Entangling with the Mist Beast

Blood spurted from Qin Chuan’s nose and mouth, splattering onto his robes—vivid and conspicuous in the moonlight. Yet his gaze betrayed not the slightest hint of weakness; rather, his heart surged with exhilaration and unrestrained joy.

With the third volume of the Mustard Seed Immortal’s Finger, the Repetitive Word Technique lent each sword strike greater force than the last. Sword energy swept in all directions, endless and effortless. For a moment, Qin Chuan's presence soared—like an unsheathed treasure blade—so potent that even the lifeless Hao Yue Sword in his grasp could not help but hum incessantly, as if in celebration.

“We cannot afford to let this drag on. If the Dao Foundation is stripped away by the Myriad-Faced Man and he escapes into the wild mountains, we will have no means to catch him!”

He carefully returned the featherless fan handle to his storage pouch and produced a jade slip. He cast an almost imperceptible, sidelong glance at Qin Chuan, his expression twisted and fierce.

Bathed in moonlight, the jade slip gleamed with a lustrous sheen, while inside, a writhing mass of mist churned ominously. The moment the jade slip appeared in his hand, Qin Chuan’s gaze locked upon it. The ribbon at his left wrist, which had once been Ghost Seven, turned burning hot, nearly manifesting visibly.

Yu Ce, unaware of Qin Chuan’s reaction, hesitated as he stared at the jade slip. But thoughts of the Blood Pill quickly snuffed out his doubts.

“This Mist Beast is no ordinary creature—it’s an exotic species born deep within the Xiangliu Marshes. Only after decades of the sect’s domestication did it develop even a trace of intelligence,” he explained. “I had intended for it to become my guardian beast upon reaching Innate, but I must use it now to seize the Blood Pill. My cultivation is only at the eighth stage of Qi Refinement; I haven’t developed even the rudiments of divine sense and cannot control it precisely. Should anything go awry, it may break free and flee into the wilds. Still, compared to the Blood Pill, that’s of little consequence.”

With a crack, his left hand clenched, and the jade slip fractured with a crisp sound, fine fissures spreading across its surface. Even so, it was enough. Delighted, he flung the jade slip far toward Qin Chuan and his companion.

Out of the corner of his eye, the Myriad-Faced Man glimpsed the mist seeping from the slip’s cracks—shadowy and indistinct. His heart skipped a beat in alarm.

“Damn! This Mist Beast is a nightmare to deal with. If I cannot withstand it, I’ll abandon the Dao Foundation. As long as I find Mother Li and offer her the Blood Pill, I can at least save my life—and perhaps earn some reward.”

His face grew anxious and his hands trembled, nearly disrupting his spellwork.

“Don’t worry. I’ll handle the Mist Beast. Focus on consolidating the Dao Foundation—how much longer do you need?”

“One tea’s time!”

Qin Chuan eyed the Mist Beast, which was condensing in form and growing more menacing by the moment, his heart heavy. Its eighth-stage Qi Refinement aura pressed down on him, but from Ghost Seven’s reaction, it seemed not invincible.

In the blink of an eye, a massive, four-clawed creature—its fur aflame like burning coals—materialized.

It was a tiger-shaped Mist Beast.

The moment it landed, it let out a thunderous roar. Yu Ce, standing behind it, formed a hand seal that struck the beast, provoking its savagery. As if recalling some past torment, it lunged at Qin Chuan with jaws agape.

With the Myriad-Faced Man at his back, Qin Chuan dared not dodge. He slapped the ribbon at his left wrist; in an instant, Ghost Seven’s form appeared, emerging as the Mist Beast’s fetid breath swept forth.

Man and ghost together, their combined presence could not compare to the beast’s, yet Ghost Seven’s lively eyes showed not a hint of fear—rather, a glimmer of excitement.

The Mist Beast, lacking intelligence, paused only a split second at the sudden appearance of another figure beside Qin Chuan before swiping its claws at his face.

Qin Chuan would not rely solely on Ghost Seven. Sword in both hands, he advanced instead of retreating. While the power of the Repetitive Word Technique still lingered, his blade shone with a cold, clear light as he launched a frontal strike.

He stepped forward in quick succession, sword light meeting the Mist Beast’s claws.

A volley of thuds rang out; Qin Chuan coughed blood and staggered back several steps, shock on his face and a silent sigh in his heart.

So this is the Postnatal Realm—eighth level of Qi Refinement!

Yet he showed no hint of discouragement. Casually wiping the blood from his face, he let out a hearty laugh, grabbed a handful of pills, chewed and swallowed them, then raised his sword once more.

Roused by Qin Chuan’s fighting spirit, Ghost Seven gave a sharp cry and transformed. His gray, humanoid form melted into a collar bristling with barbs, which swooped with a howl toward the Mist Beast’s head.

The Mist Beast, already angered by the defiance of two seemingly weak ants, roared again and brought both claws down upon sword and collar alike.

Their collision sent Qin Chuan’s blood surging backward; he stumbled, breath weaker but spirit fiercer, the Hao Yue Sword humming loud and clear.

As the beast’s claws struck, Ghost Seven somehow passed straight through, snapping tight around its neck. Barbs contracted; agony spread, making the beast thrash in pain. Unable to break free, it fixed bloodshot eyes on Qin Chuan.

“Come on! Let’s finish this!”

Sword light grew ever more intense, its blue gleam rivaling the bright moon.

The Myriad-Faced Man, lips moving in silent incantation, quickened his pace. Pale yellow light flared three inches below Shi Xin’s navel. The repeated sounds of struggle nearby only heightened his urgency.

“Hurry, faster!”

His hands flashed through a series of seals, imprinting them on Shi Xin’s body.

A muffled cry rang out.

But in the time it took for a few finger snaps, another change occurred on Qin Chuan’s side. The Mist Beast, continually shrieking, finally showed fear. Feeling its strength siphoned away by the barbs, it whimpered in supplication.

It tried to flee, but Qin Chuan would not allow it. His sword light intercepted its path at every turn; should it pause, another frenzy of sword energy met it head-on.

As time passed, even Yu Ce realized something was wrong.

“How is the Mist Beast weakening so quickly? Pity I can’t control it or get close to investigate!”

The beast’s once fiery fur now blurred and faded, its initial vigor gone. In contrast, Ghost Seven’s collar aura swelled ever stronger: fourth stage, fifth, then the peak of the fifth stage of Qi Refinement.

Such spirits have indistinct cultivation; their aura shifts gradually, unlike the clear-cut stages of humans.

Failing to elicit mercy, the Mist Beast struggled all the harder, as if sensing its impending demise, finally surrendering to the restraints and letting Ghost Seven drain it.

Its aura, having fallen to the seventh stage, suddenly flared again. With a guttural growl and frothing jaws, it lunged at Qin Chuan in a last desperate bid.

Qin Chuan’s eyes lit up, but his expression remained taut. The struggle of a cornered beast is always deadly. He shed all thought of direct confrontation, letting his sword flicker in and out.

His movement was elusive—like a nimble antelope, nowhere to be found. Stepping deftly, he dodged the beast’s clawed attacks, which shredded his clothes but never touched his flesh. So close, yet unreachable.

Back and forth, several breaths passed. The stronger Ghost Seven grew, the more forceful his pull; the Mist Beast withered fast, its roars fading to pitiful whimpers, like some creature starved for ages.

With a deft stroke, Qin Chuan knocked away the beast’s claws, then swept a leg sideways, sending it tumbling. The Mist Beast whimpered, limbs twitching twice before it collapsed—eyes shut, making faint sounds, then falling silent.

Its form grew more and more insubstantial. Just as Ghost Seven’s aura reached its zenith, the seventh Qi Refinement stage, the beast faded into a wisp of nearly invisible smoke and dissipated.

The spiked collar spun once in midair, thumped to the ground, and transformed into a boy who barely reached Qin Chuan’s chest. Seeing the blood on Qin Chuan’s robes, the boy’s joy vanished, replaced by a woeful grimace.

Qin Chuan, meanwhile, was breathing unevenly, his spiritual energy nearly depleted. The sight of Ghost Seven’s docility warmed his heart. He hurriedly refined the pills he’d swallowed, finally steadying his breath.

“Are you done yet?”

All this back-and-forth had far exceeded the time it takes to burn a stick of incense, yet the Myriad-Faced Man behind him was still silent.

“Give me ten more breaths!”

“Very well, I’ll give you ten more—”

But before he could finish the sentence, a powerful aura surged skyward, startling him into looking at Yu Ce.

Yu Ce’s eyes were tightly shut, his features tensed as he sat cross-legged. Wisps of white smoke curled from the crown of his head.

A chill ran through Qin Chuan’s heart.

“This technique can only be used once in a lifetime. I never thought I’d have to use it here, before even reaching Innate…”

Though Yu Ce’s lips did not move, his words echoed clearly in their ears.

Qin Chuan dared not risk approaching. Instead, he pointed to the ground at an angle. Five streams of fire converged to form a fire wyrm, which howled as it lunged at Yu Ce.

But before it could travel a single foot, it struck an invisible barrier and collapsed, dissolving into unclaimed spiritual energy that Yu Ce promptly devoured.

Like a whale sucking in water, spiritual energy flooded into Yu Ce, even making the nearby shrubs rustle and shake.

“Five more breaths—five more!”

Sensing trouble, Qin Chuan was prepared to abandon the Dao Foundation and flee when suddenly the Myriad-Faced Man’s voice rang out behind him.

“Enough! I’ll risk everything!”

No more spellcasting—wasting spiritual energy would only benefit the enemy now.

Reaching to his waist, he deftly drew several yin-yang thunder beads and hurled them at Yu Ce like a rainstorm.

“It’s useless. Any spiritual energy will be consumed by me—”

But before the word “consumed” left his lips, Yu Ce’s body convulsed violently and his face turned a ghastly purple, as if he’d swallowed filth.

The previously soaring aura, destabilized by the thunder beads’ eruption and the release of dust, wavered erratically.

Yu Ce fell silent. The wild surge of spiritual energy stilled, but then, starting from the tips, his black hair began to turn white—first a strand, then a patch, until only a tuft of black remained at his brow. He was sacrificing his own lifespan to sustain the forbidden art.

His aura now reached its utmost peak—like a fully drawn bowstring, waiting to be loosed.

The shrubs and leaves rustled as if shivering in fright, despite the still air.

Suddenly, the surroundings dimmed, as though clouds had blotted out the moon.

Sensing something amiss, Qin Chuan looked up.

“Run!” he cried, his face twisting in shock, pupils constricting with disbelief.

In the span of a moment, half the sky turned blood-red, spilling across the mountain and dyeing the night in crimson.