“Nonsense! What kind of realm is a Demon King? That has to be a formidable great demon who commands hundreds of beasts and possesses cultivation equivalent to a human cultivator in the Deity Transformation Stage to be respectfully addressed as a ‘Demon King’!”
Old Master Huang sneered:
“Ever since the great upheaval of heaven and earth, let alone a Demon King, even great demons with a second-revolution demon core perished from the spiritual energy depletion.
It is just an albino tiger leading a band of rabble, yet it dares to crown itself king and spout such wild arrogance?
Our Huang family will be the first to refuse to submit.”
At this point, Old Master Huang's gaze darkened as he swept his eyes across the room, suddenly breaking into a sinister grin:
“Sending a gift was merely to test the Demon Suppression Division's attitude, nothing more.
Rather than waiting around to die until Qingmeng Mountain makes its move, we might as well take the Hu family's lives first and sever one of that white tiger's arms.
And do not forget, everyone—from the moment we brought that treasure out of the secret realm, there was no longer any turning back for us!
In the past, the Hu family held the upper hand over us. Now that times have changed, it's our turn to overturn the heavens.”
At the thought of that object, the other weasels fell silent in unison, their hearts burning with fervor.
In the darkness, pairs of green eyes gleamed with a faint, greedy light.
“I agree.”
“...We'll do as Eldest Brother says.”
“I agree as well.”
“I don't agree. That thing is wicked to the core. If we mishandle it, there's no telling what kind of catastrophe it might unleash.”
Huang Fufeng suddenly stood up, frowning as she spoke:
“Eldest Brother, this matter is too immense. I, Huang Fufeng, have little courage and too much conscience; I cannot commit such an unconscionable act.”
After tossing out those words, the old woman collapsed limply onto the floor as a shadow flickered past in a flash.
Old Master Huang didn't even move, only casting a sidelong glance.
A gust of wind blew through, causing the shadows cast by the oil lamps to sway. The slightly smaller shadow of a weasel bolted toward the outer hall, closely pursued by several dark silhouettes.
Outnumbered and outmatched, Huang Fufeng was subdued in mere moments.
Amidst the tussle and shrill shrieks, tufts of yellow fur flew into the air.
Finally, accompanied by intermittent, mournful beast cries, everything settled back into silence.
“Good-for-nothing creature, you deserve to scrabble in the dirt for the rest of your life. Thinking of tipping off the Hu family?
Since ancient times, the victor becomes king while the defeated is branded a bandit. We are demons—what use do we have for a conscience?”
Old Master Huang tapped his dry tobacco pipe against the tabletop expressionlessly:
“Lock her in a snow pit so she can clear her head. An auspicious matter like the entire clan ascending to immortality cannot be ruined by a muddle-headed old hag.”
...
Nan Zhi was unaware of the schemes brewing within the Huang family.
She was currently following Hu Manni, sitting inside a tent pitched in front of a rural self-built house, enjoying a banquet feast.
As the saying goes, fortune waxes and wanes.
Not long ago, when the Mountain Lord hosted a banquet, she had been the host.
Today, at this funeral, Nan Zhi had transformed into a guest.
Northern banquets were hearty and generous, emphasizing fresh ingredients with abundant meat and liquor.
Three-finger-thick braised pork belly rested over preserved mustard greens, rich and succulent; a massive tiger-skin pork hock presented a striking look, overflowing with the aroma of wine; alongside generous cuts of roasted pork, plump chicken and goose, deep-fried cicadas, Four Joy Meatballs, and cold dressed pig's head meat, the meal was designed entirely to ensure all guests indulged to their hearts' content with plenty to eat and drink.
The table where Nan Zhi sat had been specially reserved by the hosts. Hu Manni, Lyu Dongfang, and Liu Guansheng accompanied her, chatting as they ate.
Meanwhile, taking advantage of the fact that no one could see her, Hu Cuiying sprawled off to the side, gnawing on a chicken leg.
—Hu Cuiying's size differed greatly from her two elder sisters; she was thin and small, and her fur was not a pure yellow, but rather speckled with gray.
Not far outside the banquet canopy was the mourning hall erected by the family, arranged with wreaths, brazier bowls, and the coffin.
Filial children and grandchildren knelt at the main entrance holding the funeral portrait, kowtowing in gratitude to guests who came to offer condolence gifts.
With every kowtow, a guest would say, “My condolences,” and the host family's descendants would reply, “Thank you.” Over the course of a day, they had to kowtow at least several hundred times.
In the background, mourning music drifted alongside the blare of suona horns and the crackle of firecrackers. The guests puffed on cigarettes and chatted merrily, their faces devoid of sorrow.
The elderly master of this family had passed away at the age of ninety-eight, slipping away peacefully in his sleep without pain or suffering, which counted as a joyous funeral.
According to local tradition, such funerals were celebrated like joyful occasions. Another saying held that doing so allowed the deceased's soul to depart in peace, no longer lingering over mortal attachments.
It was originally just an ordinary funeral, but the hosts were afraid of trouble arising, so they had invited people from the Ma family to hold down the fort.
Nan Zhi happened to be gathering herbs in the nearby mountains, and upon hearing that she could crash a grand banquet feast, she tagged along.
“Afraid of trouble?”
Nan Zhi calmly glanced around and asked curiously, “Isn't it a joyous funeral? Could the old master's death have some hidden secret?”
In an instant, over a dozen conspiracy theories popped into her head.
“Little Aunt, where are you getting all these ideas?”
Hu Manni was caught between laughter and tears. She moved the wine cup in front of Nan Zhi away and replaced it with a thermos of steaming-hot bird's nest and lily bulb water before explaining:
“Our Ma family has our own rules. Without establishing a shrine and leading spirit familiars, one isn't qualified to handle affairs for others.
Although I can currently go on Special Investigation Bureau missions together with Cuiying, I only have one fox immortal and two Qingfeng spirits under me, so I'm not yet qualified to set up a shrine.
This area is just the territory assigned to me by the family. In the future, once I officially establish a shrine and hang up my sign, whenever something bizarre happens in this neighborhood, the locals will come to me.
They only invited me over in advance to take a look. If real trouble actually strikes, they'll still have to seek out our family elders.”
Nan Zhi had a sudden realization.
Just like in Journey to the West, where the Heavenly Court enfeoffed Land Gods and mountain gods—comparable to modern community police officers who divided and governed districts.
It was just that the Heavenly Court had long since vanished, so the Five Families of Beidong made mutual agreements to divide territory privately.
In name, they were Great Immortals, but in reality, they carried out certain responsibilities akin to a Land God or City God.
The Qingmeng Mountain management proposal submitted by Bai Sangu seemed to have mentioned a similar concept.
Nan Zhi scratched her cheek, while ten thousand li away, the White Tiger Demon King cultivating in her cave abode was also lost in thought.
The banquet typically concluded with a piping-hot pot of rice and a sweet soup simmered with silver ear fungus.
Nan Zhi was happily cradling a bowl of sweet soup, savoring the rare moment of relaxation, when she suddenly furrowed her brows and looked up toward one of the banquet tables.
Around that table, men and women were toasting and exchanging cups, chatting about everything under the sun.
Women were busy catching up with friends, while a man pinched his child's nose, impatiently wiping away the snot bubbles clinging to his kid's face.
Everything appeared completely normal.
Yet Nan Zhi noticed an extremely jarring “uninvited guest.”
It was an ordinary-looking middle-aged woman dressed in a bright-red padded cotton coat, wearing red cloth shoes, with two braided pigtails tied behind her head with red strings.
She looked no different from the other guests.
She simply sat amidst the crowd, silent as a stone statue.
No one noticed anything amiss.
Everyone seemed to subconsciously ignore this bizarre woman who was wearing bright red to a funeral.
As if sensing Nan Zhi's gaze, the woman raised her head, and beneath her hollow eye sockets, two streams of bloody tears abruptly trickled down.
Her mouth curved into a faint grin as her figure blurred, and in the next second, she was sitting right across from Nan Zhi.
Rate on N.U.
