Chapter 51: Chapter Fifty-One: Side Sect Scheming, Toxic Mists and Peril

Outside Sanyang Village, beneath a giant plum tree, a group of villagers held up torches, casting the area in crimson light. The Shi boy shouted: “This plum tree hides a giant serpent—it nearly killed Jiang’s boy and took my father’s life. Though the immortal has rid us of the serpent, keeping this tree will only bring more disaster.”

“When my father died, we should’ve cut down this cursed tree.”

“But some elders in the village said the tree’s canopy is as wide as a carriage roof—it protects our village and brings forth nobles.”

The Shi boy was about to hurl his torch onto the piled firewood beneath the tree when someone sneered: “Disregard the elders’ words, and misfortune comes right to your door. Burn this fengshui tree, and you’ll bring ruin upon your homes.”

The Shi boy flew into rage and turned to those around him: “Who said that? Who spoke those words?”

The villagers turned toward the voice, stepping aside, and soon revealed a man in black robes. His brow ridges were unnaturally high, as if horns grew from his forehead; his hair was pure white, his long beard hanging over his chest. In his right hand he held a black banner inscribed with “Six Jia Mystic Gate…” and wore a tall crown resembling a peacock’s tail.

The appearance of this quack terrified the villagers; everyone hesitated, none daring to step forward with firewood to burn the tree.

Seeing this, the Shi boy’s tone weakened slightly, but he still stuck his neck out: “Who are you? What right do you have to meddle in our village affairs?”

“I am no one special—only I cannot bear to see you, in your rashness, doom this entire village. Why does this plum tree grow so strangely? Have you ever seen another plum tree this tall elsewhere?” the Daoist asked, spreading his hands.

The villagers murmured among themselves: “Such a giant plum tree is indeed rare—otherwise we wouldn’t have hesitated to cut it down.”

“With this high master intervening, could it really be a fengshui tree?”

The Daoist stroked his beard and smiled: “If not planted upon an extraordinary site, how could such a wondrous tree grow? If such a tree exists, how could it not be tied to your village’s fortune? As the saying goes: ‘A locust tree before the gate means one rises to the Three Excellencies.’ A canopy like a roof means nobility shall emerge. Your village has such a wondrous tree behind it—why not protect it properly, and instead try to burn it?”

“That will surely bring calamity…”

“What do you know?” the Shi boy snapped. “This tree hides a serpent—it poisoned my father and nearly devoured a man…”

The Daoist’s eyes flickered with strange light, feigning confusion as he pressed: “Oh? How so?” The villagers quickly began recounting the day’s events to him.

A faint, fleeting sneer curled the Daoist’s lips. He pretended to calculate with his fingers, shaking his head: “Ah, so that’s it. No wonder your village has this wondrous tree yet its fortune remains stagnant—it’s been stolen by this evil dragon-serpent. Think: without the tree’s fortune, how could this serpent have grown so powerful?”

“Do you still have the serpent’s bones? If you can give me even a fragment of its nearly transformed dragon-bones, I can perform a ritual to elevate your village’s fortune—within three generations, you’ll produce kings, princes, and high officials!”

The village head’s eyes lit up, but then he sighed regretfully: “The immortal took the serpent’s bones away. Alas… we simply lack the fortune.”

“Do you know where the immortal went? Who is he?” the Daoist asked, feigning earnest concern.

Everyone shook their heads. The village head opened his mouth to speak, but suddenly felt something was wrong—he thought: “If I reveal the immortal’s identity, I don’t even know if my family will gain nobility within three generations—but I’d lose the chance to curry favor with the county magistrate and the immortal right now. Why risk a near-certain opportunity for a vague, uncertain one?”

“Besides, the immortal was so generous—if I meet him again, wouldn’t it be better to ask him for a method to bury the dragon-bone in my ancestral grave and instantly awaken fortune? I won’t fight the village over this plum tree. I have my own fortune—I’ll take a share of the serpent’s dragon-qi. That’s not too much!”

He immediately clamped his mouth shut, pretending ignorance.

The Daoist looked down on these ignorant villagers and didn’t notice the headman’s hesitation.

He hadn’t learned Qian Chen’s identity or whereabouts, assuming the cultivator who slew the serpent was merely a passing wanderer. He grew even more resentful: “My master once discovered this place’s yin-sha energy but couldn’t subdue or refine it, so he planted a disease-plum here to ward off the evil. I had no patience to wait a hundred and fifty years for the plum to mature, so I found a method to cultivate a venomous dragon-serpent using sha-energy—I sealed a rare giant serpent inside this hollow, letting it absorb the sha-energy and grow strong. Before it transformed into a dragon, I planned to sacrifice flesh and blood to refine this diseased plum.”

“Then, by fusing the dragon-bones with the plum tree, I would forge a Disha Longshe Sword.”

“This serpent was so eager to devour humans, replenishing its blood-qi—it was on the verge of transformation! Yet someone ruined my decades of planning… Damnable! Damnable!”

“He took the serpent’s bones—left me no chance to recover them… No, I must retrieve those bones. This serpent’s qi is deep; even if the resulting artifact isn’t as perfect as I planned, it’s still the most promising one I’ve ever held—better than hundreds of ancient copper coins forged into a Golden Coin Sword, better than the Black Dog Nails made from a hundred black dogs killing each other and skinned for refinement. Maybe I can even forge a flying sword!”

“If I had a flying sword for protection, I wouldn’t fear entering the marsh to kill the evil dragon I’ve been watching for so long—steal its dragon pearl, refine it with my sect’s secret method, and I’d have a chance at forming a mid-grade Golden Core!”

The Daoist, thinking only of these two magical materials, already imagined his future glory as a Golden Core cultivator. Fire burned in his heart, malice rising.

His cultivation was no small matter, and he carried several artifacts passed down by his master and painstakingly refined himself. When traveling through the Central Lands, even the Mei Mountains, Bamboo Mountains, and Miao Mountains gave him respect—he was no ordinary cultivator among the free-roaming sects. Though he’d heard of Qian Chen’s power in slaying the serpent, he didn’t think it remarkable… after all, common folk always exaggerated.

Even if they saw two-tenths of a feat, they’d boast it as ten-tenths.

Moreover, most villagers hadn’t even witnessed the event firsthand—their words held little credibility. If the serpent-slayer were truly formidable, how could he have missed the plum tree’s strangeness? If he truly had power, the Daoist reasoned, he’d have uprooted the tree entirely and refined both it and the serpent’s bones into an artifact.

Someone who joyfully took the serpent as treasure yet failed to notice the tree’s oddity—even if he had some power—was no Foundation Establishment master.

Poor Daoist—he’d never imagined a world where one could never refine all the treasures one found, where new material was seen as too troublesome and left for future generations as fortune. He was no treasure-hoarding child of countless artifacts.

Qian Chen took the serpent’s bones merely to prevent villagers from greedily eating its spirit pills and causing disaster.

The sha-energy beneath the diseased plum was no different from the chaotic sha-energy in his Seven Harm Banner. He didn’t even bother refining it into a pill—it was too impure—and even adding it to the banner was too much trouble.

The villagers, swayed by the Daoist’s words, began arguing. The Shi boy, feeling humiliated, snatched an axe and roared as he swung it at the plum tree.

The Daoist’s eyes flashed cold light; secretly, he formed a spell in his sleeve.

The Shi boy’s axe struck the plum tree, carving a deep gash. At once, he screamed in agony—his leg now bore a wound deep enough to see bone. Blood gushed from the tree’s wound, and the villagers scrambled back in terror.

“The plum tree has become a spirit?”

“It’s truly a fengshui tree! To touch it brings disaster! Quickly carry Little Shi away—this wound won’t heal well, or he’ll limp for life!”

Seizing the opportunity, the Daoist terrified the villagers further, ensuring no one dared touch his precious plum tree. Then, ignoring those rushing to ask about wealth or children, he calmly walked away.

At the crossroads, he paused, reconsidered his route, and turned toward Jiaobu Town.

Qian Chen rode his Flying Cloud Sack above the Jiuzhen Marsh, peering downward to sense the qi—but the marsh was shrouded in mist and swirling vapor, and from above, nothing was visible. He lowered his cloud slightly and saw the mist shimmer in seven colors, clearly infused with toxic zhàng qì and yin-sha energy.

He immediately rose higher… Come on, even with his external elixir’s boost, Qian Chen was only a lower-tier Golden Core cultivator. Even with the Heaven’s Net Umbrella protecting him, encountering heavenly-born toxins like the Peach Blossom Poison or the Hundred Toxins Cold Light would strip off a layer of skin!

And who knew what strange insects or ferocious beasts lurked within those mists?

If he bumped into a Twelve-Winged Heavenly Centipede or an Ancient Plague Locust… his body wouldn’t survive.

“No wonder no one flies over the Jiuzhen Marsh to gather herbs—they wait for the most yang day, when all poisons retreat, and enter by dragon-boat to harvest. The air above this marsh is even more dangerous than the ground within. Countless toxins have been exhaled for millions of years, mixed with yin and sha energies, spawning all manner of strange qi… truly terrifying.”

“If someone could absorb the accumulated toxins above the Jiuzhen Marsh for centuries, they might forge a magic treasure.”

“No—such a place of extraordinary poison must birth something monstrous. It could even be refined into a Spirit Treasure.”

“Too dangerous, too dangerous… I’ll stick to the water route.” Qian Chen calmly flew out of the marsh… planning to head to nearby Jiaobu Town to gather information, perhaps obtain a map of the marsh… or failing that, use spirit pills to bribe local clans, or harass local gangs for their secret maps.

Cui Dan would arrive before the Dragon Boat Festival—he could use Cui’s influence to board a dragon-boat into the marsh. That shouldn’t be hard.

Honestly, this marsh teemed with dragon-serpents, ferocious beasts, and venomous insects. Outside the most yang day, no one dared enter deeply. Even with a map, Qian Chen would only dare probe the marsh’s edges. With his caution, he wouldn’t rush in without full preparation. Since the Dragon Boat Festival’s yang peak was near, why risk such danger?

Qian Chen planned to first scout the marsh’s perimeter, see if he could find suitable sha-energy.

If he couldn’t find any, he’d enter the marsh’s depths during the Dragon Boat Festival—but before then, he’d need to gather several clues. Entering blindly was no option; even the most yang day only suppressed venomous insects and dragon-serpents for three days.

Within those three days, if he failed to find suitable sha-energy, he’d have to decide whether to risk encountering Twelve-Winged Heavenly Centipedes, Ancient Plague Locusts, or Supreme Yin Sky Scorpions to continue his search!