Chapter 5: I Have Come to This World to Establish the Divine Path

The chieftain had no choice but to yield; otherwise, should wrath befall him, it would be more than he could endure. For the chieftain, nothing mattered more than the Bamboo Tribe. This was, without doubt, a betrayal of the totem. If, in the end, Spirit Bamboo emerged victorious, then one death might atone for all sins, shouldering every consequence without regret. There was a resolute light in the chieftain’s eyes, unwavering and unafraid of sacrificing himself. The faith of so many tribespeople originated from Spirit Bamboo. Surely, Spirit Bamboo would not lay blame upon the entire tribe for one man’s selfishness?

After all, without the tribe, the totem would be rootless—like a tree without soil or a river without a source.

It was precisely because Spirit Butterfly had nothing left to lose that the chieftain feared she might drag everything down with her, turning the Bamboo Tribe to smoke and ashes, lost forever. That method which could alter collective memory was utterly insidious. Even thinking of it filled the chieftain with despair.

“Who will win, I wonder?” The chieftain’s heart quivered as he steadied himself with the shaman’s help, his gaze fixed upon the altar where the phantom of Spirit Bamboo faced Spirit Butterfly.

Incense-born power surged and collided, yet neither the Spirit Bamboo’s form nor Spirit Butterfly overcame the other. Instead, a subtle, indistinct connection seemed to form between them. Perhaps, in truth, this transformation reflected the will of the Bamboo Tribe. Whether totems or ascending divinities, they were both bound by incense and faith.

In the eyes of the tribe, both Spirit Bamboo and Spirit Butterfly were their totems. What once was a false memory, through unshakable belief, had been forged into reality.

“It seems eradicating Spirit Bamboo once and for all is simply not realistic,” Ye Chen sighed inwardly. To continue burning incense power was like striking at empty air—futile. No, more precisely, the essence between himself and Spirit Bamboo was drawing ever closer, converging like two droplets of water merging together, producing no effect.

“It’s still that I lack strength. Otherwise, how could I be stuck in this stalemate with Spirit Bamboo? And because I dare not alter the tribe’s memories too drastically, I failed to erase Spirit Bamboo from their collective consciousness. At this rate, I suppose I’ll have to coexist with Spirit Bamboo for some time.”

This would be a hidden danger. Ye Chen doubted Spirit Bamboo could accept this outcome. In future, he would always need to beware of betrayal—a troublesome prospect.

Spirit Bamboo, unwilling to accept defeat, kept summoning incense power, attempting to obliterate Ye Chen. But Ye Chen simply stood, indifferent, watching as the condensed incense power formed a sword, falling upon him.

He offered no resistance. Spirit Bamboo’s efforts were futile—each strike, though fierce, was as though piercing a phantom bubble. The moment the bubble burst, it reformed; nothing could touch him.

Spirit Bamboo’s illusion paused, as if in disbelief. The bamboo branches shivered and hissed, but their blows against Ye Chen were like fingers passing through mist. No matter how many times he was struck and scattered into points of light, Ye Chen’s form would reassemble instantly. He no longer took Spirit Bamboo seriously.

“My body is now refined by incense power, freed from mortal constraints. This incense power springs from the tribe’s faith, sharing a common root with Spirit Bamboo. It’s no wonder we can no longer harm one another.”

Incense power was like a universal salve, able to bring desires into reality and seemingly omnipotent, yet unable to vanquish Ye Chen. Spirit Bamboo’s unwillingness was all that remained.

“It's a pity, though, that the talisman seed remains incomplete.”

Within Ye Chen’s spiritual palace, a thumb-sized talisman seed glowed with golden light, runes swirling about it in mysterious patterns. This was the Divine Path Talisman—a key to transcending the mundane and unlocking the gate to divinity. But the key was incomplete, and thus powerless.

“When will I truly unlock the Divine Path in this world?” Ye Chen mused. If Spirit Bamboo were completely defeated and he inherited its legacy, perhaps with all the incense power he could repair the talisman seed and take that critical step.

“For now, becoming a totem is not a bad thing. I mustn’t underestimate the cultivation methods of this world; a stone from another mountain can still sharpen my blade. Besides, my future adversaries will likely be totems. To know oneself and one's enemy is to have confidence.”

With such thoughts, Ye Chen consoled himself. Then, he watched as the mist, once billowing, began to contract rapidly.

The fog that had shrouded the entire Bamboo Tribe—so dense that one could not see their own hand—now condensed into a white ribbon, streaking across the sky like a rainbow and falling upon the altar.

The altar itself was hidden behind the veil of mist, impossible to see clearly now.

The chieftain opened his mouth, thoughts crowding his mind, but he knew not where to begin.

“Chieftain, chieftain, what’s happened to the shaman?”

With the mist gone, the tribespeople gathered in concern.

The chieftain shook his head. “Don’t worry. The shaman was injured because of the totem’s affair and has only fallen into a deep sleep. There is no danger.”

“But this calamity—such a great upheaval, the entire tribe shrouded in unknown fog—could it be that a demon from the deep mountains has descended upon us?” An elder’s face was etched with fear. “Will we survive this trial? If only the totem could recover… Chieftain, should we hold a grand sacrifice?”

A grand sacrifice meant capturing wild beasts as offerings to the totem, conducting rituals to resonate with its power.

Not only could this restore some of the totem’s vitality, but it also brought great benefit to the people. Sometimes, through the totem’s grace, their bodies would be tempered and they would become formidable warriors.

Though lacking in heritage, so the tribe could not walk the path of cultivation in earnest, even after such a ritual, their physical strength improved greatly, enough to contend with large beasts.

The chieftain sighed inwardly, feeling a touch of disappointment. It seemed their memories had indeed been tampered with, or else they would have known that the invading demon was none other than Spirit Butterfly.

Now, they knew nothing, confirming his suspicions. There was no room for wishful thinking.

“My actions were not mistaken,” the chieftain told himself. “Our tribe does not have a single person who has walked the extraordinary path. Facing such calamity, how could I risk everything on a single throw? Though I have wronged the totem, as long as the tribe survives, that is enough.”

“Yes, we must hold a grand sacrifice. Over the next few days, organize hunting parties and prepare worthy offerings.”

The offerings could not be just any wild beast. The chieftain was uneasy—after such upheaval, would the grand sacrifice proceed without mishap?

But the ritual had to be performed. Perhaps through this grand sacrifice, it would become clear whether Spirit Bamboo or the foreign Spirit Butterfly had prevailed. The answer was vital.