Chapter 52: The Western Hunt

As the night swallowed the final embers of the setting sun, Tushan Qingmei, accompanied by Seventh Uncle and Ninth Aunt, stepped upon the reeds of the ferry and emerged at the edge of the Qinling Mountains. There, upon the summit of a sheer cliff overlooking their path home, they discovered a solitary, desolate figure.

The man’s long spear was thrust casually into the hard rock, appearing like a withered, rotting branch, yet it pierced the stone as easily as a blade through soft marrow. His arms, encased in dark armor, were crossed over his chest. The spear stood straight and tall like an ancient pine, its blade shimmering with a cold, ghostly light, while the deep grooves of its texture held an indelible scent of blood. Strapped to his back was an ancient bow; the exposed portion of its frame looked crude and unrefined, covered in jagged edges and thorns. It was a grotesque, snarling sight, centered around a gaping skull with bared, fearsome fangs.

He wore no helmet, revealing a handsome face that was deathly pale. Though he appeared young, his temples were already streaked with hair as white as snow. His eyes were deep as pools, and as his locks fluttered in the night wind, they seemed to carry the weight of an eternal age.

When Qingmei and her companions appeared, he stood motionless, gazing into the distance. Only when they drew near and he sensed Seventh Uncle and Ninth Aunt beginning to slow down did he slowly extend a hand, squinting slightly, and beckon with his finger.

Seventh Uncle exchanged a quick look with Ninth Aunt, searching for an escape route, but Qingmei sighed heavily and said, "Descend."

"His strength is unfathomable. The old servants fear we are no match for him..." Seventh Uncle whispered, his voice trembling—not out of cowardice toward this qi-practitioner, but from the heart-wrenching fear of being unable to protect his mistress.

"There is no escaping," Qingmei replied, her voice calm and devoid of change. Now that the enemy had appeared, her fear had actually diminished. Knowing there was no way out, she found a sense of stillness in her heart: "That bow on his back is the Qiankun Bow."

"The Qiankun Bow!" The faces of the old man and old woman shifted instantly. "Is he... the King of Hunting the West?"

"Indeed. He is Li Zhengbei of the Chen Tang Li family, enfeoffed as the King of Hunting the West by the founding monarch of the Great Zhou. He is also a descendant of those who remained in the mortal realm under the patronage of the Immortals," Qingmei answered softly. She smiled, a trace of despondency in her expression. "Let us descend! Even a Great Demon would struggle to escape the Qiankun Bow and the Heaven-Shaking Arrow, let alone us."

With faces ashen, Seventh Uncle and Ninth Aunt slowly lowered their cloud, descending toward the mountain peak.

The Great Zhou conferred many titles of prince and marquis, generally categorized into three types: the civil officials who were ennobled to serve in the court; the military officials who led armies as generals, such as the four great clans—Ji, Huang, Nangong, and Su—who relied on ancestral blessings to guard the borders; and the final category, who held titles but did not lead armies, serving only to suppress the realm.

The world refers to them as the "Kingdom-Suppressing Princes."

Among them are the descendants of Jiang Shang, the Great Zhou’s founding chancellor, a Kunlun qi-practitioner and Master of the Investiture of the Gods; the descendants of the Li family, guardians of Chentang Pass, where four members ascended to immortality, the father led the heavenly troops, and three sons became immortal generals; the descendants of Erlang Shen Yang Jian, who practiced at Guanjiangkou and followed only the calling of the heavens; the descendants of Tu Xingsun and Deng Chanyu, masters of earth-escape; the descendants of Hong Jin and Princess Longji, united by heavenly marriage; and the descendants of Grand Tutor Wen, who wielded dual whips and rode a dragon-horse, leading the Shang army against the demon race to guard the vast southern territories.

The ancestors of these six kings were no ordinary beings, but the elite among qi-practitioners, leaving behind countless techniques. Thus, at the founding of the nation, the Grand Tutor petitioned King Wu to appoint their descendants as Kingdom-Suppressing Princes. They led no armies and fought only demons; though named for "suppressing the kingdom," their true purpose was "suppressing demons."

Even the Grand Tutor’s own descendants, while titled as the heads of the Tianshan Escape, held only nominal positions, for this very reason.

The six kings represent the most powerful qi-practitioners of the Great Zhou, holding an exalted status. While their strength has varied through the ages, this generation is led by the Li family descendant, the current King of Hunting the West, Li Zhengbei, and the Yang family descendant, the current King of Binding the Abyss, Yang Muxi. It is said they have reached the realm of Heaven and Man, and could ascend to immortality whenever they choose.

Since the man before them was Li Zhengbei, it was certain that the Qiankun Bow and Heaven-Shaking Arrow—the formidable artifacts that had once slain the Lady Shiji—were within reach. Even with the Purple-Gold Gourd and the Jade Purifying Vase, Seventh Uncle and Ninth Aunt were surely no match for him.

When the levels of cultivation differ, even with artifacts, one can hardly unleash their full potential.

As the King of Hunting the West, Li Zhengbei’s domain had naturally been moved to the northwest. He did not reside in a city but lived in seclusion; when a great demon appeared, the King of Hunting the West would never stand idle.

The three demons landed before Li Zhengbei. Qingmei’s white dress fluttered wildly in the night wind, making her a striking figure. They stopped at a distance of about three zhang. The two "half-step" Great Demons were filled with vigilance, but Qingmei showed no fear. Facing the overwhelming pressure of the King of Hunting the West, she asked, "Senior, have you been waiting here for us?"

"Do you know how many people you have killed this time?" The King of Hunting the West’s voice was cold as frost, devoid of any emotion. He ignored her question, addressing both demons directly.

The two demons stiffened, their bodies trembling as if unable to withstand the night wind. It was not fear of death, but the sudden, immense pressure and the overwhelming stench of blood that descended upon them—as if the entire Shura hell had been pressed upon their shoulders.

After a long silence, the old man, Tu, spoke in a withered voice: "War always demands lives. Not only the human race, but our demon race has suffered immense casualties as well..." His voice grew smaller, and his shaking intensified, for as he spoke, a flash of anger bled through that pressure, revealing the King’s displeasure.

"Do you know how many people you have killed this time?" the King repeated, his tone and pitch unchanged, his voice so cold it felt as though it were freezing.

The old woman’s words died in her throat. Seventh Uncle took a deep breath and said, "More than fifty-five thousand. Those who escaped were fewer than a thousand. So, let it be that we killed fifty-four thousand humans!"

The King of Hunting the West was silent for a moment before saying, "You should not have killed them."

The old woman let out a cold, sharp laugh. "Whether we should have or not matters little; they are already dead!" Her words were rigid, but a close observer would see her hands gripping her staff so tightly that her knuckles had turned white. She was struggling to suppress the trembling of her body, forcing these defiant words out before the King.

The King of Hunting the West looked at her, then suddenly turned his head toward Qingmei. His voice was cold and clear, yet carried a hint of warmth compared to his tone with the others: "The Tushan clan, or the Qingqiu clan?"

"The Tushan clan, Tushan Qingmei." Qingmei also felt that icy, crushing pressure. She dared not make a single move, nor utter an extra word beyond his question; even her breath had halted under the extreme duress.

"The Tushan clan... the Tushan clan..." the King murmured, falling into deep thought.

Only then did Qingmei feel the pressure ease. She drew a breath, while the two half-step Great Demons felt a moment of respite. They exchanged glances, their minds racing: Should they strike? Should they flee?

Just as they thought the King would continue, he suddenly reached out his right hand and picked up the Qiankun Bow. Simultaneously, the two demons drew the Purple-Gold Gourd and the Jade Purifying Vase, stepping forward to shield Qingmei.

Were they going to fight?

Contrary to all expectations, the King of Hunting the West did not look at the three demons, nor did he draw an arrow. He simply held the bow against his chest and pressed his left hand against the string.

As his fingers plucked the string, it resonated. Though it was merely the sound of a string, to the three demons, it sounded like endless wailing and cries filling the sky. In an instant, the sound flooded their minds, as if someone had suddenly shoved an entire world into their brains. It was an agonizing, swelling sensation, filled with boundless pain and a trembling that reached the depths of their souls.

The sound of the string was clanging and resonant, like clouds flying past or a great river surging and churning. Within the sea of clouds, there was nothing but endless mourning and desperate cries.

Qingmei was instantly overwhelmed. Though she could not comprehend the sound, it seized her, suppressing her, leaving her unable to resist or escape. She could only let it tear through her mind.

The other two demons, having higher cultivation, were not so helpless. They struggled to resist, only to be horrified to find their hearts had become one with the sound of the string. They could not break free; any attempt to struggle brought excruciating, heart-rending pain.

If the mere movement of the string could do this, the gap in their cultivation was truly as wide as heaven and earth.

Just as the three demons were on the verge of collapse, the sound ceased. From start to finish, there were only seven plucks and twenty-one notes, yet to the three demons, it felt as though years had passed.

The King of Hunting the West flipped the Qiankun Bow onto his back and extended a hand. The massive spear flew from the rock into his grip like a dragon. He said flatly, "Follow me. I will not kill you."

Qingmei dared not speak, but she exhaled in relief. Her strength and spirit were utterly drained. Having experienced the power of the string, she realized how immense the strength of this human truly was—a power so unreachable that not only could she not fight him, but perhaps a single glance from him could claim her life.

"No..."

Seventh Uncle and Ninth Aunt had suffered heavier injuries than Qingmei. The resonance of the string had struck their hearts, causing not just mental pressure but internal damage. The scent of rusted blood rose from within them. Though their internal injuries were not fatal, they had temporarily lost the strength to resist. Yet, hearing that the King intended to take Qingmei, the old woman forced herself to stand and defied him: "Unless you kill us..."

"Ninth Aunt!" Qingmei cut her off. "Since the King of Hunting the West is taking me, he will not kill me!"

"But, Mistress..."

"There are no 'buts'!" Qingmei looked up at the old woman. Her face, which had been deathly pale from the shock, now flushed with an unnatural, rouge-like hue due to her injuries. Her gaze toward the old woman was complex and deep, filled with unspoken words: "Since he will not kill me, what does it matter if he takes me? Even if you and Seventh Uncle die here, it will change nothing. Why throw your lives away in vain?"

"This..."

"Go back!" Qingmei did not give the old woman a chance to speak. "Do not save me, do not worry about me, just return to Tushan!"

"Go, return to Tushan!"