Chapter 17: The Underground Wine Cellar

On the western outskirts of the city, a two-story tavern stood vaguely in the night, a "Closed for Business" sign hanging under its eaves.

Old Zhang's wine shop had been open in Fenghuai for many years, until an outsider wanted to buy his shop early last month. Old Zhang was originally unwilling, but the man offered a lot of silver.

Thus, the wine shop had not opened its doors since that day. Occasionally, a few outsiders would come and go, but they were not fond of speaking, and people guessed that it was being renovated inside.

Behind the building was a small forest, and the wine shop's underground cellar was right beneath it.

The cellar originally had only two rooms, but later, as business improved, Old Zhang spent money to dig it out into five rooms. Fearing a collapse at the time, he even hired old craftsmen from the county.

The newly expanded cellar had two entrances: one in the forest, accessible by a small path, which was relatively spacious and used for moving large barrels of wine; the other was in the back room of the wine shop, only wide enough for one person to pass through, which could be used for timely sales.

At this moment, the entrance in the forest was wide open, and people with vacant eyes and dim blue fire talismans on their foreheads walked in with stiff steps, as if plunging into the mouth of a vicious beast.

Inside the wine cellar.

Everyone was gathered in the largest room. If ordinary commoners of Fenghuai were to walk in, they would inevitably cover their eyes in shock.

It was a strange sensation: the field of vision suddenly brightened, but at the same time, it was stripped away by a layer. It was as if the light, while illuminating the darkness, also deprived them of a portion of their vision.

Only when their hands slowly lowered could they feel what it was—what dispelled the darkness was not the bright, soft orange of an oil lamp, but a ghostly, eerie white and blue.

The vast majority of people had only seen three colors of light—the bright white of sunlight, the orange of firelight, and the clear, bright moonlight. But burning fiercely in the center of the wall was a fourth color, as if it came from some unknown, mysterious ghost realm.

The leaping of that flame was also vastly different from a normal flame, appearing much slower and weaker, giving one a feeling of tranquility, hardness, viscosity, and even coldness.

On the wall behind the flame, that huge, abstract fire symbol was carved very standardly, and it had even been colored—half black-purple, half crimson-gold—carrying a solemn yet eerie sense of ritual.

In front of the flame stood a rack, upon which was enshrined a stick-like object of peculiar shape. It seemed to be made of bronze and was covered in complex, dizzying patterns. One end was extremely sharp, as if crafted for assassination, while the other end was gourd-shaped, seemingly a container. Perhaps it was an illusion under the strange light, but the gourd seemed to be breathing and writhing.

Seven people were already standing in the room: six stood before the flame with vacant eyes, while one, dressed in a white robe with a sword at their waist, stood at the entrance waiting.

I don't know how much time passed before a heavy footstep sounded, getting closer and closer, followed by the sound of a door being pushed open.

The smell of blood permeated the nostrils. The person who entered used one hand to untie their black robe and throw it aside, tossed the last sacrificial offering onto the ground, and then took out a porcelain bottle to swallow a few healing pills.

Their body was covered in bloodstains, a slash on their back had soaked through their clothes, and several streams of blood had already dried as they slid down their left arm. The most serious wounds were on their chest and abdomen, where there were two puncture wounds. These wounds had long since stopped bleeding, but they had not yet undergone careful bandaging.

For Wu Wu Zai Gu, tonight was also a rather exhausting night.

In reality, the foreshadowing was buried last night; that fish that had suddenly slipped through the net for unknown reasons caused the ritual to go awry. Even though he had already made up for it in time, the backlash from the second time he requested the "Dragon Tongue" to select would not be reduced in the slightest because of that.

Fortunately, there was that pair of father and daughter for him to play with a little, otherwise, his anger would truly have nowhere to vent.

In order to prevent what happened last night from happening again, Wu Wu Zai Gu had no choice but to go in person tonight.

However, when he arrived at the county office, the magical artifact that had come just at the right time was already an accident. Who would have thought that the five-vein piece of trash was actually a direct disciple of Little Cloud Mountain? With the two coincidences combined, it really did bring some threats to him.

He could have retreated calmly and come back after avoiding the sharp edge, but the fact that the person had joined a major sect yet wasted it so casually truly enraged him, so he did not dodge or evade, and hacked him to death with one blade after another, meeting force with force.

However, this battle also caused the people on his side to be almost wiped out, so he had no choice but to go and grab the unarrived sacrificial offerings back one by one himself.

Although there were some waves, in the end, all seven portions of materials were here. He only needed to wait for the time to arrive, and he would be able to be granted a holy body to inherit the divine grace.

Wu Wu Zai Gu glanced at the dull faces lined up in front of him, nodded with satisfaction, and closed his eyes, letting the white-robed person bandage his wounds.

Time passed bit by bit.

There was no water clock in the cellar, but in Wu Wu Zai Gu's heart, there seemed to be a precise dial. After waiting for a long time, at a certain moment, the dial went "click," and he opened his eyes.

The time had arrived.

The next moment, the handle of the gourd-tipped rod glowed with ghostly light like fire, and seven ghostly blue tentacles suddenly grew out, just like a strange flower blooming suddenly. The ends of these tentacles were cone-shaped stings, and inside those cone stings, viscous liquid seemed to be rippling.

The white-robed person who had long been standing by picked up the seven prepared small bronze cups and placed them one by one under the tentacles.

Wu Wu Zai Gu changed into a brand-new black robe and a pair of brand-new boots, solemnly and carefully washing his hands, not letting go of any detail. After finishing the hand-cleansing, he stepped forward two paces, came to the side of the gourd-tipped rod, and stood still with his eyes closed.

The white-robed person stood solemnly in front, holding up a booklet with both hands, and began to chant. The distant, low voice echoed in the narrow space: "Looking up to the ancient times of the supreme, the universe is boundless, wisdom is chaotic; Pan Wa manifested merit, the mysterious and the yellow were first divided..."

The almost "majestic" prayer echoed in the room, as if it were in a solemn and dignified temple of ancient times, or on the peak of the lofty and towering Mount Taishan, where the Son of Heaven led his ministers to report his achievements in governing the country to Heaven, to prove the legitimacy of the Mandate of Heaven.

But here, it was just a dark, gloomy, and damp underground wine cellar in a remote small city. There were no emperors or generals, only a pale, sickly man, the lingering smell of blood, and men and women like walking corpses.

"Looking up to the Supreme One True Dragon Immortal Lord, inheriting Heaven and establishing the extreme, divine rule and holy governance; all living beings bow their heads, ten thousand spirits follow..."

The ghostly, elegant, and ice-fire-dangerous strange flame leaped in the narrow space. Accompanied by the prayer, those tentacles seemed to have spirituality, reaching into the bronze cups one by one, slowly injecting the liquid into them.

"The world has received great grace, today we return a little of what we have been raised with, respectfully presenting living blood, reporting to the foot of the Immortal Realm..."

This was a sacrificial text, and this was, of course, a sacrifice, and the sacrificial offerings here were only...

Fanaticism welled up in seven pairs of vacant eyes, and they kept moving restlessly on the spot. Only the first young man received permission, dragging his steps toward those small cups.

"Humbly begging the Holy Spirit not to abandon us, to accept our meager gift..."

The young man grasped the small cup with reverence and hunger.

The man stretched his neck and chanted loudly: "Shang Xiang!!"

The young man held up the small cup with both hands, his expression mindless and fanatical, and tilted his head back to drink the nectar and jade liquid in the cup in one gulp.

The small bronze cup rolled to the ground with a "clatter," and the young man's arms hung down, motionless.