Chapter 104: Seven Arrow Letters

Niubeiliang, with its strange peaks standing tall, features rugged mountain terrain.

This place is the southeastern main peak of the Qinling Mountains, forming the watershed between Guanzhong and Shangzhou; the range is vast, yet crisscrossed by countless small and large ravines.

Atop the high mountains, glaciers cover the peaks year-round, melting into streams that flow through every ravine.

When it rains, flash floods erupt, and with the towering, dense forests and swirling mists, outsiders often get lost inside.

Precisely because of this, Niubeiliang has become a haven for numerous bandits.

On the western side of one ravine, sheer cliffs rise a thousand ren, hiding a massive cave, accessible only by a plank path connecting it to the outside world—this is the location of the White Tiger Fortress.

Inside the cave’s great hall, torches blaze fiercely, the atmosphere heavy.

The air reeks of blood, and moans of pain never cease; the ground is littered with wounded men.

Bai Yanhu sits astride the chieftain’s throne, his face grim; his armor has been removed, his bare torso wrapped in thick white bandages, steadily oozing blood.

Along two rows of chairs below him sit the surviving Four Beams and Eight Pillars, along with leaders of other bandit forts.

Previously shouting for battle, now all have lost their will—only through united effort had they escaped the garrison’s encirclement.

Bam!

Seeing the carnage before him, the man who had earlier taunted Bai Yanhu grew angrier by the moment; he smashed his chair back with one palm and roared: “Enough! If you wanted to hoard the loot, now none of you get any!”

Bai Yanhu’s eyes flashed with fury. “What, you wanna play?”

He too seethed with suppressed rage.

Had it not been for these fools blocking him, how could he have missed his chance to flee? Worse still, elite soldiers from the army had dogged him relentlessly on the road, forcing him to abandon all the stolen goods.

He barely escaped with his life using the Golden Cicada Shell Trick.

He had planned to take the money, buy a ship along the coast, and continue his fortune with his brothers—but all his careful planning ended in this disaster, his trusted men slaughtered or wounded, and now a foul fire burned straight to his brain.

The man below still dared to speak—Bai Yanhu had already decided to kill him.

“Play? What do you mean to play…?”

The man was no stranger to murder, equally skilled; his right hand slowly drifted toward his saber’s hilt.

“What a lively gathering you all have!”

At that moment, an aged voice rang out.

From the cave entrance slowly walked an old man, clad in a sheepskin coat, wearing a dog-fur hat, thin and hawk-nosed; though smiling, his expression was more chilling than terrifying.

His appearance instantly sent everyone scrambling to their feet.

“Old Dragon Ghost, what do you want?”

Bai Yanhu narrowed his eyes and asked grimly.

The newcomer was Long Sanjiu, chieftain of the Old Dragon Fort.

The Old Dragon Fort had always been the strongest, and Old Dragon Ghost had been a Hua Jing expert for years—ruthless and cunning, none dared offend him.

Recently, the Old Dragon Fort had gained many mysterious experts, even sorcerers, aiming to subjugate all the bandit forts of Niubeiliang.

The others had resisted, sparking these events.

Now, his sudden appearance could mean only ill intent.

“Why so tense, brothers?”

Long Sanjiu smiled calmly. “It’s too late for me to kick you when you’re down. I’ve come only to secure your future.”

Bai Yanhu narrowed his eyes. “What future?”

“Not yet.”

Long Sanjiu smiled. “First, let me introduce someone.”

He turned, bowed deeply, and announced: “Welcome, the Incense Master!”

Several figures emerged from the cave entrance, striding forward—the leader being the Miler Jiao Incense Master, Du Gu Qian.

Long Sanjiu then spoke: “Gentlemen, this is Du Gu Qian, Incense Master of the Miler Jiao. With his protection, even if the court sends more troops, we need not fear.”

The bandits exchanged uneasy glances; Bai Yanhu’s eyes brimmed with suspicion. “Old Dragon Ghost, when did you join the Miler Jiao?”

Long Sanjiu chuckled. “I’ve always been with them.”

Bai Yanhu snorted and shook his head. “Different paths, no alliance. We’re just bandits scraping by—we have no grand ambitions. Please understand.”

They took to banditry for money; once they had enough, they’d vanish into obscurity and live as wealthy men in the prosperous south.

The Miler Jiao constantly stirs rebellion; the Great Xuan Dynasty’s army is strong and well-equipped—joining them leads only to ruin.

Long Sanjiu’s smile vanished; his voice turned cold. “Bai, don’t refuse the wine and take the punishment…”

Before he finished, Du Gu Qian waved his hand to cut him off, smiling: “Brothers, you have no choice left.”

“The court is corrupt and unjust. Li Siyuan, to avoid criticism, will surely dispatch elite experts to wipe you all out. Niubeiliang’s mountains are high and forests dense, but if sorcerers mobilize troops, not one of you will escape.”

At these words, their faces darkened instantly.

They knew he spoke truth—Chang’an was likely already mobilizing elite forces to hunt them in the mountains.

Bai Yanhu sneered. “And if I refuse?”

Before he finished speaking, his face twisted in shock—he snatched up the spiked mace beside him, eyes darting wildly around.

Whoosh~

A foul wind surged; a dark shadow suddenly appeared in the cave, darting swiftly along the dark corners of the stone walls.

“What is that?”

Many bandits panicked, leaping to their feet to investigate.

But the shadow moved too fast—they could barely make out its shape, only vaguely discerning it was a giant snake.

Bai Yanhu felt it more acutely.

His back hairs stood on end; a chilling gaze pinned him like no beast he’d ever encountered.

“Die!”

Bai Yanhu whirled, unleashing hidden force; his arms swelled with muscle, veins bulging, the spiked mace screaming downward.

He trained in the Eight Battle Forms of the army.

Simple moves, brutally effective—direct, savage, amplified by his chainmail armor, earning him a fearsome reputation.

Boom!

The spiked mace struck its target.

But Bai Yanhu’s heart filled with dread.

Behind him stood the rooster-headed snake—apparently molted, now thicker, as wide as a washbasin.

The mace bristled with spikes, yet upon impact, sparks flew as the spikes struck black scales, then bounced away under immense force.

Such was the terror of the rooster-headed snake.

Blinding speed, impervious to blades and spears, plus deadly venom—ordinary martial artists stood no chance.

At the graveyard, had Commandant Chang Xuan not known its weakness and prepared accordingly, it would have been them, not the soldiers, who died and fled.

Shhh~

Scales scraped the ground, the rooster-headed snake reared up, towering half a head above Bai Yanhu.

Bai Yanhu now trembled violently, paralyzed.

The snake lowered its head, its cold, icy eyes radiating some mysterious power, locking Bai Yanhu rigid.

He screamed silently in his mind, even as blood seeped from his eyes—he could not move a muscle, helplessly watching the snake coil around him.

Crack! Crack! Crack!

A chilling sound of snapping bones echoed.

Bai Yanhu’s entire body shattered, breath gone; the snake opened its fanged maw, first swallowing his head, then his body, inch by inch…

Watching this horrific scene, the bandits’ skin crawled.

Du Gu Qian sighed faintly. “I’d rather not do this, but the court’s men are coming soon—no time to waste. Gather your things and follow me.”

“W-where to?”

One bandit leader stammered.

Du Gu Qian gazed beyond the cave, his eyes weary. “Deep in the Qinling, I must excavate something—I need many hands…”

………………

Beyond Niubeiliang, the terrain gradually sloped southward.

For the most part, it was a steady descent, so Li Yan’s group quickened their pace; after two more days, they neared Fengyang County.

Here, the mountains softened.

Yet the cliffs on both sides of the road, dotted with honeycomb-like caves, drew everyone’s attention.

“Whoa, Dao Master, what are those?”

Sha Li Fei stared in disbelief. “Animals? How can they build nests so high—and so many of them?”

“Those are cliff tombs.”

Li Yan, riding his horse, smiled and explained: “Built since the Han Dynasty, some still choose this burial method today.”

Zhou Ban Zhu of the Spring Wind Troupe praised: “Li Shaoxia, your knowledge is impressive.”

!.

Li Yan shook his head. “I only heard of them before.”

In truth, in his past life, he had visited this place and even toured several of the tombs.

Though unremarkable from outside, their interiors were remarkably complex.

Bedrooms, halls, kitchens, storage rooms—all clearly divided, even with ponds, wells, latrines, stoves, and wall niches.

They were tombs, yet seemed as if someone had once lived inside.

"Built on a mountain?"

Sha Lifei was speechless. "So obvious—why wouldn’t the earth rats be thrilled? Master Dao, what’s the significance of building it on a cliff?"

Wang Daoxuan chuckled softly and shook his head. "Our ancestors of Shenzhou revered dragons, believing certain places benefit from cliff burials, better securing dragon veins. First, it aids ancestors in transcending death and becoming immortals; second, it helps descendants accumulate wealth and fortune."

"This custom became widespread due to the Qin-Han Fangxian Dao. The Book of the Later Han records: 'Carved into cliff stone, a chamber is built, raised high to nurture immortals.'"

"Burial means harnessing vital qi. Look at this place: front has a mirror, back has support, three sides surrounded by mountains, one side facing water—dragon vein, altar table, all present. It conceals wind, gathers water—naturally an excellent burial site."

Sha Lifei snorted. "And yet it’s been completely looted. Damn it—lived in luxury, still wanted to become an immortal after death, and even wished for his descendants to prosper. What’s the point of that?"

"Cowards—all greedier than old Sha."

Wang Daoxuan sighed. "Isn’t that the truth? Fortune and fate in heaven and earth are fixed, but human greed is endless—every calamity arises from this..."

As he sighed, a forked path appeared ahead.

Zhou Banzhu immediately bowed. "Li Shaoxia, Master Dao. Sha Daxia, we’re turning toward Luonan—farewell!"

"Travel safely, Zhou Banzhu."

"Until we meet again."

After bidding farewell, the Chunfen Troupe took the other path and gradually vanished from sight.

Li Yan and the others continued forward.

After traveling a short distance, Li Yan reined his horse to ride beside Wang Daoxuan and asked quietly: "Master Dao, have you fully comprehended it?"

"Comprehended it completely? Impossible."

Wang Daoxuan shook his head slightly, pulling from his robe the yellowed ancient book—the Seven Arrow Secret Incantations Li Yan had taken from You Lao Si.

"The Seven Arrow Nail Book!"

Sha Lifei had also drawn near, saw the title, and gasped sharply. "Master Dao, you’ve acquired this powerful immortal art!"

Wang Daoxuan was surprised. "You recognize it?"

"Who doesn’t?"

Sha Lifei’s eyes gleamed. "Opera tells of Lu Ya using this to nail Zhao Caishen to death—I even know the lyrics!"

He began humming: "The coiled sea whip drove him fleeing in terror, then from beyond the sea came the Great Immortal Lu Ya. This sorcerer bears seven arrows, his power profound, sets up an altar on Qishan to invoke the straw man..."

"Enough, enough—where are you going with this?"

Wang Daoxuan laughed helplessly. "The Investiture of the Gods is later fiction. During the Shang-Zhou era, the Xuanmen did indeed have a great battle, but only fragments are recorded—no one today knows the truth."

"Yet the Seven Arrow Secret Incantations is a famous, ancient spell, widely known—farmers’ wives make straw dolls to curse others, all derived from this art."

"Oh, I see."

Sha Lifei looked disappointed. "Is this method powerful?"

Wang Daoxuan nodded gravely. "Of course it is."

"Ancient spells are simple and direct. This one has only two incantations: one, the Soul-Stealing Spell, capable of drawing the yang soul of the living and the yin soul of the dead; two, the Seven Arrow Divine Book Spell—after seven days of ritual, it can curse a man to death."

Sha Lifei grinned. "Perfect! Now Master Dao’s like a tiger with wings—anyone who provokes us, we just bow seven times!"

But Wang Daoxuan gave no reply—he hesitated.

Li Yan’s mind stirred. "Master Dao, is there a problem with this method?"

Wang Daoxuan nodded. "It’s not that I’m overly rigid—it’s that this method is too cruel, and harms the harmony of heaven and earth. Use it too often, and you’ll be bound by murderous intent, sinking into demonic obsession."

Li Yan laughed quietly. "Master Dao, I’ve heard even the Buddha has the wrathful gaze of a Vajra. Is a knife evil? It depends on whose hand holds it."

"With Master Dao’s character, this method won’t become a dark art."

Wang Daoxuan fell silent for a long while, then nodded. "Very well. I once had my soul stolen—my only yin soldier died by the Soul-Stealing Spell. Perhaps I truly have a karmic link to this art."

He formed a hand seal, pressed his palm to the Seven Arrow Secret Incantations, and vowed: "I swear here: this spell shall be used only against evil spirits and the most wicked men. Misuse it, and I shall die!"

Li Yan blinked. "Why must you swear so solemnly?"

Wang Daoxuan paused, then smiled calmly. "All humans have seven emotions and six desires—we all make mistakes. I’m just a mortal, no exception. A little restraint is better."

He fell silent, as if unwilling to speak further on the matter.

Soon after, he resumed chatting with Sha Lifei, rambling aimlessly.

Li Yan watched Wang Daoxuan’s back and shook his head slightly.

He knew this Daoist had endured something. Not everyone begins with such firm devotion to the Dao, nor maintains such kindness and benevolence.

But since Wang Daoxuan didn’t speak of it, Li Yan didn’t press.

By sunset, the party finally reached Fengyang County.

The road here teemed with travelers, especially mule and horse caravans—far more than in any other county.

Wang Daoxuan smiled. "South of Fengyang lies Chu territory."

"This place has Manchuan Pass—a famed river and land port. South connects Wu and Chu, north links Qin and Jin. In the Warring States period, morning meant Qin land—fly Qin banners, wear Qin robes, follow Qin rites, speak Qin tongue; by night, it belonged to Chu—fly Chu banners, don Chu robes, follow Chu customs, speak Chu dialect. Hence the idiom 'morning Qin, evening Chu.'"

"These mule caravans must be from the port’s mule and horse guild. Since we’ve arrived, we won’t enter the city—let’s hurry to return the elder to his homeland."

"I’ll ask for directions."

Sha Lifei immediately spurred his horse, found an old cart driver, and asked: "Old man, how do we get to Wujiagou?"

Wujiagou was the hometown of the yin guide, Wu Lao Si.

Unfortunately, the old man was from Ezhou, his dialect thick. After much back-and-forth, they finally understood the way.

"Oh my, that was exhausting."

Sha Lifei returned and pointed southeast. "Wujiagou is over there—we should reach it before dark."

Without delay, the group set off.

They didn’t notice the cart driver suddenly turned back, his gaze toward them strangely intent.

As Sha Lifei said, by nightfall they found a village, built against a mountain, beside a dried riverbed.

But the group froze in shock.

The village was utterly empty, overgrown with wild grass—like a ghost village...

(End of Chapter)