011 Terror of the Hunt

[POV: Zhong Zhong]

The night before the expedition into the secret realm was supposed to be one of anticipation, not terror.

Zhong Zhong had joined the gathering at Serenity Cliff Sect’s invitation with modest hopes. As an independent Foundation Establishment cultivator, he harbored no grand ambitions of dominating the cultivation world. He simply wished to live long enough to meet a jade beauty whose heart would match his own, one with whom he could walk the path of the Dao together. To achieve that, survival was paramount. Joining a sect, even a minor one, would grant him resources, protection, and stability he could never secure alone. The open invitation had been a rare opportunity for rogue cultivators like him, who lacked prestigious backgrounds or powerful backing.

The atmosphere at the temporary camp had been festive. Independent cultivators mingled with disciples from minor and major sects alike, all drawn by the promise of the secret realm’s treasures. Many independents, like Zhong Zhong, had never been accepted into a sect due to suspicion or lack of credentials. Sects feared harboring dangerous rogue cultivators. Or worse, demonic ones. A single scandal could destroy an entire sect. Most therefore preferred to recruit mortals and raise them from childhood.

Zhong Zhong’s own path had been different. His grandfather had stumbled upon an ancient martial arts manual in their family’s old storage, and Zhong Zhong’s exceptional compatibility with its techniques had allowed him to reach Foundation Establishment through sheer persistence and talent.

He had expected the most excitement before entering the secret realm to come from the duels between the young masters or the tense standoff between the famed Sword Formation King and a wandering cultivator. Never did he imagine the night would descend into slaughter.

Screams tore through the forest.

“Help! They’re everywhere!”

“Run! It’s an ambush!”

“My arm—ahhh!”

“Senior Brother, save me!”

“Demonic cultivators! They’re demonic cultivators!”

“Kill them! Fight back—argh!”

Cultivators from independent backgrounds, minor sects, and even major sects cried out in pain, ran in panic, fought desperately, and screamed as black-robed figures descended upon the camp like shadows given form. The once-festive clearing turned into a battlefield of chaos and blood.

Zhong Zhong ran.

His stubble was moist with sweat, and his disheveled hair was slicked with blood, some his own and some not. A deep gash across his abdomen wept crimson, and at least one rib was broken, each breath sending sharp agony through his chest. He stumbled through the underbrush, heart pounding, until he could no longer run. Leaning heavily against the rough bark of an ancient tree, he gasped for air, trying to steady his qi.

Rustling sounds surrounded him. Black-robed cultivators emerged from the darkness, their auras cold and oppressive. All of them were at the tenth stage of Qi Condensation, their killing intent sharp as blades. At their head stood a Foundation Establishment expert, his eyes gleaming with cruel amusement as they locked onto Zhong Zhong.

“Well, well,” the leader drawled, his voice low and mocking. “Look what we found. A little rabbit hiding behind a tree. Tell me, rat. Where are the others? The ones who fled this way. Speak quickly, and I might grant you a swift death.”

Zhong Zhong forced a weak smile, blood trickling from the corner of his mouth. “I’m alone,” he rasped. “No one else came this direction.”

It was a lie.

At some point during the frantic escape, a group of younger disciples from various sects had gravitated toward him. His superior cultivation base had made him a natural beacon of safety in the chaos. He had led them as far as he could before the black-robed attackers separated them. He could only pray they had found safety elsewhere.

Zhong Zhong spat a mouthful of blood onto the ground and wiped his lips with the back of his hand. His vision blurred at the edges. Above the treetops, ominous black crows circled slowly, their caws echoing like funeral dirges. Was this it? The end of his modest dreams? Dying here, alone in the forest, without ever meeting that jade beauty or advancing further on the Dao?

Gathering the last of his strength, he looked up at the leader and asked hoarsely, “At least tell me… who are you people? If I’m to die, I’d like to have a name to curse in the afterlife.”

The leader threw his head back and laughed, a cold, grating sound that sent chills down Zhong Zhong’s spine. “None of your business, fool. You’ll die ignorant, just like the rest.”

It happened too fast for Zhong Zhong’s fading senses to fully register.

One moment the black-robed cultivators stood ready to strike. The next, a blur shot through their ranks. The head of the cultivator closest to the leader exploded in a gruesome splash of blood and brain matter, deep sword-like gashes slicing across what remained of his face.

The leader’s eyes widened. “Ambush! Formation—protect the perimeter! Kill the intruder first!”

But before his subordinates could react, thick thorny vines erupted violently from the earth beneath their feet, wrapping around legs and torsos with crushing force. An orange-and-black blur moved between them like lightning, too swift for the eye to follow.

Zhong Zhong’s vision swam. He struggled to circulate qi to his eyes, forcing clarity. When the haze lifted, his breath caught in his throat.

A majestic tiger stood among the fallen enemies.

Its fur gleamed with vibrant orange and deep black stripes that seemed to ripple with power. Muscles corded beneath its sleek coat as it moved with lethal grace. The tiger made short work of the black-robed attackers, its claws and fangs tearing through flesh and bone with terrifying ease. One swipe of its massive paw crushed the skull of a Qi Condensation cultivator as if it were a fragile melon. Another lunged forward, ripping out the throat of the Foundation Establishment leader in a spray of arterial blood. The leader’s eyes bulged in disbelief for a single heartbeat before the tiger’s paw came down again, ending him with a sickening crunch.

The remaining attackers fell in rapid succession, their screams cut short.

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Zhong Zhong stared in awe, his pain momentarily forgotten. The majestic beast was unlike any spirit beast he had ever seen. Its presence radiated both raw power and an inexplicable nobility.

Just above the tiger, the ominous crows grew more numerous, circling lower now, their dark wings blotting out patches of the night sky. Their caws seemed almost expectant, as though waiting for the final act of this bloody drama.

Zhong Zhong’s hand trembled as he pressed it against his wounded abdomen, barely daring to breathe. The tiger turned its piercing gaze toward him, blood still dripping from its fangs. For a long moment, the forest fell silent except for the distant cries of the ongoing massacre and the steady cawing of the crows.

The cultivator who had only wanted a simple life and a chance at love wondered, in that suspended heartbeat, whether salvation or a more terrible fate had just found him.

“Please, spare me,” cried Zhong Zhong.

Without a sound, the tiger took a single, graceful step closer. It lowered its head slightly and made a subtle gesture with one bloodied paw, tracing a slow arc in the air as if drawing upon the unseen energies of the forest itself.

A warm, vibrant pulse of green light bloomed from the tiger’s body, soft and radiant like the first light of spring. The energy flowed outward in gentle waves, washing over Zhong Zhong’s broken form. Where it touched, the pain began to recede. The deep gash across his abdomen knit itself closed with astonishing speed, the torn flesh sealing without scar. His cracked rib realigned with a faint, painless click, and the bruises and cuts scattered across his body faded away as if they had never existed. Even the fatigue that had weighed heavily on his meridians lifted, replaced by a refreshing surge of vital qi that coursed through his dantian like a clear mountain stream.

Zhong Zhong gasped, his trembling hand falling away from his now-healed stomach. He stared down at himself in disbelief, flexing his fingers and taking a deep, unobstructed breath. The blood that had stained his robes remained, but the wounds beneath were gone. Strength returned to his limbs, and his previously hazy vision sharpened once more.

He looked up at the tiger, awe and caution warring in his chest. “You… you healed me?” he whispered, his voice hoarse from the earlier ordeal. “Why? What are you?”

…