Chapter Thirty-Two: The Land of Zhuolu

“What?” Zhou Yi didn’t react at first, but Baozi had no time to answer him now.

“Oh my heavens, they’re all here! Run!” Baozi shouted, turning to flee, but he forgot he was still sitting astride his horse. As he twisted around, he tumbled right off the saddle.

Zhou Yi finally understood what was happening. He quickly dismounted and hauled Baozi up, dragging him along as they ran. Glancing back, Zhou Yi saw the two horses they’d ridden rearing up, letting out shrill neighs before collapsing to the ground with a heavy thud.

As he ran, Zhou Yi opened his spiritual sight and looked back: the horde of sinister spirits, having lost their target, turned around and retreated. Seeing this, he called after Baozi, who was still running frantically: “Stop, they're all gone.”

Baozi turned his head at Zhou Yi’s words. “Brother Yi, what now? I’ll follow your lead.”

They stopped. Beiqiao’s wolf eyes glowed green as he gazed toward the village, baring his fangs in a show of force at the spirits within. Beiqiao had always disliked sinister entities, as Baozi had discovered when he first pried open the cave entrance—since the giant serpent living underground was such a creature. This time, Beiqiao didn’t back down; he continued his show of dominance, walking toward the spirits.

Zhou Yi patted Beiqiao’s head, signaling him not to be nervous. Beiqiao glanced at Zhou Yi, shook off the hand resting on his head, and kept baring his teeth at the spirits in the village.

Zhou Yi considered his options, but had no better plan. To learn who had stolen the Fire and Wind keys, he would have to inspect the site where they were taken—but under current circumstances, that was impossible. Determined to find clues, he gritted his teeth and declared, “Kill!”

He formed a hand seal and chanted, “Darkness and obscurity, the five elements of Yin and Yang. Demons stirring chaos, bringing calamity to the world. Nine Heavens, the Thunder God responds—let Pu Hua Tianzun Wen Zhong hear my command! Let divine thunder descend and purge all evil, restoring clarity to the mortal realm.” Halfway through the Thunder Invocation, his spiritual energy drained rapidly, thunder flickered faintly in the sky, but when the incantation ended, no lightning struck; his energy was depleted, his core empty.

Zhou Yi, at the Demon-Subduing stage, still lacked the power to summon heavenly thunder—it was a reckless attempt, costing him dearly. When the thunder failed to descend, a cold, ruthless look flashed across his eyes. He bit his tongue until it bled, spitting blood as he chanted, “Nine Heavens, Thunder God Pu Hua Tianzun Wen Zhong, hear my command! Let divine thunder destroy all evil and restore clarity to the mortal world.” His energy drained, he was on the verge of collapse.

Seeing Zhou Yi struggling, Baozi quickly pressed his hand to Zhou Yi’s Wind Gate acupoint, channeling spiritual energy into him. Thunder roared from the sky, striking the street below; several spirits there were immediately annihilated. The remaining spirits, seeing the thunder descend, fled in terror back to Zhuolu.

Zhou Yi, barely able to summon celestial thunder, collapsed, exhausted and weak.

“Brother Yi, are you alright? The spirits all ran back to Zhuolu.” Baozi asked with concern.

Zhou Yi shook his head slowly, signaling he was fine. “My spiritual energy is exhausted. Find me a quiet place to recover; I need to restore my energy.” He was so weak now that even an ordinary man could easily knock him over.

Baozi hurriedly helped Zhou Yi to the roadside, into the woods. Zhou Yi saw the area was safe enough, so he sat cross-legged and began to slowly absorb the ambient spiritual energy.

Two hours later, Zhou Yi had recovered most of his energy and stood up. Baozi, who had also been meditating nearby, quickly rose to help him.

Zhou Yi shook his head, indicating he didn’t need help. “Let’s go.” As he spoke, his tongue throbbed with pain, making his voice sound odd. He swore never to use such methods again: though they could temporarily enhance the power of his incantations, the side effects were severe.

Entering the village, they saw that the villagers, after the spirits’ assault, had a dark aura about their heads and looked weak, though their lives were not in danger.

“Should we help?” Baozi wanted to assist the villagers in recovering.

Zhou Yi glanced at Baozi. “How?”

Baozi shook his head, admitting, “I don’t know.”

Zhou Yi’s tongue hurt too much to speak, so he headed straight for Zhuolu. Another question nagged at him: how did Tuo Gutai know he was searching for the Wind and Fire keys? When Zhou Yi knocked on his door, the old man had greeted him personally—a highly unusual act for someone his age.

Tuo Gutai claimed to be a descendant of Shuotuo, but this couldn’t be confirmed. Zhou Yi didn’t believe a man who died in the twentieth year of the Jiaqing era could still converse with people today. An immortal who attains the Way doesn’t die but ascends in the flesh; the Investiture of the Gods lists those who died and whose souls were elevated.

Tuo Gutai clearly was neither, so how had he survived until now? If Zhou Yi’s perceptions were accurate, Tuo Gutai wasn’t truly alive, but had used some secret art to seal his own soul within his corpse—a technique he had dismissed as mere trickery.

The spirits of Zhuolu, as described by Tuo Gutai, seemed exaggerated. If, in two days, the spirits could render a hundred-mile radius devoid of life, why hadn’t he ordered his descendants to move elsewhere, instead of risking their lives?

Zhou Yi couldn’t figure it out; there were too many mysteries about Tuo Gutai, and the possibilities he imagined were hard to accept. He set them aside for now.

Baozi saw Zhou Yi lost in thought and tugged his arm. “What are you thinking about?”

Zhou Yi told Baozi all his doubts. Baozi listened, pursed his lips, and admitted he couldn’t make sense of it either.

They arrived at the outskirts of Zhuolu. Looking out, the land was flat as far as the eye could see, with white alkaline patches on the ground, riddled with fissures—some large enough to fit an arm, others just a finger. A few scraggly weeds grew here and there, wilted and yellow.

Upon arriving, they sensed a murderous aura that stirred their souls and set their blood boiling. Zhou Yi felt a surge of rebellious energy, his eyes bloodshot, and couldn’t help but let out a primal roar.

Beiqiao, too, seemed affected by the killer aura; following Zhou Yi’s cry, he howled like a wolf, the sound echoing endlessly.

After the howls faded, Zhou Yi felt his blood calm and couldn’t help but marvel. “Is this the ancient battlefield where the emperor fought Chiyou? Truly extraordinary. Even after thousands of years, the murderous energy hasn’t diminished.”

Turning to Beiqiao, Zhou Yi realized the young wolf that had followed them from the mountain had grown to match its father’s size, exuding the same dominant aura. “Beiqiao has grown up, too.”

“Enough sentimentality, let’s hurry and find Shuotuo’s grave. Tuo Gutai said it should be at the center of Zhuolu, but with such a vast area, it’ll take some searching,” Baozi said, frowning.

Zhou Yi looked at the fissures on the ground and smiled. “Let’s follow the cracks; they probably radiate out from Shuotuo’s grave.”

Baozi nodded in agreement. Zhuolu was immense, stretching for a hundred miles in every direction. They followed the fissures for two hours as dusk fell. The sky was overcast, with no moon to be seen; darkness enveloped the ancient battlefield, and a chill wind blew despite the June weather. Both shivered involuntarily.

“Brother Yi, let’s head back and search again tomorrow,” Baozi said, hugging himself.

Zhou Yi pulled his thin robe tighter for warmth. “Go back? Where? To Tuo Gutai’s house? Aren’t you afraid he’ll get up at midnight and chop you up for dumpling filling?”

Baozi, reminded of the suspicions Zhou Yi had voiced earlier about Tuo Gutai, hugged himself even more tightly.