Chapter 67: The Bald Brush, Wildly Arrogant

The Whitebone Heart-Gathering Pearl shot out of the water, swirling rapidly. Compared to just moments before, it had grown to the size of a longan fruit, gleaming with a brilliant blue-green hue. The eerie green light it emitted spilled across the surface of the pool, making the place seem like a demonic realm of monsters.

Black, howling winds screamed, heaving the waves high before slamming them down again. In the span of a few breaths, a thin layer of ice had already formed over the pool. Ji Ming stared in disbelief, his eyes wide—he could hardly accept that this was his Whitebone Heart-Gathering Pearl.

“What a treasure!” Ji Ming exclaimed, reaching out. The pearl, spinning madly above the pool, dropped into his palm, and he almost failed to catch it. He thought to himself, “It’s much heavier now!”

Indeed, the pearl was several times heavier than before; holding it was like grasping an iron ball—if he were to hurl it, it could easily kill a man.

The Golden Lion Ape was still panting, not yet recovered. He moved closer to Ji Ming’s long hand, staring intently at the pearl radiating its precious light.

“This pearl...” he said after a long pause, squeezing out a grudging compliment, “is not bad.”

“Naturally,” Ji Ming replied, causing the Golden Lion Ape to breathe even more heavily. After a moment, Ji Ming continued, “Still, compared to your Coral Blossom Ring, it’s not quite there yet.”

The Golden Lion Ape nodded in agreement. “That’s a fair assessment.”

Ji Ming knew that among the Golden Lion Ape’s two treasured implements, the Coral Blossom Ring—unlike the Wave-Splitting Blade, which was handed down from his elder brother—was his true weapon. Yet its strength lay in defense, which, for someone as fond of close combat as the Golden Lion Ape, was not as practical as the Wave-Splitting Blade.

“But...” Ji Ming changed tack, making the Golden Lion Ape tense up.

“But what?”

“But if I consecrate this pearl with bone relics, it may rival your Coral Blossom Ring. And if I carefully refine it further, perhaps it will gain a trace of sentience, become attuned to my will—then it might even surpass yours.”

“Ah!” The Golden Lion Ape wailed, scratching his head in agitation. If his centipede brother’s treasure was inferior, he felt uneasy; if it was superior, he felt even worse. He tore the golden-scaled Coral Blossom Ring from his neck and thrust it into Ji Ming’s arms, urgently saying, “Take my ring! Teach me your method for refining treasures, and I’ll make one even better.”

Ji Ming, holding the ring, was amused by the ape’s easy fluster. “Brother Golden Lion, it’s just a refining method. We’re brothers—no need for such formality.” He placed the ring back around the Golden Lion Ape’s neck.

Ji Ming then withdrew his hands and adjusted his robe, feeling a strange sensation he couldn’t quite name.

“Oh, I...” The Golden Lion Ape’s heart was warmed. Only after meeting this centipede brother did he realize the depth of true camaraderie in the world.

Ji Ming recited the refining method, and the Golden Lion Ape listened intently, face solemn. Even as the River God’s son, the Golden Lion Ape’s knowledge of such arts was limited, making him appreciate the immense value of what he was being taught. After all, under the vast heavens, the paths of cultivation held tightly to the mantra: secrets are not lightly passed, nor arts lightly shared.

“In a few days, I must travel to a certain place to prepare for the consecration of my artifact,” Ji Ming finally said. “Will you come with me?”

The Golden Lion Ape was tempted, but then reconsidered. The ritual of consecration involved the artifact’s deepest secrets—it would not do to have outsiders witness it.

“No, I have matters to attend to at my river dwelling. I won’t come along.”

“That’s fine.” Ji Ming understood his friend’s concerns. The fact that he’d considered them at all was proof enough of his loyalty.

***

After parting with the Golden Lion Ape, Ji Ming lingered in the area until nightfall before unfurling his thin wings and flying toward Bald Brush Peak.

Having absorbed the Yin Fiend Spring into his Whitebone Heart-Gathering Pearl, Ji Ming’s plan was to first consecrate the artifact, then refine it further—steady progress would yield a true treasure. Consecration required bone relics, but the refining process demanded a vast sum of wealth.

As for where to obtain such wealth, Ji Ming, after some thought, decided it would have to come from Monk Dayou. Since the monk’s death, no one of his stature had emerged at the monastery atop the peak; after all, in the scattered ranks of rogue cultivators around Hengshan, producing a monk like Dayou was already a sign of Buddhist fortune.

Taking some treasures from there would be as easy as reaching into a sack. As the saying goes, if you help someone, see it through to the end—if Monk Dayou knew in the underworld, he likely wouldn’t blame Ji Ming much.

After about half an hour, Ji Ming circled down near Bald Brush Peak. Suddenly, he recalled that he had already plucked nearly all the riches from the Hengshan region—from the Fox Society to Lord Bony Mud, none had been spared. Now, the last untouched place was the monastery atop Bald Brush Peak, soon to become his next “victim.”

He wondered when he’d developed this habit of never letting a goose fly by without plucking a feather—but as a mountain spirit and monster, he had no choice but to pinch every penny. Perhaps, when he became wealthy in the future, this character would improve.

He produced three spirit tablets and, after releasing the three little ghosts within, instructed them carefully, “Focus on moving the most precious artifacts from the monastery—ignore everything else.”

The three ghosts wailed from within their tablets, afraid to venture deep into the peak.

“Don’t be afraid.” Ji Ming produced his last three talismanic food charms. “I’ll cause a commotion up above to draw attention. You take the opportunity to do your work.”

The three ghosts still hesitated, crying softly.

Ji Ming’s face darkened as he raised the pearl. Within it, a vortex spun, and gusts of fiendish wind blasted out, striking the ghosts within their tablets. Their shadows twisted and convulsed on the ground, wailing in pain.

Ji Ming did not cease the fiend wind, holding the blue pearl aloft, determined to plant a seed of fear in them. If he had previously motivated them with reward, now he would ensure they were cowed by force.

“I promised you talismanic food because I believe in fair compensation for labor. But if I don’t give it, I still have ways to keep you three in line.”

A feeble “Wuuu...” came in response, and the ghosts, now utterly subdued, floated off on the fiend wind toward Bald Brush Peak.

Ji Ming, turning the Heart-Gathering Pearl over in his hand, considered for a while. In the end, he tucked it carefully into his mouthparts, though he dared not swallow it again.

***

Upon soaring to the summit, Ji Ming saw the monastery shrouded in clouds and encircled by ancient trees. Built atop the peak, it seemed a dwelling fit for immortals or Buddhas. In front of the courtyard, a path wound down the mountain, ending at a rustic gate inscribed with four bold characters: “In the Depths of Orchid Shade.”

The calligraphy was vigorous and powerful, suffused with a profound sense of Zen.

Ji Ming circled once above, then, instead of landing, activated his Whitebone Heart-Gathering Pearl, sending it drifting through the layers of cloud to hang suspended above the monastery.

An eerie green light poured from the pearl, illuminating the eaves and tiles, shining through lattice windows into every chamber.

In an instant, the dark courtyard sparked with candle flames as the patrolling monks rushed out with torches, their legs quaking at the sight of the blue pearl hanging above.

The lead monk shouted calmly, “Quickly, summon the patrons!”

Bald Brush Peak was home to many rogue cultivators, some skilled in the higher realms. If gathered together, they could surely resist any outside threat.

From the communal quarters, voices called out, “Master Dayou once sheltered us with great kindness. Now that the monastery faces disaster, how can we sit idly by?”

“That’s right!” voices echoed.

“We must repay our debt.”

“Don’t fear, monks. I’ll help you.”

...

The head patrol monk clasped his hands in salute. In the past, he’d thought these rogues were a drain on the temple’s resources, disturbing the peace of the Dharma. Now, he felt only shame for ever thinking so.

“Very well...” he began, but then a fiend wind howled, ripping tiles from the roof, toppling banners, and chilling the blood in his veins.

Above them, the demon pearl hung in the sky, while from the clouds protruded the segmented head of a centipede, its body winding through the mist like a dragon or serpent.

“It’s the Flying Centipede Immortal of Panhu Mountain!” someone shouted. Figures vaulted over the high walls, fleeing down the mountain path in panic.

With a thought, Ji Ming sent the Whitebone Heart-Gathering Pearl shooting forth a streak of light. In the next instant, it flashed through the fleeing figures, one after another collapsing in heaps along the path, some tumbling over the cliffs. Each bore a blood-red hole the size of a longan in their chest.

“The Centipede Immortal is here to feast on men!”

“Don’t scatter! Wait till we see its true form!”

“Whoever has a talisman or weapon, use it now!”

Within the vast monastery, chaos erupted—candles were knocked over, people scrambled up the walls, panic reigned, and none could tell friend from foe.

Ji Ming coiled his long, segmented body in the clouds, wings unfurled, eyes shining with a fierce light.

As the saying goes:

“A centipede’s heart never dies, its venom hid within wild wings. It roams the clouds with reckless might, crossing mountains to unleash its wrath. When once the Yin Pearl is formed, it knows the sky is no longer out of reach. Cultivation’s path is fraught with peril—press on, sing bold, and climb the perilous peaks.”