Chapter 54: Slaying One with Every Ten Steps

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In the rain, a silent group stood at the head of Drunken Jiao Bridge, with Yunqi among them.

He gazed at Rotten Peach Mountain in the near distance.

It was now the third pentad of the Rain Water solar term, and in time, the first pentad of Awakening of Insects—when peach trees begin to bloom—was close at hand. Were one to approach, surely the buds would already be visible on the peach branches.

But from afar, only a sea of emerald peach leaves could be seen, stretching endlessly over the hills.

Looking at the peach grove, Yunqi recalled the reason he had come to the land of the Miao and the South.

To deepen his contemplation of the Star Lord of the Rising Sun, he had intended to visit the Golden Rooster clan on Tianming Mountain. Unexpectedly, he achieved his goal midway, at an ordinary Miao village. With the battles in Miao South raging and Tianming Mountain deep in the southern wilds, he had grown too weary to go further.

What’s more, chickens and peaches have always been intimately connected in this world, just as the Golden Crow is to Fusang, and the Phoenix to the parasol tree. Since ancient times, peach trees have been regarded as the yang wood, and roosters as the yang bird.

The father of the Star Lord of the Rising Sun, the Heavenly Rooster, was born atop a great peach tree on Peach Capital Mountain by the Eastern Sea. Images of roosters and peachwood charms have always been inseparable, and peachwood stained with rooster’s blood becomes an object of pure yang, warding off evil; even mortals holding it can frighten away ghosts and demons.

Since he took the Rising Sun constellation as his inner spiritual guide, it was only natural to see the most famous peach grove under heaven.

His original intent was to visit at the turn of spring and summer, when the world’s yang energy was at its peak. Peachwood being yang wood, the grove would then appear as a sea of fire. Thanks to the unique nature of Rotten Peach Mountain, the blazing sun would draw up the miasma beneath, rising like smoke and clouds. Miasma is yin energy, and in that moment, yin and yang would merge in a grand spectacle.

But now the spring rain fell endlessly, the peach blossoms shyly unopened, and the air was heavy with the stench of blood. There was little to see; the endless green leaves, viewed too long, seemed an ocean of ink, unsettling to the soul.

After waiting a while, though it was not yet the hour of the Goat, everyone had arrived—twenty-one in all.

With so few people, it would be impossible to carry out all one hundred and twenty corpses. If all went smoothly, they could manage several trips, but if anything went awry, they could only do their best and leave the rest to fate.

They exchanged glances—some old acquaintances, some strangers—nodding silently to one another, and set off without a word.

After crossing Drunken Jiao Bridge, they walked along the east bank of the river downstream for about two li, reaching the mouth of the western valley.

They halted and saw that the mountains there parted, forming a gap now shrouded in seven-colored clouds that even the rain could not disperse. At this sight, their faces grew even graver.

Hai Jinqi stood beside Yunqi, his single eye narrowed to a slit. He spoke softly to Yunqi:

“Ordinarily, that gap is clear. When the miasma emerges, the great river scatters it at once. Those who harvest the miasma stand at the gap’s edge, using magical tools to collect the peach blossom miasma within. The peach blossom miasma is pink, but now, it seems the floodwaters have carried out the muddy peach miasma, which is piling up at the gap. This sudden surge of muddy miasma—even facing the river—won’t disperse in less than ten days or half a month. By the time it’s gone, those inside will either have dissolved into blood or been buried deep in the mud.”

Yunqi nodded. Even from afar, the strange scent—a mingling of sweetness and rot—was already invading his nostrils.

Suddenly, another torrent burst from the gap, making the rainbow clouds even more dazzling.

“Let’s go! We can’t wait any longer!” someone said quietly.

So the group edged forward.

At this point, each revealed their own way of warding off the miasma. Some held their breath, some summoned miasma shields, others covered their mouths and noses with silk handkerchiefs, or stuffed pills into their nostrils. They all smeared a certain juice over their eyes.

Hai Jinqi explained that this was made from the branches and leaves of Rotten Peach Mountain’s peach trees, which had some detoxifying effect against the miasma.

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He tried to apply it to Yunqi, but Yunqi shook his head, fearing it would obstruct his vision.

He summoned fire, forming a cloak of flames around himself. Within his twelve-story pagoda, he stored solar fire; the miasma would have to penetrate this to corrode his vital organs, so he was confident in his safety.

The others, seeing his mastery over fire, could not help but admire him, gaining a little more confidence in the search for the dead.

Moreover, the miasma at this valley entrance was, after all, at the river’s mouth on a rainy day, and only part of it was the muddy peach miasma washed out by the flood—far better than within the mountain.

“Watch out for the living!” someone warned before entering, and all knew this referred to the Taoist priestess from Western Shu, who wielded a flaming sword.

The group advanced slowly.

The miasma hissed as it touched Yunqi’s fiery cloak, but the solar fire at his throat burned it away easily, leaving his breathing unaffected.

As for those who had only protected their mouths and noses, the miasma scorched their skin, making it burn and itch, their brows contorting in pain.

Yunqi noted this, but uncertain of the situation deeper within, dared not recklessly cover everyone with his fire shield, lest his power be depleted too quickly and disaster strike.

Within the miasma, the swirling colors dazzled the eyes, leaving them blind, and the torment hastened their steps.

Someone drew out a jade-green bead, channeling energy to make it glow, casting some light. Others released swarms of insects to scout ahead—each displaying their unique skills.

There was no room for holding back here. Yunqi pressed his fingers together like a candle, a thread of solar fire dancing atop them.

None knew what kind of fire it was, but they could see that the miasma shrank from its golden light, driven back like darkness before a torch.

“This way—our people are over here!” someone who had escaped before called out, leading them onward and marking the path as they went.

“There!” someone cried, spotting something on the ground before a hundred steps had passed.

The group gathered round and saw a corpse.

Yunqi did not recognize him—clearly from another market town. His exposed skin was reddened by the miasma, as if scalded, but most striking was the gaping wound in his chest.

“A flying sword!” someone said.

Indeed, only a flying sword could leave such a wound.

A burly man stepped forward and hoisted the body onto his back.

The search continued.

“Here! This one’s from Hong Family Village!”

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Soon, another body was found.

In no time at all, they had located a dozen corpses.

“The folk from Western Shu must have left already. Let’s get these brothers out first and catch our breath. Half of us will keep searching; when the others come back, we’ll switch and carry out more bodies.”

Seeing how smoothly things were going, someone quickly suggested a faster method. No one objected, and they split into teams.

Hai Jinqi, who had been holding his breath, needed fresh air. He nodded to Yunqi, slung a corpse over his shoulder, and began to make his way out. Yunqi, having not expended much power, stayed to continue the search.

“Ah!” Not long after they split up, a scream rang out. The nine who remained paled and rushed toward the sound.

Yunqi instantly drew “Autumn Water.”

With a twist of his left hand, he seized a talisman and flung it forth.

“Arrogant sun patrols the heavens, fiery chariot clears the way—go!”

In Yunqi’s hands, the solar fire demon-banishing talisman was many times more powerful than when wielded by others. Two dragons of flame tore through the miasma, surging ahead.

By the light of this fiery tide, they saw what had happened:

Several Taoists in purple robes trimmed with gold, lurked in ambush, commanding flying swords to strike at the villagers carrying bodies. The swords darted and crashed about—no intricate formations, but with the miasma as cover, it was hard to dodge.

“Stop!” Yunqi heard a furious shout by his ear. He saw that Hai Jinqi, with only one eye, could not track seven or eight sword trails. In the time it took to turn, a flying sword had already pierced his neck.

He let go, dropping the corpse, and collapsed himself.

“Suppress!” Yunqi uttered a sacred syllable, targeting the smug killer—whose satisfaction at being the first to wound an enemy was plain.

Yunqi’s feet sank into the mud, striding ten rapid paces; his steps traced a star chart through the mire. His sword was swifter than the rain, and the killer’s smugness slowly gave way to terror as his body froze.

But Yunqi’s sword had already arrived.

This was not a thrust, but a sweeping arc from the heavens. “Autumn Water” became a beam of moonlight, slashing down at the killer’s neck.

A faint sound—hardly audible.

The killer’s triumphant smile could never turn to terror, for his expression was frozen forever, as his head tumbled into the mud.