Chapter 79: Signs of Awakening Intelligence

When he finally saw the shadow clearly, he was both shocked and furious.

At the very beginning of the battle, Ghost Seven and the two monstrous birds had clashed fiercely, then vanished into the forest, leaving no trace behind. The two birds were extraordinary, around the fourth level of Qi Refining, working together so seamlessly that even those at the fifth level would struggle against them.

Now, although only one bird had returned, it was still better than none.

The bird’s body was battered, clearly showing that Ghost Seven had been a formidable foe. It circled above the tall man, as if wanting to perch back on his shoulder.

This bird—his elder brother had braved peril deep within the forest of corpses to catch it for him…

The thought surfaced in his mind, and his nose tingled with grief. Lost in recollection, he failed to notice the corpse bird’s hollow eyes suddenly gleaming with malice.

A savage cry rang out. Startled, he jerked his head up.

The corpse bird dove, wings flapping, its short beak stabbing toward his eyes.

“Ah!” He cried out, twisting aside to dodge, but still got splattered with ghastly green mucus.

An unbearable itch erupted, as if a thousand insects gnawed at his bones.

Summoning his will, he swallowed a pill, and the pain eased. Opening his eyes, he looked at the corpse bird, utterly bewildered.

But then he witnessed the last scene of his life.

Disaster!

The thought barely formed when a ghostly shadow detached from the bird, fist raised, and with a satisfying blow, smashed his skull.

The nearby flag, now without its master, had its swirling blood light freeze, transforming into eight or ten chains that instantly bound the Ghost King, dragging him into its depths.

Only time enough for a few sharp, piercing screams.

Though the battle between Qin Chuan and the Ghost King had been fierce, he’d kept an eye on the tall man, wary of a sudden attack. Yet, in the blink of an eye, Ghost Seven had killed him with a single punch.

Surveying the bloody mess, the stench and chaos strewn about, Qin Chuan was about to leave when he paused.

As if remembering something, a spark lit his eyes and joy appeared on his brow.

With a flick of the wrist, the Bright Moon Sword danced a graceful arc, deftly hooking the storage pouches of the monkey-faced brothers, dropping them into his palm.

He then put away the flag, and turned his attention to a dim, cracked bead.

Just as he was about to pick it up, the memory of the monkey-faced man spitting it from his mouth made his stomach churn, and he nearly retched.

Fearing to sully his blade, he hesitated, then raised his right hand and brought it down hard, striking out a white ray from his sword, like a bolt of silk, slashing two more cracks into the bead.

“Hmm! Quite tough.”

Without pause, he unleashed three more sword strikes in quick succession; the third caught up with the second, merged with the first, forming a rainbow that crashed into the bead.

A sharp “crack” rang out.

The bead shattered at last.

“Mmm!”

As the bead broke, a curtain of light appeared.

Within the glow, scattered points of phosphorescence gathered and dispersed, flickering like stars. Amid shifting shadows, a map was revealed.

It appeared for only a breath’s time; with a flash, it shot into Qin Chuan’s mind. He tried to resist, but the strange light was too swift.

It hammered its way in, forceful as a mallet, embedding itself in his consciousness.

Suddenly, an image bloomed in his mind, as if he stood high above, surveying every flower and grain of sand in vivid detail.

Strangely, the vision was all in black and white, the landscape unfamiliar, though some plants seemed vaguely recognizable.

He carefully examined this mysterious map for any potential threat.

Finding none, he dismissed it.

With a gesture, he released what little spiritual energy remained, tongues of flame sweeping away all traces of blood and filth.

Qin Chuan dared not stray far; his spiritual energy was depleted, his body poisoned and gravely wounded.

He found a sturdy tung tree, leapt up, and sat cross-legged among the branches. He quietly studied the two storage pouches in his hand.

Who were these two? Alone, their strength was mediocre, but together—whether two against one or two against two—their coordination was astonishing.

Judging by their demeanor, they must be seasoned killers and thieves. These storage pouches likely held hidden dangers.

Deep in thought, Ghost Seven appeared as a boy of eleven or twelve, sitting obediently nearby, watching in silence.

“You’ve done well!” Qin Chuan smiled.

“If not for you possessing…”

His eyes brightened. “When you possess birds or beasts, can you channel spiritual energy?”

Ghost Seven nodded happily, his gaze full of devotion.

…

When Qin Chuan finally opened his eyes, it was early the next morning. His wounds had not healed, but the pain had lessened.

He was fortunate—the storage pouch contained an antidote for the corpse poison afflicting him.

After Ghost Seven possessed an ordinary beast, he was able to open the storage pouch. As Qin Chuan suspected, the formation inscribed on it was unusual; without special methods, it would attack the user.

Luckily, Ghost Seven was only a soul, so injuries to the beast mattered little.

Sorting through the pouches, he kept the bottles and jars he fancied, tossing them all in at once; the rest he burned to ashes.

After reading through the information stored in a jade slip, a flash of murderous intent crossed Qin Chuan’s eyes.

Who sought to harm him?

A few figures came to mind.

Lei Ya? Or Dan Yi Pavilion?

Lei Ya likely lacked such capability, and Dan Yi Pavilion’s ambitions would not be so petty as to simply send two fifth-level Qi Refining assassins.

It would only serve to alert him.

They were all suspects, but he’d have to wait until returning to the sect to plan his response. For now, caution was paramount.

He moved his body; the worst had passed.

He grabbed a handful of forage from the storage pouch, feeding it to Night White, stroking its mane with his right hand.

Unexpectedly, the horse, quite intelligent, had sensed danger yesterday and freed itself, fleeing until returning that morning.

Autumn had arrived; there was no lush grass outside.

No doubt hunger had driven it back, perhaps to check if its master survived. Qin Chuan grumbled inwardly. Who could say if the beast truly cared for him, or merely for the feed?

It ate one, then another, five handfuls in succession… likely the latter.

Qin Chuan did not let it eat too much; five was the limit.

If trouble arose and he could not look after it, overfeeding might slow it down or expose it to harm—who would bear him then?

Was he protecting the horse’s life, or his own means of travel? No one could tell.

After five handfuls, even when it snorted, he ignored it.

Climbing the tall branches, he resumed healing himself.

Yesterday, in desperation, he had pressed the Shaoyang Sanjiao acupoint on his hand. Though he took medicine in time, the poison had settled in his meridians, causing considerable harm.

Spiritual energy, gentle as rippling water, washed back and forth, aided by the medicine, bringing a subtle, tingling itch to his wounds.