Chapter 146: The Dead Plains

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Patriarch Feng Zhang’s announcement spreads to every corner of the compound and submerges the Eternal Flame Clan in chaos. It takes Liu Jin four days to recover, and by then, the Eternal Flame Clan is a changed place. Information about the Dead Plains has become the most prized of commodities. Translators like Senior Brother Luo suddenly have no end of work. Enmities are put aside, and old favors are called in. Alliances are made, unmade, and remade in the span of a couple of days.

Once two weeks have passed, all the chosen disciples are gathered in the courtyard of the main house. Though Patriarch Feng Zhang could have ordered for it to be repaired, the courtyard is just as the fight between his sons left it.

Ninety-nine disciples stand on the left. Ninety-nine disciples stand on the right. The Core Disciples make up the front row. They stand tall and proud, yet even among them, one can find fidgeting hands and collars that are somehow too tight.

Senior Brother Guo is among the Core Disciples chosen to represent Lord Feng Gui, as is Mud. Mud’s presence on Lord Feng Gui’s side has caused no end of speculation. On the opposite side stands Xu Huwen. His fellow disciples give him a wide berth. A few of them are disciples Liu Jin recognizes from the feast, the ones who came back from the Crimson Cloud Tournament like Xi Mou.

Feng Hao has been placed in the front row though he does not count as a Core Disciple. For once, Feng Zhi does not ignore his brother. The grip he has on the young boy’s shoulder is unshakable. Heaven and Earth will switch places before Feng Zhi lets go of Feng Hao.

The ranks of the Inner Disciples are primarily made of the people who fought in the Sparring Hall, though people like Lu Mei and Khong Hu have also been chosen. Most of the disciples are fully healed, but a few show up with bandages. It is hard to tell whether their wounds are recently made, the result of improper care, or are just fake injuries to appear weaker than they are.

Constant glances are exchanged between the two groups as they wait for Patriarch Feng Zhang to appear.

When he does, all their expectations and carefully made plans are shattered.

Patriarch Zhang has yet to announce how they are to be sent to the Dead Plains. Some assume they will go in flying vehicles like the Flame-Wheeled Wagons. Others think racing to the Dead Plains on foot will be part of the challenge. Others still think they are about to engage in a massive fight before leaving the compound.

They are all wrong.

A single wave of Patriarch Feng’s hand activates a massive transfer circle beneath them. Liu Jin barely has the time to trade a single surprised look with Lu Mei before the transfer light engulfs them all.

Liu Jin is falling.

Outwardly, Liu Jin is calm. Far more so than the screaming and yelling disciples falling with him. There is nothing but blue skies all around them, and the ground looks unnervingly far away. Who can blame them for panicking? Sudden transfer is not the sort of thing one expects. It cannot be compared to one’s Master constantly poisoning their food, but not everyone has had training as harsh as his.

His Master’s training has prepared him for many things, it seems. Even if they are not things his Master necessarily had in mind.

Unless they were?

The idea that some of his Master’s unreasonableness may have been so Liu Jin would be better prepared to deal with the whims of Emperors and those even greater is considered but swiftly discarded. Old Jiang was Old Jiang. He did as he pleased and moderated himself for no one.

“You are smiling.”

“Am I?” He asks Fan Bingbing, bringing a hand to feel his face.

“You are,” Fan Bingbing says with a firm nod. “Most people would not be smiling right now.”

She finishes with a pointed glance at a nearby cursing disciple. In one breath, he curses the earth, the sky, and the childhood friend who convinced him he had talent cultivating. Curiously, he retains enough sense not to add Patriarch Feng to his list of targets.

Sense or cowardice. One can often pass for the other.

“You are not scared either,” Liu Jin points out.

“The Exploration Division has always pushed for more expeditions to the Dead Plains,” Fan Bingbing says. Her face twitches by a fraction, which Liu Jin guesses must be her version of a proud smile. “This is a privilege for me.”

An admirable feeling, though Liu Jin doubts her fellow members of the Exploration Division are quite as enthused. There would be far fewer screams otherwise.

“This is not all of us,” Liu Jin points out, already having located the Qi of all the disciples in their immediate area. “Not all the disciples transported. Not even all the disciples of the same faction.”

There are around twenty of them in the air and no Core Disciples among them. Some of their auras are familiar, but none Liu Jin knows well. Feng Hao and Lu Mei are not among them. Assuming the transfer kept those in physical contact together, Feng Hao should be fine. Lu Mei has no such protection.

Liu Jin is outwardly calm.

“Some of the disciples among us represent Lord Feng Shang,” Fan Bingbing points out as they all keep falling. Liu Jin looks at her with surprise.

“You can tell?”

“I memorized everyone’s aura when we were all lined up.” Fan Bingbing blinks and lightly tilts her head to the side. “Did you not?”

Most people simply aren’t capable of that level of memorization. However, Liu Jin doesn’t get the chance to point that out. The ground is starting to get too close for comfort.

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“Everyone!” Liu Jin’s Qi reaches all the disciples in the immediate area. “Use movement techniques to break your fall. Now!”

Movement techniques should not be beyond anyone here. Nor should the ability to use them while in mid-air to alter one’s trajectory. An Outer Disciple may have trouble negating the acceleration from the fall through just movement techniques, but they are all Inner Disciples.

Though surprising, a fall from such a high altitude was never a serious danger to anyone here.

“A dog of Lord Feng Gui has no right to order me!” comes one yell of defiance amid a dozen thanks. Still, the disciple does like all the others and breaks his fall through repeated movement techniques.

Upon landing, he is subdued immediately.

“What shall we do with him, Brother Qing,” a disciple asks him while Fan Bingbing identifies the other disciples representing Lord Feng Shang and orders them to be subdued. Liu Jin pays little attention to the scuffle. His attention is focused on their surroundings.

Rust-colored earth stretches for miles in all directions. Only the odd rock formation breaks the monotony of the plains. There is not much in the way of greenery, just scant patches of grass here and there whose presence seems more accident than nature. The blue and empty sky allows the sun to shine down on them with full strength. Strong winds kick up dirt and blast them with hot air.

Based on the information Elder Xue procured for them, they are likely in the Rusted Plains. It is not the worst the Dead Plains have to offer, but it is still an area larger than the entirety of Night Forest Nation, full of all sorts of dangers. The only upside is that it borders the Eye of the Plains.

“Brother Jin?”

“I am thinking,” he tells the disciple, still surveying the area. The truth is he’d rather not answer the disciple’s question. Whether to take prisoners or not is not something he expected to have to deal with anytime soon, especially not when there are so many other pressing concerns.

“Hn.” Fan Bingbing has taken a compass out from her backpack and looks at it with a frown. “Compasses are useless, it seems.”

She holds it up. The needle is spinning wildly.

“A pity, but there are other ways to tell where north is,” Liu Jin says.