Chapter Thirty-Four: Brother Zhang’s Superb Archery

Xiao Wenzi was concerned that if he spent too long cultivating, he might miss the chance to ride on the wild geese and leave this nameless mountain hollow, so he didn’t immediately begin using the Spirit-Gathering Demon Pill to cultivate.

The Swift Demon Art was a deep application of demonic spiritual power. Once mastered, it could greatly increase the speed of flight and escape, and practicing it would not induce a long, trance-like state. Thus, he could seize the opportunity to cultivate a bit.

With a soft swish, a barely perceptible gray shadow sliced through the night sky, flashing above a sleeping wild goose, landing silently on another one just a few feet away without causing a ripple.

After hours of repeated practice, Xiao Wenzi had gained rudimentary control over the Swift Demon Art. Now, even if he encountered a fourth-tier cultivator wielding magical instruments, he’d have the ability to contend with them.

He felt an exuberant sense of delight. With nothing else to do, he took off from the back of the wild goose, once again casting the Swift Demon Art to dart toward a nearby boulder.

At dawn, the flock of geese awoke, foraged along the stream, then soared high to continue their southern migration.

One of the geese failed to notice that, the instant it spread its wings, a small gray shadow shot over, landing lightly on its back.

After a whole night’s cultivation, Xiao Wenzi’s mastery of the Swift Demon Art grew even more proficient.

Once he cast the art, his speed more than doubled, crossing several meters in just two or three seconds, appearing as nothing more than a fleeting wisp of a mirage.

The Tiannan Mountains spanned thousands of miles in all directions, though in truth, it was only a little over a thousand miles from end to end.

Thus, Xiao Wenzi traveled by day on the wild geese and practiced the Swift Demon Art by night, enjoying a leisurely, carefree journey.

He thought he could follow the flock all the way to some distant, unknown land, tens of thousands of miles away, to seek his fortune anew and cultivate by feeding on blood.

However, on the morning of the third day, just as the geese were about to leave the southern borders of the Tiannan Mountains, the sudden twang of a bowstring from the peaks below changed everything.

An arrow with a carving-feather tip whistled through the air, not veering in the slightest, piercing the wild goose Xiao Wenzi rode and another overlapping bird, followed immediately by several more arrows that struck down four or five other wild geese.

The remaining geese gave shrill cries and rushed upward. More bowstrings sounded from below, sending a new volley of arrows streaking skyward, feathers and blood scattering in the wake.

After two such volleys, the surviving wild geese had climbed high enough that the hunters below made no further attempt to shoot.

Normally, at such altitudes, wild geese would be safe from arrows. But the mountain here jutted high, and as the flock had just finished foraging in a low valley, they’d not yet regained their flying height—hence their misfortune.

Because his view was blocked by feathers and his demonic senses had limited range, Xiao Wenzi managed to escape the fatal force of the arrow just in time by leaving his mount, but he couldn’t switch course quickly enough to land on another surviving goose.

The wild geese around his own were all struck through by arrows and were now tumbling toward the forested slopes below.

“Damn it, which bastard did this? Now I’ve lost my mount and can’t continue south to warmer lands. I won’t let you off easily...”

Catching a migrating goose at rest had been a rare stroke of luck; otherwise, even if he’d spotted the flock overhead, he couldn’t have caught up in time to ride the wind.

His pleasant journey abruptly interrupted, Xiao Wenzi was understandably frustrated.

Sensing the lingering energy on the arrows, he determined that the attackers weren’t high-level cultivators but ordinary mortals skilled in martial arts. He followed the falling bodies of the geese swiftly down to a verdant peak below.

At the summit, five or six finely dressed young men, each with a good-quality longbow and arrows, were surrounded by dozens of servants holding horses and equipment.

As the corpses of the geese thudded to the ground, several servants hurried to gather them up, scampering over to offer the catch ingratiatingly.

“Hahaha, a double kill with one arrow! Brother Zhang, your archery is truly impressive. I’m in awe.”

These young men, all sons of prominent families from the county seat, had come to the Tiannan Mountains for autumn hunting, eager to pit their skills against one another. Each arrow was clearly marked to distinguish its owner.

The slightly plump youth, seeing the Zhang character on the fletching of an arrow pinning two geese together, burst out laughing and gave a thumbs up to the handsome man beside him.

As soon as he spoke, the other four young men sighed and echoed, “Alas, it seems Brother Zhang wins again. Every year it’s the same—no suspense, truly boring.”

“Just good fortune, nothing more,” replied the man addressed as Brother Zhang with a modest smile. Despite his humility, the others couldn’t help but sense a note of pride in his tone.

The six of them were so busy with their banter that none noticed a slightly larger-than-usual mosquito quietly drawing near.

“Farewell, brother goose. I’ll avenge you right now.”

Xiao Wenzi cared nothing for who these men were. In this remote, uninhabited borderland, he could feed to his heart’s content—especially since they’d so thoughtlessly brought him down.

As he grumbled inwardly, Xiao Wenzi suddenly activated the Swift Demon Art, transforming into a slender gray wraith darting toward the back of Zhang’s neck.

Ever since cultivating the Blood Spirit Method, every breakthrough not only strengthened Xiao Wenzi’s body and cultivation but also sharpened his proboscis to a razor point.

With a crisp stab, his long, keen mouthpart pierced the blood vessel at the back of Zhang’s neck, drawing out copious blood and converting it into system credits.

“Ah!”

A sudden, maddening itch and pain at his nape made the once-composed, elegant young man cry out in agony. He dropped his bow and slapped at his neck in panic.

“Brother Zhang, what’s wrong? What happened?”

Caught off guard, and being mere mortals, none of the youths reacted until Zhang’s face twisted in pain and he called out. They hurried over, anxious and confused.

Before they could finish their questions, Zhang suddenly pulled back his bleeding hand, his companions paling and recoiling in shock.

A wound an inch long and deep to the bone had split open in the center of Zhang’s palm, blood dripping steadily. Yet, even now, no one understood what had happened.

“There’s something on my neck! It’s sucking my blood—quick, get it off me!”

Having reached the peak of the second tier, Xiao Wenzi’s blood-sucking speed rivaled that of a syringe needle. In a matter of moments, Zhang had lost so much blood he felt dizzy. Clutching his bleeding, throbbing right hand with his left, he pleaded anxiously.

“Yes, young master!” The five other youths might hesitate in danger, but the Zhang household’s retainers dared not disobey their young lord’s command. Several robust men rushed over in response.

But before they could reach him, a series of sharp, whistling sounds signaled the slicing of the air, and several blade-edged wings struck their knees.

Fabric split, blood spurted, and the searing pain sent four or five strong men crashing to the ground, screaming in agony.