Chapter 169: The Messenger of the Divine

Pan Dehai materialized in midair, delivering several hundred jin of prepared medicine to Li Banfeng.

How can so much medicine be boiled?

Pan Dehai had thought ahead—he brought Li Banfeng a massive iron cauldron, its surface rivaling the size of a farmhouse.

Firewood was laid beneath the cauldron, clear water poured inside; Pan Dehai watched Li Banfeng, signaling he wanted something else.

He said nothing, fearing that speaking might infect him with the green flower pustules.

A dead soul afraid of disease?

Yet upon reflection, it made sense.

Pan Dehai had flesh and blood—unusually special flesh and blood—enough to feed Li Banfeng's family for a long time.

Flesh and blood proved he was no ordinary dead soul; where the flesh came from, Li Banfeng could not fathom.

Are all local gods dead souls with flesh?

After a moment's speculation, Li Banfeng turned to Cui Ti: "What else do you need?"

The sudden appearance of so many objects terrified Cui Ti; he knew Li Banfeng was negotiating with a high-level figure, yet he sensed no trace of that figure's presence.

Cui Ti dared not meet his gaze, but seeing Li Banfeng's utter lack of reverence, he grew even more convinced the man was mad beyond reason.

Li Banfeng pressed: "I'm asking you—what else do you need?"

Cui Ti answered cautiously: "When I perform my technique, I become extremely vulnerable—I need someone to watch over me, to protect me."

He needed protection.

Li Banfeng looked toward the air above, hoping Pan Dehai would appear voluntarily—he was the local god, after all; protecting Cui Ti should be his duty.

Pan Dehai leaned on his cane and vanished swiftly into the night, mist swirling thickly behind him like smoke.

Li Banfeng sighed, poured wine over the firewood, lit it, and began dumping the prepared medicine into the cauldron, basket by basket.

Cui Ti helped, and seeing his entire body covered in pustules, Li Banfeng felt an itch crawl over his skin.

The wind was fierce tonight; once the water boiled, the medicinal scent spread for dozens of li, drawing every mosquito in the area.

Dense clouds of mosquitoes blanketed the two men; at less than five meters apart, they could no longer see each other's forms.

Cui Ti glanced upward, then shook his head: "Still not enough—tomorrow we'll have to move again."

"Let's try first."

Cui Ti sat silently beside the boiling pot; his pus began oozing rapidly until his entire body was coated in green fluid, resembling a green jade statue.

He wasn't lying—he was extremely vulnerable now; Li Banfeng could kill him with ease.

The mosquitoes hovered constantly around the pot; many died, a few survived, but none approached Cui Ti.

"I'm cold—could you pour some medicinal broth over me?" Cui Ti joked, hoping to lure the mosquitoes to himself.

Li Banfeng scooped a ladle of broth and asked: "It's boiling—can you take it?"

"I have a fever—I shouldn't feel the heat."

Li Banfeng poured the boiling broth over Cui Ti; whether from cold or heat, Cui Ti shivered violently.

The broth cooled slowly on his skin, drawing mosquitoes toward it; they circled gently around him.

Li Banfeng had seen dragonflies skim water—but this was the first time he'd seen mosquitoes skim it.

Many mosquitoes touched Cui Ti once, then flew away; some, foolishly, clung to the pus.

Li Banfeng asked: "Is the virus you're spreading in the pus?"

Cui Ti nodded.

"Why not collect the pus and make poison? Why use yourself to attract mosquitoes?"

"My fellow disciples used a virus they created to make bait—but it only worked for one virus. Even though their cultivation was higher than mine, they could only manage this much.

I need to spread multiple viruses together. Though I have my ancestor's power, I can only use it within a limited range; under these conditions, I can't make the pathogens leave my body."

Two hours later, Cui Ti collapsed, his pus receding, reverting to individual swollen pustules.

Sitting in the pitch-black farmland, Cui Ti could faintly see distant lights.

Only on this special day, at such a late hour, would lights still be burning.

"New Year's Eve—tonight is New Year's Eve," Cui Ti chuckled bitterly. "I don't know how long I'll live—if we fail, the peddler won't save me.

This might be my last New Year—and I'll spend it with you in a place like this."

Li Banfeng spat: "Do you think I want to spend New Year with you? Your country's New Year isn't today, is it?"

Cui Ti shook his head: "It doesn't matter. I love Pulu Province—I'm destined to stay here.

Put out the fire. I need to sleep. We'll continue tomorrow."

Li Banfeng extinguished the fire and said to Cui Ti: "I need to find a place to rest too—I can't watch over you constantly."

He had to return to his Personal Dwelling.

It wasn't just for cultivation—he needed to strengthen his body's resistance, or he might also contract the green flower pathogen.

Cui Ti shook his head: "I'm not that vulnerable now. As long as I don't face a strong enemy, I'll be fine."

Li Banfeng walked to a secluded spot and entered his Personal Dwelling.

Soon he emerged again.

He brought Cui Ti a blanket and several cans.

Seeing Cui Ti still shivering in the wind, he poured a bowl of wine into Cui Ti's begging bowl.

"It's New Year."

New Year should look like New Year.

Li Banfeng walked off with his wine gourd.

Cui Ti lifted the bowl and drank deeply.

His body gradually warmed; he sighed in admiration: "Delicious."

He wanted to drain it all—but after thinking, he left a sip.

"It's New Year—have a sip too," he murmured to the bowl.

…

At dawn the next day, Li Banfeng lit the fire, boiled the medicinal broth, and continued luring mosquitoes.

He persisted intermittently until dusk; no more mosquitoes appeared nearby. Cui Ti looked at Li Banfeng: "We need to move."

Li Banfeng gazed at the sky: "We need to move."

The cauldron was too large, the medicine too much—he couldn't carry it himself; he needed Pan Dehai's help.

A faint voice drifted from midair: "Leave it. I'll pick a better spot—I'll bring you new supplies when you arrive."

Pan Dehai had sensed it—Cui Ti's method worked.

But it changed nothing about his loathing for Cui Ti.

Anything Cui Ti touched, he no longer wanted.

Soon, Pan Dehai appeared in midair, handing Li Banfeng a map of Haichi Ridge.

The map marked the areas with the densest mosquito populations.

Li Banfeng looked at Cui Ti: "Let's go—we're moving."

"I can't walk—I'm drained. Can you carry me? I know it's a burden." Cui Ti smiled awkwardly, staring at his pus-covered body.

Li Banfeng lifted him onto his back and marched through the snowstorm.

Cui Ti murmured into the wind: "In my country, there's a tale: the gods send their messengers to save the suffering. I always thought it was false—but now, perhaps we are those messengers."

Li Banfeng chuckled bitterly: "Don't flatter yourself—you didn't choose this."

"But you did. I might die tonight—can you tell me why? Why are you staying on Haichi Ridge?"

Li Banfeng paused, then said: "Because I've been hungry."

Cui Ti agreed wholeheartedly: "I've been hungry too—I know that feeling. My brother and I were born with a strange illness, our bodies covered in blisters. The villagers hated us, stole our food, beat us—we often went without meals."

Li Banfeng asked: "What happened to your brother?"

"He died—starved to death. On the night he died, I waited for a divine messenger to appear. I saw none. So I always thought the tale was a lie."

"I'll give you an extra can, an extra bowl of wine—to drink with your brother."

Cui Ti smiled: "Can he drink it?"

Li Banfeng nodded seriously: "Yes."

Through the snowstorm, Li Banfeng carried Cui Ti, marching onward.

…

On the fifteenth day of the first month, Niu Fuzhi patrolled the village entrance.

No mosquitoes had appeared for two full days.

Did Seventh Master kill them all?

What did that Seventh Master look like? Why couldn't he remember?

There was also a benefactor who brought medicine—why couldn't he recall that person either?

What's wrong with my memory?

Isn't this ingratitude?

Wu Xiu Niu Jingchuan arrived at Guotie Village and left the village chief some fast-growing seeds: "These seeds can only be planted three times—don't dare plant more!"

The village chief, Xiang Jichun, bowed repeatedly: "What can I say? How can I repay your kindness?"

"I've done nothing!" Niu Jingchuan waved his hand. "Seventh Master ordered me to check which villages still had people and deliver seeds. Just take them."

"Seventh Master…" Xiang Jichun suddenly remembered Li Banfeng, who had cleared the insects from their village. "Where did Seventh Master go? Is he at your pancake village?"

Niu Jingchuan scratched his head: "I don't know where he went. Honestly—I can't even remember what he looks like."

"I can't remember either. Someone once gave me medicine, but I can't recall who," Xiang Jichun scratched his scalp. "How could we be like this, forgetting our benefactor?"

…

Deep in the new land, inside a cave, a massive aberration used its hardened forelimbs to smash the cave's rocks.

Its head resembled a locust, but its torso lacked the locust's hard carapace—it wriggled like a maggot's tail along the ground.

Along its back grew thick fur, within which nestled hundreds of swaying antennae.

Beneath it flowed the "Ironwire River"—this was the river's terminus.

Ironwire worms burrowed in and out of its body, transmitting information to it.

The mosquitoes it had painstakingly cultivated had vanished entirely from Pulu Province.

It was furious; the forelimbs growing from its writhing body continuously crushed the cave's rocks into dust.

It could breed another kind of insect—more terrifying than mosquitoes.

But it needed time!

They wouldn't give it much time!

The giant insect was planning its next move when suddenly it heard a chilling sound.

Ding le guang dang, ding le guang dang.

It was the peddler's drum.

It heard the peddler's whisper.

"I long suspected it was you, but I never imagined you diverted the Ironwire River—adding several hidden tributaries along the way. I've had a hard time tracking you down."

"Tell me—who made you do this? Someone from the Outer States? Or the Inner States?"

Ding le guang dang, ding le guang dang.

The drum drew nearer; the giant insect roared: "Come then! They've given me power—I'm not afraid of you!"

"Is that so? I'd truly like to see it," said the peddler, pushing his cart with one hand, shaking the drum as he entered the cave.

PS: Luckily, Banfeng didn't follow the river downstream—otherwise he'd have encountered this giant insect.

On the first day of the New Year, Shala adds an extra chapter—thank you all for your support this year.

(End of Chapter)