Chapter Seventy-Six: The Sinister Spirit of the Northern Realm

Hou Yi stood clad in white, his robes brighter than snow, solitary and cold, with a jet-black bow in his hand, curved like a full moon. In the dim mountain forest, the invisible energies of heaven and earth surged madly towards his dark bow; it was as if the bow were a fathomless abyss, devouring endless qi, yet remaining eerily silent.

Suddenly, the world’s energy condensed, and an arrow, dark as lightning, flashed forth. Hou Yi hadn’t spoken a word; he had already loosed the arrow, his face cold as frost, his presence as still as a wintry night.

Nan Luo, though seemingly on the verge of breaking, kept his full attention fixed on Hou Yi. He felt an inescapable sense that no matter how he fled, there was no avoiding this arrow.

As the arrow left the string, Nan Luo slipped into the void, suppressing his dread, trying to escape. Yet as he entered the emptiness, the black lightning arrow was already at his back, unfaltering in its pursuit. Nan Luo realized his escape technique could never evade an arrow that followed so relentlessly.

He drew his Azure Blade at his waist, its pale light as bleak and resolute as his own face. The blade hastily blocked the arrow, and Nan Luo was sent flying, but the arrow still viciously sought his heart. In that instant, a cloud of grey mist erupted from Nan Luo’s body, within which a barely visible, translucent insect met the arrow head-on.

A metallic clang rang out as the tiny creature struck the arrow’s tip. The insect, wrapped in mist, spun away, and the dark arrow, deflected, plunged into a nearby tree. Nan Luo, wasting no time, vanished with a flicker. In the void, a hand appeared, snatching the spinning insect and withdrawing back into nothingness.

In the shadowed forest, made darker by towering trees, Hou Yi remained standing with his bow. His throat moved, and suddenly, he spat a mouthful of blood, forming a scarlet mist in the air.

Before the blood mist could touch the ground, Hou Yi swung his dark bow through it, and soon the mist was gone, the bow untouched by any stain. He thrust the black bow into the void, where it vanished as if entering another world.

Hou Yi stood unmoving, his white robes fluttering in the mountain wind; in that moment, he seemed unspeakably frail. After a long while, he staggered toward the corpse of Zhao Mian.

He stood before Zhao Mian’s body, cleaved in two, eyes closed, silent and still, shrouded in a heavy sorrow.

After some time, he spoke: “Though we all entered the Great Witch realm before you, your means of survival were the greatest. You even mastered the art of soul possession—so long as your soul endured, you could live on. I never imagined he possessed a treasure capable of destroying souls. Had I known, I would have fired the fourth arrow, no matter the cost. I failed you, I failed you…”

In the forest, a man clad in white knelt beneath a giant tree, beside a blood-soaked, hideous corpse. Had Nan Luo delayed his escape by a moment, or looked back, he would have seen that this imposing figure was also spent after a single strike; he had concealed it well, and his intent was genuinely to kill Nan Luo with one blow, staking his life in the attempt.

Kua Fu was broad and generous, Xing Tian fierce and unmatched in battle, but Hou Yi in white was cold-faced and warm-hearted, peerless in loyalty… Nan Luo had never heard this saying passed within the Witch tribe, but from Hou Yi’s eyes he could read the birth of a feud—one that would not rest until death. It was this that made him draw his sword without hesitation.

Though the world’s spiritual energies were abundant and stratified, anywhere could offer healing. At this moment, Nan Luo dared not seek any place where spiritual energy gathered; he found a barren mountain, slipping beneath the earth.

Unexpectedly, he discovered a small ley line beneath the mountain. With a hint of joy, he settled into meditation to recover.

He had forgotten about the tiny insect he’d carried out with him; now it wandered about his core, as if pondering something.

Three days meant little to any cultivator, but for Nan Luo now, they were precious: time to heal, and to hurry onward to Not Zhou Mountain.

On a barren peak devoid of even wild grass, a head suddenly emerged; the figure scanned the area warily, then pressed his hands to the ground and climbed out, the earth closing behind him like water.

It was Nan Luo. After looking around, he sighed softly, then glanced at his left shoulder. The wound had healed, but his hidden robe, the Moonlit Wind Cloak, had a hole torn in it. Though small and inconspicuous, it still bothered Nan Luo—such a rare garment, and already damaged.

Just then, a figure appeared beside him out of thin air.

It was a woman. Nan Luo was startled, turning to see her. Her smile was radiant, her teeth gleaming, with a hint of wicked beauty. Her robes shifted through three colors as Nan Luo watched, finally settling on the same azure shade as his own. Though she smiled, Nan Luo sensed a strange, sinister energy from her eyes.

Her sudden appearance unsettled Nan Luo. Though he felt no hostility, her gaze made him instinctively wary.

“Who might you be, miss?” Nan Luo asked.

The wicked-eyed woman’s gaze flickered as she replied, “You first.” Her voice was crisp and pleasant, Nan Luo thought, as he smiled and answered, “Nan Luo of the human tribe.”

“Nan Luo of the human tribe…” she echoed, circling him as if deep in thought. After two laps, she stopped and grinned. “My name is Bei Ling of the human tribe.” She smiled with pride, clearly satisfied with her name.

Nan Luo laughed, “If you didn’t want to tell me, you could have just said so. Why bother with such a ruse?” Glancing in a mirror, he chuckled, “So you’re that insect, aren’t you?”

As soon as he spoke, her expression changed, her eyes turning icy, a hint of cruelty in her wickedness.

“You dare mock me?” she snapped. Her body vanished, and a nearly transparent insect appeared in the air, disappearing with a flicker.

Nan Luo’s blade flashed at his waist, but he stopped halfway through the draw.

The wicked woman reappeared, her robes now blood-red.

Nan Luo, wary, slowly sheathed his sword and smiled. “Miss, you jest. How could I dare mock you? I must thank you for saving my life.”

She stared at him, the cruelty in her eyes gradually fading after hearing his words.

“No need for thanks. You freed me from that witch, and I blocked an arrow for you. Now we owe each other nothing.” She paused, glanced at the mirror in his hand, and said coldly, “Also, don’t ever use that mirror on me again, or I'll devour your spiritual energy.”

Nan Luo laughed, “Rest assured, such a thing will never happen again.” He thought to himself, once I leave, we’ll likely never meet again; how could I ever use the Demon Moon Mirror on you?

She snorted, her expression improving. Nan Luo smiled, “I have an appointment; I won’t trouble you further. Farewell.”

Before she could reply, Nan Luo prepared to leave, but she called out, “Wait, where are you going?”

“I have an appointment…”

“I don’t care who it’s with. I’m free, so I’ll tag along.”

“But…”

“And don’t call me 'miss.' It sounds awful. Call me Bei Ling.”

Nan Luo, interrupted by her, thought it over. It didn’t matter, he decided; but since her moods were unpredictable, better to avoid provoking her.

He smiled lightly, “Let’s go, then. But this is Not Zhou Mountain, and there are countless great cultivators here. You’ll need to be careful, Bei Ling.”

“You needn’t worry. If I want to escape, no one can catch me.” Pride shone in her wicked eyes.

Nan Luo thought, if that were true, how did Zhao Mian capture you? Though amused, he only smiled and said, “Let’s go,” then stepped away, vanishing into the wind.

Bei Ling giggled, “Trying to lose me with escape arts?” Her blood-red robe turned azure, and she too vanished into the air.