Gathering Storms in the Novice Village; Wit and Courage Foil the Enemy Assault

Shen Yi could still feel the scorching heat of the lightning-struck wood seed between his fingers when the ground at the southeast corner suddenly erupted in a shockwave.

The lanterns of the night market were shredded by the rising gales, and amidst the swirling debris of multicolored silk, he watched as the sunset was devoured by an unknown force, turning to ink-black.

"Back to the village!" He crushed three God-Speed Talismans, and a surge of spiritual energy enveloped Gao Yao and Ya'er, transforming them into streaks of light.

Behind him came the crisp sound of shattering roof tiles. The stall where the ghost-faced raindrop had fallen now bore a hole half a yard deep, etched into the bluestone pavement. At the village entrance, the warding bells on the ancient locust tree were vibrating violently.

"Master Shen!" Blacksmith Wang, carrying his hoe, was covered in sweat and grease. On his anvil sat a half-forged blade that hadn't even been tempered. "Human-faced spiders are crawling out of the vegetable patches in the east! Aunt Liu’s guard dog has been, has been..."

A scream cut his words short.

Shen Yi flung three Exorcism Talismans. The burning paper illuminated the black mist rising toward the ancestral hall—within that mist were clearly the distinct, rotting vine patterns controlled by Leng Xuan.

The Underworld Vine seed in his pocket suddenly grew burning hot, and the system interface flashed red across his retina: [Warning! Concentration of nether baleful energy has exceeded critical threshold.]

"Everyone into the cellar!" Shen Yi was about to form a seal when a withered hand gripped his wrist.

The village head stumbled out of the ancestral hall, leaning on a peach-wood staff. His turbid eyes reflected the scales and claws churning within the cracks in the sky. "Young Master Shen, buried beneath this hall is the protective array left by our ancestors."

Thirteen white-haired elders filed out of the hall, clutching faded genealogies as they knelt in the positions of the Eight Trigrams.

Shen Yi’s pupils contracted—on the napes of these elders were purple cursed seals, identical to those of the Master of Spiritual Plants.

"Three hundred years ago, we fled here to escape the scourge of the corpse poison." The village head bit his fingertip and drew a rune upon the genealogy; drops of crimson blood seeped from the yellowed pages. "Even if we must sacrifice these old bones today..."

Thunderous laughter tore through the clouds.

Night Shadow descended from the sky, riding a black dragon conjured from a bone flute. As his dark robes billowed, his pale fingers toyed with the core of Leng Xuan’s rotting corpse vine. "Fellow Daoist Shen, did you know that the ancestors of these villagers were all medicine slaves who defected from the Immortal Realm?"

Gao Yao’s Ice Marrow Bead suddenly erupted with a cold light.

Shen Yi pressed down on her trembling hand, catching a glimpse of Lie Feng leading the hunters as they coated their arrows in cinnabar. In his system inventory, the growth progress bar of the lightning-struck wood sapling was climbing at a rate visible to the naked eye.

"Lord Night’s talent for storytelling is far superior to his cultivation." Shen Yi deliberately shook the seed bag given to him by the Master of Spiritual Plants, and sure enough, he saw a flash of caution in Night Shadow’s eyes. "Why not tell us, who planted the Heart-Devouring Curse on the back of your neck?"

The black dragon emitted a shrill hiss.

A flush rose on Night Shadow’s sickly pale cheeks. With a flick of his hand, seventy-two rotting corpse vines lunged toward the ancestral hall like venomous snakes. The scriptures chanted by the elders transformed into golden chains, only to be corroded by the purple mist upon contact.

"Now!" Lie Feng roared.

The rain of cinnabar-tipped arrows from the hunters struck the nodes of the vines with precision, while Gao Yao formed a seal to manifest an ice wall, buying time for the women and children to reach the cellar.

Shen Yi seized the opportunity to flick the Underworld Vine seed into the southeast corner—the system had prompted that the lightning-struck wood required baleful energy to thrive.

Night Shadow suddenly clapped his hands and laughed softly. Behind him appeared thirteen figures in black robes, each holding a soul lamp.

Shen Yi felt a chill run through his entire body. The wicks of those lamps were clearly burning with the life essence of the elders from the ancestral hall!

"What do you think has kept the village protection array running for three hundred years?" Night Shadow’s fingertips were entwined with blood-colored threads as the village head suddenly coughed up black blood. "Only by sacrificing the bloodline of thirteen medicine slaves every generation can..."

Shen Yi’s jade medicine hoe suddenly began to spin on its own, its blade erupting in green light that severed several of the blood threads.

The system interface popped up a prompt: [Lightning-struck wood maturity countdown: One stick of incense.]

"Brother Lie Feng, move all the ceremonial wine from the ancestral hall!" Shen Yi bit his tongue and sprayed blood onto his medicine hoe. As the green light flared, he deliberately arched an eyebrow at Night Shadow. "I heard that rotting corpse vines are most afraid of aged realgar wine?"

The formation of the black-robed figures wavered.

Gao Yao understood immediately; her Ice Marrow Bead transformed into thousands of ice shards, striking at the soul lamps.

Night Shadow laughed in fury, his bone flute blowing a bizarre sound wave. Suddenly, countless skeletal arms erupted from the ground, clawing at the villagers.

"Catch!" The voice of the Master of Spiritual Plants suddenly exploded in his ears.

Shen Yi caught the jade vial thrown to him. The rich medicinal aroma invigorated his spirit—it was the Nine-Turn Essence-Condensing Pill, capable of temporarily boosting one's cultivation.

Thunder rumbled deep within the clouds. As Shen Yi swallowed the pill, he saw Lie Feng using his hunting knife to sever skeletal hands for Blacksmith Wang, three bloody gashes already torn across the big man's back.

The lightning-struck wood in the southeast corner finally broke through the soil. The electricity dancing on its tender shoots cast fine, cold sweat onto Night Shadow’s neck.

When the hot blood sprayed by Lie Feng splattered onto Shen Yi’s face, the lightning-struck wood had grown to three feet tall. The hunter leader staggered, supporting his body with his knife, a bloody hole in his left shoulder where a corpse vine had pierced through, purple smoke bubbling out.

"Take the children... and go!" The boisterous man used his wound to wedge the vine in place, then slashed off half his own shoulder with his other hand.

Shen Yi’s nails dug into his palms. The rapidly dropping health bars of the villagers on the system screen stung his nerves.

Night Shadow’s bone flute let out a mocking trill. Twelve soul lamps hovered in a ring, and the tiles on the ancestral hall’s roof peeled away in the sonic waves.

Shen Yi suddenly noticed that every time the flute’s pitch rose, the soul lamps in the hands of the black-robed figures would rotate clockwise—the halos entwined with the elders' life essence were forming a subtle resonance with the warding bells on the ancient locust tree.

"Uncle Wang, splash the third jar of realgar wine from the cellar onto the roots of the locust tree!" Shen Yi flung five thunder-beads, blowing apart the reaching skeletal arms. Turning, his hoe precisely knocked away a venomous spider attacking Ya'er. His voice was calm, even to his own surprise. "Brother Lie Feng, there is snake-shedding powder in the lining of your quiver; sprinkle it on the cinnabar arrows!"

The ancestral hall began to shake violently. The village head vomited blood as he drove his peach-wood staff into the center of the array, and the curses on the backs of the thirteen elders lit up in unison.

The moment the black dragon controlled by Night Shadow shattered the ice wall, Shen Yi finally saw the purple threads flowing between the soul lamps and the locust tree bells—just like the Bone-Erosion Flowers in his spiritual fields that required specific nutrients.

"The Ice Marrow Bead Miss Gao left behind!" Shen Yi shouted to the girl who was forming seals.

Gao Yao immediately flicked the bead toward the top of the locust tree. The extreme cold, guided by the ice crystals formed by the realgar wine, dragged three soul lamps clean off their established trajectory.

Night Shadow’s sickly laughter came to an abrupt halt. His dark robes billowed as he directed the seventy-two rotting corpse vines to turn and strike toward the entrance of the cellar.

This was the opening Shen Yi had been waiting for. The moment the arrows coated in snake-shedding powder touched the vines, they burned in reverse along the purple threads, turning two of the black-robed figures into fireballs.

"Interesting..." Night Shadow wiped the blood from the corner of his mouth, a scarlet drop of blood condensing at the tip of his bone flute.

Shen Yi suddenly felt the jade vial in his pocket grow hot, and the system flashed a bright red alert: [Nine-Turn Essence-Condensing Pill remaining duration: Thirty breaths.]

The cracked lines on the floor of the ancestral hall suddenly glowed with green light.

Shen Yi retreated rapidly amidst flying debris, catching a glimpse of Lie Feng using his one remaining arm to hold a crying child as he rolled into the cellar. The hunter leader’s back was a bloody mess from the falling stones, yet he tossed the child to Aunt Liu, who was waiting at the entrance.

"Young Master Shen!" Blacksmith Wang suddenly lunged from the side, his leather apron used for forging blocking a bone spike aimed at Shen Yi’s heart. The man, who usually feared his wife above all else, grinned. "The perilla you grew for my family cured Niu-niu's cold..."

The muffled thud of the poisoned bone spike piercing through the apron made Shen Yi’s vision go black.

The lightning-struck wood in his system inventory suddenly erupted with lightning. With a flash of inspiration, he plunged his medicine hoe into a crack in the ground, drawing the heavenly thunder down onto the black dragon beneath Night Shadow’s feet.

Amidst earth-shattering thunder, Night Shadow’s black outer robe was scorched. His pale fingertips brushed the hair behind his ears, and he suddenly chuckled toward the void: "The time has come."

Shen Yi’s hair stood on end. The roots of the lightning-struck wood were growing wildly underground, touching something icy and bone-chilling—a cold jade coffin buried seventy feet beneath the ancestral hall.

The system interface flickered frantically: [Ancient restriction fluctuation detected.]

A faint light appeared on the southeastern horizon.

Shen Yi stumbled while dodging a corpse vine. The residual cold energy from the Ice Marrow Bead in his pocket spontaneously surged toward that direction. His heart gave a heavy thud; a warm force pierced through the bloody mist, seeping into the cracked earth like melted snow in early spring.

Night Shadow turned his head sharply toward the same direction, his bone flute blowing a frantic, changing melody. The remaining black-robed figures gathered into a formation, and the shrieking phantoms of the elders struggling within the soul lamps let out mournful wails.

Shen Yi seized the chance to throw his last three thunder-beads toward the location of the cold jade coffin. In the explosion of thunder and fire, the clear sound of breaking jade cut through the night sky.

"The game has only just begun." Night Shadow retreated into the clouds on his dissipating black dragon, his tone filled with an unsettling excitement. As his dark sleeves fluttered, Shen Yi clearly saw him draw a strange totem on his palm with blood—it was identical to the pattern on the inside of the seed bag given to him by the Master of Spiritual Plants.

The leaves of the lightning-struck wood suddenly trembled without wind.

Shen Yi reached out to catch a falling leaf, sensing a crisp, clear aura beginning to pierce through the baleful energy on the battlefield.

He feigned exhaustion, dropping to one knee, and quietly flicked a stone stained with realgar wine into a crevice—the vibrations transmitted by the roots of the lightning-struck wood clearly indicated that a familiar spiritual force was rapidly approaching from twenty miles away.