Chapter Sixty: The Monster That Keeps Humans in Captivity

Nanluo had already departed, and aside from Luoshui, no one in the Yangping tribe was aware of it. Luoshui had watched him vanish beneath the night sky, the starlight wavering, a gentle night breeze stirring and leaving a faint chill upon her skin.

The sensation was somewhat astringent; gazing into the night, she could not help but recall the first time she laid eyes on her uncle Nanluo, and the excitement barely concealed under his tranquil gaze. Clad in a blue robe, a long sword at his side, he had walked quietly through the village gates and into her life. When she finally realized this was the very uncle her mother had spoken of through countless days and nights, the joy that filled her heart was something only she could truly understand.

The night deepened, dew heavy upon the earth, and when the eastern horizon began to pale, she found her clothes had grown damp. Jolted from her reverie, Luoshui turned to glance at the wooden house’s open door. A dewdrop slipped from a leaf, landing on her shoulder. Looking up, she suddenly recognized how tall the peach tree beside her had grown.

A rapid flurry of footsteps startled Luoshui. She turned to see Amu from the tribe running toward the house, shouting, “Priest Elder… Elder…”

“What’s the matter, Amu?” Luoshui called, puzzled, as he dashed inside.

Amu, not finding Nanluo within, hurried back out and anxiously asked, “Luoshui, where’s the Priest Elder?”

“What has happened? The Elder has gone to visit a friend,” Luoshui replied, surprised but keeping her voice calm.

Amu stamped his foot and cried, “Ah, visiting a friend… What now? There’s a monster in the mountains again! With the Elder gone, what are we to do?”

“A monster? What do you mean—how has a monster appeared…” Others knew nothing of what transpired after Nanluo followed the demon king into the mountains and could only guess he had slain the creature. But Luoshui knew with certainty the demon king was dead.

“I don’t know! The hunters just returned from the mountain and said Azhen was eaten by the White Wolf!” Amu answered, his voice trembling with anxiety.

Luoshui frowned. She had heard tales of the White Wolf, though only in stories. The last sighting coincided with the day her uncle Nanluo was seized by the giant bird; after devouring a victim, the White Wolf had not appeared since. The people of Yangping believed it was gone for good, and yet now it had returned.

Steadying herself, Luoshui thought that by now, her uncle must have traveled far. There was no hope of his return. Drawing a deep breath, she said, “Go quickly to Yuanji Temple and seek Daoist Master Yuanji. I’ll find the chieftain.” Her calm voice carried a newfound courage, undaunted by the crisis. Amu nodded at once and dashed off towards the temple.

When Luoshui found the chieftain, Huangyuan, he was pacing anxiously. Seeing her approach, he asked, “Luoshui, why are you alone? Where is the Priest?”

“The Priest Elder has gone out to visit a friend,” Luoshui replied evenly.

“When will he return?” the chieftain demanded.

Luoshui shook her head, indicating she did not know. “There’s no need to worry, Grandfather Chieftain. It’s only a White Wolf. I’ve studied magic under the Priest Elder for several years. Dealing with a single White Wolf should not be a problem,” she said, smiling in reassurance.

“Oh, child, you’ve never seen that White Wolf. Who knows how many years it’s lived—you can’t possibly defeat it…” The chieftain, Huangyuan, had grown up hearing tales of the White Wolf, and lived most of his life under its threat. His fear was deep-rooted.

Luoshui smiled calmly. She knew Nanluo had left, and if she was not a match for the White Wolf, their only hope was Yuanji the Daoist. Her composure was unwavering. “Chieftain, there’s no need to worry. I’ve already sent Amu to invite Daoist Master Yuanji. He is a cultivator capable of flight—dealing with a mere White Wolf should be nothing to him.”

Huangyuan seemed to recall the existence of such a person. “Yes, yes… Daoist Yuanji should be able to defeat the White Wolf.” Yet his graying brows remained furrowed; clearly, he had little confidence in Yuanji, for the Daoist had once been routed by a mountain demon, failing to bring the chieftain any peace of mind.

Suddenly, a voice echoed above the entire Yangping tribe: “Demonic beast, I am here! How dare you run amok? Behold my magic treasure… Take this!”

“It’s Daoist Yuanji! All is well, thank goodness he’s here. By the way, did the Priest Elder say when he would return?” Huangyuan relaxed upon hearing the voice and spoke cheerfully.

Luoshui also breathed a sigh of relief. “The Priest Elder said he would return in as little as a year, or as long as two.”

“Oh, that’s good. Those who have become immortals like him no longer care about the passage of time. See, after all these years, he looks just as he did when he left—immortal and unaging. Ah, but time spares no one; I am white-haired and frail, already half a corpse.”

Luoshui smiled faintly, wondering if her uncle’s promise of returning in one or two years was meant merely to comfort her. The thought flashed by, and she was about to console the chieftain when suddenly, a shadow plunged from the sky.

It was Daoist Yuanji, landing disheveled, his face ashen, his energy clearly spent. Before Luoshui and the chieftain could speak, Yuanji called out anxiously, “Where is Fellow Daoist Nanluo? That fiendish beast is full of cunning—it has corrupted my magic treasure. Damnable, truly damnable!”

“Immortal Master, how can this be? Even your powers are no match for the White Wolf? What are we to do?” The chieftain was shaken to the core. Having grown up under threat from the White Wolf and seen so many of his people devoured, how could he not fear? After more than twenty years of peace, they had thought the danger gone, only for it to return so abruptly.

“No need to worry, chieftain. Is there not still Fellow Daoist Nanluo in the tribe? With him, the fiend will surely meet its end,” Yuanji replied. When Amu had come to him with news of the White Wolf, he had rushed out, seeing it as a chance to restore his reputation. He hadn’t questioned why Amu sought him instead of Nanluo. When he confronted the White Wolf, he deliberately broadcast his voice far and wide, hoping to wash away the shame of his previous defeat.

“Immortal Master, you do not know—the Priest Elder left last night to visit a friend,” the chieftain said miserably. He had just learned of Nanluo’s departure and placed his hopes on Yuanji, only to see him return defeated. How could he not panic?

Yuanji’s face darkened.

“Daoist Master, how powerful is this demon?” Luoshui asked, her voice remarkably steady, a trace of heroism in her clear gaze.

Yuanji replied in a low tone, “The fiend’s power is not much greater than mine, but it possesses a strange ability—it can spew a bloody mist, corrupt and evil. My magic treasure was polluted at the slightest touch, its spirit utterly lost. Even if Fellow Daoist Nanluo were here, I doubt he could overcome it.” Whether he truly believed this or was simply discouraged by Nanluo’s absence, it was hard to say.

The chieftain objected, “The Priest can surely defeat the White Wolf!” Luoshui, as if not hearing, asked, “If the demon’s power is only slightly stronger than yours, what if we gathered more people? Could we not defeat it together?”

Yuanji’s expression was grim. “It would be difficult. Such a battle cannot be won by numbers alone.”

Luoshui had not expected trouble to arise so soon after her uncle’s departure. She had only heard of the White Wolf’s dread reputation; it had always seemed a distant threat. Now, it was as if a sword was pressed to the throat. Yuanji was an outsider and could easily leave, but she was now the sole practitioner of cultivation in Yangping and responsible for the tribe’s safety.

The chieftain’s white beard trembled, whether from fear or worry. Yuanji stared at the sky, lost in thought.

Luoshui steadied herself, speaking with uncharacteristic calm: “If the White Wolf is not eliminated, it will remain a catastrophe for the tribe. Our only option would be to migrate. Yet, where in this world is truly safe? Our only hope is to slay the White Wolf, or at least hold out until the Priest Elder returns. But that’s at least a year away—who knows how many more victims there will be? Still, this land is not ours alone; the Shanyin, Youqiong, and the newly arrived Zhaoyan clans all dwell here. They, too, have cultivators. If we bring them together, explain the danger, and unite in purpose, perhaps we can find a way to slay the White Wolf.”

Both Yuanji and the chieftain looked at Luoshui in astonishment, as if seeing her for the first time. Years ago, when Nanluo first met Luoshui, he was struck by her intelligence. For years she had followed him in cultivation, never revealing herself before others. In this moment, she shone brilliantly. If such words had come from an elder like the chieftain, they would have seemed ordinary; but from a sixteen-year-old girl, they were remarkable.

The chieftain wasted no time, sending messengers to summon all the cultivators from the neighboring tribes. But after hearing the situation, everyone fell silent. Their powers were not great, but their experience told them this was no ordinary demon. The White Wolf was a creature of supernatural abilities, not one that could be overcome by numbers.

The great hall of the Yangping tribe, reserved for council, was heavy with gloom. Luoshui stood quietly to one side, observing every face, her mind already made up. She had only wanted to make an effort, to see if there was any hope. As she remembered Nanluo’s parting words—to take care of herself and her mother—she wondered: did the Yangping tribe not deserve protection as well? Or did her uncle believe she was not up to the task?

Suddenly, Zang Yi rose and declared, “There’s nothing more to discuss. Unless your Priest Nanluo returns, there is no hope of slaying the White Wolf. If it attacks again, we can only flee.” With that, he turned and left, followed by Nian Sha, his expression complex.

The members of the Zhaoyan clan sighed and departed as well, clearly agreeing with Zang Yi.

Luoshui’s face remained calm, though tinged with sadness. The chieftain, however, seemed a little steadier. Watching their guests’ retreating backs, he said, “Luoshui, there’s no need for too much worry. Over the years, the White Wolf has only ever taken one person at a time. After each attack, there are days of peace. I believe we can hold out until Nanluo returns. After all, haven’t we survived thus far?”

Luoshui managed a faint smile. “Perhaps the Priest Elder will return sooner than expected.”

Yet in her heart, she thought: all these years, the White Wolf has treated the people of Yangping as livestock, feeding on them at will.

Ps: If only there were a divine talisman to destroy the wolf demon—such a charm would be called a red vote… Collections are welcome too…