Chapter Fifty-Three: War Between Tribes

Within the Yangping clan, there were priests, while the Youqiong and Shanyin tribes each had their own shamans. In every tribe, priests were typically individuals born and raised within the community who had acquired extraordinary skills—Nanluo was one such person. Shamans, however, differed in that all their arts came from the shamanic tradition, and every shaman was descended from unions between humans and shamans.

The Youqiong and Shanyin tribes had long been on friendly terms, even before migrating to the vicinity of Yangping. Their shamans, in particular, were well-acquainted with each other, so it was natural for them to settle here together. Three years had passed since their arrival, and though they had encountered the native Yangping clan on several occasions, they soon noticed that Yangping had no shamans. This piqued their interest, for in their eyes, what use were priests who only knew a few ceremonial rites? Even if there were three of them, in the presence of shamans, they were no different from ordinary folk.

All this, of course, was before Nanluo returned. Since his homecoming, Nanluo seldom left the Yangping settlement, and after Chief Huangyuan heard Nanluo speak of the secrets of heaven and earth, he became ever more discreet, naturally avoiding any boast to outsiders about the prowess of his clan's priest. Thus, those beyond Yangping had no inkling of Nanluo’s presence.

Three years later, the Youqiong and Shanyin tribes could no longer suppress their greed for Yangping’s fertile lands and natural advantages, and so launched a war without hesitation.

To the vast world, a war among humans might seem child's play; but to the Youqiong, Shanyin, and Yangping tribes, it was a matter of life and death. The combined warriors of the Youqiong and Shanyin numbered nearly five hundred—almost as many as all the people of Yangping.

The shamans of Youqiong and Shanyin had grown up and trained together, their bond deep, and so too was the alliance between their tribes. Now, they sat listening to the latest reports from the front.

“The Yangping stronghold is sturdy and tall, fortified through generations, its defenses well-prepared. That we have failed to breach it after three days is hardly surprising,” said Zangyi, the shaman of Shanyin, waving a hand to dismiss the messenger before addressing Niansha, the shaman of Youqiong.

“If that’s the case, then besieging them until they starve will be difficult. I fear their food will last longer than ours. We cannot let this drag on—we must end it swiftly,” Niansha replied, pacing restlessly.

“If we fail to take the stronghold by this afternoon, we’ll cast a great spell tomorrow and burn their settlement to the ground—then their defenses will crumble on their own,” Zangyi said, sitting motionless, his eyes narrowing, a faint murderous aura seeping from him.

“Of course. My only concern is that person from three years ago.”

“I think we’re worrying for nothing. I’ve made inquiries about that incident three years back. I heard a Daoist wished to build a sanctuary here, but offended the mountain demon king and was driven away, never to return. The temple in the mountains stands abandoned to this day. As for the one who followed the demon king, we need not concern ourselves with him—a fool, thinking a bit of skill enough to risk his life. He’s likely perished in the wilds by now. Otherwise, with the tribe besieged for days on end, how could he remain unmoved? Besides, for these three years, we’ve had people watching in secret, and not once has anyone seen him.”

“If that’s true, then Yangping is as good as ours. The feng shui here is superb—mountains behind for hunting, a river for fishing, fertile fields. Once our tribes merge, we can settle here for generations, no more wandering,” Niansha said, standing at the doorway, his black robe shining softly in the sunlight.

The next day dawned bright and scorching—it was high summer, the sixth or seventh month.

The Yangping clan had dwelled here for generations, their stronghold built from mighty forest trees. It was not only tall and strong but also featured watchtowers and myriad defenses, as if always expecting a day like this. This was tradition: whenever a new chief took office, his first task was to inspect and repair the settlement.

Thus, before the Youqiong and Shanyin could even approach, they were met by volleys of arrows. After three or four days, not only had they failed to breach the walls, but they had also suffered heavy casualties.

The people of Yangping, watching from inside, were puzzled. Usually, at this hour, the enemy would be charging with wild cries, but today they were lighting fires in the distance—thirteen bonfires flaring up at once.

“I hear their tribe has shamans—perhaps they're about to cast a spell.” The mystery of shamans inspired a certain dread among the Yangping folk. They had grown up with their own priests and knew their abilities well, but shamans remained a source of irrational fear.

Yet now, with Nanluo among them, they no longer felt that same panic at the mention of shamans.

“I’ll report to the chief and ask for the High Priest,” one man whispered, striding off at speed.

He soon returned, three men in tow—the former priests. Those guarding the gate cursed the messenger silently. What use were these three? They knew well their skills—how could they match the enemy shamans? But though they cursed in their hearts, they dared not show it openly, for the three had served as priests for over a decade.

The three former priests, reading their thoughts, smiled. “Don’t worry. We’ve just come from Priest Nanluo—he knows what’s happening, and says you need not fear. Stand firm against the enemy. If those shamans cast spells, he will act himself.”

Some still felt uneasy—the enemy had set up their ritual site, while their own priest sat calmly within the settlement. It seemed odd. But then they remembered Nanluo’s power to ride the clouds, and their hearts were at ease.

Someone thought, whatever spells you work, once the priest lifts his mirror, you’ll all be sent running home. Though it was said the mirror’s true name was the Demon Moon Mirror, few ever called it so—God Mirror sounded far more imposing.

“Look, those two in black robes—must be their shamans,” someone whispered from behind the barricade.

“Dressed all in black—clearly up to no good. Their spells are bound to be treacherous. Are we sure we shouldn’t summon the priest? If they cast a spell, how could he respond in time from so far away?”

“It’ll be fine—the God Mirror can reach even from a distance.”

“Look—they’re starting the ritual!” one shouted.

“So that’s all there is to it? Just jumping and dancing? Looks ugly. Nothing like the priest with his mirror.”

“That’s how they do it. Don’t you remember that year Master Yuan performed a ritual? He jumped too!”

“Don’t mention Master Yuan. Beaten by the mountain demon, now he doesn’t even dare return… a coward. I once thought of sending my son to apprentice with him—lucky I didn’t, or the boy would have grown up a coward, too,” someone grumbled, watching the shamans’ ritual from behind the fence.

“Ah, look! Fire! It’s burning!” came a sudden cry.

“Fire! Fire! Quick—fetch the priest, it’s the enemy’s spell!”

At some point, smoke had begun to rise from the fence, and soon flames leapt skyward.

“Wait, it’s raining!” “Look—the fire’s out!”

Just as panic spread and they rushed to find Nanluo, a sudden rain fell from a clear sky. Though white clouds drifted overhead and the day was bright, the rain came out of nowhere, dousing every last flame on the barricade.

Within the circle of their thirteen bonfires, Zangyi and Niansha exchanged a look of utter shock. Clearly, the sudden rain was no act of nature, and their fire was not so easily quenched.

“There is a master in their tribe,” was their shared thought. Someone unseen, able to dispel their magic without a word or gesture—such a person was beyond their power.

Just then, a voice rang out from the sky, clear and cold amid its solemnity.

“Take your people and leave. Your ancestor Zhu Rong once did me a kindness—I do not wish to harm you. I hope you and your tribes will never again oppose Yangping.”

With that, the voice fell silent.

Zangyi and Niansha’s faces darkened. The speaker claimed acquaintance with their ancestral shaman, Zhu Rong. If true, it was one thing; if not, it was a naked insult. In their hearts, the ancestor shaman was sacred beyond compare.

Zangyi stared at the Yangping gates and whispered, “What right does he have to know our ancestor? Word is, the Great Shaman Zhaomian is coming this way. When he arrives, we’ll ask him to see for himself whether this man speaks truth or dares to lie.”

Niansha nodded grimly, and with a wave, led the two tribes away.