Chapter Seventy-Five: Who Is the Mantis’ Shadow?

Generally speaking, cultivators at the Foundation Establishment stage and above can ride swords through the air—provided, of course, that they possess a flying sword. Feng Ke’er did not have one, so sword-riding was out of the question. But that hardly stopped her. She had the Art of Riding the Wind—an old skill she’d recently rediscovered a new use for during her convalescence. By activating the technique, she could spread her arms like a bird and soar upon the breeze.

This was her first time using the Art of Riding the Wind in front of Feng Jiu. He let out a soft “hmm?” and asked suspiciously, “How do you know the Art of Riding the Wind?” As far as he knew, this was a spell never taught outside the Feng clan, and even within the clan, it was reserved for a handful of the most elite core disciples.

Did this girl steal the technique, or had Feng Yulin lied?

“Because I learned it, so I know it,” Feng Ke’er replied, unwilling to reveal she had picked it up from the compendium.

He had expected her to dodge the truth. With a flick of his sleeves, the fluffy white cloud beneath Feng Jiu’s feet suddenly accelerated, putting several dozen yards between them.

He’s annoyed! Feng Ke’er shrugged, summoned her spiritual energy, and sped up with a whoosh. At her current cultivation, she couldn’t truly become one with the wind—at normal speed she was as gentle as a breeze, but when accelerating, she might as well have been carrying a bellows; the air roared around her, a genuine “howling wind.”

Feng Jiu halted, hooked a finger, and before she knew it, a flash of red light brought her onto his cloud. “Are you trying to announce your presence to the two groups ahead? Put away your pitiful spell!”

Free ride, why not? The Art of Riding the Wind consumed spiritual power, after all. Feng Ke’er, always one to sit if she could avoid standing, promptly sat cross-legged on the cloud, tilted her head up with a beaming smile, and flashed eight neat, corn-kernel-like white teeth. “Thank you.”

Feng Jiu ignored her, standing with hands clasped behind his back at the cloud’s prow.

He stood as straight as a pine, with his robes fluttering and ink-black hair streaming. Wasn’t this the very image of an elegant young lord? Feng Ke’er withdrew her gaze with a sigh: what a pity he was only pretending—just a little brat barely taller than her shoulder. A counterfeit!

The cultivation world was never short on beautiful men and women. Why? Because, like their cultivation, a cultivator’s appearance grew with their power. The stronger they became, the more striking their looks. Impatient? There’s always the Transformation Spell. Low cultivation and can’t cast one? No problem: a single transformation talisman does the trick. You could look however you wished, no need for the knife like the people of that far-off stick country—though, come to think of it, their ancestors were likely still alien beings at this time, clueless about Earth. But enough digression—back to the point.

Since transmigrating, this was Feng Ke’er’s second time flying at high altitude. The first was when Fairy Mo Xue brought her and Bodhi Seed back to the sect. Back then, because she and Bodhi Seed had no cultivation, Fairy Mo Xue had given each of them a black ribbon to cover their eyes, so she had seen nothing. Now, she was no longer ignorant and could freely sit on the cloud and gaze down at the world below.

The cloud was steady, much like an airplane, but entirely open-air, granting a panoramic view—a far cooler ride than any plane.

Above her stretched a vast blue sky, like a domed sapphire; the sun shone gold, a jewel set in the glass. Below, layers of clouds, thick as a downy quilt, gleamed with a golden sheen, like a rippling sunrise at sea; beyond the clouds, mountains rolled and rivers wound like indigo silk. As far as the eye could see, there was not a sign of human habitation—only pure nature.

“Strange, we’ve flown so far and still no village… or tribe?” Feng Ke’er wondered aloud. Qin Ruhua and her group had moved quickly, and the two groups following kept a distance of several dozen miles, so their own speed could not be slow. In this short time, the peaks of Qingyun Sect were far behind, out of sight.

Feng Jiu glanced at her as if she were an alien. “Don’t you know? This entire region is Qingyun Sect’s territory. Without their permission, how could ordinary folk dare settle here?” He pointed ahead. “See that needle-like peak? That’s the boundary mountain of Qingyun Sect. There should be people beyond it.”

Feng Ke’er followed his gesture and indeed saw a towering, perilous peak—truly a boundary mountain: uniquely sharp among the surrounding ranges, its summit bare and barren; and on either side, two distinct worlds. Both sides had mountains and water, but this side was lush and brimming with spiritual energy, like a national scenic reserve; the other, barren and desolate, clearly lacking any spiritual aura.

“How can that be?” Feng Ke’er asked, puzzled.

“It’s the spirit-gathering formation. Cultivation sects always choose lands rich in spiritual energy, then set up large arrays to draw in even more. The boundary mountain is actually a formation pillar. Over time, the difference inside and out becomes like heaven and earth…” It seemed reaching a new stage had improved Feng Jiu’s patience as well.

Feng Ke’er suddenly cried out, cutting him off. “Look, there’s a village!”

About a hundred miles from the boundary mountain, a great river wound through the hills, its silt forming a small alluvial plain. On the plain, dense woods surrounded a clearing where a dozen round, thatched huts stood—far more primitive than those of the Feng clan. Two or three naked infants played in the grass, while five half-dressed, fur-clad adults—clearly elders—sat around a heap of red clay, shaping pottery as they sang off-key, seemingly content with life.

By the riverbank, over a dozen similarly dressed young men and women fished with long spears. Among them, one woman’s belly was round—she was pregnant! Feng Ke’er broke into a cold sweat.

Suddenly, a roar rang out from the distant forested valley, catching her attention. A group of young hunters were besieging a mammoth with long, curving tusks.

A real mammoth—a prehistoric giant!

For twenty-odd primitive folk armed with wooden clubs and longbows, hunting a mammoth was sheer madness; it must have been an ambush.

When Feng Ke’er saw them, the mammoth was brandishing a huntress aloft with its trunk, preparing to hurl her to the ground, while the others scattered in terror, screaming.

“Oh no!” Feng Ke’er cried. Without thinking, she raised her hand and sent forth an Ice Spike.

The mammoth was instantly frozen solid, and the huntress saved.

At first, the hunters were stunned. Then, one by one, they cast down their weapons, prostrating themselves in worship before the huntress still hanging from the mammoth’s trunk.

Well, if you’re going to do a good deed, see it through. Feng Ke’er tugged at Feng Jiu’s robes, her smile radiant. “Hey, Birdbrain, help me out—get her down, will you?”

Ice Spike! The Feng clan’s signature ice technique! Feng Jiu’s heart stirred, but he cast a spell to lower the woman safely.

The huntress was still dazed, reaching out in disbelief to touch the frozen mammoth.

Seeing this, Feng Ke’er dispelled the Ice Spike.

The mammoth thawed and collapsed with a crash.

The hunters cheered, rushing forward to hoist the huntress high.

Thus, a legendary heroine was born. From then on, this huntress would be a child of the gods—a being set apart. Feng Ke’er clapped her hands, lips curved in delight.

Feng Jiu shook his head, chuckling. “Was that fun?”

“What?” Feng Ke’er retorted with a raised brow. “I was saving someone! Saving a life is a great merit—don’t you know that?” She nearly let slip a reference to the Buddha.

“A clay idol’s life—what merit is there in that?” Feng Jiu scoffed.

She knew he looked down on these mortals as non-cultivators. Feng Ke’er bristled, turning away. If anything, these people were her ancestors. If they were clay, what did that make her?

Stubborn girl—let’s see if I can’t get you to talk. Feng Jiu rubbed his nose, then asked, “You like them? Is it because your clan’s saintess created them?”

Not this again! Feng Ke’er shot him a glare. “I told you, I have nothing to do with the Feng clan. Feng Yulin wasn’t lying about that. Qingyun Sect came to fetch their saintess, but she happened to be missing, so they took me as a substitute.”

“Really?” Feng Jiu’s gaze was piercing.

“Believe it or not!” Feng Ke’er rolled her eyes and turned away to silently recite the Clear Mind Mantra. She’d barely had time to practice it in the past three days of searching.

Feng Jiu’s eyes lingered on her back before he turned away as well, sitting cross-legged in silence.

A long while passed before Feng Jiu spoke again. “It’s not that I don’t believe you. It’s just—the Art of Riding the Wind and Ice Spike are unique to the Feng clan. Yet your cultivation method feels different—purer, more orthodox. That’s why I’m curious.”

Feng Ke’er had finished meditating and, hearing this, opened her eyes and deliberately changed the subject. “Are you interested in my cultivation method?”

Feng Jiu ground his teeth. “Don’t try to sidestep the question, Feng girl.”

Feng Ke’er met his gaze, her expression perfectly guileless. “I have the Feng clan’s techniques—a priestess gave them to me. If you can call this a method.” With that, she fished out the turtle shell Wind Sparrow had given her and tossed it to him.

Feng Jiu caught it and froze. “The Path to Heaven? What is this?” The latter lines he recognized: The Way is without feeling; the sentimental perish, the emotionless endure; seek the Way, and sever all ties—a saying ascribed to Xiao Xi before her departure, well-known in the divine realm for thousands of years.

“How should I know? My master never taught me any of this,” Feng Ke’er replied with a snort. This fellow was too persistent; if she didn’t invoke her master, she’d never get him off her back.

“Your master? Who?” Feng Jiu’s eyes gleamed.

She couldn’t possibly expose the Lord of Heaven. Feng Ke’er was about to blurt out a random name when, just then, their self-guided “cotton cloud” suddenly halted before two peaks sharp as blades.

Thank goodness! She exclaimed, “Hey, why did the cloud stop? And where did those two groups ahead of us go? They seem to have vanished!”

“Because the Feng clan set up the Seven Slaughters Immortal-Slaying Array behind those peaks,” Feng Jiu said coldly, pointing at the cloud beneath their feet. “Also, this isn’t a cotton cloud—it’s formed from the soft hairs I shed earlier.”

Feng Ke’er ignored the last part and snapped her fingers. “Aha! Feng Yulin deliberately led the Qingyun Sect here!”

This girl! Feng Jiu, exasperated, shot her a glare. “How clever!”

(End of chapter)