Chapter Eleven: Encountering the Puppet Once Again

Without hesitation, the two men struck first. Zhou Yi gathered the spiritual energy from his lower abdomen and channeled it throughout his body, charging at one of them. That man was ready, raising his fist to meet Zhou Yi's attack, and somehow a dagger had appeared in his hand. If Zhou Yi continued, both would surely suffer, so he withdrew his fist and searched for another opening.

The other attacker wielded a short club, swinging it at Zhou Yi’s back. Zhou Yi spun around, grabbed the club, pulled it toward himself, and punched the man’s shoulder. The club naturally fell into Zhou Yi’s grasp. With a weapon in hand, Zhou Yi felt much more confident. He faced three opponents alone and held his ground.

Baozi, however, was in a sorry state—his chest slashed, his eye swollen, eyelid turned out, half his face covered in blood, a terrifying sight.

Though Zhou Yi fought three men without losing ground in the short term, time was not on his side. With a sharp tearing sound, the dagger sliced open Zhou Yi’s arm. He bit his lip, summoned all his strength, and struck the attacker’s head hard with the club. Throwing the club aside, he stepped forward, palms together, and delivered a double strike to the man’s temples. Releasing him, Zhou Yi watched as blood streamed from the man’s eyes and nostrils; his legs gave way, and he collapsed to the ground, his fate uncertain.

But Zhou Yi’s focus on killing left his back exposed. A blow landed on his back, the taste of blood rising in his throat, and he vomited a mouthful of it. Having killed one, Zhou Yi’s murderous intent surged. He quickly circled behind another enemy and punched him squarely at the base of his skull. Zhou Yi heard a sickening crack. The man fell to the ground, convulsing.

In an instant, two out of five were incapacitated. The remaining three, seeing Zhou Yi’s ferocity, grew fearful and eyed him warily as they retreated.

Zhou Yi had no wish to pursue them further. He looked at the three and said, “Leave now. If you return to destroy the Dragon Vein of the Great Qing, I will not spare you.”

The three did not dare linger and fled through the cave.

Turning to the battle between Zuo Zhi and the giant serpent, it was nearing its end. The serpent had coiled around Zuo Zhi, its body tightening, the sound of Zuo Zhi’s bones crackling audible. In moments, Zuo Zhi would surely be strangled to death.

Suddenly, a gunshot rang out, a bullet striking the serpent’s head. Somehow, Zuo Zhi had produced a Ma-brand revolver in his right hand. Several shots fired, bullets piercing the serpent’s skull. In pain, the serpent loosened its coils. Zuo Zhi escaped, no longer wanting to fight, and fled into a cave.

Baozi saw Zuo Zhi run and wanted to chase him, but Zhou Yi quickly pulled him back. “Don’t chase. We’re no match for him.”

Baozi wiped the blood from his face. “He’s wounded. If we don’t catch him now, he’ll come after us once he’s recovered.”

Zhou Yi shook his head. “We’re injured too. Let’s leave here quickly.”

Baozi pointed at the giant serpent. “What about it?”

Zhou Yi glanced at the dying serpent and shook his head again. “It’s been shot in the head several times—it won’t live long. Let’s go.”

Just as they were about to leave, the serpent spoke again, its voice human. “Thank you, young friends, for your help today. Do not worry about me. With a few months of rest, I will recover.”

Zhou Yi looked at the serpent. “The Dragon Vein’s fate has not ended, so the Great Qing’s destiny persists. Is this the right understanding?”

The serpent heard Zhou Yi’s words, and an ancient sorrow flashed in its eyes. Zhou Yi seemed to glimpse the pain in the serpent’s heart, and for a moment, grief rose within him, tears streaming down his face.

Baozi, confused, patted Zhou Yi. “Why are you crying?”

Zhou Yi snapped out of his daze, realizing his face was wet with tears. He wiped them away and gave Baozi a slight smile. “It’s nothing. Let’s go.”

They reached the entrance to the pit. Zhou Yi glanced back at the serpent, which was now devouring one of the fallen men. He dared not look again and turned away.

Back on the surface, dusk had settled over the western hills. Beiqiao was in the cave, eating a wild chicken. The two had originally intended to visit the mountain temple, but by some twist of fate, they had stumbled upon villains destroying the Dragon Vein. It seemed destiny had played a hand. Both wounded, they could not linger in the mountains. Once Beiqiao finished the chicken, they headed down the mountain.

At home, Zhou Dajiang told Zhou Yi he had arranged a marriage for him—the girl was from Old Wu’s family in the southern village.

“Father, they say Old Wu’s daughter isn’t even four feet tall, weighs over two hundred pounds, and must be terribly ugly. How could you ask me to marry her?” Zhou Yi frowned, clearly unwilling. After all, who would want a wife just over a meter tall and two hundred pounds? That would be a rare sight indeed.

“Parents’ orders, matchmakers’ words. Besides, I’ve seen the girl myself. She suits you. Don’t listen to idle gossip,” Zhou Dajiang said sternly.

Zhou Yi pursed his lips. What age was Zhou Dajiang? Almost eighty. If his sense of beauty differed, who would Zhou Yi turn to for comfort in the future? He dared not believe his father entirely.

Thinking this, Zhou Yi decided to find a chance to visit the neighboring village and see his future wife for himself. If she was as ugly as rumored, Zhou Yi was determined never to consent.

On the fifth day, Baozi came to Zhou Yi’s house in a hurry. Zhou Yi asked and learned Baozi had gotten himself into trouble. A few days before, Baozi’s skin ailment had been cured by Zhou Yi. Baozi’s father, Ni Wu, spread the news among the neighbors, and soon everyone in the village knew Zhou Yi could perform spirit dances. Word traveled to nearby villages, transforming the tale into Zhou Yi being some celestial child descended to earth—otherwise, how could Zhou Dajiang have a son in his fifties?

Zhou Yi was quite helpless about this. His third brother was two years younger than him, and their mother had given birth when Zhou Dajiang was already sixty. As the story spread farther, by the time it reached the southern village, it became that Zhou Yi and Baozi were both immortals.

But to return to the main point. A few days ago, a villager from the southern village found Baozi, knelt before him, and begged, “Divine one, save me, save my young son.” Baozi and Ni Wu struggled to lift him up as he wept and explained.

The villager’s son had gone out to play and found a figurine in the snow, exquisitely carved. The child loved it, even slept with it at night. The parents thought nothing of it. But soon, trouble began. The boy’s health weakened, he avoided sunlight, and at night would sneak into the chicken coop to suck the chickens’ blood. After ruining his own chickens, he began invading neighbors’ coops.

“You went to treat him?” Zhou Yi listened, increasingly shocked, unable to hold back his question.

Baozi knew he’d made a serious mistake and lowered his head, barely whispering, “Yes.”

“How did you treat him?” Zhou Yi pressed.

“I threw the figurine into the fire and burned it,” Baozi replied hurriedly.

Zhou Yi was horrified. “Oh no!”

ps: I’ve corrected all the typos and wrong words in the previous chapters—nearly killed me. My eyes hurt T-T. For my dedication, please give me some flowers and favorites. I’ll always love you all…..