“Isn’t this exactly how the whole incident with the auction started, Master?”

  Mo Jian shot Bai Ning a dark look at that innocent-sounding remark. She was still clearly irritated with him for bringing her along. Between the jade slip containing swordsmanship techniques from another world and the Netherworld Map she was still trying to decipher, Bai Ning already had her hands full. In her own words, she didn’t appreciate being dragged into another troublesome matter.

  Hmm. Should he be worried that his disciple now assumed every encounter with a Core Formation cultivator would end in chaos? It wasn’t an unreasonable conclusion, given her track record, but still, not every meeting had to turn into a side quest. This time, he fully intended to walk away without complications.

  Bai Ning, however, looked less convinced. True, the auction had ended in disaster, but how could he have known that at the start? If this meeting proved equally suspicious, they could simply leave. Blackrock Island wasn’t a place worth getting entangled in; flying away was always an option. They were only here to see what the matter was, and, at worst, confirm whether it was a trap.

  That was precisely why he’d insisted she come along, even though she remained half-absorbed in her jade slip. Better to face trouble together than risk being caught apart.

  Besides-

  “I recall you being far more enthusiastic about that auction than I ever was, disciple,” Mo Jian said dryly.

  “And I’ve learned my lesson,” Bai Ning replied without missing a beat. “Every single one of your meetings, whether it’s with the Island Masters of Azure Wall City or Senior Fan Mei, has led straight into trouble. We should just stop attending them entirely until I reach the late stage of Foundation Establishment. Clearly, it’s the heavens trying to tell us something.”

  Mo Jian snorted. “Half a year ago, you complained I never let you leave the cave. Now you claim we don’t stay hidden enough. Such indecision is unbecoming of a proper cultivator.”

  He was, of course, joking, but since they were still waiting for the Island Master of Blackrock Island to appear, there was little else to do. He had already placed a sound-isolation formation around them, regardless of whether it was rude or not, and now they waited in silence for their host to arrive.

  The room they had been led to was wide and lavish, lined with low tables displaying curiosities, treasures, and peculiar relics. The sight had been entertaining for all of five minutes. Bai Ning had eagerly swept her spiritual sense across the displays, oohing and ahhing at each discovery – forgetting her irritation, if only briefly – until her enthusiasm began to fade.

  After all, how long could one marvel at a tuft of fur from a Frostjade Titan, or a sliver of bone carved from a Hexie Crab? They were valuable, yes, but only in the way of museum pieces. Once seen, most of their charm vanished into dust.

  Bai Ning leaned back in her chair with a sigh, propping her chin on one hand as she idly tapped her fingers against the armrest. “How long do you think the Island Master intends to make us wait?”

  Mo Jian glanced toward the sealed doors. “Not much longer. He knew we’d be visiting today, just not the exact hour.” In truth, Mo Jian had deliberately withheld that information from Jin Rou yesterday; one could never be too careful when traps were a possibility. “He’s probably trying to make a point while testing us.”

  Her lips twitched. “To assert superiority?”

  “To test patience.” A faint smile ghosted across his face. “Though the two often go hand in hand.”

  Bai Ning rolled her eyes but didn’t argue. Her gaze drifted once more over the glittering displays. “You’d think someone who collects Titan fur and Hexie bone would have better taste in hospitality.”

  Mo Jian chuckled softly. “Good taste in décor doesn’t necessarily translate to good sense elsewhere. Or perhaps he’s simply that busy. His son’s condition alone suggests something serious is afoot; he was under a powerful restriction not to speak of it.”

  “Or,” Bai Ning muttered, “he’s just another self-important cultivator who enjoys making people wait half a day before deigning to appear.”

  “That too.”

  Silence settled between them again, broken only by the muted roar of the sea against the cliffs outside, carried faintly through the stone walls.

  It was a good place for a trap, Mo Jian mused, but then again, so was anywhere else.

  He had barely finished that thought when the great doors before them swung open. Mo Jian immediately rose, cupping his hands in greeting, but the sight that met him made him falter. Bai Ning, who had stood beside him with far less patience and far more curiosity, froze as well.

  He knew he was staring, but he couldn’t help himself. The scene before him was simply too strange.

  The Island Master was grievously injured.

  He was a tall man, broad-shouldered and straight-backed, with long black hair tied in a flowing knot at the back of his head. His face was proud, marked by sharp brows and hollow cheeks, and his eyes were a startling blue, whorled like ripples in deep water. He wore long robes of black and purple, a dazzling blue trident embroidered on the chest.

  None of those details mattered.

  What seized their attention was his condition. His right arm was gone, the sleeve hanging limp where it ended at the elbow. His forehead was swathed in talisman-covered bandages, a dark red stain blooming beneath them near his temple. A deep, weeping scar ran from brow to chin, narrowly missing his left eye.

  His qi marked him as a mid-stage Core Formation cultivator, but if spiritual energy could bleed, this was what it would feel like.

  “Quite the sight, isn’t it?” the Island Master said dryly. He stopped before them and lowered himself into a chair with a faint wince, every motion measured and his breathing carefully controlled, as though even sitting down caused him pain.

  Mo Jian recovered first, though the man’s condition had undeniably shaken him. “Ah-my apologies for the rude display. It’s just-”

  The Island Master waved a hand. “No need. I understand.” His voice was steady, but each word carried strain. “I am Jin Rong, Island Master of Blackrock City. Please, be seated.”

  Mo Jian and Bai Ning complied, though Bai Ning couldn’t help but stare openly, eyes wide with a mix of fascination and unease. Mo Jian couldn’t blame her.

  It was rare – extraordinarily rare – to see a Core Formation cultivator wounded, let alone so severely. At that stage of cultivation, the range of pills, elixirs, techniques, and treasures capable of healing injuries was vast. Mo Jian himself possessed medicines potent enough to bring a Core Formation cultivator back from the brink of death, and even for Foundation Establishment cultivators, he had pills that could regrow limbs or mend shattered meridians.

  For someone of Jin Rong’s level, such wounds should have long since healed.

  And yet here he sat: maimed, bandaged, and radiating pain.

  Whatever had done this to him… had been no ordinary foe.

  “I won’t waste time with pleasantries,” Jin Rong said, his breath even but deliberately paced. “You’ve already noticed my condition. Fellow Daoist, I know these circumstances are… unusual, but I appreciate your agreeing to this meeting.”

  Mo Jian inclined his head, forcing his gaze away from the man’s injuries. “Your son went to considerable effort to arrange it. I must admit, that alone was enough to pique my curiosity.”

  For the first time, Jin Rong’s stern features softened, a trace of paternal pride breaking through the rigid mask.

  “He’s a good child; hardworking, talented, and filial by nature. Incidentally, though the offer was made without expectation, I don’t mind upholding it. My son could do with a wife, and your disciple seems… suitable. What do you say? I am willing to offer a Soul Nurturing Pill in exchange.”

  Bai Ning spoke before Mo Jian could even draw breath. “Not interested, Senior. And a Soul Nurturing Pill in exchange? Seriously? What am I, a captured spirit beast?”

  Jin Rong’s expression darkened, thunder gathering behind his eyes. His sluggish qi surged, heavy and oppressive.

  “You allow her to speak like that before her betters?” he demanded, his voice low and cold. “Women should be silent unless spoken to, always refined and cultured in their bearing.”

  He did not look at Bai Ning once. His gaze remained fixed squarely on Mo Jian.

  Mo Jian’s expression flattened. He placed a calming hand on Bai Ning’s shoulder before she could retort, and let his aura unfurl. The weight of a late-stage Core Formation cultivator filled the hall, heavy and immovable.

  “She is my disciple,” he said evenly, “and free to speak her mind when and how she wishes. More than that, she said nothing wrong.”

  His gaze locked with Jin Rong’s, neither man yielding an inch.

  Beneath the calm, anger simmered, cold and steady. Mo Jian was already considering whether to simply walk out. This meeting was fast becoming a waste of time.

  At last, Jin Rong exhaled sharply, the smallest tilt of his head serving as an apology. “These new fads from the mainland will be the death of us,” he muttered. “In my time, such insolence was punished. Still…” His tone eased, though the edge remained. “I spoke out of turn. She is your disciple. I should not have been so harsh.”

  A beat of silence.

  “Let the matter of marriage end here,” he said coolly. “I would not want such a wife for my son.”

  Mo Jian very nearly replied, As if your son is worthy of her to begin with, but bit the thought back. Bai Ning looked thoroughly displeased, though wisely, she held her tongue. Good. The sooner they ended this farce, the better. No point in letting pride turn a tedious meeting into a bloodbath.

  Jin Rong drew a careful breath. Pain flickered briefly across his features before he continued. “Let us move to the true matter at hand. Two months ago, a mortal village on the edge of my territory was slaughtered. Men, women, and infants, it didn’t matter; none survived. And yet, nothing was stolen, broken, or disturbed. There was no sign of struggle beyond the blood.”

  A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

  His voice lowered. “The bodies were gone. Only the pools of blood remained to tell the tale.”

  Mo Jian’s blood ran cold. Suddenly, Jin Rong’s wounds, and his earlier arrogance, ceased to matter. He had seen something like this before. He prayed he was wrong.

  “This incident,” Jin Rong continued grimly, “has repeated itself half a dozen times since. Six villages, all of mortals only. None of the villages had any cultivators or true treasures to tempt thieves. I might have dismissed it as the work of beasts or pirates, were it not for the pattern. Four days ago, we laid a trap in one such village and finally confronted the culprits.”

  He gestured toward his ruined arm and bandaged head. “Their leader did this. I lost that fight but managed to escape with my life. From it, I learned who they are; the Black Sail Bandits, an unorthodox sect that has long plagued these shores. But this… this is the first time they’ve gone this far.”

  Mo Jian cursed softly and closed his eyes.

  Jin Rong nodded as if he had expected the reaction. “So, you understand. After my defeat, I began to dig deeper. This is not the first time such atrocities have occurred. Every few decades, some demonic sect begins slaughtering mortals, taking their bodies. The reason is always the same.”

  He gave a bitter, humorless smile. “They’ve refined a Gu, and must feed it, lest it devour them instead.”

  His expression hardened, voice rough with fatigue. “It also explains my injuries. The dark sorcery of a Gu corrodes vitality itself such that no pill or healing technique can counter it.”

  Of all the things – it had to be a Gu.

  Mo Jian resisted the urge to drag a hand down his face. Next to him, Bai Ning went pale, a sharp inhale betraying her concern, and rightfully so. He briefly looked at her, wondering if this was karmic backlash for taking her as a disciple? He was starting to share in her protagonist-grade misfortune.

  He drew a slow, deliberate breath, trying to exhale his unease with it. It didn’t help much.

  “Please tell me,” Mo Jian said at last, voice steady but taut, “that you’ve informed the Righteous Alliance and reached out to Ancestor Qing. The appearance of a Gu is no small matter. Once it’s confirmed, the Alliance will dispatch reinforcements immediately.”

  Jin Rong did not attempt to soften the blow. “I did. My first act was to bind everyone who knew of the matter under a powerful oath, so that the news wouldn’t spread and cause a panic. My second was to send urgent messages to both the Alliance and Ancestor Qing personally.”

  He gave a sardonic smile. “Would you like to guess what answer I received?”

  Mo Jian studied him, from the proud frame and the hollow eyes to the exhaustion that no medicine could mask. Softly, he said, “Judging by the lack of reinforcements, I assume they told you they were too busy elsewhere and asked you to handle it yourself.”

  He shut his eyes briefly at his own conclusion. “The sheer foolishness. What else could possibly be half as important?”

  Jin Rong gave a short, mirthless laugh, and instantly winced in pain. “In their own words,” he said bitterly, “‘Fu Mao has raised a fleet of sunken ships crewed by the undead and is pillaging the Sunken Delta. The demon imprisoned beneath the Temple of the Oblivious God is stirring and causing tsunamis across Akbardarbar. The dragons in the Sword Trench are on the verge of another frenzy. And a new unorthodox drug from the mainland is flooding the Thousand Shattered Islands, inducing qi deviation in weaker cultivators and killing dozens.’”

  He exhaled sharply. “Their hands, they said, are full.”

  Jin Rong’s lip curled in disdain. “They also added that since it’s a juvenile Gu, it should be manageable for a group of Core Formation cultivators. What they truly mean is that this place is remote, and they don’t care what happens to it. Even if the Gu evolves, they’ll just write it off and pretend it was a righteous sacrifice.”

  He gave a hollow chuckle. “And that’s from the Alliance. Ancestor Qing didn’t even bother to reply, though perhaps, that’s only to be expected.”

  Mo Jian wanted to curse. “For the love of all that’s holy, are they mad? A Gu given even a moment’s freedom is a catastrophe in the making. Do you know what happened when an elder of the Grand Sun Sect secretly refined one and was discovered by his own sect members? They executed him quietly, but the Gu escaped.

  “Out of shame, the Grand Sun Sect buried the truth. That single Gu went on to devour an entire chain of islands. I was among the Core Formation cultivators sent to deal with the aftermath.”

  His voice dropped, heavy with inherited memory. “We couldn’t stop it. By the time we arrived, it had already evolved to the next stage. All we could do was watch as it completed its life cycle, dying to lay a hundred thousand eggs that immediately hatched and began devouring each other and everything else in a frenzy of violence.

  “No one could have dealt with that thing. Not even Ancestor Qing.

  “When the newborn Gu finally finished their feast, we destroyed what few remained. But by then, nearly a hundred million people were dead. All because a single Gu roamed free for less than a month.”

  He leaned back, eyes dark. “There is nothing else in this world that compares.”

  Next to him, Bai Ning turned to look at him in shock. He had never told her that tale before.

  Jin Rong slammed his remaining hand against the table. “You think you have to tell me that? I know full well what sort of abomination a Gu is.”

  He grimaced, steadying his breathing. “After nearly dying to a Foundation Establishment cultivator who possessed one, I did my research. The Alliance knows too. They simply don’t care because to them, a Gu is a contained disaster.”

  He gave a mirthless laugh. “It needs to feed constantly. Once it has devoured between ten and fifty million mortals, or fewer, if cultivators are included, it will evolve to the next stage, comparable to a Nascent Soul cultivator in strength. Of course, just as a freshly refined Gu already exceeds the power of most Core Formation cultivators, even a Nascent Soul would find it nearly impossible to fight an evolved one.

  “But thankfully,” he added bitterly, “a Gu remains in that stage only for a few days. Afterward, it lays its eggs and dies. The eggs hatch, the brood devours each other, and the survivors scatter to begin the cycle anew.”

  His gaze hardened, voice thick with scorn. “The Alliance likely believes that when the creature reaches that point, when it’s at its weakest, they can simply swoop in and exterminate what’s left. And in the meantime? This entire region will be consumed. But that’s acceptable to them.”

  Mo Jian buried his face in his hands.

  The sheer stupidity was sickening. So was the callousness; the utter disregard for mortal life the Alliance displayed.

  The Righteous Alliance, supposedly the moral counterbalance to the unorthodox sects, was meant to care for the common people, to uphold justice, to do what was right. In practice, they were as selfish as anyone else, basically existing as a loose coalition of “orthodox” factions bound together mostly by apathy and convenience.

  It only ever stirred to life when facing the demonic sects or when a great disaster loomed. The rest of the time, the Alliance was a paper tiger.

  And yet, this – this – was exactly the kind of crisis it had been created for.

  A Gu could not be allowed to roam free. Every time it happened, it ended in catastrophe. One might think that after countless failures, even the most depraved sects would have learned that there was no such thing as controlling a Gu, and that it would always turn on its master. But no. Every few decades, some arrogant fool would decide he was destined to overturn millennia of failed attempts and become the world’s first “Gu Master.”

  Every one of them had ended up devoured by their own creation. Yet give it ten years, and another would rise, convinced he was different.

  Part of the problem was how easy it was to refine a Gu.

  For centuries, the orthodox sects had tried to erase that knowledge from the world. They failed every time. The method persisted, passed from mouth to mouth, scrawled in hidden manuals, and whispered in the slums. These days, even mortals knew the process, even if they couldn’t complete it without qi.

  Trap five types of poisonous or venomous creatures in a sealed jar, and let them kill and devour each other until only one remained, bloated with the power of the rest. That is the Gu, a being of venom, stealth, and malice, born immune to fire, water, and steel alike.

  The most common variants used centipedes, scorpions, toads, snakes, and rats, one hundred of each. When the final survivor emerged, it bore the traits and powers of them all: hideously poisonous, almost undetectable, and capable of foul sorcery.

  They were also insatiable, nearly impossible to control, and always hungry for human flesh. A Gu would kill its master the moment a chance presented itself. And as it fed, it grew, without limit, until even the mightiest cultivators could not contain it.

  Old legends spoke of Gu that had once reached Immortal Ascension. Mo Jian was profoundly grateful that none such still existed. If even one had survived, the entire world might already have been eaten alive.

  “By all the paperwork in the Celestial Bureaucracy,” Mo Jian groaned. “That reasoning wouldn’t fool a five-year-old. This is a gamble that will turn a manageable disaster into a catastrophe. A Gu is not something to play with. There’s a reason every cultivator who claims to follow the orthodox path is charged with destroying even the faintest trace of one.

  “The story of the Sultanate isn’t an exaggeration. One moment of carelessness, and a Gu devoured an entire kingdom. And that was when a million immortals still walked the world. Do they really think anyone will come to save us now, after the Shattering?”

  Jin Rong’s expression darkened further. “Your guess is as good as mine. However, I cannot dwell on hypotheticals. I must act according to the reality before me.”

  He straightened, the movement stiff with pain. “Since help has been denied, I must seek it elsewhere. Fellow Daoist, you are strong and experienced. Lend me your aid. I have already begun gathering allies. There are few Core Formation cultivators in this region of the Thousand Shattered Islands, but a some do exist. I have reached out to Li Deng and Chi Shen, both presiding over nearby islands.

  “The four of us should suffice to deal with the Gu.”

  He drew a careful breath before continuing. “My son will also lead a group of Foundation Establishment cultivators to eliminate the rest of the Black Sail Bandits. Your disciple may join them, if you are willing. It is not an ideal arrangement, but it is the best I can offer. If those who follow the righteous dao do not stand together, the death toll will be unimaginable.”

  He bowed his head, an act that clearly cost him effort.

  Mo Jian gestured for him to rise, feeling as though he stood on the edge of a precipice.

  On one hand, this was not something he could ignore. There were certain acts that demanded action; lines that, once crossed, stripped a cultivator of their humanity. Allowing a Gu to roam free would be one of them. Could he turn away, knowing what would follow?

  No. He was not a saint, but neither was he that cold. Even if it was dangerous, even if it meant his death, this was a cause worth risking his life for.

  Yet he wasn’t responsible for his life alone.

  His gaze drifted to Bai Ning. She was pale but steady, clearly weighing the same choice. When her eyes met his, her expression was firm.

  “Master, we should go,” she said quietly. “If we can help, then it’s our duty to do so.”

  She sounded utterly resolved, as if nothing could sway her.

  Jin Rong gave no sign of hearing her, continuing his habit of pretending she hadn’t spoken.

  “We could die,” Mo Jian said bluntly. It was the truth, stripped bare. Against a Gu, there were no guarantees. Most of his usual techniques would be useless.

  Bai Ning met his gaze without flinching. “We could die,” she echoed softly, “but people will die if we do nothing. Isn’t that worse?”

  Her words hung in the air like a sword suspended by a thread.

  Mo Jian stared at her for a long moment, then sighed, rubbing at the bridge of his nose. When had his disciple learned to turn his own teachings against him so effectively?

  “Remind me never to impart moral lessons again,” he muttered.

  A faint smile flickered across Bai Ning’s lips, fleeting but real.

  Jin Rong, for his part, said nothing. The tension in his shoulders eased by a fraction, the relief in his eyes quickly masked by the weary pride of a man who no longer dared to hope.

  Mo Jian rose to his feet. “Very well. I will stand with you against this threat. Send word when you have confirmation of its whereabouts.”

  Jin Rong inclined his head, slow and deliberate. “You have my gratitude, Fellow Daoist. May the heavens favor us.”

  “Let’s hope they’re paying attention for once,” Mo Jian replied dryly.

  The formalities concluded, the meeting dissolved into courtesies. Jin Rong did not linger, insisting they consider the guest quarters theirs for as long as they wished to stay.

  When the doors finally closed behind him, Mo Jian exhaled softly and crossed to a low display table, where a piece of polished brass gleamed behind a glass casing. Behind him, he could hear Bai Ning drumming her fingers against the armrest, her impatience returning.

  “It seems I owe you an apology, Bai Ning,” he said, tone deliberately dry. “This one turned out to be troublesome as well.”

  “Huh?” It took her a second to recall their earlier argument, but when she did, she rolled her eyes.

  “Of course I was right, Master,” she said imperiously. “That is one of the great constants of the universe.”

  Mo Jian chuckled under his breath. “Are you truly all right with this?” he asked after a moment. “You don’t have to risk your life for something that isn’t your burden. There’s no shame in walking away.”

  Bai Ning actually paused to think, then shook her head. “He may be an ass, but the people here don’t deserve to be eaten by a monster because of that. And, didn’t I say I would make sure things like this don’t happen again, if I ever have the strength to stop them?” Her expression hardened with quiet resolve. “I took that pill, Master. I can’t take back out of the responsibility that comes with it.”

  So, she was holding a grudge against Jin Rong for his words...

  But more than that, Mo Jian felt a deep, unexpected pride. The kind that filled his chest until it hurt a little. Which was funny, really, because she had been this way from the start. It wasn’t as if he could claim to have taught her any of it.

  Still, he thought with a faint smile, he’d have to do his best too if he wanted the right to stand tall as her master.