Chapter Fifteen: Radiant Colors

Nan Luo’s staggering figure slipped across the northwestern corner of the Immortal Palace, so insignificant that it left no mark upon the grand edifice. Even as a passing topic among its denizens, the matter would not last beyond a day. Phoenix Mountain remained ever as it was, and so too did the Immortal Palace. Only the doors of the Peacock Hall were now tightly shut.

If one were to ask which tribe in this world was closest to the human race, all would answer: the Wu Tribe. In both appearance and custom, the Wu were nearly indistinguishable from humans, though their numbers were few, and each among them possessed remarkable supernatural powers. Thus, for mutual benefit, humans and Wu lived intermingled.

Ten thousand miles from Phoenix Mountain lay a branch of the Wu, known as the Zhu Rong Tribe. Though humans and Wu coexisted in the outer settlements, only the Wu themselves could enter the core, especially the Zhu Rong Hall at the tribe’s center.

This was the Zhu Rong Tribe, so named for being home to Zhu Rong, one of the Twelve Ancestral Wu. All in the tribe knew their ancestral lord’s temper was as fierce as fire, his circle of friends exceedingly small—apart from the other ancestral Wu, few outsiders were admitted. Yet Kong Xuan was one of the rare exceptions.

“Kong Xuan, are you certain you merely took in a boy, and not a disciple?” In Zhu Rong Hall, a girl in fiery red attire sat, her voice loud and clear. She seemed as though she might burst into flames at any moment. She was none other than Zhu Rong, one of the Twelve Ancestral Wu.

“I have no need for disciples. If there is anything worth teaching, I will teach it—titles are meaningless,” Kong Xuan replied with a gentle smile.

Zhu Rong’s eyes flickered like a maiden caught in emotion, but all knew that a single wave of her hand could burn mountains and boil seas. “Does this boy possess some extraordinary talent?”

“Not particularly. He is merely above average,” Kong Xuan said.

“Is he, perhaps, the child of an old friend?”

“No.”

“Then why take him in as a servant, and come to me for cultivation techniques? Don’t tell me it’s fate or some cosmic plan—I despise such nonsense.” Zhu Rong’s voice grew impatient.

“He has no special qualities, only a sincere heart. Seeing how diligently he cultivates, I wanted to help. Yet I know little of the human constitution, so I came to see if you had any suitable methods for him.” Kong Xuan sat casually in a chair.

“My, how rare! Others think you are gentle and slow to speak, but I know your pride runs deep. I never thought your taste would be so peculiar. I do have some basic human cultivation methods, but they are nothing special. I might as well go with you. When it comes to essence-refining, no tribe in the world can match ours.” Zhu Rong smiled, sitting beside Kong Xuan, her jade-like arms resting on the table.

“That’s settled, then. Besides, the Avian Tribe’s decennial Hundred Birds to the Phoenix festival is approaching. You should see it, instead of moping about your tribe all day.”

Those who truly knew Kong Xuan understood that his circle of friends was exceedingly small. Though he was always courteous and smiling, he kept others at a distance that few could cross.

Soon, two beams of light soared skyward from the Zhu Rong Tribe, vanishing into the horizon.

When one’s magical power reached a certain level, flight could be achieved at astonishing speed. With profound understanding of the Dao, one could accomplish feats only those of great power could manage—such as traversing vast distances in a moment. Take, for instance, Nan Luo’s earth-escape technique: if he truly comprehended the origin of earth’s spiritual energy, he could travel a thousand miles with but a step, using almost no power. It was as effortless as turning a car key and lightly pressing the pedal—no matter how strong one’s arms, brute force could never compare.

Two streaks of light arced across the sky like rainbows. Before long, Kong Xuan and Zhu Rong arrived above Phoenix Mountain.

“Your boy is diligent indeed, sitting at the door cultivating—wait, something’s wrong…” Zhu Rong spoke, but before she could finish, Kong Xuan’s aura changed. His normally gentle, multicolored radiance turned to blinding sunlight. The clouds vanished at a touch of that brilliance; before the light had fully descended, Kong Xuan stood already at the hall’s entrance.

A flash of color gleamed in his eyes, and with a tap of his finger, a beam of light entered Nan Luo’s body. Instantly, Zhu Rong appeared at his side in a burst of flames. She cast a glance at Nan Luo, then turned to Kong Xuan. “His vital force is fading—he is beyond saving.”

Kong Xuan’s face darkened, his expression turning to ice. Normally, he treated all with a gentle smile, but when he ceased to smile, it meant he was truly angry. When his face became like frost, Zhu Rong could not guess the consequences—at least, in the hundred years she had known him, she had never seen Kong Xuan like this. As he once said, “It is not that I am patient; simply, few are worth my anger.”

“If we had returned a day earlier, a drop of my essence blood might have awakened him. Now, his qi is all but severed.”

Kong Xuan fell silent. Of course, he knew all this. Moreover, he understood that among all the demon tribes, there were many who could fight but few who could heal—especially when it came to those whose life force was nearly gone. None could claim to save such a one.

Those who had attained great supernatural powers were rarely injured so severely. Each had their own secret arts for escape or desperate self-preservation. Should they be gravely wounded, it was usually fatal. If not killed outright, they could still heal themselves. But for someone of Nan Luo’s meager cultivation, even a casual blow from the Golden Roc Prince was enough to leave him dying.

“I have heard that in the northwest of Buzhou Mountain lies Kunlun Mountain, where a cultivator has forged a Golden Elixir said to revive the dead,” Kong Xuan said suddenly. Though he spoke of a remedy, his words were laced with killing intent.

“Then what are we waiting for? Let’s go now—we may still save him,” Zhu Rong urged. She had no connection to Nan Luo, yet for Kong Xuan’s sake, she felt a strange anxiety for his fate.

But Kong Xuan sighed. “Kunlun Mountain lies far from here. Even at my fastest, it would take at least three days. By then, he will have been dead for some time.” From the moment he arrived, Kong Xuan had already seen through Nan Luo’s condition; the strand of true energy he had administered was but a palliative measure.

Zhu Rong lowered her head in silence. After a long moment, she declared, “I will give him a drop of my essence blood. That should sustain his life for three more days.”

Kong Xuan’s eyes lit up at this, and after a pause, he said in a deep voice, “Very well.”

Few understood the significance of the Wu Tribe’s essence blood, but Kong Xuan, having known Zhu Rong for a century, understood its importance better than most. The Wu had twelve Ancestral Wu, each with their own Great Wu beneath them. Only those who received the ancestral blood could practice the highest Wu arts. This blood was not like ordinary blood running through the veins—it was akin to the Daoist primordial spirit or the demon tribe’s inner core.

Yet the ancestral essence blood possessed a unique power: it could alter one’s very constitution.

A thread-thin drop of blood oozed from between Zhu Rong’s brows, floating through the air. It carried a potent vitality, yet resembled a flame, making the very void tremble as it passed. It fell upon Nan Luo’s brow, quickly merging into his body. His deathly pale face flushed with color at once.

“I know you’re already thinking of how to repay me in the future. There’s no need. If I wish to do something, I have no need of thanks; if I do not wish it, no one can force me.” Zhu Rong smiled. Among the ancestral Wu, she was the most forthright—if she liked something, she admitted it, and never bothered with false courtesy.

Seeing Kong Xuan only smile without reply, Zhu Rong knew his nature well. If he received a favor, he would certainly repay it. So she added, “In truth, this essence blood is not as precious as you imagine. I used only a sliver, just enough to protect his heart and prolong his life a few days.”

“I appreciate your kindness. I know what must be done. But before we go to Kunlun Mountain, there is one matter to settle. The people of my Peacock Hall are not to be bullied at will.” As Kong Xuan spoke these words, his killing intent soared. If Nan Luo could have seen him then, he would not have believed his eyes. Zhu Rong, however, seemed to relish this side of Kong Xuan even more.

Her eyes sparkled. “Let’s take him to Kunlun first—should we run out of time…”

“No matter. A mere Golden Roc can cost us little time.” Kong Xuan had already discerned the Golden Roc’s power with a single glance.

In this moment, Kong Xuan’s brilliance shone without restraint. Clad in his multicolored robes, he exuded a cold, proud aura that pierced the heavens.

Zhu Rong smiled faintly, saying nothing. In her heart, she thought: this is his true self, as he was a century ago—proud and dazzling as ever.

There was an unwritten rule in the Immortal Palace: no one was to use magic within its walls. This applied chiefly to the handmaids and guards; the lords of the various halls were, of course, exempt. Yet these powerful figures rarely used great spells openly; if they did, few would ever see it. Thus, the display of supernatural power within the palace was a rare sight.

A multicolored beam of light shot skyward, piercing the void. Though it lasted but a moment, everyone in the Immortal Palace felt the surge of immense power.

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