Chapter Forty-Three: A Killing Intent

After only a few steps, Liu Chou’s pendulous ears caught the heavy panting and relentless footsteps behind him. He halted at once, and after a moment’s thought, spun around and leapt swiftly down the steep cliff face!

If you refuse to give up, then come with me into this ashen killing field—let’s see who lives and who dies!

The rocky cliff flashed rapidly before his eyes as Liu Chou extended his hands, driving his iron staff forcefully into the stone. Sparks flew in showers, slowing his descent, so that when he finally landed, he was light as a feather, not making the slightest sound.

But that hardly mattered anymore. The screeching shriek of the iron staff scraping against the cliff had already drawn the attention of the distant cadaverous horde, who surged toward him in a flood.

Moreover, several squads of corpse soldiers from the distant hills broke off, racing to cut him off. From afar, they flanked him, for in their minds, a lone two-legged beast was easier prey—their preferred quarry.

This oncoming squad even rode grotesque monsters resembling giant spiders. Eight long legs propelled them as swiftly as wolves, kicking up thick plumes of dust as they charged forward like a dragon.

Liu Chou was ready. He did not engage head-on, but shot forward at an astonishing speed, weaving between the claws and fangs of countless corpse kin, darting and sprinting with agility.

The attacks of these lower corpses all missed. They turned and howled like beasts, then chased after him, forming a long, writhing tail behind.

Liu Chou’s speed was unmatched; the lesser undead were left far behind in no time. Yet, as he ran, he soon encountered the mounted corpses. Without breaking stride, Liu Chou swept his iron staff upward in a swift arc, thrusting toward them.

The leading rider reacted with startling speed, roaring as he pulled the spider monster’s head up. The beast reared up like a horse, its front legs lashing out and colliding squarely with the iron staff.

Only then did Liu Chou see clearly—the monster was in fact two corpses fused tailbone to tailbone, crawling on all fours, each with a head at either end. Their faces were covered in thick bone armor, their bodies sheathed in mottled red and blue skin as tough as copper coins.

How could Liu Chou possibly clash head-on with such a beast?

His iron staff, rising from below, struck the double-bodied corpse monster at an angle, sending both the beast and its rider flying, hurling them behind Liu Chou like stones to crash heavily into the ground.

With one blow, he sent the corpse flying, then dashed forward in a lightning-fast burst, forcing his way through two more corpse soldiers who tried to encircle him. The iron staff howled as it spun, drawing a black, gleaming arc.

The two mounted corpses tumbled, and before they touched the ground, their heads exploded, scattering blue-and-white matter across the earth.

With their riders dead, the twin-bodied monsters beneath them became headless flies, careening in mindless terror, shattering what little formation the undead had and making it easier for Liu Chou to break through.

He surged forward like a wolf, as more and more mounted corpses converged from all sides, attempting to encircle him again and again. But the iron staff in Liu Chou’s hands was like a death warrant from the King of Hell, trailing black light as it burst the heads of all who came near, leaving a field strewn with corpses.

As he fought with mounting ferocity, the mounted corpses abruptly broke off, opening a path before him. With a great clamor, a new squad appeared—these wore full suits of bone armor.

Their size and height, and the dense armor wrapping their bodies, told Liu Chou these were the heavy infantry of the corpse clan—utterly different from the previous cavalry.

Gritting his teeth, Liu Chou charged forward. The seven or eight armored corpses ahead raised their spine-blades and swung them down with all their might!

Just as the iron staff was about to clash with the spine-blades, Liu Chou’s figure shot upward. He leapt high, and before the slow-witted armored corpse could react, he flipped in midair and brought the staff crashing down upon its forehead with a sharp crack.

The armored corpse slumped to the ground. Liu Chou did not pause; he spun and rolled through the air, his iron staff landing ghostly blows that raised a chorus of wailing screams among the heavy infantry.

A few breaths later, Liu Chou broke free from the mass of corpses, veering slightly toward a sparser area in the distance. Behind him stretched not only the long tail of pursuers but a trail of shattered corpses with burst skulls and broken bones.

Quickly, he broke through another squad’s blockade and temporarily escaped the encirclement. But the lengthening tail of undead never let up, pursuing relentlessly. Liu Chou zigzagged, counterattacked, and sprinted, but their sheer numbers kept him from shaking them off.

A blast of flying sand rose as Liu Chou darted through it. Only the closest pursuers kept up, the rest losing their sense of direction and merely chasing after their fellows. As the sand settled, Liu Chou had widened the gap considerably, and the number of undead at his heels shrank.

Yet nearby, more undead gathered rapidly. Liu Chou once again raised his iron staff.

He understood well—until he reached the next hill, there would be no respite. To survive, he must avoid being pinned down in protracted combat. Stopping meant death; running meant life.

So he ran—he could not stop running…

At the forest’s edge, Tu Hu crouched on a thick branch, squinting into the distance at Liu Chou’s tiny, dark silhouette, his teeth grinding audibly. Liu Chou’s leap had ruined his schemes, leaving him with only two choices: leap down and risk death in the sea of corpses, or retreat around the mountain and let the matter drop.

The earlier fight had been a life-or-death struggle, but that was the madness of bloodlust. Now, calm again, Tu Hu’s mind was clear. He understood his own abilities, and the consequences of continued pursuit. Survival came first, not vengeance.

Heavy footsteps approached from the forest. Shi Xingyi emerged, his face dark, trampling every bush and branch underfoot, grinding them into the mud.

Tu Hu remained half-crouched, but unconsciously his upper body straightened, taut as a spear poised to strike.

Shi Xingyi stopped beneath Tu Hu’s tree, glancing at Liu Chou’s rampaging figure in the wilderness, and sighed. “Why can’t you let him go?”

“Let him go?” Tu Hu’s eyes were bloodshot as he snarled through gritted teeth, “And who will let me go?”

“Wolfish brothers who seek their own ruin have none but themselves to blame,” Shi Xingyi replied calmly. “You resent him so, but it seems you’re only venting your frustration.”

Fury flared in Tu Hu’s heart. Among the camp’s ranks, Tu Hu considered himself no less than Tuo Zhu or Fei Fei, yet Shi Xingyi, though not as strong, always pressed down upon him. Last time, he tolerated it for Tuo Zhu and Fei Fei’s sake, but now, left alone, his resentment surged. His gaze grew hostile as he sneered, “Fine, so I vent my anger. What will you do about it?”

He dropped lightly to the ground, standing before Shi Xingyi with both hands gripping his blade, openly provocative.

“Tu Hu, the Imperial Feather Guard is one of the four great royal guards. Your arrogance is well known and tolerated elsewhere—but this is not elsewhere.” Shi Xingyi slowly drew a pestle from his robes. “Guigu has its own rules. The Valley Master doesn’t mind your brawling, but you’ve flouted the rules too many times. Today, I must teach you a lesson.” His voice dropped lower and lower, until it was barely audible.

The pestle was covered in swirling patterns, its surface dull and gray, utterly unremarkable—more like a trinket than a weapon.

Tu Hu never expected this seemingly harmless man to speak so sternly. He roared in fury, “In that case, let’s see how strong you really are!”

Before the words faded, the black iron blade in his hand slashed down, its flashing arc engulfing Shi Xingyi.

Yet Shi Xingyi surprised him again. Faced with the onslaught, he did not dodge but instead thrust the pestle forward. In an instant, it multiplied into nine shadows, filling the air and raining down on Tu Hu.

With a howl, Tu Hu crashed to the ground, struck hard. He struggled to rise, but the moment he lifted himself, Shi Xingyi flicked his fingers and the flying pestles whirled in the air, their glowing shadows hammering down upon him again.

Tu Hu screamed, collapsing once more. Desperate, he fumbled for his crimson blood elixir, trying to open the flask—but before he could, a pestle flashed by, severing his right hand and the flask together from his wrist.

“Ah—!”

The nine shadows merged back into one, returning to Shi Xingyi’s grasp. He raised the pestle, his face calm as still water, pointing it straight at Tu Hu’s brow.

“No! You can’t kill me! Revered Teacher, spare me! I know I was wrong—I’ll never defy the valley’s rules again!” Overwhelmed by pain and terror, Tu Hu’s will crumbled, and he began to beg for his life, even invoking General Ji’s name to add weight to his plea.

Those accustomed to luxury fear death all the more, and Tu Hu’s ruthlessness toward the weak only revealed the cowardice in his own heart.

Shi Xingyi smiled faintly but said nothing, merely moving the pestle closer.

Seeing his threat fail, Tu Hu seized his final lifeline, shrieking, “I am a captain of the Imperial Feather Guard! Kill me, and you make an enemy of Great Zhou! General Ji will never forgive you—”

Crack!

The pestle shot out, striking Tu Hu squarely on the forehead.

The blow sounded light, but the pestle’s head sank deep into Tu Hu’s skull, blood and white fluid oozing from the edges. Tu Hu’s eyes remained wide open in disbelief, unable to comprehend that Shi Xingyi had truly killed him.

“You still don’t understand what kind of place Guigu is,” Shi Xingyi murmured as he withdrew the pestle. Tu Hu’s brain was now little more than a puddle of pulp. Shi Xingyi took a linen cloth and wiped the pestle clean, continuing, “This place is called Death Valley not just because so many die here, but because all who come are already dead—be they demon, human, or even we teachers. Your General Ji left you behind because, in his heart, you were already dead.”

Slowly, he turned back to the cliff’s edge, gazing at the distant, vanished figure of Liu Chou, and whispered, “Unless, the Valley Master wants you to live…”

The night wind sang its mournful song, wailing and forlorn—so elusive, so full of life and death, seeming both finite and endless. Sorrow welled in the heart. What fate awaits?