in the sea. An instant later, a golden beam shrieked past, blasting his remains into bloody filth. His head soared high into the air, kicking up a monstrous wave upon the ocean surface.
The churned waves slowly subsided, leaving behind only the heavy, tumbling storm clouds overhead. Rain rustled down onto the rolling swell, and only then did four gusts of magical wind arrive tardily on the scene.
The lead guest elder swallowed hard. His gaze drifted toward the three companions beside him, but not one dared meet his eyes, every head bowed low.
Just as they stood there at a loss, a dark-gold shimmer slowly coalesced before them. A middle-aged man stepped forward atop a flying shuttle, reaching out casually to catch the severed head tumbling from the dark clouds. With a flick of his sleeve, he swept up the fallen monk's artifacts and turned a frigid gaze upon the group.
The middle-aged man had a grim, chilling bearing, clad in robes over a fearsome suit of dark-gold armor. A longbow was slung across his back. One hand rested behind him, while the other gripped that smooth, shaven head.
Terror was etched deep into the eyes of Ewu's severed head. Blood dripped down, staining the man's muscular forearm. He did not utter a single word, merely watching them in silence.
*Run!*
The thought flared simultaneously in all their minds, yet none dared take half a step. They felt an icy dread through their bones, as though invisible blades were scraping across their faces. As the middle-aged man approached step by step, they kept their heads down, eyes glued to the sea, until the leader finally stammered:
"Senior… thank you, Senior, for lending your aid… Junior is…"
He spoke through a drenching cold sweat, yet by terrible fortune, a figure came riding the wind from behind them. It was Guest Elder Zong, the one Ewu had sent away earlier. Having looped around half a circle, he had finally caught up. Agog with shock and excitement, he hurried forward, babbling:
"Elder Fu! Did Lord Situ unleash some sort of talisman? Just now, that battle—"
*Smack!*
Halfway through his words, realizing something was terribly amiss, he was struck across the face by an abrupt backhand that sent him staggering. Drenched in cold sweat, Guest Elder Fu shoved Zong's head down and hissed:
"We are mere petty cultivators of the remote shores. We had no intention of disturbing the emissary of the immortal sect! We beg Senior's forgiveness…"
Guest Elder Zong saw the ghastly expressions on his fellows' faces, looking as though they wanted to devour him alive, and hastily held his tongue. Li Xuanfeng cast a cold eye over them and spoke in an icy tone:
"Go back and deliver a message to Situ Mo."
"If he dares take half a step off that island, I will shoot his head off and kick it around like a ball."
Guest Elder Fu answered with meek, trembling deference. He understood that this was a clash between immortal sects; humble overseas cultivators like them had neither the strength nor the backing to interfere, capable of doing nothing more than passing along a message. Not daring even to wipe his sweat, he nodded repeatedly:
"This petty one understands… this petty one understands…"
The dark-gold armor on Li Xuanfeng shimmered faintly, and his figure vanished into thin air. Only then did the razor-sharp pressure pressing upon their faces lift. Guest Elder Zong, having received a slap for no apparent reason, was both furious and bewildered. He looked at his companions, only for Guest Elder Fu to wipe his brow and mutter:
"Count your blessings that you didn't say anything worse! Be glad you kept your miserable life!"
Belatedly realizing the danger, Guest Elder Zong asked in a low voice, "Which immortal sect was that lord from?"
"Who knows? You thought that spectacle was some talisman, blind to the fact that it was just a few casual arrows loosed by another!"
Elder Fu rasped hoarsely, "From the looks of it, it might well be the Jinwu Immortal Sect…"
***
Having traveled far into the distance, Li Xuanfeng finally brought forth the hand he had held behind his back. The broad, thick palm was covered in small, mouth-like gashes that slowly opened and closed, and blood ran freely from all five fingers.
"I struck with a touch too much haste."
Li Xuanfeng turned his hand to stow the severed head. At his waist, the five arrows in the quiver twitched faintly, as though still hungry for battle, their golden radiance weaving and flowing.
Li Xuanfeng carried a total of five profound arrows in his quiver, all forged of refined gold. Once loosed, they would naturally fly back to him. Having fired all five in a single breath, the five artifacts were thoroughly roused, leaping restlessly within the quiver.
Looking out into the distance, Li Xuanfeng raised his longbow once more. He did not draw a golden arrow this time; instead, he simply pulled the string. His magical power gathered upon the cord of its own accord, condensing into an arrow of pure gangqi.
*Whoosh.*
The arrow cleaved the air, crossing a hundred li to descend upon an island. Passing through dense, layered forest, it struck true against the snarling, contorted head grafted onto a massive banyan tree.
*Pfft!*
The head blew apart in a thunderous blast, and the twisting banyan tree was pulverized along with it, leaving only a splattered mess of blood upon the ground.
Earlier, to keep Moutuo from growing suspicious, Ewu had deliberately kept that Situ clansman alive, grafting him to the tree. Now that the dust had settled, Li Xuanfeng ended his misery with a single arrow, sparing him from struggling on that trunk day and night.
He then wiped his palm lightly, at least making the hand appear normal on the surface. The injury was not severe; a month or two of recuperation would see it mended.
Ewu was an experienced Master after all. Even if his lineage was fallen, he could not be underestimated. Unlike the terribly enfeebled Moutuo, who could be obliterated in body and soul with merely two arrows, Li Xuanfeng had only been able to inflict maximum devastation before the monk steeled his resolve to flee.
*A pity. If he had hesitated just a moment longer, I could have shot him dead on the spot.*
Even though the Master had chosen suicide to slip away, Li Xuanfeng had ensured he would not have an easy time of it. Roving gangqi was not so easily dispelled; it would continuously fester within him. Without outside help, he might well succumb to it slowly.
Moreover, until Ewu scrubbed every trace of that gangqi from his body, the moment he drew within a hundred li of Li Xuanfeng, the Jin Geng would instantly sense him. When that happened, a single arrow would suffice to shatter his soul into dust.
Li Xuanfeng had kept his feelings pent up in the Southern Border for decades. From his initial disillusionment to his later guarded pride, and then to the gnawing hatred that broke his meditation upon hearing the news from the Ning clan, he had carried an unyielding grudge. Now that he had smashed these two Shakya cultivators in one breath—one utterly destroyed, the other clinging to life—the hatred in his heart eased slightly. He murmured:
"Just you wait… This is merely the interest…"
Having fought his way across the waters, eighty to ninety percent of his magical power was depleted. Riding the wind through the churning black storm clouds, Li Xuanfeng narrowed his eyes in contemplation.
*Situ Mo is a cautious one. Now that I have displayed my strength, given his clan's reach, it will not remain hidden for long. Better to use this momentum to cow him, making him fear to step off the island so he will not harass my family's younger generation.*
Situ Mo's excessive caution had exceeded expectations. Li Xuanfeng had not pressed the island's guest elders too hard; his own condition did not permit another engagement, so he had cut his display short at its peak, preserving the terror to frighten Situ Mo.
Thunder boomed with growing frequency in the heavens, the surroundings pitch-black as ink, and the torrential rain showed no sign of abating. Gazing out, all was a blur. Li Yuanjiao was always meticulous in his affairs; unable to discover the Li family's secret foothold overseas, Li Xuanfeng could only return to Fenkuai Island.
Amidst the gloom of the sea, Li Xuanfeng flew through the rain for a long while before finally spotting Fenkuai Island. Diving beneath the waves, he was greeted by Ning Heyuan, who came forward with a smile:
"Brother-in-law, how did things go?"
"Some gains were made."
Li Xuanfeng gave a quiet nod, keeping his words reserved. Ning Heyuan did not pry, laughing aloud as he replied:
"Fellow Daoist Qinghong has arrived at the market! She is waiting for you!"
"Qinghong is here!"
A genuine smile finally surfaced on Li Xuanfeng's face. He strode forward eagerly, flying toward the market.
***
The East Sea, Qunyi Strait.
Islands crowded the Qunyi Strait in dense, haphazard clusters, scattered across every corner of the waters. A considerable mortal population resided here. Being close to Shiqi Island, many earth-nurtured children also cultivated in this region.
On a remote, cramped island, the highest peak was covered in bare, desolate boulders. A small temple stood atop the summit, where five or six natives were quietly prostrating in worship.
The statue at the head of the hall was carved from gray boulder stone, yet strangely took on a pristine white sheen. At this moment, it began to shudder violently, fine rock fragments falling away as crushed stone powder rained down, pattering noisily across the floor.
The natives fell to their knees in bewilderment, kowtowing repeatedly, only to see the statue explode with a thunderous crack. Out bounded a tiny infant.
The infant was covered in bloody filth, possessing only a head and arms, with nothing at all below its chest. It crashed to the floor with a dull thud, and from its mouth came the voice of a grown man:
"Ah! Ah! Curse you! Curse you! Just which immortal sect's scion was that…"
This infant was naturally Ewu. Tears of blood dripped from his eyes. He opened his tiny mouth, and the minds of the natives were instantly enthralled. They rushed forward, eagerly stuffing their arms into his maw. Ewu swallowed an arm in one bite and immediately grew several sizes, taking on the stature of a youth of seventeen or eighteen.
Yet this body remained horrific to behold: nothing more than two arms and a pair of shoulders supporting a head. Ewu's expression twisted in terror, the image of his Eldest Senior Brother Moutuo's total obliteration flashing before his eyes.
"Damn it… That man possesses something uncanny."
He summoned the last native forward and raised a hand, his nails sharp as blades. With a light sweep, he severed the man from the chest up, then pushed hard against the ground to leap up, grafting himself seamlessly onto the headless torso.
"Much better!"
Ewu took two paces, a sliver of a smile surfacing on his face, only for it to freeze instantly.
*Pfft!*
An inexplicable wave of force erupted from his original upper arms, blasting the mortal lower body to bloody smithereens. Ewu crashed back to the floor with a thud, his heart turning to ice.
"What exquisite immortal magic!"
No matter how formidable a Shakya cultivator's life-preserving arts were, they could not allow him to survive in such a state indefinitely. Though the Shakya scriptures claimed the physical form was merely a vessel to cross the world, swappable at will, without such a vessel, one would eventually drown in the sea of mortal dust.
He realized at once that if he could not find precious herbs and suitable blood food, he would perish and his Dao would dissolve within two to three years. There was no time to find a secluded spot to cultivate in peace. Unable to wait any longer, he gritted his teeth, rose upon the wind, and flew toward the nearest island.
Whatever hatred had lingered in Ewu's heart was now replaced entirely by consuming terror. He thought to himself:
*Fortunately, Eldest Senior Brother is dead… The Qinling lineage has fallen into my hands. If I can survive this calamity… I will flee to the South Sea and never return to this cursed place…*
With a body reduced to nothing more than arms and shoulders floating in the air, drifting westward through the sky, Ewu's heart was steeped in despair. He could only pray frantically in silence:
*World-Honored One protect me! World-Honored One protect me! There must be a mortal island ahead unguarded by Foundation Establishment cultivators… Whether this disciple can carry on the Qinling lineage… all hinges on this one chance!*
Chapter 443