Chapter Fifty-Two: The Youqiong Tribe

With tens of thousands of humans leading and accompanying him, Qingxu journeyed toward the Youqiong tribe. In truth, the Youqiong tribe was not far from the ancestral land of the Wanqiu humans—at least, not by the standards of someone of his cultivation. Even so, the mightiest cultivator among the humans, one at the Golden Core stage, would need several days to travel from Wanqiu to Youqiong, for the terrain was rugged and treacherous.

“Immortal, the Youqiong tribe is located in the Canghuang Mountains, more than seventy-six hundred li south of Wanqiu. The mountains are thickly forested, the soil fertile, and the waters abundant, with few wild beasts or demonkin. However, the area is shrouded in miasma year-round. Most who have attempted the journey were forced back by the poisonous fog, some suffering grievous injuries as the miasma seeped into their lungs. To this day, no one knows how the Youqiong clan managed to settle there in the first place,” the burly middle-aged man explained as they walked, fulfilling Qingxu’s request for information. After all, to know one’s enemy is to secure victory.

Qingxu, naturally, could not approach the Youqiong tribe as he had dealt with the three fierce beasts earlier. He intended to learn more so that he could respond appropriately.

“Miasma? That is of little concern.” Upon hearing that inhaling the fog would only gravely injure a human physique, Qingxu surmised that the Canghuang miasma was merely mundane—an obstacle to mortals, but nothing before a cultivator, let alone one who had attained the Dao of Immortality.

“Indeed, indeed! Immortal, your powers are boundless. Such a petty miasma is as nothing to you,” the man responded, having seen Qingxu effortlessly dispatch three savage beasts. He had no reason to doubt him.

Yet, seeing how slowly they advanced, Qingxu found his patience wearing thin. Though his cultivation was high, he was not yet so mighty as to carry tens of thousands through the clouds. Still, to cast a minor spell to increase their speed was a trifling matter, and he took the opportunity to instruct them as well.

Humankind was crafted by the Sage Nüwa with celestial earth, the divine waters of sun, moon, and stars, and her own vital blood. Blessed with innate gifts, humans were born with primal bodies. Even without cultivation methods, through physical training alone they could reach the Golden Core stage. Thus, Qingxu imparted to them some rudimentary techniques for cultivating internal energy and martial prowess.

With his guidance and the aid of the Swiftwind spell, the speed of the tens of thousands increased more than tenfold. What would have taken days was now accomplished in mere hours.

Having learned rudimentary internal energy methods, the power of the multitude was instantly doubled. With ten thousand black-gold sabres added to their strength, their morale soared and much of their former dread of the Youqiong tribe vanished; in fact, a sense of eagerness now replaced their hesitation.

“With the Immortal’s guidance and these ‘celestial blades,’ unless the chiefs of Youqiong and Youxin personally intervene, we can rout the tribe in one stroke.” Despite this surge in confidence, the middle-aged man remained cautious. He knew well that the Youqiong and Youxin chiefs were Earth Immortals, while he was but at the Golden Core stage—a chasm separated them.

“It matters not. The unification of humankind is decreed by the heavens; I merely follow the mandate of fate. If any stand in the way, they set themselves against heaven, and I have thunderous means to deal with them.” Qingxu was not hidebound by convention. If the unification of his people required the shedding of a few lives, so be it—though only as a last resort. Should the two chiefs recognize the greater good, all would rejoice.

“You are a true sage, Immortal. Our people shall remember your grace forever.” With Qingxu’s pledge, the man’s worries were swept away, replaced by anticipation for their arrival at the Youqiong tribe.

So it was that tens of thousands advanced, traversing walls and rooftops, skimming across water, darting through forests and ravines—a mighty host making directly for the Canghuang Mountains.

Within a few hours, the mountains came into view: a majestic range with soaring peaks, countless streams and waterfalls, lush forests, and a thin veil of mist drifting through the valleys—a sight reminiscent of a fairyland.

“What a remarkable mountain! Its terrain would make it a blessed land, yet the spiritual energy of heaven and earth is sealed within the earth veins, unable to emerge. Instead, the mountain’s yin force gives rise to miasma. This does not seem natural. Nature’s wonders truly surpass our understanding,” Qingxu mused, gazing at the Canghuang Mountains.

“Immortal, the Youqiong tribe dwells in a valley to the southeast, accessible by a single path. Along the way, there are a dozen layers of miasma. In the past, no one ever made it past the first layer.”

“Ordinary mountain miasma is of the lowest grade. In fact, once one reaches the Golden Core stage and forms a protective field of true essence, it is easily ignored. Even innate true energy can resist it for a long time. It is only because you did not know how to project your energy outside the body that you were so helpless before. Otherwise, entry would pose no great problem.” Mountain miasma was the weakest kind; above it were toxic miasmas, fused with the poisons of myriad creatures, which even Golden Core or Nascent Soul cultivators would struggle to withstand. As for miasmas capable of threatening immortals, only demonic arts could produce such terrors.

With a few simple pointers from Qingxu, the tens of thousands quickly comprehended the essentials, forming innate or true essence shields about themselves.

Unimpeded, the group advanced into the Canghuang Mountains.

No longer needing the man to guide him, Qingxu sensed the strong vitality in the southeast—a sure sign of human presence, for every living race had its unique aura: some strong, some weak, some peaceful, some fierce.

Following the mountain path to the valley, they passed through a dozen layers of miasma without hindrance. For Qingxu, it was nothing; the Golden Core cultivators with their true essence shields were unaffected; and the ordinary humans, protected by his celestial power, traversed with ease.

At last, they arrived outside the southeastern valley of the Canghuang Mountains. Looking in, they saw the valley walls pocked with countless caves and nests, with people laboring, training, and sparring below.

“At this time, the Chao clan has not yet invented houses, so humans still dwell in caves and tree hollows. In fact, this is true not only of humanity—almost all the ancient tribes are the same. Even the Wu clan only managed to construct crude stone fortresses after the model of Pangu Palace,” Qingxu reflected, unsurprised by the scene before him.

“Do your people in Wanqiu also live in caves like this?”

“Alas! We once tried to emulate the Wu clan and build proper dwellings, but we did not know how. Moreover, the Wu clan is hostile to other groups copying them. A few small tribes who built similar dwellings soon attracted Wu warriors, who leveled their settlements and exterminated every living being.” As he finished, the man’s voice trembled with both fear and indignation.

“The Wu clan are tyrants, destroying whole peoples at a whim. Without the demon clan to balance them, who knows what fate would await the beings of this world? But the demon clan’s unification is not far off now; the great dramas are about to unfold. If I am to shape events and seek my own advantage, I must increase my strength as swiftly as possible.” Qingxu set aside these musings for the moment; first, he would resolve the matter of the Youqiong tribe.

“Come with me to meet the chief of Youqiong,” he declared, and, leading by example, strode toward the settlement. The tens of thousands of humans in his wake hastened to follow.