Such a fierce and overwhelming aura of malice, yet because of a young girl, it instantly subsided like a wild beast returning to its cage. Even the curse vanished along with it.
The High Priest stared at this scene in disbelief, as if watching a prize slip from his grasp just as he reached for it.
Furious, he raised his hand to command the poison insects to attack them both. But in the next moment, a swarm of tomb bats spread out like a barrier before them.
With a flick of his finger, Wu Li sent the bats scattering gracefully, swooping down like predators onto the insects. He pulled the girl behind him, a mocking smile in his eyes:
“Did you think that without using the malice aura, I’d be at your mercy?”
“Isn’t that the case?” The High Priest laughed darkly. “Without the enhancement of the aura, in the art of voodoo alone, you’re still too green before me. Besides, there’s a mother insect in your heart that I command.”
As he spoke, he suddenly clenched his fist in the air.
A piercing pain shot through him. Wu Li doubled over, caught off guard.
“Lili!” Chai Xiaomi quickly steadied him.
“It’s nothing.” He gasped for breath, his voice hoarse yet still as gentle as when soothing a child. “Turn around, cover your ears, and close your eyes. Just wait a moment for me, there’s a good girl.”
He looked down at her.
Her clean skirt was stained with scattered blood—whether from being smeared by the tentacles or from when he had carried her earlier. Her fair little face bore several bloody scratches, like red plum blossoms fallen on snow, painfully stark.
His chest clenched suddenly.
He longed to hide her away, somewhere no one could find her—tucked into his embrace, into the depths of his gaze, into the softest part of his heart. Then he would heat a bucket of warm water, wash her clean, and kiss her tear-streaked face.
But not yet.
He had to finish what was before him first.
The mother insect was not yet destroyed; the male insect must be among the three of them.
“Do you truly believe you are the most powerful sorcerer of the voodoo clan?” Wu Li slowly straightened up, a surge of murderous intent in his eyes. “It seems I haven’t yet shown you the real way I play the art of voodoo.”
Youtiao cried out in panic: “No, host! You must stop him! His sins can’t keep piling up! We barely got the malice aura to fade and the darkening value to drop. If he kills another person, we’ll be right back where we started!”
“But if he doesn’t kill them, the mother insect in his heart is still a problem. That wicked High Priest! Damn it!”
No sooner had these words been said than Wu Li clutched his chest again, his face growing paler, a thread of blood trickling from the corner of his lips.
Chai Xiaomi struggled to support him, wiping the blood from his mouth with her sleeve, her heart aching. She gritted her teeth. In that moment, she hated her own lack of strength, unable to tear apart those who bullied him.
If only she could bear all his sins for him.
The flame of anger in her almond eyes was too obvious. The High Priest laughed abruptly, speaking in the Central Plains tongue: “What, a mere little girl, staring at me like that—are you thinking of killing me?”
“What if I am?” Chai Xiaomi snarled.
“I never expected it, Wu Li. What your mother spent her whole life failing to obtain, you have won.”
He shifted his tone, turning to Chai Xiaomi: “But you lack the ability to kill me. You can only watch him suffer, powerless! Hahaha!”
“But if—”
Suddenly, an old and deep voice interrupted.
“This old man has the ability.”
Chai Xiaomi froze. She saw a translucent white figure, with flowing white hair and robes billowing like an immortal descending to the mortal world, standing steadily before her and Wu Li.
“Old… Old Ji?” she asked hesitantly.
If not for that familiar voice, she might not have recognized him.
So this was his true form—so ethereal? Though aged, the elegance of his youth was still faintly visible.
“Little Xiaomi, this is my true form. We meet for the first time,” he said, stroking his long white beard. The cat wand he held stuck out awkwardly in his hand, yet he treasured it enough to tuck it into his belt.
As she paused in her surprise, her frail body could barely support Wu Li’s weight anymore.
In that moment, the Red Jiao swiftly glided to its master’s side.
Jiang Zhiyu also appeared on the other side, steadying Wu Li’s shoulder.
Song Yueyao noticed that Xiaomi had been entangled by the tentacles for a long time, her body already weak, but she was only holding on to keep Wu Li from worrying, so she silently supported her back.
Ah Nan flapped its wings and flew behind the group, spreading its massive feathered shield over everyone like a protective canopy.
This scene stunned the clan chief and the witch.
In their memory, that dirty, scrawny, ragged little figure had knelt alone on the execution platform, clenching his teeth without a sound as the whip fell.
Each time he was flogged, no one ever stood up for him. Everyone delighted in his suffering. He had been the lowest of the low in the clan, like a bug that could be crushed at will.
When had such a scene ever surrounded him?
These people had come to stand by his side.
But the High Priest's heavy gaze fell on the old man before him.
In the shadows, no one could see his expression.
“Alchemist Ji,” he said, his voice low like a serpent slithering. “Why do you protect him? Have you forgotten who destroyed your physical body, leaving you only to reside inside a cat’s form?”
“The one we loathe, the one we hate, is the same person. Wu Ying harmed you and betrayed me. We should share a common hatred.”
He stepped forward: “Only by thoroughly tormenting this child, while the man she loathes lives well, can her wish never be fulfilled… Only then can Wu Ying’s hatred endure forever, never finding peace.”
The white-haired elder stood still, his illusory figure trembling slightly in the wind.
After a long moment, he spoke, his voice weathered and calm: “This old man knows no child of Wu Ying. I only know this: my disciple is named Wu Li.”
“If you wish to harm him, you must walk over my corpse.”
With that, Ji Bai turned his head slightly, his features gentle but now carrying a proud steadfastness. A glint of mischief akin to an old rascal crept into the corner of his eye as he looked at Wu Li: “Little Rascal, you always sneer at the skills I taught you, saying they’re too weak, that this immortal gate’s techniques are all show—flashy but useless, nothing but a hollow shell.”
“Today, open your eyes wide. This master will show you truly—how to draw the heavenly sword and summon the immortals to pay homage!”
That illusory white figure suddenly solidified.
The elder’s white hair flew as he chanted and formed seals with his hands.
The sky began to lighten, the clouds parting with a thread of golden edge. Wind rose—not a sinister wind, not malice, but the purest spiritual energy of heaven and earth, rushing from all directions, roaring and worshiping, pouring into that ancient figure.
Leaves rustled as all trees bowed their heads.
He reached out, his five fingers clenching in the air, and barked: “Sword of Deliverance, return!”
A thousand li away, amid the mountain chasms of Jingming Altar, a long-dormant ancient sword suddenly trembled.
It had slumbered in the cliff’s fissure for ages, covered in moss and rust, untouched by time.
But just as that call pierced through the void, the sword rang out like a dragon’s roar.
Clang—
In an instant, the Crossing Calamity Sword transformed into a streak of fierce, unmatched spiritual energy, cutting through the clouds, tearing apart the wind, and racing toward the one who had summoned it.
The next moment, the sword took shape in the old man’s hand.
Its blade was pure white, its power stretching between heaven and earth, enveloping everyone beneath it.
Ji Bai stood holding the sword, his robes whipping in the wind.
He looked up at the sky and let out a soft sigh. “Forgive me, Master.”
He knew that behind him, the young man drenched in blood was watching.
That boy was his final disciple, personally taken under his wing—though sadly, he had never even shared a single cup of offering tea with him. The youth was as stubborn as a rock. He went through the motions of learning spells and cultivating the heart, but he had never truly acknowledged Ji Bai’s position.
Yet from the moment that child first called out “Master,” Ji Bai had claimed him.
What does it mean to be a master?
It means you can scold him for being ill-mannered and wild, but when the blade is at his throat—you stand in front of him.
Ji Bai had lived a long life. He had lost his physical body once, walked a thorny path of immortality, and spent years lingering in the body of a cat, surviving day by day. He had long given up hope of ever returning.
But this child was different.
He was still young. He still had a long road ahead.
As the sword swung down, Jiang Zhiyu’s pupils trembled, and his voice cracked. “Master...”
This sword could slay demons and banish evil, but it could not take a human life.
And that old man, always grumbling about not wanting to be a cat anymore—
From then on, his path to immortality was utterly shattered.
