Chapter Seventeen: Lure of Blood

Two branches of the flower bloom, each with its own story.

While the monstrous beasts unleashed havoc upon the Tianji Merchant Guild’s encampment, Baili Shuyi and his companions, unaware of the turmoil, pressed onward into the depths of Plum Mountain under the guidance of the Buddhist monks.

After several days of arduous travel, thanks to the monks’ magical arts, the group encountered no danger. Curiously, the monks never paused to hunt, focusing solely on their journey, which puzzled Gongyang Cuo and Yi Bo. They questioned Baili Shuyi, but he could not explain.

As the half-month deadline approached and the party ventured deep into Plum Mountain, even Baili Shuyi grew restless alongside Gongyang Cuo and Yi Bo. At this moment, Miqing approached the three:

“Fellow Daoists, Master Baili, my master knows of your confusion and has sent me to invite you for a gathering to explain all.”

“An invitation? What reason compels it? Can you not say yourself, Miqing? Must your master do so?”

Miqing laughed, his expression profound: “To be honest, this is a great opportunity. If I spoke, it might seem abrupt; my master can explain in detail. He awaits you nearby in the forest. You’ll understand once you meet him.”

The three, after some thought, ceased to press further. Baili Shuyi issued instructions, then followed Miqing, walking several hundred meters until they found Master Kuyu seated beneath a vast fragrant cypress, a stone table before him, tea brewing leisurely.

After paying their respects, they gathered around the stone table, awaiting Kuyu’s words.

Kuyu filled each cup with tea and then spoke: “To be frank, our venture into the mountain is not solely to hunt monsters, but because we have clues about a treasure of heaven and earth. Hunting the beasts is merely incidental, and can be done on the way back.”

Baili Shuyi took the news calmly, but the two cultivators were visibly moved. Progression for cultivators is not easy; after reaching middle ranks, advancement is nearly impossible without spiritual treasures. Most places where such treasures grow belong to the Three Teachings, and even as their disciples, these two received only scant portions each year. Elsewhere, monsters rule, and ordinary cultivators wouldn’t dare enter. Without clues, even those who enter rarely succeed. Though rumors spoke of treasures within Plum Mountain, neither had ever considered seeking them.

They never expected the monks to know the secret!

More importantly, the monks’ abilities had been evident throughout the journey; monsters avoided them entirely, and their skills far surpassed Baili Shuyi’s by a wide margin.

“What spiritual medicine do you speak of, Master? How much is there?” Yi Bo soon asked the question most pressing.

Kuyu smiled gently, his face earnest: “I speak of the spiritual spring hidden in Plum Mountain, once belonging to the Seven Saints, untouched for centuries. By now, there should be several measures, enough for our use.”

“As for Master Baili, I intend to share some with you. It prolongs life and can be taken yourself or presented to Lord Yan; I swear on my life the merit of offering this far exceeds capturing monsters!”

Baili Shuyi, unfamiliar with the spiritual spring, looked to Gongyang Cuo, who nodded, “The master speaks true. This is a supreme treasure, restoring youth and turning white hair black. Presented to Lord Yan or even the King of Zhou, it could earn any title.”

“So miraculous?” Baili Shuyi gasped, tongue-tied. “What more is there to say? Master Kuyu, if you truly share it, all forty members of Tianji Merchant Guild are at your command!”

“I would not make empty promises. Rest assured,” Kuyu replied, then turned to Gongyang Cuo and Yi Bo, smiling: “What of you two? If you refuse, I won’t force it; our earlier agreement stands—when we return, deliver monsters to Haojing as promised.”

Gongyang Cuo and Yi Bo pondered, recalling the Three Talents Red Sand in their pouches, and both agreed to follow the monks deeper.

...

Another half month passed. Their provisions were nearly exhausted, but the monks' hunting skills, coupled with Baili Shuyi’s generous promises, kept the party moving forward. Yet, several encounters with monsters cost them some men, making the warriors restless.

At last, they reached a sheer cliff—no path lay ahead.

Surveying the surroundings, the distant precipice was enshrouded in mist and clouds, obscuring what lay below. Yet, the calls of birds and insects surpassed anything they’d encountered, and the darkness that once shrouded Plum Mountain was gone, revealing blue skies and white clouds—a breathtaking paradise.

Neither Baili Shuyi, Gongyang Cuo, nor Yi Bo had heard of such a realm within the mountain; it felt ethereal, stirring their hearts.

Before they could settle, Miqing found a hidden cave, ushered everyone inside, and revealed this was the site of the spiritual medicine. Tomorrow they would harvest it, and the day after, depart.

The group rejoiced, quickly settling in the cave. Miqing distributed dried meat and fruit prepared days before, urging everyone to eat their fill and rest—except the monks, who remained awake—to prepare for tomorrow.

After a month of hardship, even Gongyang Cuo and the others were exhausted. They ate and drank, and sleepiness overtook them; soon all lay sprawled across the cave, barely able to stand.

They slept, unaware of time passing. When Gongyang Cuo awoke, his mind was clouded, his vision dark, his body heavy as stone, unable to move even a finger.

He struggled to clear his head, only to see the monks moving about. He tried to shout, but only hoarse noises escaped his throat.

The noise drew the monks’ attention. One approached—Miqing—and said, “Daoist, your magic is indeed strong. I hoped to send you away painlessly, but your awakening makes me culpable.”

Gongyang Cuo glared angrily, throat rasping, face flushed. Miqing chuckled, “Buddha is merciful, do not be angry. Your greed, anger, and ignorance bind you—how can you ascend and become immortal? Better to enter the cycle of rebirth now, and in your next life, become a disciple of our faith—then all will be well!”

Seeing Miqing was serious, Gongyang Cuo was terrified, cold with fear. He tried to beg, but could only rasp. Miqing said no more, pressed his palms together, and began chanting a prayer for the dead…

Before he finished, shouts from other monks echoed. Miqing hurried away, returning moments later, hands clasped behind his back, bowing, grinning, “Forgive me, the time has come; I cannot finish the prayer. But when I return, I’ll recite it ten times for you, ensuring you are reborn as a human, never falling into the other five realms.”

He drew a shining dagger from behind, its blade gleaming, and—without regard for Gongyang Cuo’s despair—swiftly cut his throat.

Blood gushed, staining the ground, filling the air with its scent.

Gongyang Cuo died never knowing why the monks had come to this mountain, or why they killed him…

As Miqing carried out his grim task, the other monks acted as well, slaughtering everyone in the cave, all by throat-cutting, blood flooding everywhere. Each moved swiftly, not waiting for the victims to die before moving to the next, killing all within moments.

Then, six monks rushed out, sprinting to a nearby forest where a large pit had been dug. They jumped in, and Master Kuyu pulled branches over the pit, burying it entirely. Among the branches was his ever-present begging bowl.

“All is done?” Though confident in his disciples, Kuyu asked again.

“It is, I saw to it myself.”

“Good. From now on, keep your eyes sharp. If anything enters the cave, observe closely—do not miss it.”

The monks were puzzled; they did not fully understand the purpose. Now, their master insisted on careful observation, but they had no idea what to look for. They exchanged glances until Miqing gathered courage and asked:

“Master, we’ve ventured deep into Plum Mountain, brought cultivators and mortals alike—what is our purpose? If it is only to watch, please tell us what we are to observe. If beasts enter—wolves, tigers, ordinary monsters—we might mistake them and ruin everything.”

“Indeed, Master, if you cannot tell us everything, at least say what we are to watch for!”

“Senior is right, please tell us, Master!”

The monks pleaded. Kuyu considered, looked outside, saw nothing stirring, and finally whispered:

“Even I do not know the full truth. The abbot divided us into dozens of teams to search across the Eastern Divine Continent for traces of a certain monster. This is a decree from the Western Buddhist Kingdom, of great importance. As for its purpose, even the abbot does not know.”

The monks understood, each speculating in their hearts. Then Mi Xing asked:

“Does Master know the monster’s appearance, its nature?”

“Such a great monster—the decree gave only one clear trait: golden wings on its back, brilliant and radiant, fond of drinking human blood. Thus we lured so many here for bloodletting, and it must be the blood of cultivators to draw it out.”

“Golden wings? Isn’t that a bird?”

“We cannot say. Anything that flies and enters the cave—watch it closely.”

The monks nodded, widening their eyes to observe the cave entrance. Soon, a quarter-hour passed. Miqing suddenly remembered something, his voice trembling:

“Master, since the Western Buddhist Kingdom is concerned with this monster, are we not in danger?”

“You worry too much,” Kuyu chuckled, dignified: “The begging bowl I carry is a gift from the Western Spiritual Platform. If enemies appear, I can unleash it to shatter the monster’s bones and sinews, making its life worse than death!”

Miqing’s heart brightened, delighted: “With such a treasure, what have we to fear?” The disciples agreed:

“It’s a spiritual platform treasure, then all is well.”

“Indeed, indeed.”

“In fact, I’d like to see this monster, and witness its death…”

Just then, a cold, icy voice suddenly echoed above their heads, chilling and grim:

“If that’s so, why not come out and let me show you how I die?”