Chapter Sixty-Four: Mosquitoes

The woman in violet had actually withheld one more thing from Nan Luo: while others could not find her, they could find him, so she chose to say nothing. Nan Luo, though inexplicably struck by her beauty, did not press further. As he departed, his smile at last broke through—not his usual faint, detached smile, but something softer, more delicate, tinged with a hint of bitterness.

He had not realized that this place lay less than ten thousand miles from Mount Buzhou. All along, he had been undecided whether to journey to Mount Buzhou or Mount Phoenix. From the mouths of those who had fled Mount Buzhou, he had learned the great battle had raged in its skies. Yet why there? Why not above Mount Phoenix? This question gnawed at him, but he could find no answer. Before, his path had been driven by the fury and bloodlust that surged within him; he had followed the track of his people, bent on slaying any demon he encountered, with no time for doubts. But now his heart was clearer, and countless questions arose unbidden, though, no matter how he pondered, he found no clue.

Looking back at the valley, he saw the unknown woman in violet still seated upon the snow-white stone, watching him. Her hands pressed straight down upon the rock, her feet clad in gold-trimmed shoes dangling and swinging in the air.

From afar, Nan Luo offered her a smile before turning away. With a single stride, he felt the world shrink and expand—a step that seemed to traverse the distance between heaven and earth. Where he set his foot at the front of the mountain, he found himself behind it in the next instant.

His understanding of earth, among the five elements, seemed to deepen with every moment, sensations shifting and changing unceasingly. This was the realm achieved only after entering the Gate of Primordial Spirit: reflecting upon the void, immersed in a mysterious, unfathomable state, where mere cultivation could no longer advance one’s power.

Flowing sleeves, green robes fluttering—one step forward, and endless vistas unfurled behind.

Suddenly, a pungent scent carried on the wind made Nan Luo’s expression change. In a flash, his figure was gone, swept away with the breeze.

He was now extremely sensitive to that smell; at its slightest trace, he thought of humans being cruelly slaughtered...

Following the scent, he sped onward, and when he hovered above a secluded valley, a streak of black light shot up from below. Glancing down, Nan Luo saw the valley piled high with bones, nearly filling it to the brim. Fury erupted within him; murderous intent surged to his mind. He shouted, “Where do you think you’re going?”

The figure below seemed startled, halting abruptly. A black cloud appeared beneath his feet, suspending him in the void. The man was shrouded in black robes, his eyes mere slits, his mouth sharp and pointed, giving him an oddly grotesque appearance.

He said nothing, only regarded Nan Luo with a sullen, brooding gaze.

“After killing so many, do you think you can just walk away?” Nan Luo narrowed his eyes, his voice squeezed through clenched teeth. Though he could not be sure the man himself had committed the massacre, he was certain the man was connected to it.

“Heh, heh. I have never killed anyone,” the man replied. Though his eyes were narrow as a thread, Nan Luo detected a bloodthirsty gleam within them.

“If you didn’t, then who else slaughtered all those people in the valley?” Nan Luo’s tone was low and cold, murder crackling in the air, ready to strike at any instant.

“Heh, heh. Kill them? As if they were worth it. I only drink blood—the hot, fresh blood of humans is a delicacy, especially the essence blood of someone like you.” As his words fell, the black cloud beneath him surged forward, lunging at Nan Luo.

The black mist billowed, instantly enveloping Nan Luo.

With a metallic ring, the Azure Swallow Sword flashed from its scabbard, its killing aura soaring to the heavens.

Rays of white light churned within the black cloud; wherever the light swept, the darkness recoiled, only to be replenished by the rolling blackness that followed.

Nan Luo had intended to draw his sword the moment the man failed to explain himself, but he had not expected his opponent to strike first, nor that his words would make it so clear he meant to kill him here and now.

Flames danced in Nan Luo’s pupils; yet all he saw was murky blackness. His spiritual sense, sent forth, was instantly swallowed by the clouds.

Sword-light spun around his body like blooming lotuses, cluster after cluster, unbroken and impervious to wind or rain.

Nan Luo dared not pause. Trapped in the black cloud, he could not draw on the world’s vital energy; if this continued, his spiritual power would soon be depleted. Realizing this, he opened his mouth and drew a breath—the black mist was sucked swiftly into his mouth, and the sky instantly grew clear.

But the black-robed man had vanished as well. With a flick of his wrist, Nan Luo summoned the Demonic Moon Mirror. Its surface shone with pure light, revealing the void like a clear spring, but nowhere could he find a trace of his enemy.

On high alert, flames flickered in Nan Luo’s eyes, yet even as he peered through the void, the man remained hidden.

The mountains undulated before him, mist rising between their peaks.

Gone? How could that be? Nan Luo wondered.

Suddenly, a stabbing pain twisted through his abdomen, sharp as if a needle were piercing his heart.

His whole body shuddered. The pain came without warning and vanished just as swiftly, but its echo left him drained, his spiritual power seemingly slipping from his grasp.

This was only the state of his body, but within, Nan Luo’s heart stormed with shock. Since embarking on the path of cultivation, his body had never suffered such unexplained afflictions. Sickness was impossible; yet what he had just experienced was no illusion—he could still taste the agony in his senses.

No sooner had he thought this than the pain surged again, flooding him in an instant.

His spiritual power spiraled out of control. Unbidden, he cried out, plummeting from the clouds and plunging headlong toward the earth.

He fell faster and faster, curling into himself as he tumbled through the air. Anyone who could have seen his face would have found it beaded with sweat. The pain wracking his body was unbearable; he could spare no thought for controlling his spiritual power.

Nan Luo plummeted like a meteor; at this rate, even his flesh, fused with the bloodline of the Wu tribe, would be gravely injured by the impact. When he was less than thirty meters from the ground, the Windcloak Robe he wore suddenly shimmered with a faint azure light. Instantly, his descent slowed, his weight seeming to vanish, and he drifted to earth like a leaf.

But Nan Luo was far from recovered—if anything, he was worse off. Though he only groaned through clenched teeth, he rolled on the ground, sweat pouring from his brow.

“Heh, heh. Human child, I told you I wanted the blood from your heart, and you went and swallowed me... Heh, heh... Who would have guessed you also carried the essence blood of the Wu tribe? This is my good fortune indeed.”

A voice echoed from within Nan Luo’s belly; the pain eased slightly, but his heart was gripped by terror. His thoughts raced, but he could find no way to expel the black-robed man now lodged inside him.

“Careless! Too careless!” he berated himself—but the pain surged back in a crashing wave, and he screamed helplessly.

The Windcloak Robe was wondrous; though he writhed on the ground for a long time, not a speck of dirt clung to it. Yet his face was a sorry sight—hair disheveled, mixing with the earth, and at some point, he had bitten a large mouthful of yellow soil.

He could feel his blood slipping beyond his control, drawn toward a hidden breach.

The Azure Swallow Sword was planted at a slant on a nearby slope, its exposed blade flashing coldly in the sunlight.

Nan Luo had not expected that he would survive the prison at Serpent Cliff, or the casual blow from the Golden Roc, only to face death now, after stepping through the gate of immortality and embracing the path of longevity.

Just then, a sword’s song pierced his soul. Nan Luo felt his blood freeze for an instant, and then, like a parched man drinking from a spring, a clear, musical note sounded, instantly easing his mind and stopping the pain as if by magic.

Opening his eyes, he looked toward the source of the sound. Beneath a distant tree, a heroic man sat, cradling a snow-white zither, his other hand lightly plucking its strings.

Notes flowed from his fingertips like clouds and water. Nan Luo felt his spirit lighten; the agony that had nearly torn his soul apart gave way to a refreshing clarity.

Suddenly, the music shifted from gentle and clear to ethereal, almost illusory, like the first sword-song he had heard. It did not enter through his ears but seemed to pierce straight into his soul.

The tempo quickened, like a thousand horses galloping, like weapons clashing in the heat of battle.

A tickle flared in Nan Luo’s nose; before he could react, a speck of black dust shot from his nostril and vanished into the void.

With a metallic clang, the music exploded in the distance; the black-robed figure tumbled from the void, his slit-like eyes flashing with bloodlust before he vanished once more.

Suddenly, a beam of light shot from Nan Luo’s hand, revealing every detail of the void, even the wind itself. The mirror’s surface displayed a gigantic, pitch-black mosquito.

The black-robed man had not fled, but hovered invisibly nearby, confident in his powers of concealment.

But when he saw Nan Luo’s Demonic Moon Mirror expose him, surprise flickered across his face. Without hesitation, he turned and fled.

Nan Luo’s face was grim, his figure a blur as he hurled himself in pursuit. The Azure Swallow Sword, once stuck in the earth, now flew to his hand in a streak of light.

As soon as the sword returned to his grip, its radiance surged, killing intent soaring.

The black-robed man had not expected Nan Luo’s speed—before he knew it, his pursuer was nearly upon him. Bloodthirst blazed in his narrow eyes as he suddenly produced a slender, jet-black spike.

With a sweep of his sleeve, the spike shot toward Nan Luo, piercing the very air.

Nan Luo’s heart tightened; his sword-tip met the spike head-on.

The spike drove forward silently, yet carried tremendous force. Their clash was evenly matched.

After the blow, Nan Luo’s body was hurled uncontrollably skyward, soaring into the clouds.

When he steadied himself and looked down, he saw only a flicker of black shadow, then nothing—the man had vanished into the void. Nan Luo instantly summoned the Demonic Moon Mirror; with a flash, its light searched below.

As if guided by his will, the mirror’s light found the black-robed man standing on a distant mountaintop, a hundred miles away.

Nan Luo pressed his lips together and stepped into the void, vanishing on the spot.

The black-robed man stood, watching Nan Luo’s distant position with a grim expression, when suddenly a streak of silver shot from the void, slicing through the air with a piercing sword-song.

He had not expected Nan Luo’s mirror to track him so far.

Without any visible movement, the black spike appeared before his sword once more.

With a clash, the sword and spike parted, unleashing a wild shockwave that sent Nan Luo tumbling again.

“Do you truly think I fear you? Chasing me all this way—let me drain you of every drop of blood!” the black-robed man’s sinister voice echoed through the world as the black cloud descended upon Nan Luo, thick and ominous, as if filled with countless vengeful ghosts howling within.