Chapter 151: Supremacy

~~~

Qu Rou clicks his tongue.

“They went inside.”

“So it seems,” comes the disinterested reply from Xi Mou. He can barely see anything from so far away. Still, he trusts Qu Rou not to lie about his failings.

Under other circumstances, Xi Mou would be taunting Qu Rou for missing. It is not that Xi Mou dislikes his fellow Core Disciple. Qu Rou just happens to be highly skilled and insufferable about it, an all too common combination among those blessed by the Heavens. It is for his own good that Xi Mou must laugh at his failures when they happen.

Some would say Xi Mou has little right to say such things about anyone, but those people would surely be courting death by doing so.

Regardless, Xi Mou does not feel like mocking Qu Rou right now.

Xi Mou does not feel like doing much at the moment.

When Lord Feng Shang chose him to participate in this contest, Xi Mou was moved by his magnanimity. The Dead Plains were an opportunity to make up for his failure in the Crimson Cloud Tournament.

This is not what he had in mind.

“Well?” Qu Rou asks. He lets go of his massive bow and turns around to glare at him. “Will you not go after them?”

“Go after them?” Xi Mou echoes incredulously. He waves his hand at the temple miles away. “You want me to go inside that place to hunt mice?”

Not that it would be impossible for him to do so. Xi Mou is a cultivator in the Earth Realm. A group of Inner Disciples is nothing to him.

“We have our orders,” Qu Rou says. His aura simmers around him, ready to lash out. “Will you disobey them?”

Orders.

How often has Xi Mou heard that word since they arrived in the Dead Plains? Just where exactly did these orders come from? Senior Brother Yong had been the one to give them, and back then, they sounded perfectly reasonable. In a fight between Lord Feng Shang and Lord Feng Gui, they should naturally do their best to weaken Lord Feng Gui’s forces for Lord Feng Shang’s eventual ascension.

“Be reasonable, Brother Qu. You made them flee into the temple and blocked the way out,” Xi Mou points out instead of sharing his doubts with Qu Rou. “That temple is full of Spirit Beasts. Why should I bother going after them when the temple will do our job for us? If you’re truly so concerned, why not go after them yourself?”

Xi Mou only gives voice to the possibility because he knows Qu Rou will never go for it. Qu Rou has too much pride in his skills as an archer to “sully” himself by fighting in close quarters. It is a miracle he managed to rein in his natural distaste for it long enough to participate in the Crimson Cloud Tournament.

“You speak as if you do not care for our mission, junior.”

Qu Rou’s aura flares around him. As always, it is annoyingly straightforward. An arrow ready to be unleashed at the slightest provocation.

Xi Mou refuses to back down.

They are both in the Fourth Level of the Earth Realm, and Qu Rou is technically the more experienced of the two. However, Qu Rou is an archer through and through. At this distance, Qu Rou is completely outmatched by Xi Mou.

“Our mission,” Xi Mou stresses, “is to secure Lord Feng Shang’s victory. I do not see how this does anything to advance that goal. Those disciples have been removed from the competition. Why spend more effort on them when there is so much more we could be doing? We should be seeking Young Master Feng Hao, not wasting our time here!”

Young Master Feng Hao is the true key to the contest. Should he die, Lord Feng Gui will gain control over the Eternal Flame Clan even if they reach Patriarch Feng first. While Xi Mou doubts Lord Feng Gui will kill his son for power, there is no telling what sort of accidents may happen in the Dead Plains.

Lord Feng Gui’s men cannot be trusted with the protection of Young Master Feng Hao. Even Young Master Feng Zhi, who has been hovering over Young Master Feng Hao like a stubborn cloud lately, cannot be trusted. If that one was competent, he’d have been chosen to go to the tournament.

Yes, protecting Young Master Feng Hao is what Xi Mou should be doing! Not this… this…

“Brother Qu, this…” Xi Mou waves his hand disdainfully. “This is beneath us. A petty pastime and little else.”

“Petty?” Qu Rou echoes with so much rage in his voice that Xi Mou fears the older disciple will strike him. “Petty? You dare claim my brother’s death is a petty matter!”

Xi Mou winces.

“It may have been the wounds dealt by Chen Long that killed my brother, but that would have never happened if Lord Feng Gui’s dogs hadn’t denied us supplies!”

Xi Mou looks away. In the face of such naked hurt, there is nothing he can do or say. Perhaps, if he had been present when Qu Yilu died, Xi Mou would be just as bloodthirsty as the others. However, Lord Feng Shang sent him to get supplies after his shameful loss.

That single order spared him from seeing Qu Yilu die.

“If this is petty, so be it,” hisses Qu Rou, taking hold of his bow. “I have been given prey! I will not stop until all of them are dead!”

Xi Mou sighs.

“Good hunting, Brother Qu,” he says, turning away. He does not care enough about Lord Feng Gui’s supporters to fight Qu Rou over them.

“However, I shall not be a part of this.”

All the same, he respects himself too much to join Qu Rou in this so-called hunt.

“You are betraying us?” Qu Rou asks. There is no doubt in Xi Mou’s mind that a wrong answer will earn him the ire of Qu Rou’s bow.

“Not at all. I already told Brother Qu, didn’t I? There is one thing above all that we should be doing to secure Lord Feng Shang’s victory.”

He is going to secure Young Master Feng Hao.

And if Feng Zhi tries to get in his way… Well, that will be a good opportunity to impart guidance on a bothersome junior.

~~~

Step. Step. Step.

Step. Step. Step.

Step. Step. Step.

The paths inside the temple are long and sinuous. The walls are smooth and curved. Even the floor undulates up and down as if whoever built this place was averse to anything resembling a straight line.

Liu Jin and Fan Bingbing walk at the front and back of the group respectively. A disciple in the middle creates fireballs that circle around them to illuminate their way. While they don’t need their eyes to sense any nearby Spirit Beasts, the same cannot be said for the traps lying in wait. Most of them should have already been activated by previous explorers and wanderers, but there is no need to take unnecessary risks.

“Go left, Brother Qing,” Fan Bingbing tells him. “There is a trap beneath one of the floor tiles on the right side.”

“Perhaps you should be the one leading the way, Sister Fan,” Liu Jin says, and not without reason. Fan Bingbing has helped them avoid a large number of traps so far. “You’d certainly be better at it than me.”

“Not at all.” The small girl shakes her head. “Brother Qing is the fastest one among us, so he can react to any surprise better than I. I am far more comfortable at the back. It gives me more time to read the walls.”

Most people would have heard nothing but her normal monotone. However, Liu Jin is becoming better at discerning her moods. There is some pep in her voice and, hard as it may be to believe given the circumstances, a spring in her step. Contrary to almost everyone else, Fan Bingbing seems excited, and even happy, to be here.

“The walls?” asks Disciple Wong. He looks at the sinuous carvings there and snorts. “What is there to look at? They are just lines! The halls of the Bright Phantasm Sect are far better decorated!”

As someone who has seen the halls of the Bright Phantasm Sect, Liu Jin knows that to be a lie. He stays silent, however. Wong’s mood is a far more reliable indicator of how the rest of the disciples feel. Tense, scared, and ready to lash out at anything.

There is no need for him to provide a spark.

“They are not just lines,” Fan Bingbing corrects him. Liu Jin has never heard her sound so offended. “They are an ancient language that can only be found in the Dead Plains. Those who join the Exploration Division are all required to learn it eventually.”

Liu Jin can literally feel the pride radiating off her. It would be amusing if he couldn’t also sense the frustration coming off from the other disciples.

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“How else do you think I have been spotting the traps before Brother Qing?” she adds.

“They just wrote it on the walls?” asks another disciple, a fellow member of the Apothecary.

“There is no point in a temple that cannot be used,” Fan Bingbing replies as though it should be obvious. “Traps should be a surprise only for intruders. Thus, language becomes that which separates guests from intruders. The writing points the proper path, if in a roundabout way. The walls are full of poems and chants.”

“What do they say?” Liu Jin asks, curiosity getting the better of him. The question makes Fan Bingbing’s aura brighten noticeably.

“We welcome all Children of Nuwa,” Fan Bingbing intones, causing Liu Jin’s eyes to widen slightly. He remembers that name from all the poems Old Jiang made him read as a child. While he never cared much for them, constant repetition imprinted them in his brain. “She who mended the Heavens and fashioned us by hand. She protected us from cataclysm, and we danced her loneliness away. From here, we shall reach-”

“Who cares what some old writing says?!”

Wong cuts off Fan Bingbing with an angry shout. The disciple’s face is red, and his body trembles with rage.

“We’re still trapped here!” Wong stomps his way to the front of the group and turns to face them. “We have been walking for hours, and we’re not any closer to finding an exit! Even if we did find one, there is still someone out there who can easily kill us! We’re just choosing between dying out there and dying here!”

Liu Jin sighs. “Brother Wong-”

“You led us here!” Wong shouts with a trembling voice. “Brother Qing, when you led us through the All-Devouring Worm, I was moved! Even though some of us were in opposing factions and we ended up turning on each other, I still thought Brother Qing was a virtuous man for trying to keep everyone alive! However… However…”

Wong chokes. Four of the disciples around him watch in stunned silence. Fan Bingbing looks like she is about to intervene, but Liu Jin motions her not to with a slow shake of his head.

He needs to hear this. Perhaps, even more than Wong needs to say it.

“You were leading us here,” Wong says at last. “Even though you also knew this was pointless for Inner Disciples like us. You led us here without hesitating! You all knew! And now…”

His voice breaks. His eyes glimmer in the darkness.