Chapter Seventy-Two: The Mirror of Wind and Moon

Chapter Seventy-Two

Chapter Eleven: Hidden Serenity in Jinglin, Ambition Attained; Seven Heroes Stir and Chaos Reigns in the Spring and Autumn, Part Two

As the demonic bat’s breath grew weaker, Ye Hua’s heart slowly settled. He fixed his gaze on the creature, remaining vigilant and not daring to lower his guard. Carefully, he withdrew his hands from its abdomen, watching for any movement. Seeing none, he summoned the Red Crow Dagger and sent it toward the bat’s head. A flash of light streaked by—the dagger pierced through like a bolt of lightning, whistling as it passed. Yet the demonic bat showed no reaction. Joy surged in Ye Hua’s heart. With a great gasp, he exhaled deeply, staggered back, and forced away the dark shadows clinging to the bat’s body, voraciously gnawing at flesh and blood. Only then did he collapse to the ground, unable to rise. Agony wracked his entire body; his legs, clawed by the bat’s talons, were a gruesome mess of blood and torn flesh, unbearable to behold. The numbness on one side of his body had faded somewhat, replaced by an almost intolerable itch, and his arms’ meridians were gravely damaged.

Ye Hua groaned in pain, thinking to himself, “To have survived such disaster—how truly fortunate!” He crawled a few yards, drenched in cold sweat, and retrieved from his robe a small pouch. From within, he took several Jadewater Pills and Eight Yang Divine Pills—antidotes and restorative medicines he’d brought from Bishan Monastery—and swallowed them on the spot.

He then pulled out a few small porcelain bottles and poured out several golden-yellow pills. These were Tianzhu Yellow Pills, and as he looked at them, he thought of Xiaoyao, smiling faintly and murmuring, “I wonder when that golden eagle will awaken! Still, I must thank it for these pills.” The Tianzhu Yellow Pill, though not as miraculous as the Heavenly Origin Divine Pill, was still highly prized, renowned for healing flesh and mending bones. Ye Hua swallowed a few, then lay back on the ground, unmoving, and tried to catch his breath.

After some time, Ye Hua felt an increasing heat spreading through his body. Lifting his head, he saw the flesh on his legs writhing and slowly scabbing over in thick black crusts, but the swelling and heat remained, and the itch was maddening. Frowning, he thought, “This demonic bat’s poison is as stubborn as the serpent demon’s I encountered before—hard to expel. It seems I have no choice but to slowly refine it away with the Sixfold Heavenly Art.”

As evening approached, a mist began to gather in the distant mountains, obscuring the view. All around, wild peaks piled in confusion, the ridges stretching endlessly into the unknown, a land where even birds and beasts were scarce. Wildflowers bloomed unattended, the setting sun painting everything in a vivid crimson, a profound and incomparable stillness pervading. Ye Hua dragged himself to a small hollow in the rocks, caught his breath, and looked down. Some ten yards ahead was a broken ravine, where sparse ancient pines managed to grow in the crevice, festooned with hanging vines. The cliff walls were overgrown with thick old creepers, as large as a man’s thigh, all embroidered with moss, and here and there long-flowering herbs drooped like hairpins, their fragrance subtly wafting, adorning the empty mountain. The scene was exceptionally secluded. Ye Hua thought to himself that no wild beast could possibly climb up here. Lurching forward, he found a flat stone, sat cross-legged, gathered his spirit and stilled his breath, and slowly began circulating his inner energy, refining the poison and healing his damaged meridians.

He meditated for a long while, and when he opened his eyes again, dawn was breaking. The sky was pale, but cold stars still glimmered above. In the east, the horizon was tinged with red. After a while, the sun appeared at the edge of the sky—a half-disc of crimson rising above the earth, while the pale moon, not yet set, hung on the far ridge, the two facing each other across the world.

As the sun climbed higher, the chorus of cicadas in the scrub trees and insects in the grass began anew. The cicadas sang ceaselessly. Glancing around, Ye Hua saw the sheer cliffs wreathed in clouds, the moss glowing like embroidery, plump and lush after the night dew. Among the greenery, wildflowers bloomed in red and purple, bright and unrestrained, painting the slopes in emerald. In the distant valley, a protruding white stone shone amidst the floral profusion, like a beauty arrayed in powder and rouge, slender and fair, the very picture of grace and charm.

Ye Hua realized his clothes were damp with dew, his legs’ swelling much reduced, and the itchiness had faded to almost nothing. After a night’s cultivation, his inner energy was mostly restored, though he still felt weak and unsteady. Leaning against the cliff, he slowly stood up. “Where am I? Yesterday I came out of that valley…” he muttered.

Peering into the valley, he recognized the protruding white stone as an altar, densely inscribed with runes and faintly glowing with misty light. Ye Hua suddenly remembered, his heart pounding with surprise, “Could this be the teleportation array I arrived through yesterday?” The previous day, he’d barely awakened before being flung into a life-and-death struggle with the demonic bat, and had not examined his surroundings. Now, seeing the altar from afar, he was taken aback.

Carefully making his way down the slope and across the ravine—ancient trees blocking the path, old vines climbing over stones, green bamboo and moss dangling in the filtered sunlight, waterfalls splashing unexpectedly, the gloom deep and mysterious, utterly unworldly—Ye Hua was struck by the beauty of the scene. He followed the winding stream for several hundred meters and reached the base of the altar, which stood three or four stories high and several dozen yards across, its stone walls weathered by countless ages.

Leaping lightly, Ye Hua landed on the altar’s edge. The strange patterns on the stone flickered with spiritual light. Knowing it would be dangerous to act rashly, he dared not touch them. After a while, his head spun and his vision blurred from trying to decipher the symbols. Giving up, he surveyed the valley, finding nothing unusual. “Who could have gone to such lengths to build a teleportation array here? For what purpose?” he wondered.

Dismounting with a sigh, he felt his energy flagging and sat under a large tree to meditate. When he opened his eyes at midday, his stomach was rumbling—he’d gone a day and night without food or water.

Rising, he chose a direction and walked several miles along the valley, admiring massive, unfamiliar trees, each with trunks as thick as seven or eight men’s arms, reaching heights of twenty or thirty yards. Their emerald trunks gleamed like jade, their boughs hung with flowers of all colors. Some blossoms were as large as basins—white peonies five or six feet across, with layer upon layer of petals and intoxicating fragrance. Others were cup-sized, covering the branches like crimson brocade, soft and fragrant.

Ye Hua chuckled to himself, “On any other day, I’d take my time to admire these, but right now, I’d much prefer some fruit trees!” After a few more miles, his wish was answered: in the distance, a low grove caught his eye. Looking closer, he cried out in delight, “A peach orchard!”

Ahead, several acres of wild peach trees spread across the land. It was mid-summer, and the peaches were still green, but hunger brooked no delay. He rushed forward, picked a few, and, though tart and unripe, the juicy flesh was a welcome relief. Gathering a dozen more, he carried them back to the altar, sat atop it, and quietly meditated, circulating his inner energy.

And so it went: most of his time was spent in meditation; when awake, he wandered the valley. After more than ten days, his inner energy was nearly fully restored, and his meridians had healed with astonishing speed. Not only were they fully recovered, but they had grown even stronger and more resilient than before.

Ye Hua suddenly recalled what Master Ci had once said: “The Heavenly Origin Divine Pill is indeed miraculous, but it is your own extraordinary constitution that allows for such healing. Medicine alone could never achieve it. In time, you will discover what sets you apart from others.” At the time, he hadn’t understood, but now he saw it was true—his meridians’ recovery far outstripped that of ordinary people. For most, a severed meridian could take over a month to heal, if at all; many would be left crippled for life.

“Could it be the result of practicing the Sixfold Heavenly Art?” Ye Hua wondered. “But although this technique is mysterious, I only have the first two layers; the rest are lost. If that’s how things remain, it will be of little use in the future.”

He glanced around the valley—he’d explored the area thoroughly in recent days. Yesterday, he’d discovered a cave on the far side of the mountain, with the words “Golden Finch Cave” carved above the entrance. Inside, the dust was thick and there was no sign of habitation; his brief excitement ended in disappointment.

Sitting in a daze for a while, Ye Hua suddenly remembered something. With a flash of light, he produced an ancient bronze mirror—the one he’d obtained from the sealed monument. Since acquiring it, chaos had followed, and injury had kept him too busy to study it. Now, he examined it closely.

Both sides of the mirror reflected his image. The handle was engraved with the words “Illusory Moon Treasure Mirror,” gleaming with a hidden light. Ye Hua sent his spiritual awareness into the mirror to investigate, but his consciousness was instantly bounced back, unable to penetrate it at all. He was secretly amazed. Whether it was the Fourfold Holy Truths of Wutai or the Sixfold Heavenly Art, all had methods of refining magical treasures, each with strengths and weaknesses.

He summoned a strand of primordial golden fire, gently enveloping the mirror; then, as the flames flared, the mirror’s light shone fiercely. Suddenly, there was a humming sound, and the mirror trembled, about to fly away. Ye Hua immediately encircled it with a band of light from his left hand, pinning the mirror in place as the golden fire continued to burn. After a while, the mirror’s light flickered wildly, then died away.

A smile crossed Ye Hua’s lips. He sent his consciousness in again—this time, there was no resistance. After a while, his expression changed slightly, and he murmured, “I never imagined the Illusory Moon Mirror would have such wondrous abilities. Its rank is no less than that of the treasured blade!”

Circulating his inner energy, he sent it into the mirror. At once, the mirror glowed with a misty white radiance, enveloping a pine on the nearby rock. A rainbow light flashed, and an identical pine appeared beside the original. No matter how Ye Hua looked, the two were identical. Sweeping the area with his spiritual sense, he could distinguish them: one pulsed with vibrant life, the other was a mere imitation, lifeless and inert. With a sigh, Ye Hua gently shook the mirror, and the illusion vanished.

Though formidable, the mirror could not replicate the ineffable vitality of living things. On its reverse, the mirror could project illusions to ensnare the mind—a rare and precious ability.

(End of chapter)