Chapter Thirty-Four: The Wild Mountain Massacre (Part Two)

On the mountaintop, the young female student was instantly petrified with fear, collapsing to her knees in tears. “Did I… did I kill someone? I didn’t mean to, I swear. I’m still so young, I don’t want to die.” The more she wept, the more inconsolable she became, sobbing until she could barely speak.

“If I’d known, I never would’ve joined this competition. I just wanted to have some fun—how could it have come to this? I want to withdraw!” With trembling hands, she fired a distress flare into the sky.

Clinging to the cliffside, Yu Lang, upon spotting the signal, vaulted back onto the summit, snatched the “Origin” from the stunned girl’s chest, and dashed off at full speed into the dense undergrowth.

The girl, not even sure if she should feel sorrow, anger, or relief, simply stared in a daze as everything unfolded. Soon enough, her escort brother arrived, descending like a god from the heavens.

From his hiding place in the shrubbery, Yu Lang watched the pair leave, letting out a long sigh of relief. He hadn’t expected his first “Origin” to be claimed in such a mix of peril and ease. He reflected on the soft, supple warmth he’d felt and couldn’t help but think that the headmaster, who’d decided to sew the “Origin” into the chest of the training uniform, was surely an old lecher—having a generous bust certainly wasn’t an advantage.

Outside the desolate mountains, Du Fu, a security instructor, stared in shock as the rescued girl was brought out. Huang Ying, whose cultivation was at the peak of the Wandering Sea realm, was the favorite granddaughter of Old Huang, another instructor. She’d been one of the favorites to win—how could she have lost her “Origin” so quickly?

Sure enough, Old Huang, waiting anxiously at the exit, began stamping his feet in frustration. “How could you possibly be out so soon? Did you just have the misfortune to run into Nan Jiyun right at the start?”

Huang Ying immediately burst into tears. “I didn’t meet Nan Jiyun. Even if I couldn’t beat him, I could at least run away! It was that scoundrel Yu Lang. He played dead to scare me. I fired the distress flare, and then, while I was still rattled, he sprang up and snatched the ‘Origin’ from my chest…”

Old Huang’s beard was practically bristling with rage. He shot a glare at Du Fu. “Like attracts like, I see. Your good friend is just as unreliable as you, always resorting to these underhanded tricks!”

Du Fu could only force a wry smile in response.

Not far away, an elderly man was drinking at a floating table. Upon hearing the commotion, he pounded the table and burst into laughter. The stool beneath him and the table in front of him were both suspended in midair, and with that blow, the table crashed to the ground, shattering into pieces. The old man himself nearly lost his balance as well.

Du Fu muttered inwardly: The headmaster’s sense of humor is still as low as ever.

The sun vanished beneath the horizon as Yu Lang returned to his “den of crime.” He covered the entrance with wild grass, then used his fire-starting kit (flint, tinderbox, and fire-striker) to light a thick candle and began to take inventory of his spoils. That last ambush before dark had gone surprisingly smoothly after dealing with that jittery young woman. He’d staked out and watched two groups of students battle each other to exhaustion, then emerged to ruthlessly reap the rewards, collecting nine “Origins.” Afterwards, he’d even come across a classmate squatting to relieve himself. That classmate, without a word, had ripped the “Origin” from his chest, tossed it to Yu Lang, and shouted, “Get lost!” In his eyes, no matter how dire the situation, nothing could interfere with answering nature’s call.

Counting the one he’d started with, Yu Lang now had eleven “Origins.” He carefully placed them in a wooden box, feeling an immense sense of satisfaction. Taking out the Jade Purity Bottle given to him by Yang Yuhuan, he poured himself a small bowl of wine and drank heartily. Since it could only hold liquids, he figured he might as well fill it with wine instead of water—wine quenched thirst and provided some warmth.

With the wine warming his belly, hunger crept in. He dared not start a fire to cook and risk revealing his position, so he retrieved some cold rations from his supply box. But Yu Lang was not easily stumped. He’d come well-prepared, bringing plenty of quicklime with him. Not only could it generate heat when mixed with water, in a pinch, he could throw it in an enemy’s face to make a quick escape.

After devouring two hot steamed buns, Yu Lang carefully stowed away the remaining food. While organizing his provisions, he found the hunger pills Xue Wenyang had distributed to everyone. He hesitated, then threw them away. He hadn’t interacted enough with Xue Wenyang to trust him—who knew what tricks he might have hidden in those pills, especially since they were competitors. Though Xue Wenyang never seemed overly eager to win, Yu Lang could sense that the boy was determined to come out on top.

If I were Xue Wenyang, thought Yu Lang, I’d mix things up: some pills would work as advertised, but others would knock people out for a few days, or at least give them diarrhea. Later, blame it on spoiled pills. You could always point out that someone else took them and was fine, leaving the victims unable to protest. Given my top scores in the academic trials and my usual antics, odds were high that the pills he gave me would be tampered with.

Sleeplessness plagued many of the Xiyue students. After all, to have the “Origins” they’d fought so hard for during the day stolen at night would be heartbreaking. Yu Lang had long considered this problem. He’d spent two taels of silver at the market to buy five well-trained crickets. These crickets were notoriously weak in battle and usually the butt of jokes among spectators. The vendor had been overjoyed to sell them, showering Yu Lang with blessings. Yu Lang hadn’t bought them to gamble on cricket fights, but for their notorious habit of chirping at the slightest disturbance.

He tossed two crickets near the cave entrance, then, feeling secure, blew out his candle and slept with his arm as a pillow.

While Yu Lang slept soundly, fierce battles raged elsewhere as many skilled students clashed under cover of night.

The night passed without incident.

At dawn, a bell tolled at the foot of the mountain. Yu Lang counted carefully: one hundred and twenty-three chimes. That meant fifty-seven Xiyue students had been eliminated on the very first day—a testament to the fierce competition. Yu Lang knew well that the number eliminated each day would decrease as time went on, and those who survived until the end would either be unmatched fighters or cunning strategists.

He left most of his belongings in his hideout, taking only his whetstone knife and the “Origin Box” as he set out.

The remaining students on the mountain were all adept at concealment; the lucky windfalls of the first day were unlikely to be repeated. Cautious of their heightened senses, Yu Lang dared not move much, usually switching hiding places every two hours. He could only regret not having a sniper rifle to ambush others from afar. He’d even considered making a telescope—it was just a matter of a convex and a concave lens—but lenses of the right quality were hard to come by in this era. Who knew where Du Fu had gotten his glass spectacles? They were surely treasures worth a fortune.

After several fruitless stakeouts, Yu Lang grew anxious. The twelve “Origins” in his possession were far from a guaranteed victory.

This time, Yu Lang buried himself inside a haystack. He hadn’t waited long before a big fish appeared.

Nan Jiyun, the most dazzling student of this year’s class, approached, his robe stained with blood in at least three places, though the massive Juque sword in his hand remained steady.

“Nan Jiyun, you took at least ten ‘Origins’ last night. You’ve drawn enough attention—it’s time to leave the mountain and rest. You must know that making an enemy of my young master is a losing game,” warned one of the six students surrounding Nan Jiyun, all of whom looked to be around thirty and had reached the middle Wandering Sea realm. The eldest among them seemed to know a bit of formation magic, working to isolate the area’s sound.

The so-called young master was just a seventeen-year-old boy whose own cultivation was only at the initial Tempering realm. Bored, he fiddled with a jade pendant, his confidence in his subordinates plain to see.

Clearly, the family behind him wielded immense influence, able to place six retainers among the Xiyue Academy’s elite—a truly lavish display.

Yu Lang shrank back, fervently hoping Nan Jiyun would prove invincible and drive off this cancerous squad; otherwise, the rest of the students would have little hope.

Nan Jiyun sheathed his sword, then drew it again, raising it before his chest as his fighting spirit soared. “Enough talk! If you want something from me, come and take it. Do you really think you can scare me off with a few empty threats?”

The six said no more, forming a sword array as they waited for Nan Jiyun to make the first move.

Outnumbering an opponent but yielding the first strike—such was the rule at Xiyue Academy. Even here in these wild hills, the six dared not break academy tradition.