Chapter 25: The Aroma of Meat Is Incredibly Tempting

“It’s the Totem’s intervention.”

Many in the tribe seemed excited, but the chief’s face was dark, without a trace of joy.

“In the end, the Totem had to act because we were simply too incompetent,” the chief snorted, extinguishing the tribe’s enthusiasm in an instant.

The Bamboo Tribe was strewn with wild boar corpses, many bamboo huts had collapsed, and chaos reigned.

“Send some people to cook the Boar King first—it’s on the verge of transforming into a demon beast. Its meat will certainly be nourishing, a good way to replenish our energy,” the chief commanded, shouting, “Everyone, be quick! Gather the boar carcasses early, don’t let the insects and ants get to them. If the meat spoils, it’ll be wasted.”

The tribe was in shambles, but there was no time to worry about that. In the gloomy night, sparse stars and a waning moon hung high, accompanied by the roars of beasts, filling hearts with desolation. Yet, no one had died—that was a source of great relief.

Still, the losses were severe: many bamboo huts had been wrecked by the wild boars, and the days ahead would be spent in toil and repair.

Hidden worries gnawed at the chief’s heart, but for now, the matter was settled.

The spirit butterfly, at least for the moment, didn’t seem to be a man-eating demon, and the tribe could survive.

Even with losses, they were minor compared to total destruction.

Though the chief did care about the spirit bamboo, abandoning it and ignoring his hatred had been a torment. But there was no other way—when Totems clashed, mere mortals could not interfere.

He sighed inwardly, helpless.

Soon, the air was filled with the fragrance of wild boar meat, rousing Ye Chen from his reverie.

The aroma was tempting, but unfortunately, no one thought to serve him a bowl.

Clearly, only living sacrifices were ever offered.

And with the Boar King slain, there was nothing left for Ye Chen. Besides, tonight had already seen a grand ritual, which couldn’t be held again so soon.

So, Ye Chen could only watch?

He remained silent, unconcerned—missing a piece of meat was hardly a tragedy.

Yet, seeing the chief and others feasting, Ye Chen felt little boredom.

He was not one to sit aloof on a high dais, overlooking the world’s mortal affairs as an almighty deity. Though he was a ninth-rank divinity, he lacked divine detachment, retaining a heart much like any mortal.

Perhaps, over countless ages, his mortal nature would wash away, and he would become one with the Dao, untouched by worldly concerns—but for now, Ye Chen was far from such transcendence.

So, watching the tribe eat, Ye Chen refused to torment himself with envy.

“Hmm? Something’s changing.”

Ye Chen turned his gaze from the tribesmen, noticing beneath the altar a mass of black mist, twisting and gathering.

Within that darkness, a blood-red glow appeared, flickering like a ghostly lantern with crimson flame.

It was unsettling, but fortunately, the chief and others hadn’t noticed—if they had, they’d likely have been terrified.

“What’s going on?” Ye Chen was unafraid, only curious.

He could easily extinguish the black mist, but saw no need.

Soon, the mist exploded, revealing a wild boar’s form.

Its white bones were exposed, blood streaming, eyes burning red with endless murderous intent—it was a frightening sight.

“It’s a problem with one of the sacrificial boars.”

Ye Chen hadn’t found the meat tough, yet here it was causing trouble.

“Resentment lingers, gathering together—this has become a monster.”

“That’s strange. Transforming into such a creature isn’t easy, even with deep grievances. Normally, it’s nearly impossible for a soul to turn malevolent after death.”

If it were so easy, humanity would have perished long ago.

Now, clusters of black mist appeared silently, all surging toward the boar monster.

The creature was undergoing a mysterious transformation. Beneath the altar, the temperature seemed to drop, frost flowers forming and sending chills through the air.

Ye Chen’s heart stirred. Looking closely, he saw the black mist thickening around the boar monster.

“Interesting.”

The black mist writhed, and within, the wild boar glared with crimson eyes, full of murderous intent, staring fixedly at the witch.

Though Ye Chen posed a greater threat, the boar monster—lacking intelligence—focused its hatred on the witch, unable to forget.

The witch shivered, as if some dreadful being was stalking her; she felt uneasy.

She looked around, saw nothing, and was puzzled. Thankfully, the sensation soon faded.

“Was it just my imagination?” she murmured. “What could be dangerous here in the tribe? Surely there aren’t wild boars lurking in the shadows?”

Though she disliked thinking of the spirit butterfly, she had to admit its protection made the tribe safer.

Otherwise, facing the wild boars earlier, some would surely have died—yet not a single casualty.

The witch understood the tribe’s plight well—they were not far from ruin.

Without the Totem, everyone would have had to pack up and seek their own paths.

In this sense, she ought to thank the spirit butterfly.

But she refused. Her hatred lingered, and if the moment were right, she’d oppose the butterfly without hesitation.

She shook her head, dismissing her thoughts. Even if the sky were to fall, eating came first.

Besides, she’d never tasted Boar King’s meat before.

“The effect is obvious,” she sensed the changes in her flesh—a new vitality coursed through her limbs. Before, it had been the Totem’s power that allowed her to display such vigor, her aged body momentarily rejuvenated, but it was only fleeting.

Once the Totem’s power faded, she reverted to her frail, elderly self.

Of course, what she believed to be Totem power was actually Ye Chen’s use of incense and prayer, but the difference was negligible, and with her dim vision, she couldn’t tell.

Now, the surging essence from the boar meat washed over her, as if her body might be reborn, erasing the marks of time and restoring her to her prime.

The entire Bamboo Tribe was bathed in a soft crimson glow from the bonfires, tranquil and peaceful, unaware of the lurking demons. Moonlight spilled across the broken bamboo huts, the shadows swaying with the night breeze, fate as elusive as those shifting shapes.

The chief and others finished their meal quickly. Though they’d barely replenished their energy, they were weary to the bone.

“Disperse now,” the chief said, seeing his people exhausted to the point of collapse. They needed rest; any further plans would have to wait for dawn.