Chapter Thirty: I’ve Got Your Back
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Chapter Thirty: I’ve Got Your Back
Mo Fan dragged his battered body through the mist. Weak as he was, he nearly collapsed several times, almost falling into an endless sleep beneath the dense forest canopy.
But reason told him he could not stop.
The commotion here was bound to draw many cultivators rushing over. In his current condition, if anyone took an interest in him, he would have no strength to resist and could only await slaughter.
So he had to go farther. Much farther.
At last, he truly could not hold on any longer. The final trace of strength left his body.
Not only was it difficult to make his way through the thorn-choked mountain forest—even breathing felt like an arduous task.
His injuries were simply too severe. Almost all the poison-suppressing blood had drained from him.
There was nothing but bare ground beneath his feet, not a living thing in sight. Even the earth itself was pitch-black, the poison having seeped several inches into the soil.
This was the result of the poison-suppressing blood.
Mo Fan gave a bitter smile. He glanced at the slope ahead, then collapsed.
Lin Xiaojun and Yao Xin had remained in the mountains with Xiahou Ji for three days. At last, Xiahou Ji had pulled back from the edge of death.
The first words he spoke upon opening his eyes were, “Where is Mo Fan? Has he come back?”
Lin Xiaojun’s face was as cold as frost. Every time she heard Mo Fan’s name, her teeth nearly ached with hatred. Countless times, she had muttered to herself, Why was it not this man before me who killed Shangguan Wudi? Why did it have to be that useless Mo Fan?
She did not answer any of Xiahou Ji’s questions about Mo Fan. She merely said, “Get some rest.”
Then she walked aside, gripping her sword tightly, still radiating an otherworldly elegance.
Xiahou Ji had never expected to learn anything about Mo Fan from her. He knew that Lin Xiaojun and Mo Fan were at odds.
He turned his gaze toward Yao Xin, who stood nearby, staring fixedly into the distance.
Yao Xin had been thinking constantly about that young man. She still remembered his words:
“Sister Yao Xin, I’ll get to the bottom of this. I, Mo Fan, will never accept such an unjust accusation.”
They had been simple words, yet they brimmed with heroic resolve and had continued to stir her heart. Above all, the way he had called her “Sister” lingered sweetly in her memory.
“Yao Xin, what are you thinking about?”
Xiahou Ji’s arrival broke her reverie.
“Ah… Big Brother Xia, I—I wasn’t thinking about anything!”
Yao Xin panicked. Her cheeks instantly flushed, as though scorched by a blazing fire.
“Where is Mo Fan?”
Seeing her crimson face, Xiahou Ji realized that he had interrupted her and felt awkward. To prevent the awkwardness from lingering, he went straight to the point, using the question to break the silence.
“Mo Fan?”
His question threw Yao Xin into confusion. The blush drained from her face, leaving it pale and ashen. She did not dare meet his eyes and turned away, murmuring softly, “Mo Fan… Mo Fan, he… he…”
“What happened to him? Tell me!”
Her hesitation made Xiahou Ji frantic. He seized her hand so tightly that she winced in pain.
Even so, she endured it. Tears swirled in her eyes, but she said nothing.
“Speak! Are the two of you hiding something from me?”
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Xiahou Ji gripped Yao Xin’s hand harder and glared at her furiously.
The pain made Yao Xin’s face twist. A tear rolled down her cheek with a soft plop.
“He’s dead!”
Yao Xin said nothing. Lin Xiaojun turned around, her face devoid of emotion, as cold as ever.
Boom!
A heart-rending pain tore through Xiahou Ji. His legs gave way, and he collapsed.
“Cough, cough, cough, cough!”
His pale face was twisted with rage, and a violent fit of coughing unlike anything he had ever experienced burst from his chest.
Although the time he had spent with Mo Fan had not been long, during the long journey from the Peak of the Dead to the Western Ridge, the two had unknowingly developed a peculiar bond—part teacher and disciple, part friends.
“Cough, cough, cough, cough!”
Pfft!
A mouthful of black blood burst from Xiahou Ji’s throat, and he fell unconscious.
“Big Brother Xia!”
Quick to react, Yao Xin caught him as he fell. She hurriedly took a heart-protecting pill from her robe and placed it in his mouth.
Before the time it took to finish a cup of tea had passed, Xiahou Ji awoke. His gaze was vacant, as though his soul had been torn from his body.
Lin Xiaojun was an intelligent girl. Her wisdom was as rare in this world as her beauty.
She turned toward Xiahou Ji and said loudly, “He’s dead. The raging flames of the Scarlet-Chain Bees burned him alive. Yao Xin and I were planning to wait until you woke up, then go there together to see whether we could find his remains and build him a grave.
“But now, it seems there’s no need. In any case, I have an irreconcilable enmity with him. He killed my fiancé—you know that. This is for the best. I no longer have to kill him myself; he died because of his own foolish actions.
“You don’t need to torment yourself before us, either. You saved our lives, and I, Lin Xiaojun, am grateful. But we saved you as well. Now we are even. From here on, you walk your broad road, and we cross our narrow bridge. Let us stay out of each other’s way.”
With that, Lin Xiaojun left on her own, striding angrily toward the place where the Scarlet-Chain Bees had once swarmed.
“You two are truly impossible. I don’t know what to do with either of you!”
Yao Xin pulled Xiahou Ji to his feet and hurried after Lin Xiaojun.
In the mist-shrouded region of the Western Ridge, Mo Fan lay in a hollow for an entire day and night.
Fortunately, he was deep in the mountains, where the surrounding spiritual energy was fairly abundant. After breathing and circulating his energy for a day and a night, he finally clawed his way back from the gates of death.
Looking at the patches of rotting flesh that seemed to blink from his body, he felt such agony that words could not describe it.
He could only murmur softly, “It seems I’m still too weak—and too reckless. I nearly lost my life here.”
“From now on, I’ll have to think things through before acting.”
Determined to recover as quickly as possible and then hurry to Panlong Mountain in the Western Ridge to find the divine relic that could help him open his Wasteland Domain, Mo Fan labored without sleep for two full days and nights, painstakingly repairing his body.
The process was excruciating, but his heart was filled with joy.
At last, early that morning, he had recovered roughly seventy to eighty percent of his strength.
Unable to wait another moment, he began walking with heavy steps toward the depths of the mist.
To reach Panlong Mountain, he had no choice but to cross the Western Ridge Mist.
The dense fog stretched across a considerable distance, and it took Mo Fan an entire day to make his way through it.
Within that fog, which even sunlight could not penetrate, night and day were indistinguishable.
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He lit a torch and continued onward.
At dawn, Mo Fan once more beheld the unique beauty of nature.
The mountains of the Western Ridge rolled endlessly into the distance, rising and falling in layer upon layer.
The mountains and rivers were radiant beneath the spring breeze, while the young knew nothing of autumn or spring.
Outside, the autumn sun already shone brightly, yet the Western Ridge remained like the southern sky—vibrant with life, all things awakening and flourishing.
It closely resembled what he had seen before at the foot of the Peak of the Dead in the Azure Lotus Mountains.
What strange similarity lay between those two places was not something Mo Fan cared about at the moment.
He had to reach Panlong Mountain and find the divine relic.
“Old Brother, can we really reach Panlong Mountain this way?”
The moment Mo Fan emerged from the mist, he saw an old ox pulling a battered cart toward him, its wheels creaking as it swayed along.
Seated on the cart was a figure wrapped in a black robe. A chill radiated several yards around them. With a pair of limpid, beautiful eyes fixed on the road ahead, the figure gazed forward with the yearning of one who had waited ages for the destination to appear.
This person was the only passenger on the ox cart. Everyone else followed behind at an unhurried pace. The man they called Old Brother was the oldest of them all, apparently already in his sixties.
“We can. We definitely can. I’ve been there once before, and this is the road I took.”
Old Brother seemed to have misunderstood the young man’s question. He raised his whip and urged the ox onward.
“Uncle, are you all heading to Panlong Mountain?” Mo Fan had heard their conversation. Ever quick-witted, he hurried out of the woods, stopped the cart, and asked anxiously.
“That’s right, little fellow. What are you doing here?” the old man asked, pulling back on the reins.
“Could you give me a lift for part of the way?”
Mo Fan lifted his slightly bruised face and looked up at him.
“This…”
The old man hesitated, then turned his gaze toward the figure seated on the cart.
“Take him with us. He looks like a poor soul.”
The figure spoke, instructing the old man to let Mo Fan aboard.
With permission granted, Mo Fan joined the others and walked behind the ox cart toward Panlong Mountain.
“Little brother, you’re so young. Why aren’t you staying home? What brings you all the way here?”
“That’s right. Don’t you know Panlong Mountain is filled with danger?”
“Looks like you haven’t even opened your Wasteland Domain yet. Aren’t you afraid some wolf, tiger, or leopard will carry you off?”
“Hahahaha!”
With Mo Fan’s arrival, the group gained a little more laughter.
Seeing how young he was, everyone enjoyed teasing him.
At their words, Mo Fan pretended to be frightened. His face paled, and he hurried to catch up with the cart, walking beside the old man.
Seeing this, the burly men grew even more delighted and laughed with complete abandon.
“Come up!”
A distinctly feminine voice rang out. Before Mo Fan could see clearly, a pair of soft hands pulled him up onto the cart.
“Don’t listen to those rough fellows. What wolves, tigers, and leopards? And even if there are any, I’ve got your back.”
The figure in black spoke languidly.
With eyes that gleamed like starlight from the highest heavens, she looked Mo Fan up and down.