Chapter Seventy-Three: Hou Yi's Arrow

Nanluo did not linger in the tribe of Houtu. He was certain that the Lady Houtu would try to persuade anyone to stay, but no matter what, he simply could not make himself remain there. The predatory stare from Xingtian, the evasive gaze of the woman called Yingge—who, despite her name, was built like a burly man—made him feel thoroughly uncomfortable.

After leaving, he glanced back from a distance and exhaled a long breath, not out of fear, but because since leaving the Yangping tribe, an inexplicable sense of irritation had been tangled around his heart, preventing him from achieving inner clarity.

Even when he sat in meditation, he wondered whether his mood had been tainted by the pervasive aura of slaughter in this world, making it impossible to maintain that former tranquil serenity…

He had assumed that since Kongxuan was rescued by Zhu Rong, perhaps he would be in Houtu’s tribe. But to his surprise, the Wu were also searching for Zhu Rong. Suddenly, he realized that the ancestral witches of the tribe seemed far from harmonious, each going their own way, living scattered across heaven and earth.

And indeed, with someone like Xuanming, who would willingly stay in her company? Yet Houtu was more approachable, living among her people and easy to find. Xuanming, on the other hand, was likely wandering everywhere, and if she fancied some place, she would simply seize it… Now, even Houtu herself was searching for Zhu Rong and hadn’t found him. Nanluo did not believe he had any hope of succeeding where she had failed.

With only five days left until the official founding of the Celestial Court, he noticed no signs of immortals and deities flocking toward Mount Buzhou. On the contrary, the world seemed to have suddenly quieted, and the clouds drifting among the mountains appeared more ethereal and pure.

Suddenly, a powerful sense of danger surged within Nanluo, sharp as a sword at his throat.

He snapped his gaze in the direction the threat was coming from. A black speck appeared in his sight, and his heart clenched. Instinctively, his escape technique surged forth; his body became ethereal in an instant… But at the very moment he melted into the void, it shattered silently like the surface of a mirror. With a muffled grunt, Nanluo was hurled from the shattered space.

A pitch-black arrow pierced his left shoulder, carrying him helplessly through the air.

He was shocked—this was the second time someone had broken his escape technique: the first had been Xuanming, who had brutally dragged him out of the void by the throat; this time, he had barely entered the void before an arrow drove him out.

Now Nanluo was like prey locked onto by a hunter, his power surging around him.

Without hesitation, he tried to escape again, but the second arrow was already upon him… With the experience of the first arrow, Nanluo knew that even if he entered the void now, being locked onto, he would be struck again. He had no time to think further; the Azure Sheen Sword flashed from its scabbard.

Clang… Sword met arrow.

A brilliant beam met that shadowy arrow, but Nanluo himself was nowhere to be seen. The moment his sword clashed with the arrow, his body vanished into the void as well.

A violent surge of magic rippled through the void, making it ripple like the surface of water. Nanluo had not managed to escape—not because he didn’t want to, but because he couldn’t. Though he seemed to have vanished into the void, after that fierce clash, he was in no position to flee immediately… If he could buy even a moment to catch his breath, he could slip away with ease.

Though this was his hope, the opponent’s timing was so precise, the shots so swift, that Nanluo had no time even to breathe.

The third arrow was already upon him—a streak of black lightning across the sky, entirely different from the previous two silent shots. This arrow was grand and majestic, carrying the sense that life and death would be decided in a single stroke.

Nanluo naturally sensed this overwhelming might and clenched his teeth, his heart constricted.

As the arrow tore through the void, it seemed to draw in the very energy of heaven and earth, its power growing ever greater. Nanluo wished to escape, but realized that even if he did, the arrow would still strike him—fleeing would only leave him defenseless against its force.

A thought flashed. Yellow mist arose—a faint, swirling haze appeared like a sudden wind.

Nanluo’s power surged wildly, and his mind entered a state of absolute clarity—no heaven, no earth, no thoughts, no fears. All dread of this earth-shattering arrow vanished, and in his eyes, the arrow seemed to slow. His manifestation of the divine merged perfectly, in that instant, with his comprehension of the earth element…

Though the arrow seemed to slow to Nanluo’s perception, in a blink it was upon him, carrying an overwhelming might that froze the very air. The arrow fell like black lightning. Sword energy soared to meet it—a single streak of silvery-white light.

Nanluo felt as if he had become one with the Azure Sheen Sword, inseparable—man and blade, blade and man. In that moment, his bond with this innate sword reached a mysterious state.

Boom…

In an instant, the trees in the forest were flattened as if swept by a tempest, tilting in all directions. At the center, a great pit exhaled the fresh scent of earth; all that remained were two black arrows embedded in the ground. Nanluo himself had vanished without a trace. The arrows, dark as night, seemed to devour all light, radiating a pure murderous intent.

Suddenly, the two arrows trembled and vanished without warning.

On a mountain ridge opposite the site of Nanluo’s attempted assassination, a man in white reached into the void, and the two black arrows fell into his hand. With a twist of his wrist, they disappeared as well.

He was dressed in white as pure as snow, his eyes calm and cold. Had Nanluo seen him, he would have been shocked, for this man’s handsome features rivaled those of Kongxuan, whom Nanluo considered the most beautiful man in all the world.

At his side stood a man in gray, hair and robes matching, shrouded in a gloomy aura—none other than Zhaomian, who had failed to receive the full ancestral inheritance because Nanluo had seized half a drop of the ancestral witch’s blood.

“Houyi, why didn’t you fire a fourth arrow? With one more, he would never have survived,” Zhaomian said, a trace of venom in his eyes as he looked at the man in snowy white. It was unclear whether his malice was aimed at Nanluo or at the man he called Houyi for not firing that fourth arrow.

“I said I would only shoot three,” Houyi replied, still gazing quietly at the place where Nanluo had vanished, not turning his head.

“If you’d put your full strength into each shot, he couldn’t have survived all three,” Zhaomian said darkly.

Houyi remained silent, the mountain breeze lifting a corner of his spotless robe, ethereal and untouched by dust.

“I have my own judgment when I act. With your soul-tracing art, finding him now that he’s wounded will be no trouble at all.” Houyi spoke without turning, his eyes as tranquil as his white robes—utterly still.

“We grew up together. I lost half a drop of blood to outsiders and failed to inherit, yet you won’t help me reclaim it. Fine… Fine… Kuafu won’t help me, and neither will you. Why? Am I worth less than an outsider…” Zhaomian grew more and more agitated, until finally he was shouting, “None of you will help me. I’ll go myself. I’ll take back the half-drop of blood that belongs to me. I’ll become a true great witch myself…”

His eyes bloodshot, he stared fiercely at Houyi’s profile, then flung his gray cloak aside and transformed into a cloud of gray mist, fleeing toward the distant mountains.

Sunlight poured across the sky; a gentle breeze stirred the green hills. Amid the mountains, Houyi’s snowy-white figure was strikingly conspicuous.

Zhaomian did not look back at Houyi, so he did not see the fleeting trace of sorrow in Houyi’s eyes.

“Since childhood, you’ve always wanted us to help you, but have you ever considered our difficulties? You called me out from my seclusion, but how could you know that I was at a crucial point in my cultivation and could not draw my bow? Heh… You never think of such things. You were like this as a child, and you’re still the same now.” Houyi stood quietly upon the mountain, murmuring to himself, as a faint trace of blood crept from the corner of his lips, dripping onto his snowy robe.

His throat worked incessantly, clearly gulping down mouthfuls of blood.