Chapter 28: Secret Schemes and Seeds of Suspicion

Within the tribe, golden light rained down from the sky, followed by a thin mist that drifted gently, enfolding the land. The haze spread, transforming the scene into a realm of immortals, dazzling and wondrous, easing the hearts of the people of the Bamboo Tribe. Yet the wild boars became unsettled and frightened.

From the boars’ perspective, the world was shrouded in vast, boundless mist—they found themselves lost in a surging sea of fog, their brute strength rendered useless. The mist had no effect on the tribespeople; to them, it was clear to see that the boars, robbed of their senses, stood dazed and stiff, offering no resistance, as if turned to statues amid the swirling haze.

Wild boars, though thick-skinned and muscular, were nothing more than giant lumps of meat if they did not resist. The bamboo blades fell mercilessly, slicing down; with a single squeal, a boar would collapse, dying a miserable death.

As the number of slain boars grew, the crisis roused some from their stupor. Though they saw their brethren die in uncanny ways, it did not drive the rest to retreat. Instead, it awakened their ferocity. The boars grunted and their eyes turned red—herding together, they formed a moving wall of flesh. But what was the use? No matter how fierce, they were still only beasts.

One by one, the boars fell. Their blood and essence were stripped away; their once plump flesh turned dry and hard, as if smoked into slabs of old cured meat.

“Totem, totem, totem…”
Cries rang out, thunderous and fervent. The people of the tribe shouted in ecstasy—their totem had revealed its spirit, saving them. Amid the golden rain, a spirit butterfly could be glimpsed, flitting gracefully, etching this moment into the tribe’s deepest memory. Surely, in the years to come, this would become a legend, celebrated for generations.

What was once a simple event, as time passed, would be embellished, gradually distorted, but suffused with divinity. That spirit butterfly, through such stories, became the faith of the tribe, an eternal flame, blazing like a divine sun, forever illuminating the sky above.

A torrent of incense and wishes surged forth, emanating from the people of the tribe, rising against the current in a dazzling flood.

The golden light poured down upon Ye Chen.

In the shimmering rain of light, the spirit butterfly danced as if bathing in eternal flame. Ye Chen reaped great benefit; all the power he had spent was quickly replenished, with surplus to spare.

The wild boars suffered heavy casualties, and the scent of blood in the air grew thicker.

At that moment, the young and able men who had been chasing the boars returned—albeit late.

“Why are you only just arriving?”

The shaman’s anger was palpable; with such disaster unfolding, these men had dawdled. Was it their intention to wait until everyone in the tribe was dead before returning? Outrageous, and no excuse could mitigate the fury.

Before the shaman had finished speaking, his expression changed. As the young men approached, strands of golden light enveloped them, causing something strange to occur.

All those rays were incense and wish power, holy in their aura, painting the place as sacred ground. Yet wherever the young warriors passed, a thin layer of frost formed on the ground, nearly withering everything—an ominous sign that filled the shaman’s heart with dread. Looking closely, he found that the golden light shrouded the young men, but instead of sanctity, a flood of black mist welled from their bodies, as if their disguises had been stripped away.

The shaman’s aged body trembled in panic, whispering, “All dead?”

His voice was dry, heavy with despair.

If the tribe lost all its youth and strength, leaving only the old and weak, there would be no hope left.

The shaman desperately wished his judgment was wrong, and turned to Ye Chen with pleading eyes.

Ye Chen was silent, his heart quaking, his face grim—he had not foreseen such an outcome. This external threat had come sooner than he expected.

If all these men were dead, then their purpose in returning to the tribe at this moment was self-evident. Surely, there were even more malicious eyes lurking in the shadows, waiting for their chance.

Ye Chen felt a coldness in his limbs as he stared at the young men. After careful inspection, he replied, his voice rough, “They are all dead.”

At this, the shaman seemed to age ten years in an instant, stunned by the blow, while the surviving elders and children of the tribe broke down in wailing.

The last of the tribe’s youth—their hope, the last embers—had been extinguished.

Their cries carried not only the pain of lost kin, but also the confusion of a bleak future.

Though the wild boars had been subdued, the threat was gone, but what did that matter? The old and frail dropped their guard and slumped to the ground, staring blankly at the sky.

“Whoever is responsible will pay the price,” the shaman growled with hatred. “They’ve snuffed out my tribe’s hope; even if it’s a demon of unparalleled evil, it must die.”

Ye Chen’s mood was dire. Had he miscalculated? Was the tribe truly doomed?

“How did these young men die so swiftly?” Ye Chen’s mind was clouded. Even after using incense power, he could sense a chilling inhumanity clinging to the young men—a sinister, ghostly presence.

Ye Chen hesitated, then turned the incense power into a sweeping blaze, intent on erasing the young men entirely.

To be honest, if Ye Chen went all out, it would have been no trouble; previously, he had held back only to test the tribe’s strength and observe its people more clearly.

Now it appeared the fool was himself. Ye Chen found it hard to believe.

“No, something is very wrong.”

Suddenly, Ye Chen’s vision pierced the rules of the world to a mysterious place—a white lotus, exhaling and inhaling chaotic energy, growing vigorously. At that moment, it emitted a pure white light, like a ribbon streaking across the sky, piercing endless time and space before descending upon him.

A thunderclap seemed to boom in Ye Chen’s heart.

He awoke in an instant. The incense power became a gentle, nourishing rain, no longer aiming to destroy the young men. Instead, threads of golden light, as soft as flowing water, fell upon them, slowly dispelling the black mist from their bodies.

Only then did the young men cough up black blood and regain their senses.

“Chief, we were ambushed by people from the Dove Tribe,” Fang said angrily. “We led some of the boars out of the tribe, worried they’d rampage inside, but didn’t expect to be struck by a hidden hand.”

“You’re alive?” the shaman exclaimed in delight, then glanced at Ye Chen, seeking confirmation.

Ye Chen nodded. “They’re alive, but it seems the people of the Dove Tribe used a powerful method to turn you into ghostly creatures. If I hadn’t been cautious, I might have burned you all to ashes.”

Had Ye Chen been even a little less careful, these young men would have perished at the hands of their own, dying the most unjust of deaths.