Chapter 56: Tsurugami, The Stone Spirit Casket

When they had flown a good distance and were nearing the place where the Golden-Nib Monkey awaited, Ji Ming slowed his pace a little. The man in the red helmet had not pursued them; it appeared he had retreated back into the smoky cavern. So Ji Ming descended.

“How did it go?” the Golden-Nib Monkey asked.

Ji Ming was just about to reply when he saw the Great Monk raise a hand. From his wide sleeve shot a flying cord, which darted into a nearby thicket.

When the cord returned, it brought forth a centipede, longer than an arm and glistening like blood-red jade.

The blood-jade centipede, bound fast by the cord, recoiled and contracted its armored body, but the cord contracted along with it, holding it tightly all the same.

Ji Ming eyed the Great Monk with some trepidation; this flying cord was a perfect counter to the art of Small Transformations.

“A centipede immortal!” exclaimed the Great Monk. He could tell at a glance that this was no ordinary wild centipede spirit, but one that had been carefully cultivated by a practitioner.

“Let me handle this,” said the Golden-Nib Monkey, sensing the Great Monk’s reluctance to offend a member of the Panku Sect, and thus prepared to intervene.

“Wait,” Ji Ming said, his antennae twitching as he stared at the bound blood-jade centipede. He thought privately, “This is a windfall that costs me no effort.”

“Would you let me handle this centipede immortal?” Ji Ming asked.

The Golden-Nib Monkey seemed to misunderstand and hurriedly said, “I have no dealings with the Panku Sect—if we cross them, so be it, I don’t fear it. But you, brother centipede, are different. Should the Panku Mountain discover this, unless you flee far north to the Ochre Bear Continent, you’ll be hunted down without fail.”

“I won’t hide it from you—it is of great use to me,” Ji Ming replied.

The Great Monk murmured a Buddhist invocation, pretending to keep out of it.

“Very well!” The Golden-Nib Monkey, apparently persuaded, opened his mouth and spat out a small jade box cold as ice. “This Stone-Frost Box severs the connection between the centipede immortal and its master, forcing it into a slumber and sealing its life force.”

“Golden-Nib Monkey!” The Great Monk was startled by his generosity. “That box is marvelous—have you thought this through? Do you really want to give it away?”

The Golden-Nib Monkey’s expression stiffened as he looked at the Great Monk, thinking, “When did I say I was giving it to our centipede brother?” Priding himself on his generosity and reputation, he could not back down after such display, so he forced a smile. “Good brother, this is my duty.”

“Good brother, how could you!” Ji Ming was deeply moved, taking the Stone-Frost Box into his hands and caressing its cool, smooth surface carefully.

“Heh…” The Golden-Nib Monkey forced a laugh, beginning to feel his act wearing thin and somewhat exhausted.

Ji Ming lifted the Stone-Frost Box and said, “You have helped me much already, brother—how could I keep this for myself? I will use it for now and return it to you when I am done.”

The Golden-Nib Monkey wanted to say more, but Ji Ming’s resolve was clear, and he could only give up in resignation.

Standing aside, the Great Monk observed Ji Ming’s every move. For a centipede spirit, his way of handling things seemed simple, yet concealed deep cunning. If he did this a few more times, the Golden-Nib Monkey might be moved enough to give up everything for him.

“Master!” Ji Ming opened the box and called out to the Great Monk.

The Great Monk collected himself, glanced at Ji Ming, and then used his flying cord to send the bound blood-jade centipede into the box.

Closing the lid, they could see, through the ice-like jade of the box, the writhing red shape inside gradually growing still.

Ji Ming was delighted; this blood-jade centipede alone made the trip worthwhile.

In his happiness, he did not forget to recount what he had seen atop the mountain, especially the man with the red helmet adorned with gilt kui patterns.

The Great Monk, well connected in these lands, knew at once who this man was when Ji Ming described the distinctive helmet. Even the Golden-Nib Monkey, though he often cultivated in the rivers, had heard of this Panku Sect practitioner.

At that moment, both the Great Monk and the Golden-Nib Monkey bore a shadow of gravity on their faces.

“Who is he?” Ji Ming, noticing their expressions, set aside his joy and asked.

“He is destined to rise as a great cultivator of the Panku Sect. His achievements and the arts he’s created are clumsily imitated by countless snake-raising practitioners. He is called… the Crimson Lord.”

“What level?” Ji Ming asked again.

Reputation meant little to him; only a cultivator’s actual attainment would serve as a reference.

“Second stage!” replied the Golden-Nib Monkey, then added gravely, “But his prowess in battle is enough to rival those of the third stage. Even among demons and old monsters, one must treat him with utmost caution.”

“Someone’s coming!” The Great Monk suddenly spoke, fixing his gaze on a point in the sky.

Ji Ming looked up. Overhead, a large bird was soaring swiftly, skimming the clouds and landing directly on the stony riverbank.

“Wen Daoyu!”

The Daoist before him was the very one with whom he had fled in separate directions—unexpectedly, he had followed them here.

The Daoist landed as lightly as a feather, displaying profound inner strength. He stood on one foot, wings outspread, revealing to all a perfect M-shape.

Among his pure white feathers, there was a streak of black—crane’s plumes, lending him an air of otherworldliness.

His plain robe bore signs of smoke and fire, though it had not been torn. This attested that, though he had fought with the Crimson Lord and could not overcome him, he was not far behind in strength.

“Great Monk, Lord Golden-Nib…” Wen Daoyu greeted them with a courteous bow, his bearing upright and serene. “I ask your assistance in purging the evil miasma from Taiping Mountain.”

“He’s a disciple of Crane View,” the Golden-Nib Monkey transmitted quietly to Ji Ming.

“Crane View, Panku, Celestial Men, and the Four Sorrows Monastery…” Ji Ming mused. In his mind, it felt as though the pieces were falling into place, and he was close to uncovering his ancestral master’s purpose.

Wen Daoyu knew how abrupt his request was, and that it might seem like an attempt at coercion, so he made his tone even more conciliatory. “Some of my junior brothers are trapped in that cavern, blocked by disciples of the Panku Sect led by the Crimson Lord. If you have any means, I would not trouble you.”

His sincerity softened the Great Monk’s face, who was about to reply, but Ji Ming spoke first.

“Wen… Daoist friend!” Ji Ming called out. Hearing this, Wen Daoyu looked squarely at Ji Ming for the first time.

As a disciple of a great sect, Wen Daoyu’s cultivation of temperament was deep. Though he felt a twinge of discomfort at being addressed so familiarly by a wild spirit, he lowered himself and said, “If you have any advice, I will gladly accept it.”

“You truly have the bearing of a great sect, Daoist friend,” said the Golden-Nib Monkey, delighted that his centipede brother was not slighted, and his opinion of Wen Daoyu greatly improved. He understood better than Ji Ming the status of mountain spirits among humans—put bluntly, they were little more than fodder for pill making.

“Do you not know that the monks of Four Sorrows Monastery are close by? Since you are both men of Taiping Mountain, should you not seek their help first?”

At these words, Wen Daoyu’s expression changed, his crane’s wings drawing in slightly, and his gaze at Ji Ming grew a touch colder.

“What you say is reasonable, but my junior brothers are on the brink of peril. How could I waste time seeking help from outside the mountain instead of acting quickly?”

The Golden-Nib Monkey was anxious, not knowing why his centipede brother was acting this way. If they really involved the monks from Four Sorrows Monastery, how would they win the competition for the Celestial Man who blocked their path?

The Great Monk pressed his palms together and chanted softly, as if uninvolved.

“The Daoist Zhenguo from Four Sorrows Monastery is in the mountain of Perilous Birds even now, and you, Wen Daoyu, did not know?” Ji Ming suddenly said.