Chapter 22: Illusory Forms, Human Heads

To be honest, this was the first time Ji Ming had ever attempted to harvest vital essence, and he was utterly inexperienced, unsure even where to begin. He had heard the fox spirits say that some shape-shifting foxes would often transform into elegant scholars or delicate maidens, lying together on the couch with humans, engaging in intimate pleasures and easily extracting essence in the process. This sort of yin-yang harvesting was considered the gentler kind. Other monsters, wild and untamed, cared little for such niceties; with a mere gust of sand and stones, they could seize ordinary mortals, dragging them into their lairs to extract essence at will.

Upon seeing Ji Ming, the short man’s lingering drowsiness vanished instantly. His hand instinctively reached for his waist, but he had neglected to bring his weapon. Ji Ming stood poised on one leg, wings flaring out as he rode the chill wind, and in a blink, he was upon the short man. As he closed in, a sharp talon stabbed violently into the man's cheek, twisting deep inside. A tongue of blood, mingled with saliva, seeped from the torn wound.

“Ah—!” The short man’s mouth gaped wide as he toppled backward, issuing frantic cries. Ji Ming clamped a claw over his mouth; even without a tongue, a man could still produce such a loud sound. The short man struggled fiercely, thrashing his legs and arms. Ji Ming summoned the chill wind, pouring it through the man’s mouth and nose into his brain. In an instant, the man’s eyes rolled upward, dizziness overtaking him from the cold. Ji Ming’s wings beat relentlessly, and with the wind flooding his brain at such close range, it wasn’t long before the man lost consciousness and ceased struggling.

“What’s happening out there?” A sleepy voice called from inside the house. Hearing this, Ji Ming, though he had subdued the short man, chose to retreat for safety’s sake, resolving to seek another opportunity for harvesting. If the people inside were alerted, he feared he would not escape their combined assault.

“An inauspicious start,” Ji Ming thought. He had assumed that, as a spirit, harvesting from mortals would be effortless, but the reality proved fraught with difficulties. The fundamental reason was his own strength. Though a spirit, he lacked the cultivation to ignore blades and arrows; a breath of chill wind at most gave mortals a mild cold.

Just as he prepared to fly away, a window on the corridor wall creaked open, and a pale-faced girl peered out. Her eyes were gray—not from the color of her irises, but from the hopeless, lifeless shade reflected in her soul. She leaned upon the sill like a moving corpse. It was no surprise; she had surely been abducted by this band of vagrants and kept in their stronghold for their pleasure.

“Just a stray cat,” the girl said, gazing deeply at Ji Ming from the window, her voice indifferent. Soon, the room was filled once more with snores. Ji Ming folded his wings, ducked his head under the girl’s stare, and pressed his beak against the short man’s ruined face. Though bloody, it was unavoidable, and as the man was nothing more than a beast in Ji Ming’s eyes, he felt little guilt.

He drew a deep breath, extracting only the lingering air from the man’s mouth and nose. Another, deeper breath, and finally, he drew out the man’s vitality. As the harvesting continued, visible essence was drawn from his mouth and nose. After about an hour, the short man lying in the corridor had become a shriveled corpse.

With the harvesting complete, Ji Ming felt wholly restored. His feathers were once again glossy black, his muscles firm and powerful, and, most importantly, he had advanced in his transformation. Essence flowed through his flesh and blood, nourishing him—a strange and intense sensation, the feeling of “being human once more.” His head tingled, as if cooled by a gentle breeze.

“Your face?” The girl behind the window whispered in surprise. Upon Ji Ming’s crow head, a blurry, dust-like visage had formed, granting him the touch of humanity. Harvesting essence proved not just effective, but transformative.

Overjoyed, Ji Ming glanced toward the room behind the window. The girl asked numbly, “Do you... want to come in?” Ji Ming nodded, then shook his head. He spread his wings, leaped onto the window sill, and scanned the room. On the bed slept two naked, robust men.

With a crunch, Ji Ming’s claws shredded the wooden sill, sending splinters flying. “Three against one—beasts, every one!” he thought. After calming himself, Ji Ming searched the room; there was not a single weapon. Clearly, during their debauchery, the men had left their blades outside, fearing the girl might seize them in a moment of desperation.

Ji Ming looked at the girl, whispered something, and summoned a gust of chill wind, lifting a corner of the blanket on the bed. One of the men shivered, opened bleary eyes, and muttered the short man’s name. With no response, he grew more alert and glanced at the girl by the window.

Her robe half-open, the moonlight falling from the sill traced every inch of her skin, casting a cold glow that stirred the man’s lust anew. He did not wake his companion nor bother to dress. He motioned for the girl to keep silent—better pleasure alone than shared—and carefully left the bed, leading her out and pinning her against the corridor railing.

The corridor was dim; the man could only rely on moonlight. Suddenly, his foot slipped, nearly sending him sprawling. He looked down to find a sticky puddle, uncertain what it was. He reached down, smeared it, and examined it under the moonlight—his mouth gaping in shock.

As he opened his mouth to cry out, a talon flashed inside, slicing away flesh. Ji Ming repeated his method, flooding the man’s mind with chill wind and rendering him unconscious, then quickly harvested his essence. This time, the process was completed in a third less time.

Afterward, the crow’s human face grew more distinct. Only one man remained in the room; Ji Ming, with nothing left to fear, flew inside and harvested him as well.

After harvesting the third man, Ji Ming’s appearance shifted: he now possessed a delicate human head, an uncanny and bizarre sight. He looked at the girl who had helped him, and she gazed quietly back.

She crouched outside the door, observing his face, and asked calmly, “Does the king still wish to kill the thieves?”

“I do,” Ji Ming replied.

“There are several packets of narcotic powder in the warehouse. If the king makes a commotion tonight, I can obtain them and assist you in secret.”

“Good!” Ji Ming readily trusted the girl—or more precisely, he trusted the power of hatred.

With a crash, Ji Ming burst through the window, his sudden movement lighting up the entire warehouse. Armed lackeys poured from every room, torches and blades in hand.

“Human filth!” Ji Ming thought, watching the crowd below with disgust. He swooped down, killing a lackey with a single claw. The warehouse guards, seeing his human face, were terrified beyond measure, allowing Ji Ming to slaughter them at will.

Eventually, a strongman among them gave orders for the elite to ready their bows. With arrows flying, Ji Ming had to circle in the sky, harrying them so they found no peace all night.

At dawn, he returned to the pond’s edge. Ji Ming gazed at his reflection, pondering the human head atop his shoulders. Even after assuming this illusionary form, he was still chased like a common thief.

Nevertheless, with the girl’s assistance, harvesting would surely go more smoothly in the future; his cultivation would advance greatly. Should his illusionary form be perfected, there was much to hope for.

Yet the path of harvesting carried heavy karmic consequences. He knew it would soon attract demon-hunters and guardians of the way, who would battle him ceaselessly.

Such consequences were already in Ji Ming’s calculations. Perhaps a year or so later, the treasured eye would reveal the character “moist,” and even if his harvesting was exposed, he would have nothing to fear.

Now, his only concern was finding a suitable “moist life subject,” one that could easily survive for two years. Would it be a cicada? A spider? A centipede? A queen bee? Or an ant queen? Or something else entirely?