Chapter 130: A Strange Dream

It turned out the fox spirit wanted me to rescue her husband. Though she was a demon with six centuries of cultivation, she still couldn’t transform fully into human form. The fox spirit kept bowing repeatedly, saying, “Thank you, noble hero, for saving this little fox’s life! Your great kindness and virtue will never be forgotten! I have one more favor to ask—please rescue my husband who is trapped in the World Alliance!”

I said to her, “Please get up first, then we’ll talk.”

Yet the fox spirit was resolute; if I didn’t agree to rescue her husband, she threatened to dash herself to death before me. To prevent her from acting rashly, I reluctantly agreed to her request for the time being. According to the fox spirit, her family of four had once lived peacefully, away from worldly conflicts. One day, however, a man named Chu Jun arrived with a large contingent into their forest. She and her husband were playing with their two children when suddenly a group surrounded them. Her husband fiercely protected the children, but no matter that their combined cultivation spanned a thousand years, they were no match for Chu Jun’s brutal power. Her husband was captured, and one of the little foxes was cruelly slain by Chu Jun, merely to examine the toughness of their fox fur. Finding it exceptionally resilient, Chu Jun took her husband away, while the fox spirit, shielded by her husband’s desperate defense, managed to escape.

After settling the little fox, the fox spirit tracked Chu Jun and his men all the way to the World Alliance. There, she saw her husband locked in a cage, guarded daily by soldiers who whipped him and then applied ointments to his wounds. She could feel the agony her husband endured. Once, seizing a guard shift change, she sneaked in, intending to bite through the iron cage and rescue him. But the cage was strangely strong—far beyond her abilities—and she narrowly escaped capture.

Her seventh heavenly tribulation was approaching. Surviving it would allow her to transform into a human form. But the tribulation was terrifying; she knew she had to strengthen herself first to stand a chance. She targeted the Feathered People—a large, weakly defended group—because the only way to quickly boost her cultivation was by consuming human blood. Amid the world’s chaos, humans were scarce, so although the Feathered People’s blood was inferior, drinking enough could help her resist the tribulation. Her goal was to survive the tribulation and then rescue her husband.

This was a difficult matter. Just now, Shi Liu had said that Chu Jun’s strength was unmatched. Even if the fox spirit survived the tribulation, she could not hope to defeat him. I knew going there would be futile—and might even cost me my life. If Shi Liu hadn’t left, I could have asked for his help, but now he was gone without a trace; finding him was impossible. I regretted agreeing so hastily to the fox spirit’s plea. Perhaps Shi Liu’s warning wasn’t wrong—sometimes one must not be overly sentimental. But once you promise, it’s a matter of principle to see it through.

I told the fox spirit, “This won’t be easy. Wait for my news. It’s almost dawn; I’ll visit the World Alliance tonight.” In truth, I had planned to go there anyway. After being away for a whole day, I needed to check if Feng Shen and his people had withdrawn. If they hadn’t, knowing Chu Jun’s nature, he wouldn’t let them go easily. Most importantly, I feared Feng Shen might betray Qin Tian and the Feathered Realm, which would be disastrous.

The fox spirit bowed once again upon hearing this, then led the little fox into a cave. With that matter tentatively settled, I returned to Forget-Worry Valley. On the way, I met the strategist and others. I have to say, their pace was frustratingly slow. I briefly explained the situation to the strategist, hoping he could come up with a better plan. After some thought, he told me he’d have advice by tomorrow.

Back in the Feathered People’s tribe, I collapsed onto my bed, exhausted from the day’s exertions. Lying there felt especially comfortable. I don’t know how long I slept, but suddenly a nightmare jolted me awake. I rubbed my eyes and looked out the window; it was still dark. I dressed and got out of bed. The flickering candlelight stirred the dream’s images again in my mind. In the dream, I was falling endlessly, about to hit the ground. Then I saw a large house nearby, its roof covered with glazed tiles. Sitting atop the roof was a woman whose profile seemed familiar. Suddenly, she turned her head—and she had no face. I woke up with a start.

I shook my head, trying to dismiss the strange dream. This was the second time I’d dreamed of that woman—the difference being she turned her head this time. Woken by the nightmare, sleep eluded me. I decided to focus my mind on reviewing the first volume of the Demonic Art Manual. I had all three volumes, but hadn’t even finished comprehending the first. The Demonic Art’s thirty-six techniques, the first stage of Mountain-Dancing, and the first stage of Netherfire each had nine levels. As for volumes two and three, I hadn’t even looked at them—not because I didn’t want to, but because I hadn’t reached the highest state in the first volume, making the others inaccessible. Seeing Shi Liu’s display of divine power today stirred my determination to cultivate the Demonic Art.

For some reason, unlike Chu Jun who thirsted desperately for power, I no longer felt such urgency. That initial passion and perseverance I had upon entering this strange world seemed lost. So I resolved to intensify my cultivation of the Demonic Art starting today. I needed to catch up, for who knew what dangers awaited me? In this unstable era, without immense strength, accomplishing anything was nearly impossible.

I decided to perfect the Demonic Art’s thirty-six techniques first. They resembled a legendary lost martial art—each move graceful and powerful. While not quite capable of destroying the heavens and earth, they could easily defeat hundreds of foes, which was why I favored them.

Closing my eyes, I let the Demonic Art flow rapidly through my mind. The image of a long-haired man appeared again from the text. Whenever I practiced, he always appeared. I didn’t know why, but his figure felt oddly familiar. The same sets of moves—fist techniques, staff maneuvers, footwork—spun before my eyes in a dazzling display. I couldn’t help but mimic his motions, repeating this cycle countless times until the first rays of dawn cast light into the room. Then I ended my practice and stepped outside.

The morning air was exceptionally fresh. I took a deep breath and was about to seek the strategist to hear his ideas when a faint glimmer on the mountainside caught my attention.