“Is this a Ba She?” Xiang Xian asked Xiao Kun.
“Yes,” Xiao Kun replied. “It should be. According to historical records, Ba She has a single horn on its head.”
Though the horn at the snake’s head had been severed, its shape was still faintly discernible. They scanned the surroundings but saw no sign of the broken horn.
“Then what was that thing we encountered in the river?” Xiang Xian asked.
Chaosheng said, “The black giant serpent we saw in the river looked exactly like this one! Only it had an extra horn on its head.”
“Perhaps it was the soul of the Ba She after its body was extracted and demonized,” Xiao Kun said, growing increasingly confused. The Ba She’s corpse lay quietly on the ground, like a creation of time frozen in serenity. Hundreds of wounds of varying sizes crisscrossed its body, now overgrown with plants that bloomed with small flowers.
This scene was utterly bizarre.
“Someone fought it here,” Xiao Kun finally judged from the collapsed palaces around them, “and successfully killed it.”
“Yes.” Xiang Xian lowered his head to examine the position of its vital point—the seven-inch spot—where a massive wound was faintly visible. It seemed the Ba She had endured a storm of assaults before its heart was cleaved.
“This wound? So strange.” Chaosheng was utterly baffled.
“What?” Xiao Kun said. “Chaosheng, be careful.”
“No issue, it’s been dead for decades,” Wu Yingzong said.
Chaosheng parted the plants at the Ba She’s wound and said, “Look, huh? These wounds are connected to the vegetation.”
They gathered to inspect a wound crossing over the Ba She’s left eye near its head. Xiao Kun said, “The serpent slayer must have used a sharp, lightweight blade. It looks like…”
Xiao Kun fell silent for a moment and glanced at Xiang Xian.
The two of them practiced martial arts regularly and were familiar with blades and swords; they could identify the wound type at a glance.
“The same as the weapon you use,” Xiang Xian said. “A Tang Dao.”
Chaosheng said, “This is a wound left by the Senluo Blade.”
“What?!” Xiao Kun and Xiang Xian seemed not to believe their own ears.
Chaosheng said earnestly, “Yes, I’m certain. Only wounds inflicted by the Senluo Blade would cause flowers to bloom and vegetation to grow.”
Xiao Kun’s expression changed instantly, but Xiang Xian, unaware of the implications, asked, “When was the last time the Senluo Blade appeared in the mortal world?”
“The Battle of Fei River,” Chaosheng answered. “Over seven hundred years ago. It was soon reclaimed by the White Jade Palace afterward.”
Xiang Xian looked bewildered as he turned to Xiao Kun. “How is that possible?”
Xiao Kun was silent for a moment before saying, “Look at the top.”
They looked behind the Ba She’s corpse, where a shattered throne stood. Atop the throne was a blurred mural.
What the mural depicted could no longer be discerned, but in its center was a shocking splatter of blood. The black bloodstain bore traces of an explosion, extending down the palace walls.
It was as if someone had slain the Ba She’s body here, refined its soul, and then taken Yao Ji away.
Xiao Kun replied, “Based on the current information, we can infer that Mu came here, killed the Ba She, and seized the Demon Seed. Yao Ji’s whereabouts are unknown.”
“That doesn’t make sense,” Xiang Xian said. “How would Mu have your Senluo Blade? What about Yao Ji?”
“Captured by him too?” Xiao Kun furrowed his brows. “This time, we won’t get any useful leads… But at least we can confirm that ‘Mu’ refined the Ba She’s soul and commanded it for his own use.”
A quarter of an hour later, at the Holy Land’s outer gate:
“This doesn’t make sense,” Xiang Xian said as he sat on the steps. “It’s too unreasonable! The Senluo Blade was clearly in the White Jade Palace—why was it used to slay the Ba She?”
Xiao Kun was equally puzzled. Xiang Xian muttered to himself, “What exactly happened here?”
“I don’t know!” Xiao Kun finally snapped. “Stop asking, Deputy Emissary. You’re giving me a headache.”
At that moment, Wu Yingzong and A Huang emerged from the Holy Land. “No other clues found.”
The vast Holy Land seemed as if all its monsters had vanished overnight. Xiang Xian racked his brains but couldn’t make sense of it.
Just then, Chaosheng suddenly said, “Listen?”
Xiao Kun looked up and heard several bird calls. In the serene Qiyun Peak, the crisp chirps sounded particularly pleasant.
The clouds and mist enveloping the Holy Land gradually dispersed, as if their entry had lifted the barrier here. Birds flocked from the mountainside in droves, joined by beasts converging on the area.
“What are they saying?” Xiang Xian asked Wu Yingzong.
Wu Yingzong was unsure either. Spotting monkeys ascending the peak, he leaped to a high point to interrogate them and soon reported, “The Monkey Demons say the spiritual energy here is abundant, perfect for cultivation.”
Xiang Xian had expected to find the Demon King hiding in the Holy Land—at worst, a Yao King—but instead of battle, they encountered a slew of unsolvable mysteries.
“It’s getting late,” Xiang Xian said.
It was nearing afternoon, and per plan, they still needed to head to Zigui that day.
Xiao Kun had no choice but to stand. Chaosheng had already wandered down the mountain. “Chaosheng! Don’t go too far! Time to depart!” Xiang Xian called.
Xiang Xian turned back for one last look at the handprint on the gate before leaving.
Mossy and mottled, he scraped away the traces of time with his fingers, revealing a clear broken palm line in the handprint on the stone gate.
