Chapter Eleven: The Beautiful Maiden and the Fierce Tiger Whip

Ge Qian took an arrow from his quiver and carefully untied a bundle, from which he produced a porcelain bowl. He poured measured amounts of powder from four small bottles into the bowl, added a bit of water, and finally soaked the arrow in the mixture. His heart was uneasy, for today’s target was a pangolin—a mid-stage first-rank demon beast, equivalent to a mid-stage Qi Condensation cultivator. Its razor-sharp fangs could smash through medium-grade defensive artifacts as though they were mere twigs. With his mere first layer Qi Condensation cultivation and no magical artifacts of his own, attempting to slay the beast was tantamount to a mantis trying to stop a chariot.

Thus, Ge Qian had always avoided the pangolin’s cliffside lair on Mount Daze, never alerting the other disciples. He intended to take on the beast only once his strength had grown, for its hide and fangs were valuable materials for artifact forging, worth a fair number of spirit stones. He hadn’t expected to make his move so soon, but now had no choice but to rely on this potent anesthetic, his crossbow, and his own archery skills.

As dusk fell, Ge Qian wrapped the arrow in white cloth, hid it in his bosom, mixed the remaining anesthetic powders together, and hurried out. The abyss at the cliff’s edge seemed bottomless. Ge Qian lay prone at the brink, listening intently. He tied a long rope to a live rabbit, walked a hundred paces away, loaded his steel crossbow, and aimed. With a flick, he tossed the rabbit over the edge.

The rope grew taut; suddenly, an excited, piercing screech resounded below—the pangolin had caught the scent of the rabbit and would not let such a delicacy escape. The rabbit had been thoroughly dosed with the powerful sedative. Ge Qian knew the timing was critical; if he didn’t lure the beast up now, he’d have no way of retrieving it once it was paralyzed, since he couldn’t fly.

With a sudden yank, he pulled the rabbit up. In a flash of gray, the pangolin pounced, its gaping jaws swallowing the rabbit whole. As it threw back its head to gulp down its prey, its scarlet eyes glinted coldly.

This was the chance Ge Qian had been waiting for. With a snap, the steel crossbow fired—the arrow sped straight for the space between the pangolin’s eyes. As Ge Qian had anticipated, the beast, though not highly intelligent, instinctively dodged, but the poisoned arrow plunged deep into its eye.

The pangolin’s body was covered in hand-sized scales, nearly impenetrable save by top-grade artifacts—but its eyes were its greatest weakness. The arrow found its mark. The creature howled in agony, writhing on the ground. Fearing it might tumble into the chasm, Ge Qian swung the rope, flicked, and entangled the beast, then pulled with all his might, running forward.

The pangolin was stunned by pain at first, but as Ge Qian tried to bind and drag it, its rage exploded. Its yard-long body twisted, scales bristling like knives, instantly severing the rope.

With one good eye, the pangolin fixed on the human who had wounded it and, in a frenzy, hurtled toward Ge Qian like a gale. Its bloody maw snapped downward, but Ge Qian, sensing danger behind him, rolled aside just in time—its jaws closed on empty air. In a flash, its thick tail lashed out at him.

There was no time to dodge. The pangolin’s tail, if it struck a tree, could split it in two. Ge Qian gripped his short steel sword in both hands, braced, and used the force of the blow to slide a full yard across the ground. His arms felt as though they might shatter; the sword snapped in two.

The pangolin lunged again, but suddenly staggered, then collapsed in a heap, unconscious at last.

Ge Qian slowly rose, rubbing his arms. “I never imagined demon beasts could be so resistant to poison. That concoction could have felled ten brown bears!”

He pried out the pangolin’s two fangs with the broken sword, tucking one into his belt. With both hands, he gripped the other and plunged it into the beast’s throat—a quick, easy thrust. With a final sweep, the pangolin was slain by its own fang.

Ge Qian stowed the corpse in his storage pouch and patted the fang at his waist, already envisioning the power he’d gain if he forged it into a medium-grade artifact. With his tasks complete, he hurried back to his hut and fell into a deep sleep.

Early the next morning, he rose to tend the herb garden, working diligently and meticulously. When night fell, Ge Qian once more slipped out, this time heading to the Demon Suppression Cave in the gorge behind the mountain.

The ravine was barren, demon energy drifting like threads in the air. Ge Qian advanced cautiously, walking three miles until he reached a pitch-black cave. He picked up a stone the size of an egg and hurled it in, quickly ducking behind a boulder to listen.

Two sharp cracks echoed back—no sign of any other exits or movement. He threw in three more stones; only the echoes returned. Taking heart, he entered the cave. The demonic aura inside was much denser. Groping his way along for several dozen yards, he found a concealed hollow just big enough for one person.

Sitting cross-legged, he swallowed a Marrow-Cleansing Pill. The tender shoot in his dantian immediately absorbed its essence. He then brought out the pangolin’s corpse, used a fang to pierce its scales, drank a mouthful of demon blood, and felt the shoot soak it up at once.

Next, he began to circulate his cultivation technique, drawing in the cave’s demonic energy to be refined within his dantian—a process astonishingly swift. After an hour, he condensed a drop each of wood-attribute spirit liquid, demon beast liquid, and demonic liquid.

The three droplets settled in his dantian as Ge Qian formed intricate hand seals, practicing the Mountain Shifting Art according to its mnemonic. Gradually, a gray mist enveloped him, his hands shifting through complex patterns, occasionally striking various points on his body.

He trained for three hours straight. By then, his body was noticeably thinner and his skin had turned a dusky purple-black. The moment he finished, a thousand ants seemed to gnaw at his bones—an unbearable, itching agony. He nearly gave up several times, but reminded himself this was his only chance to grow stronger; he mustn’t falter halfway.

What was this pain compared to the suffering he had endured? Only by enduring hardship could he rise above others and make those who once bullied him pay dearly.

A stench so foul it nearly knocked him out wafted from his body. Wiping his face, he found his hand covered in purple-black grime. The first layer of the Mountain Shifting Art had worked: washing the tendons and cleansing the marrow, expelling all impurities to purify the body and make it more receptive to shamanic power.

Ge Qian rushed to the riverbank. Even without using the Wind-Riding Art, his body was now incredibly agile and swift, darting through the woods like a monkey. He dove in, shed his clothes, and bathed, scrubbing away the filth to reveal healthy, bronze skin.

Seeing that it was nearly time, he donned his damp clothes and hurried back to the herb garden, arriving just as twilight fell. There was no moon; the little white fox was fast asleep.

Ge Qian couldn’t help but wonder why this ordinary fox was so intelligent and could cultivate on its own, absorbing the essence of sun and moon to refine its demonic power.

Indeed, why hadn’t he tried absorbing the sun and moon’s essence? But it wasn’t so simple; cultivation techniques couldn’t simply be imagined into being.

The fox had an enormous appetite—it had already devoured all the dried meat he’d left. He’d have to go hunting for game, but not tonight. He decided to rest instead; constant training was exhausting his spirit.

After a short rest, he returned to tending the herb garden, maintaining a routine of training at night and working by day, taking a day off when he could no longer bear the strain.

A month passed in the blink of an eye. Ge Qian had fully mastered the marrow-cleansing stage of the Mountain Shifting Art. He now stood a head taller than before, and his strength had increased more than tenfold.

The pangolin’s demonic energy was depleted. To progress to the first layer’s “Shedding the Mortal Form,” he’d have to slay another demon beast. The so-called “shedding” was true transformation—casting off the mortal body to forge a magical one.

His narrow escape from the pangolin, which had nearly cost him his life, still haunted him. He judged that, with his current physique, it was time to switch to the Foundation Strengthening Art. He planned from now on to cultivate at night in his hut, no longer making the trek to the Demon Suppression Cave.

That day, Ge Qian worked harder than ever, rising early to tend the garden. He knew it was Elder Cui’s final day to test him; if he didn’t show his worth today, then when? From dawn till dusk he toiled ceaselessly, but Elder Cui never appeared.

Ge Qian thought, “A cunning old fox indeed—deliberately delaying to test my patience and see if I’ll reveal my true nature.”

But Ge Qian cared little. For every day he stayed here, he gained. As long as he worked hard, he had nothing to fear from being dismissed.

He was just about to return to his room when a transmission talisman drifted down from the sky. He caught it, pressed it to his forehead, and frowned. Disciples from the Artifact Forging Peak had been sent by order of their elder to collect several spirit herbs—all of which grew in this garden.

Ge Qian’s other duty was to gather herbs for any disciple sent by their elders, as most disciples didn’t know how to properly harvest them and might damage their quality.

He waved his token, opening a path through the garden’s protective formation, and two people entered: a handsome young man at late Qi Condensation, smiling, and a cold, beautiful young woman at mid-stage Qi Condensation.

“Sister Yingxue, why don’t you smile? Who’s upset you? Tell your senior brother—I’ll make things right!” The young man was doing his utmost to win her favor.

Irritated, the girl replied, “Master is always partial—always favors my senior sister. So what if her cultivation is a layer higher than mine?”

“Still upset about Master forging the Clear Wind Sword for her? It’s just a top-grade artifact. Once I reach Foundation Establishment, I’ll get you something even better, how’s that?” The young man pounded his chest in earnest.

“Forget it, let’s just get the herbs.” She glanced at Ge Qian and said, voice as melodious as silver bells, “You’re new, aren’t you? What did you do to get assigned here as punishment?”

“Senior sister, I haven’t done anything wrong. I volunteered to manage the herb garden,” Ge Qian replied.

The young man glanced at him and snorted, “Sister, can’t you tell? He’s just a rootless loser, hoping to use the garden’s dense spiritual energy to cultivate.”

“You’re so clever, Lu Xin, of course I know. I was just asking. Why do you care?” she shot back, annoyed.

Lu Xin flushed, at a loss for words, then quickly masked his expression. “I’ll go pick the herbs. Wait here,” Yingxue said.

Lu Xin acquiesced, “Fine, sister.”

As Yingxue started toward the herb field, Ge Qian blocked her way. “Senior sister, the dew has made the fields muddy. I wouldn’t want your clothes soiled—please rest while I fetch the herbs for you.”

Yingxue’s face darkened. She hadn’t expected this. Usually, the disciples who managed the garden were utterly deferential, allowing her to pick whatever extra herbs she fancied—which always earned her praise from her master for her cleverness. But today, a nobody dared to block her way. Wasn’t he asking for trouble?

Her large, beautiful eyes flashed with anger, yet somehow became even more enchanting; Lu Xin found his mouth dry, his blood surging.

Yingxue released her mid-stage Qi Condensation pressure. Ge Qian staggered, nearly falling.

“Out of my way!” she demanded furiously.

Ge Qian stood firm, feet sinking an inch into the earth.

Suddenly, a medium-grade artifact appeared in Yingxue’s hand—the Fierce Tiger Whip, forged by her master from the sinew of a first-rank fire tiger and infused with fire attributes. When activated with spiritual power, it would unleash a wave of flame, incinerating ordinary cultivators on contact.

The whip flicked through the air with a hiss and a crisp crack. Ge Qian was flung three feet into the air like a severed kite, crashing heavily to the ground.

End of Chapter Eleven: The Beautiful Maiden and the Fierce Tiger Whip