Chapter Thirty-Three: Lost in the Mist

Halfway across the Weakwater, a sudden dense fog arose.

The mist billowed up from the river, spreading to the heavens above. Within it, a natural, effortless power seemed to unfold. Then, Xu Zhong saw black smoke streaming from the seven orifices of Jiang Xuanyi, and wherever that smoke touched the fog, it conjured forth countless Jiang Xuanyi, as if creating them out of nothing.

These Jiang Xuanyi wore strange ritual crowns and robes, neither black nor white, standing in the midst of the great mist, emanating an aura identical to the original. Xu Zhong tried to speak, but as soon as he opened his mouth, a puff of black smoke escaped—and from it, another figure identical to himself emerged.

“It’s the Bewildering Mists!” The Azure Dragon’s tail lashed out, shattering the smoky double of Xu Zhong. “Bewildering Mists are a kind of miasma formed from Weakwater’s vapor; they draw out the obsessions of living souls, ensnaring them. If one lingers too long, the mists will even pull the soul from the body, turning it into another fiendish being within the fog.” As the Azure Dragon explained, he imparted spells to Xu Zhong, urging him to hold fast to his true self, to see his nature clearly, and not be led astray by delusion.

“The latter half of the saying ‘Weakwater cannot float, and even birds struggle to cross’ comes from the Bewildering Mists,” Jiang Xuanyi added.

Black smoke poured from his body, filling the fog, and countless Jiang Xuanyi surrounded the true one. “These obsessions are… intriguing.” With a finger pressed to his brow, the Jiang Xuanyi within his heart’s mirror subdued the restless mind and harnessed his intent, seeing his true nature. Instantly, every illusion and obsession vanished without a trace.

All beings are susceptible to obsession—even gods are not immune. The mists thickened, a sign they were nearing the heart of the Weakwater. Gradually, fiends began to materialize within the haze. These beings were once living souls, drowned in Weakwater, their spirits trapped, surviving only by clinging to the Bewildering Mists. Their essence was soul, and souls, before they entered the Nether City, could be possessed.

Suddenly, the fiends lurking within the mists eyed Xu Zhong and Jiang Xuanyi greedily, eager to seize their flesh and blood, to return to life by stealing a body. “Only the worthless perish in Weakwater.” Behind Jiang Xuanyi, a blinding sword light erupted, piercing through the mists. With a surge of sword qi, untold spirits were scattered into oblivion.

Xu Zhong focused his will at his dantian. The gods of the Fivefold Thunder Marsh opened their eyes, standing guard over his body. In that moment, his form became as a domain of elemental thunder, and behind him, five thunder gods loomed—each with a fearsome visage, drawing storm clouds and the crackle of lightning. The spirits scattered in terror, for they were but wandering souls, easily dispersed by a peal of thunder.

Yet after the thunder came, a giant hand reached through the Bewildering Mist, grasping for Xu Zhong’s head, intent on tearing open his Jade Pillow and invading the mysterious region within. But as Xu Zhong’s heart thudded, thunder resounded, and the fire-thunder marsh god acted. From the clouds above, a bolt of fire-thunder fell, red as flame and shaped like a dragon, shattering the grasping hand.

Even divine souls must weigh their strength against such power. Xu Zhong was oblivious to these happenings, only noticing that Jiang Xuanyi had drawn his blade.

“There are gods within the Bewildering Mists as well!” he declared. In the next instant, a god emerged from the fog, massive, with three heads and eight arms. The mist seemed to flow from its mouth, and countless spirits surged across its body. Of the three heads, only one was human; the others were a tiger and a serpent.

The human face spoke: “Godslayer, disperse your own soul, and I’ll leave your corpse whole!”

“You’re not worthy to utter such words!” Jiang Xuanyi retorted, brandishing his blade. As he invoked the True Martial Sacred Body, he seemed to fill the world. “So, you are a successor of the True Martial Emperor. No wonder you dare challenge the gods,” the Mist God sneered. “But your luck ends here—I shall send you to meet your Emperor.”

With a single thought, eight treasures materialized in his eight arms: a dagger, a bone blade, a long whip, a zither, a spear, a bell, a cauldron, and a seal. Each radiated divine might as they hurtled toward Jiang Xuanyi. He met them with a single palm, his fingers sweeping like the strings of a lute, bolts of lightning bursting forth at his touch. The treasures, unable to unleash their full power, were flicked away.

At the same time, with a thought, Jiang Xuanyi’s blade flew from his hand like a sword toward the river god. The Mist God caught the seal, which swelled to the size of a mountain and crashed down, pinning the blade beneath it. Meanwhile, the serpent head extricated itself from the god’s body, its long form stretching across the river, summoning wind and rain.

A fierce gale swept the Weakwater, nearly shattering Xu Zhong’s soul. If not for the Azure Dragon guarding his mind and the thunder gods anchoring his body, his spirit might have been torn apart. Jiang Xuanyi, his soul unyielding, remained untouched.

Then a black rain fell from the sky, viscous and foul—a corruption that seeped into the body, staining the orifices, poisoning the organs, clogging the marrow. Xu Zhong’s heart pounded, and thunder rolled through him, purging the filth from within.

Jiang Xuanyi’s blade was pinned, but he seized the zither, swinging it at the serpent head and breaking its bones, blood spraying from its jaws. The tiger head’s brow, marked with the character for “king,” summoned a ghostly army—tens of thousands of revenants, banners fluttering, spear-tips glinting, halberds and axes arrayed.

This ghostly host surged toward Jiang Xuanyi and Xu Zhong, but Jiang Xuanyi only laughed. His True Martial Sacred Body opened its mouth wide, upper lip touching the sky, lower lip to the earth, and swallowed the entire host in one gulp. Within his body, a blazing furnace, the ghosts were incinerated to nothing, and he exhaled only a wisp of blue smoke.

Having used the zither, he discarded it, then seized the bell and smashed the tiger head senseless, its three souls fleeing. The “king” character dimmed at once.

The Mist God formed seals with eight hands, drawing all the fog toward Jiang Xuanyi, intertwining yin and yang, weaving a milky-white cocoon. Within, yin and yang entwined around him, the five elements layered atop one another, and real fires—Samadhi, lunar, and solar—descended to refine him within the cocoon.

But Jiang Xuanyi’s body only swelled larger, his True Martial Sacred Form towering a thousand feet, bursting the white cocoon apart. The serpent head, regaining its senses, lunged to swallow him whole. Greed knows no bounds, yet in this moment, the serpent’s ambition seemed capable of devouring the world.

The serpent swallowed Jiang Xuanyi’s head and half his body, but suddenly, the tiger head screamed in agony—the same wounds appeared on its own body, neat rows of bite marks dripping blood. The spirits in the mist, drawn by the scent, surged toward the blood, devouring one another in their frenzy.

It was the art of transferring wounds—by mystical means, the injury was passed from one head to another. The serpent felt the pain and released its grip. As soon as it loosened, Jiang Xuanyi seized it, striking its body with a fist that left a massive imprint. Vital energy surged, flesh and sinew knitting rapidly to heal the wound.

The human face hurriedly manipulated eight hands, grasping the dagger and whip. The dagger flew with expert swordsmanship, while the whip cleaved yin from yang, sundering the five elements.

With a crack, the whip struck Jiang Xuanyi, and suddenly every part of his body seemed to gain independent consciousness, breaking away as if each were a living being. Rather than resisting, Jiang Xuanyi allowed the division, and in a flash there were eight of him.

The five true dragons from the seal and the three from his true body all flew into these eight Jiang Xuanyi, each one now possessing the full power of the original. Each invoked the True Martial Sacred Form, and as they moved, true dragons coiled around them, a river of stars seeming to flow from their hands.

With a thunderous crash, the dagger was struck away.

The human face was aghast—never had he imagined that dividing a man into eight would only make him stronger. Meanwhile, Jiang Xuanyi’s true form snatched the whip.

With a sharp crack, the whip fell on the Mist God, splitting him into three: a serpent head with a tiger’s body, a human body with a tiger’s head, and a serpent body with a human face. His power fragmented, he was easily subdued by the eight Jiang Xuanyi.

Divine blood splashed everywhere. The three forms of the Mist God were beaten black and blue, fleeing only to be recaptured and pummeled again. When they were nearly lifeless, Jiang Xuanyi stripped away their outer forms. With a wave of his sleeve, the three were fused back together, shrinking rapidly until they were no larger than a palm, falling at Xu Zhong’s feet.

The eight Jiang Xuanyi transformed into eight celestial dragons and returned to the seal. The True Martial Sacred Body diminished, finally merging into the back of Jiang Xuanyi’s head.

As Jiang Xuanyi approached, the Mist God shrank back to the stern, but was easily caught.

“How many more gods like you, once enshrined by the Ancient Yue Dynasty, are still hiding in Dragon Capital’s Celestial Realm?”

“We’ll never tell you!” the Mist God roared.

A blossom of Samadhi True Fire rose from Jiang Xuanyi’s hand. The Mist God’s defiance faded. “There aren’t many of my kind left in Dragon Capital’s Celestial Realm. The madmen in Jade Capital not only hunt the cultivators and monsters who enter, but also capture us gods, draining our divine power to nourish the World Tree.”

The words spilled from him in a rush.

“Madmen of Jade Capital?” Jiang Xuanyi mused.

“After the Dragon Capital Emperor died, the Three-Corpse Gods were born first. Then the emperor’s three souls and seven spirits also manifested, each claiming to be the rightful heir, tearing each other apart. But somehow, they eventually made peace. The World Tree appeared around that time. Once it did, these incarnations began slaughtering the survivors throughout the Celestial Realm. We gods could only hide in fear.”

The Mist God revealed all he knew. “I hid in the Weakwater and haven’t left since. I know nothing of what happened afterward.”

From his words, it was clear: the World Tree was not native to the Celestial Realm of Dragon Capital. It seemed, rather, that someone had planted it there. But who could have planted the World Tree in the Celestial Realm of Dragon Capital?