Chapter Nine: Nemesis

Heaven and earth stretched vast and desolate, the green mountains towering in silent majesty. Amidst these peaks, Nanluo and the Great Immortal Yangli seemed no more than two grains of sand in the desert, two drops of water in the sea.

Though the Great Immortal Yangli had refused to teach Nanluo the art of earth-escape, Nanluo nevertheless shared with him the technique he had devised to conceal his own presence. In Nanluo’s eyes, he had actually learned much from the Great Immortal Yangli: how to choose places rich in spiritual energy for meditation and cultivation; which spots were best avoided at all costs; the names of various edible fruits; and, more importantly, how some fruits, though alluring, must never be approached, for beneath those trees inevitably lurked guardian beasts that the two of them could never hope to defeat. He had also learned about the ruthless laws of survival in these forests and the balance of power throughout heaven and earth.

The Great Immortal Yangli could not always explain things thoroughly or in detail, yet he managed to sketch for Nanluo an outline of all living things and the shape of the world. In his idle moments, Nanluo even fancied himself as the most knowledgeable shaman of his tribe, imagining the day he would return home to find people of all ages gathered around him, listening with awe and admiration as he recounted the marvels and stories of the world. The thought alone filled Nanluo with delight.

Whenever these imaginings came, a smile would bloom on Nanluo’s face, gentle as the sun of early spring, as mild as the breeze in March.

Yet whenever his hand brushed his own forehead, the smoothness of his skin stirred within him a wild impulse to carve it away. There had been times when Nanluo sought out sharp stones and scored his brow with all his strength, blood streaming down to blind his eyes and cover his face. The pain made him tremble, but there was an exhilaration in his heart, as if it was not himself he was hurting, but those two hateful characters inscribed there.

He dreaded the questions his people would ask about the mark upon his forehead, and did not know how he could possibly explain it.

Yet after only a few days, when the scabs had fallen away, the skin beneath was still smooth, and the reflection in the water showed the same two golden characters, bright and undimmed. Unwilling to give up, Nanluo asked the Great Immortal Yangli if the mark had faded even a little; if it had, he would have continued to scrape at it until it vanished. But the answer was always no—there had been no change at all. Those two characters seemed as though they were burned not into his flesh, but upon his very soul, impervious to any effort from without.

Nanluo and the Great Immortal Yangli had wandered through this boundless Datong for a whole month. In this perilous wilderness, where death might strike at any moment, Nanluo himself had not realized how much he had changed. His aura had become as compact and solid as stone, not sharp or obvious, but muted and elusive—an essential art for survival here. In these mountains, any passing monster would be far stronger than he, so Nanluo had to ensure he did nothing to attract the notice of any demon or beast.

Yet his command over his own power had grown steadily more skillful, and the spiritual energy within his core had grown ever more concentrated.

Nanluo had never imagined that, in these mountains still lush and green even in autumn, he would come upon a mountain made entirely of bare rock. He raised his head to gaze at the immense mass before him, as if a giant beast barred the way.

The mountain was not high, but it was steep, stretching away until it merged with the distant green peaks. Its body seemed split by a single mighty stroke, dividing it into two. In the center was a deep, shadowed ravine, and to either side the mountain extended toward the horizon. Nanluo understood at once that there was only one path forward—through that gorge.

Yet the path filled Nanluo with a chill, as if it were a trap laid bare, inviting the unwary to step in.

The Great Immortal Yangli’s ears twitched nervously, and his eyes darted about; he too was wary of such a passage.

Nanluo glanced at his companion, then at the shadowed path ahead, and thought wryly to himself, “This isn’t a battlefield between tribes, after all. This is the wilderness, filled with monsters who fly through the sky and burrow through the earth, who breathe clouds and mist. Who would lay an ambush here—and for whom?” The thought made him smile at his own paranoia, and he forced down his sense of unease.

He grinned at the Great Immortal Yangli and said, “Let me go ahead and clear the way for you, Great Immortal. Even if there’s danger, with my greenwood staff in hand, I can at least see you safely back out.” The words were a jest; if true danger arose, the Great Immortal Yangli’s earth-escape would give him a far better chance of survival than Nanluo’s staff ever could.

The moment they entered the mountain pass, a chill wind seemed to rise from nowhere, cutting straight to the heart. Just a few steps away, the sun shone bright and clear, yet no warmth reached Nanluo. When he looked up, only a sliver of white sky could be seen.

Nanluo gripped his greenwood staff tighter and summoned his spiritual energy to drive away the cold. He calmed his mind until it was like a stone, unmoving and deep as a still well, yet alert to every movement within ten paces.

One step, two steps, three steps...

The passage was a hundred meters long and barely two wide. Nanluo and the Great Immortal Yangli had crossed half the distance. The Great Immortal could have escaped in an instant, yet insisted on following close behind, even as Nanluo teased him for his caution and he retorted, still remaining at his side.

They were almost through when Nanluo laughed at himself for being so nervous.

A wolf’s howl rang out—deep, sonorous, and unending, faintly stirring the spiritual energy of heaven and earth.

A demon wolf.

The sound sent a tremor through Nanluo, his heart seizing as if caught in a stranger’s grasp.

He knew that howl all too well. In his tribe, night after night, he had dreamt of a white wolf leaping at him. For Nanluo, wolves were like natural enemies, more terrifying than any monster in these mountains.

Before he could decide which way to run, the exit ahead suddenly filled with a mass of gray wolves. Though smaller than the white wolf of his tribe’s rear mountain, they still made his heart clench, his breathing fast and shallow.

Instinctively, Nanluo turned to flee back the way he’d come, only to find the path behind blocked just as tightly by another pack.

He raised his staff, holding it crosswise, and with a flash of decision, resolved to force his way forward.

But as the wolves drew near, the Great Immortal Yangli, who had been trembling all over, suddenly collapsed to the ground, unable to rise.

In alarm, Nanluo cried, “Great Immortal, use your earth-escape—get out, quickly!”

Again the wolves howled, their voices laced with a kind of soul-stealing power, leaving Nanluo dazed and uncertain.

The wolves gave no time to prepare. At a sharp command, the pack surged in from all sides.

Nanluo tried to fight his way toward the exit, but the Great Immortal Yangli lay helpless, trembling with fear so deep it seemed to sap the very strength from his bones. Nanluo could not abandon him.

From above, the mountain pass was filled with a surging mass of great gray wolves, pouring in like waves—yet ordered and disciplined as an army, their momentum overwhelming, their presence awe-inspiring.

Nanluo’s heart sank further and further. His greenwood staff glowed with a faint blue light.