v4c68: No More Face

Zang Sheng woke instantly when he felt the power descend from the Elder’s box. It would have been impossible not to; the power the man emanated felt like all of Sheng’s ancestors had had their funerary tablets broken.

 

Still, he kept his eyes shut and took stock of his wounds. He was not too badly damaged—the massive rent in the front of his body hadn’t hit anything important. His cultivation and refined body had managed to resist the worst of the damage the rooster had inflicted on him.

 

Bi De had not broken him. Being defeated by a chicken would be embarrassing to some, possibly embarrassing enough to cause a deviation; but Sheng refused to feel shame at his defeat at the hands of a Spirit Beast who was his equal in cultivation.

 

He would have to train even more harshly in the future. He did not comprehend how Bi De had broken through an attack that he had spent his Vital Qi on, but it had happened.

 

It was utterly vexing, but irrelevant. All that mattered was that he was lacking.

 

He took deep, even breaths, and turned his attention from himself to the voices that were emanating from the stage. It was mildly annoying that he had apparently just been forgotten where he lay, but there was no helping it.

 

Somebody was speaking.

 

“Oh? Guilty of many things?” an old voice asked.

 

“While they are innocent of being demons, we have found numerous instances of… dishonourable conduct. Particularly the conduct of the Inquisition and the Patriarch,” Bi De declared.

 

Sheng felt a change in the air, like it was suddenly denser.

 

He opened his eyes… and blinked as he saw mist surrounding the arena, having formed into a giant woman with nine golden tails.

 

She was tending to another man with blonde hair and blue eyes, the splitting image of the depictions of the Second Patriarch.

 

He was later named: Zang Zengsheng, the man Sheng himself and his own father were named after. He should have felt pride, to see his line’s sire.

 

Except for one thing.

 

The man’s eyes were weak. Sheng noticed it instantly. They were not the eyes of a man filled with resolution and might, solid and unflinching. They flitted and locked on to things. They were shifty.

 

Sheng had to shove down his instinctive revulsion for the behaviour. That was the Patriarch. The founder of the Shrouded Mountain Sect. His Ancestor.

 

Surely, he was about to erupt with might after he found out what the foxes were doing? He would see the blood sacrifices and fight his way free.

 

Sheng waited, but all the crystal showed was the fox-woman showing off her home.

 

A home that looked rather well-kept. Humans and foxes going about their business.

 

The Patriarch then promised to leave and return… and return he did, again and again, each time receiving healing and gifts from the foxes.

 

Sheng could hear the disciples start to murmur with the same confusion he felt.

 

Just what was going on here?

 

And then there was a great outcry as the founder took a fox hostage and tried to steal one of their treasures, breaking every rule of hospitality there was—and the mortals of the mountains took their hospitality very seriously.

 

The mountains were a cold and dangerous place, and the customs of them were as old as time. Blizzards would blow in unpredictably, and travelers would often find themselves taking refuge in another’s home; None would dare turn a stranger away, just as no stranger would dare to harm or steal from a person who gave them shelter. Even the worst of mortal bandits abided by the Mountain Code.

 

Those from mortal families were standing up, and others were cursing—and even Sheng himself felt a brief surge of satisfaction as the man was beaten severely by the woman. He was so utterly pathetic.

 

Sheng couldn’t believe he was the founder.

 

The scene changed, the mist crackling with lightning—and Sheng’s eyes widened. His jaw dropped. His breath quickened… and he could tell he was not alone.

 

Even through the mist, the man had presence.

 

His eyes were pure and resolute. His body was perfectly refined, and the scars that marred his front simply added to his majesty.

 

This was a man who never backed down. He never retreated. He was might incarnate.

 

Sheng stared at the magnificence of the First Patriarch. The man who was often sidelined, or omitted all together as a fool who died to the foxes.

 

That… that had to be a lie. Sheng basked in his overwhelming presence. He could feel lightning Qi touching his very soul, charging him, filling him with might.

 

“Strength above all,” the man said with a smile, and Sheng knew the mantra was good. He had lived his entire life by it. Surely, the First Patriarch would have been proud of him—

 

“To protect those we love.”

 

Sheng’s world screeched to a stop. The man, Zang Young, laughed as he lifted children up onto his shoulders and shook the hands of mortal soldiers.

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

 

Their words… their creed had been different?

 

He was almost numb as the First Patriarch’s eyes widened and he went to check on his brother.

 

The man rose and went off to war—for the sake of a man weaker than him, for the sake of a snake, against a woman who had never wronged them.

 

The battle was spectacular, of course. His might was everything Sheng had ever dreamed of.

 

And then, once more, there was confused murmuring as they stopped their quarrel and apologized to each other. Their eyes brightened as they thought of the future.

 

And then a lightning bolt pierced both of their backs.

 

The stone under Sheng’s hands crumbled into dust.

 

He could only imagine that this had to be some sort of lie. His ancestor was a paragon of strength. His ancestor was mighty. He wasn’t a rat who killed his own brother from behind because he was too weak to face him openly.

 

But he could feel it. He could feel the Qi in the air and the mist, charged by lightning. The lightning of the last dregs of an honest man.

 

Sheng grit his teeth as his ancestor led the assault on the foxes and drove them from their home.

 

Blood almost unconsciously filled his mouth and he spat it out. He kept his eyes locked on the mist.

 

==============================

 

On the ground of the arena, Yun Ren was sweating as the mist shifted and billowed.

 

This… this was not entirely as planned. He had created this illusion, sure… but it had been nothing like this. The mist had taken on a life of its own. He could feel the Qi within it, bubbling and surging and changing things.

 

Yun Ren had planned on a show. He hadn’t planned on the emotions within it. He hadn’t planned on the sheer visceral sensations that he was certain everybody in the arena could feel.

 

He grimaced as the Qi within it brushed against his own, it wanted something. It demanded something, now that the remnants of the old fox could finally act.

 

The illusion tugged at him again. Yun Ren took a deep breath as the mist in his mind pulled back slightly, revealing its deepest self to him. Yun Ren reached out… and ripped off the last of the shackles that kept the mist tied to the Mountain.

 

======================

 

Che Han had been reeling when he saw the first part. All his life he had been taught of the monstrous foxes and how they had betrayed everything… only for them to have been the ones that were betrayed.

 

And then the scene changed as a man who looked a lot like Che’s own father appeared, frowning.

 

“There’s no way the Patriarch could have been defeated like that,” the man whispered to somebody else. “I need more information… but… I think Zengsheng may have killed him.”

 

The words were treasonous… and somebody had noticed them.