Chapter 36: The Guardian, the Miao King Subdues the Bull

The sky was pale blue, the grass a vibrant green.

Abang hummed a song from the village as she made her way to the ancestral hall.

In Miao language, Abang means flower; according to the rules of Wujia Village, her full name was actually very long.

But since childhood, she had loved flowers, so the villagers had grown accustomed to calling her by this part of her name.

When her brothers went hunting deep in the mountains and her sisters gathered fruit in the forest, they would often bring back flowers they found—lovely, delicate, beautiful, even slightly strange—if they were uncommon.

Some were plucked, others dug up whole, ready for transplanting.

Abang cultivated all these flowers beside the ancestral hall, often visiting to check on them and asking the old woman who guarded the hall to help care for them a little.

If any flower fell ill, she wanted the old woman to send someone to notify her.

Today, when Abang arrived, the old woman sat on a bamboo chair outside the hall.

The old woman was thin, her skin a dull yellow, appearing over sixty; her hair was wrapped in a fine blue embroidered cloth, her brows pale, eyes long, her forehead and corners of her eyes lined with wrinkles, yet her spirit remained strong, her back straight, as she stroked a bamboo flute in her hand.

Hearing Abang’s cheerful greeting, she lifted her eyes slowly and said, “You’re here. These flowers are all fine today—none are particularly wilted.”

“Why was there so much noise on the hillside this morning? It was noisy all night yesterday, and now it’s noisy again?”

As she spoke, the old woman shook her head, clearly displeased.

The old woman loved quiet and disliked crowds; last night’s bonfire and dancing, when Abang came to invite her, she had only heard half a sentence before sending her away, refusing to go.

This morning, Abang had not disturbed her—but now that the old woman asked, she couldn’t hold back.

“Today’s the third trial—Grandpa made Ze Wa compete against the outsider. That old man is incredibly strong; he looks weak, yet he made the water’s surface churn into huge whirlpools…”

The old woman’s eyes snapped up, cutting her off: “Let outsiders attempt the Three Trials? Is someone here to borrow a treasure? What is it?”

Abang answered, “The Caiyun Flute.”

The guardian’s forehead wrinkles deepened; she paused, then said, “Our ancestors’ relic was lost for so long—only just recovered a few years ago—how can we lend it out?!”

Abang smiled and said, “That flute was found by Uncle Shanjun anyway, and we don’t use it much. Grandpa and Ze Wa and the others all agreed—if you pass the Three Trials, you may borrow it.”

“Nonsense!”

The guardian cursed, rising from her low chair—but after a few steps, she stopped, her gaze flickering.

“Fine. Since the clan chief has agreed, let’s see if these people can pass the Three Trials.”

“Abang, from your tone, did the outsider win today’s trial?”

Abang nodded. “Yes. That old man’s fist technique was astonishing—like dancing, but unlike any dance I’ve ever seen.”

“I wonder what new wonders tomorrow’s trial will bring. Grandmother, will you come with me to watch?”

The old woman sat back down, her fingers pressing alternately on the flute’s holes, head bowed, voice stiff: “Hmph. I won’t go. The guardian must guard the hall.”

Abang knew the old woman had a strange temper and didn’t mind; she went to inspect her flowers, laughing brightly: “Then, Grandmother, may I stay here tonight?”

The guardian murmured softly, “Do as you please.”

The guardian’s house was built with the finest materials in the village, nearly matching the chieftain’s.

But the chieftain’s house was decorated with deer heads and animal hides—coarse and rugged.

The guardian’s house was far more refined; every inch of wood was carved with patterns, jars and pots were cuter than elsewhere, silver pots were neatly shaped, bottles slender enough to hold in one hand—mostly fine relics brought in by ancestors from beyond the mountains.

Abang especially loved spending nights here.

But the old woman slept late—older she grew, later she slept; the first half of the night was always filled with faint noises, and in recent years, she had grown fond of playing the flute in the dead of night.

The sound wasn’t loud, but Abang, sharing the same room, had long prepared cotton earplugs for herself.

At midnight, Abang tossed and turned inside the house.

For some reason today, even with earplugs, she couldn’t sleep soundly.

The old woman sat on the threshold, playing the flute, gazing at the ancestral hall nearby, her expression complex, the corners of her eyes lifting, gradually revealing a cold ferocity—yet the flute’s melody sank to near silence.

The night slowly brightened.

Dawn’s glow first rose from the mountains, spreading across half the sky; several households in the village began to crow, voices grew louder, smoke curled from every chimney.

Only then did the sun arrive, tardy.

Amid the painted clouds, the great red ball in the sky looked flat, like an orange.

Chu Tianshu stepped onto the bamboo walkway of the stilted house, beginning his morning ritual: he embraced a jar and drank water like an ox.

After draining the entire jar, his eyes were misted with water; only then did he belch.

“The morning sun here in the mountains is truly soft.”

Through the water mist, the sun seemed so flat—wouldn’t a slight shift in position cause it to be pierced by the mountain peaks?

Chu Tianshu felt that his stomach, after gulping down that jar of water, was now like the sun.

First full and heavy, then quickly a warmth spread outward from his gut, water rapidly absorbed and transformed.

The heavy, sinking sensation in his intestines eased; the dry, uncomfortable feeling in his skin and muscles greatly lessened.

Such extraordinary hydration ability could only be achieved with considerable mastery on both the “Food as Immortal” and “Dragon Coiling Body” paths.

Before his battle with the eunuch, Chu Tianshu’s “Dragon Coiling Body” had already reached nine-tenths mastery; “Food as Immortal” was at about four-tenths.

These past days, he had reflected on his combat energy surges, internal and external awareness, and in every step he took, he had studied how his muscles engaged differently.

“Dragon Coiling Body” had finally reached full mastery—truly achieved this realm.

But on the “Food as Immortal” path, the Lingyang Gallbladder pill’s power was spent, and the time spent combining shamanic acupuncture with training had been short; his realm showed no clear advancement.

Yet, guided by the “Toad Palm Palm Thunder,” though still at four-tenths mastery, his use of internal organ force now far surpassed his earlier precision.

After breakfast, Chu Tianshu met with Cai Shanjun and others, led by villagers to view the site of the second trial.

It was a large pit on the other side of the village.

The pit was roughly thirty meters square and three meters deep, its bottom smoothed perfectly, with drainage channels along the edges to carry away water during the rainy season.

No one knew how much labor or time the Wujia ancestors had spent digging it.

When Chu Tianshu arrived, dozens of men were struggling to lower a bull into it.

First, two long ladders were placed; men descended, then eight men below lifted a thick wooden plank.

Those above worked together, using poles to hoist the bull and lower it slowly.

After much effort, they finally placed the bull inside the pit.

The bull had remained docile throughout, its eyes covered with coarse cloth, lying still.

Yet the men’s movements still betrayed nervousness.

Chu Tianshu and the others understood their caution.

For this bull was nearly three meters long; if it stood, its shoulder height might reach one meter seventy-eight, and its weight surely exceeded a thousand jin.

Compared to the yellow or water buffaloes children could ride, this bull was like a monstrous beast, muscles bulging.

Its massive, sharply pointed horns, glossy black fur, whitened hooves, and low, rumbling snorts—all made the heart tremble.

“This is a wild bull.”

Wu Chieftain stood beside the pit, his voice calm, addressing them: “Legend says a mountain god once grew angry at the Miao people’s disturbances, transformed into a bull, descended to topple houses and trample crops. A Miao king stepped forward, barehanded, using unmatched courage to subdue the mountain god’s avatar.”

“Since then, the mountain god ceased harming people and even pointed out fertile slopes for terraced fields, so they might have food.”

“The second trial of Wujia Village reenacts the Miao King subduing the bull.”

Yizhou’s climate was warm, its forests dense; thousands of wild beasts lived in the mountains, even elephants—and wild bulls were not rare.

This bull from Wujia Village was the strongest of its herd, a rare breed.

When its eyes were covered, it remained docile; but if the cloth were removed, it would fixate on the first living thing it saw and chase it relentlessly.

To make the bull resemble the mountain god’s avatar, the men tied cloth strips and draped leaves over its body.

They carved wood into deer antler shapes and fastened them to its back—five or six sharp antlers jutting in all directions.

“The contest between warrior and bull must be barehanded; no pulling on the antlers. Only ten dodges are allowed. If after ten dodges the warrior still fails to subdue the bull, he loses.”

After Wu Chieftain explained the rules, Wu Tugu removed his outer garment.

His attire today mirrored the legendary Miao King: his face painted with colorful dyes, his arms and belly wrapped in numerous colorful cloth strips like a skirt.

Because he now dressed as the Miao King, Wu Tugu—who was usually talkative—remained silent, merely nodded toward Chu Tianshu and the others, then descended the ladder into the pit.

On the other side, the men who had transported the bull climbed out; once they confirmed Wu Tugu was ready, they used a long bamboo pole to lift the blindfold from the bull’s eyes.

The bull opened its eyes—long, thick lashes, round eyes like copper bells—reflecting Wu Tugu’s figure.

The crowd gathered around the pit fell silent; Wu Chieftain did not call out “begin.”

The contest between man and beast had already begun the moment the bull opened its eyes.

“Moooo!!”

The bull’s hooves pushed its body upright, eyes locked unblinking.

Wu Tugu spread his arms, swaying his body toward the center, returning the bull’s stare with equal intensity.

The bull began pawing the ground, shook its head, and all the tied antlers rattled wildly.

Wu Tugu took a deep breath, then suddenly slapped his own belly.

“HOOO!!”

The bull roared and charged forward, hooves pounding like war drums.

The larger and heavier the object, the harder it is to accelerate.

Yet this bull, despite its size, reached a fluid, full-speed gallop within just a few dozen meters.

Chu Tianshu observed this and immediately realized: the bull’s physical condition was even better than he’d estimated.

This charge carried a force of several thousand jin.

Wu Tugu reached out to grab the horns—but suddenly felt the distance and posture were unfavorable for his power; fearing he couldn’t withstand it, he leapt aside in a large step.

The bull missed him; nearing the pit’s edge, it slowed, turned sharply along the wall, and charged again.

Wu Tugu tried two more times.

Once, he reached for the bull’s horns with his right hand and tried to grab its belly with his left.

Because his arms and legs were long, the antlers were somewhat obstructive, but when he fully extended his left arm, he could still reach beneath the bull’s belly without touching the antlers.

But when the bull’s head jerked free, his right hand lost its grip on the horns, forcing him to scramble backward.

Including this one, he had already avoided three times.

In just the opening moments, he had used up one-third of his chances.

Chu Tianshu asked quietly: “During the usual New Year performances, do they not add the antlers?”

Wu Zhaizhu nodded, his eyes never leaving the pit.

In the past, without antlers, Wu Tugu needed only two or three attempts to find an opening and flip the bull from the side.

But with this year’s setup, even Wu Zhaizhu could not say how many attempts it would take.

The wild bull approached the pit again, running along the wall and turning, preparing to charge toward the center once its body was fully rotated.

“Hah!!!”

Wu Tugu suddenly charged forward, directly in front of the wild bull.

The bull’s rump was still less than five meters from the pit wall, not yet at full speed, when Wu Tugu’s large hands clamped firmly onto its horns.

(End of Chapter)