Chapter 41: The White Bone Token Devours the Totem

A golden rain of light spread out, enveloping Ebony within it.

In that instant, a profound and terrifying force made Ebony feel as if he were drifting in a dream. Bit by bit, his memories seemed to be stripped away, flowing rapidly before his mind's eye. He could not control his thoughts, unable to suppress the recollection of past events. Even things that had long slipped his mind now appeared before him as clearly as patterns in the palm of his hand.

A cold dread welled up inside Ebony. "What sort of sorcery is this?" he wondered. He wanted to shout aloud, but found himself utterly incapable of making a sound. It was as though he suffered from sleep paralysis—fully conscious and aware, yet unable to wake.

Fear gripped him. To experience such a power firsthand was enough to shatter one’s courage.

Ebony’s fate was sealed. Yet the shaman showed no hint of triumph; his expression was grave, even somewhat dejected. In a low voice, Ebony said, “With only one person, do you really think you can wipe out our Bamboo Tribe? Where does such confidence come from?”

As he spoke, the shaman began to search Ebony, feeling over his bare body, but found nothing hidden. Puzzled, the shaman next turned his attention to the ghost-faced owl, but again came up empty-handed.

At that moment, Ye Chen, wielding a bamboo blade, swung down and severed one of Ebony’s arms.

Blood spattered. In the blink of an eye, the flesh and blood of the arm turned to ash, and a faint green glow—like a mist—arose from it, clearly poisonous. The fresh arm was reduced instantly to nothing; even the white bone beneath was ground to powder. Yet with a soft clatter, a single white-bone token fell to the ground.

The token glimmered with an eerie, pallid light, and the green mist was drawn into it, consumed entirely.

The shaman cautiously took a step back, eyeing the token intently. “What is that? Ebony went to great lengths to seal this white-bone token within his arm—what was his purpose?”

Ye Chen picked up the token and, as he did, a sinister, spectral grin appeared upon its surface. It was as if a gust of cold wind swept through, chilling the very air.

“Since you’ve already attacked the Owl Tribe,” Ye Chen said with a faint smile, “you must know something of their history, don’t you? The Owl Tribe once had its own totem, but by chance came into possession of this white-bone token. Finding it mysterious, they began to worship it as well. Little did they know, this would bring about disaster.”

The shaman pressed his lips together in silence, understanding that Ye Chen must have glimpsed some truth from Ebony’s memories. There was nothing more to do now but listen.

Ye Chen continued, “That white-bone token comes from the depths of Demon Ridge.”

“The depths of Demon Ridge?” the shaman exclaimed in shock. “We can barely survive on the outskirts of Demon Ridge. To venture deeper is to invite the unknown and certain death.”

“Exactly. The Owl Tribe might have been fortunate to obtain the token, but perhaps it was the beginning of their misfortune,” Ye Chen said, having gleaned much valuable information from Ebony’s memories. For instance, the Owl Tribe now found itself at the end of its rope. Given the Bamboo Tribe’s miserable state, it was hardly surprising that the Owl Tribe fared little better.

This was a mutual destruction—there would be no real victor, only those teetering on the brink of ruin.

Ye Chen felt a sudden impulse: should he launch a surprise attack on the Owl Tribe? Yet after a moment’s thought, his blood cooled. It was better left as a passing fancy. There were too many variables; a single misstep would spell disaster. Though Ebony’s memories were useful, they did not reveal everything about the Owl Tribe.

Ye Chen never made the mistake of underestimating others. The Owl Tribe, after all, had its own cunning—it sent Ebony to ambush the Bamboo Tribe, but surely had considered the possibility of failure. Better to bide his time for vengeance, however unheroic it might seem. Ye Chen had no desire to stumble into ruin through reckless haste.

Most importantly, he was confident that, when it came to who would recover their strength first, he would outpace the Owl Tribe.

“Is Ebony dead?” the shaman asked, glancing at the motionless figure. Ebony’s body had grown stiff, unmoving as a statue.

“No,” Ye Chen replied coolly. “Killing him now would be wasteful. He’s still of some use.”

He considered distorting Ebony’s consciousness—if he could turn Ebony into a loyal servant, it would be ideal. The chances were slim, but worth a try. At worst, he could reduce Ebony to a mindless husk, which was no great loss. There was no need to share these thoughts with the shaman, lest he realize something was amiss in his own memories and trace it back to Ye Chen. Such an outcome, though unlikely, was best avoided.

Ye Chen combed carefully through Ebony’s memories, searching for a place to act, but it was no easy task.

“The Owl Tribe’s totem was fed to the white-bone token—devoured. I can hardly usurp the totem’s place in Ebony’s mind.”

“That leaves only one option: to forcefully edit Ebony’s memories,” Ye Chen mused, his eyes glinting. “What’s this? Once, while hunting, he survived by leaping off a cliff?”

Ye Chen was astonished. “Escaped by leaping off a cliff and survived? Is he some sort of protagonist?”

He didn’t really believe in fate-ordained heroes, but some people were undeniably favored by fortune. Ebony, it seemed, was one of those. “If things had gone as they should, without my interference, Ebony might really have succeeded.”

Of course, it was only a possibility. Even without Ye Chen, there was still Spirit Bamboo, who was by no means defenseless. In the tribe, Spirit Bamboo was no less formidable than Ye Chen. Ebony might still have ended up with nothing for his troubles.

“Fortune is not all-powerful. Some calamities cannot be escaped.”

“Do you remember the great snowstorm more than ten years ago?” Ye Chen’s question sent the shaman’s thoughts back to those days. His expression grew complex; though he did not know Ye Chen’s purpose, he sensed a hidden meaning.

“Of course I remember,” the shaman sighed. “That snowstorm was truly catastrophic—a natural disaster. Thankfully, the totem warned us in advance. We stockpiled food, and with the totem’s protection, we endured the bitter cold and managed to survive.”

“I recall there were many tribes in these parts, but that snowstorm wiped some of them out completely.”

Ye Chen nodded. Before such disasters, people were helpless.

“The Owl Tribe nearly vanished that year,” Ye Chen said, storing the white-bone token within his inner world, feeling the intricate patterns upon it and the gentle radiance that flowed over its surface. It was as though it had been carved from jade, possessing an extraordinary aura.

Clearly, the white-bone token was no ordinary object—its origins in the depths of Demon Ridge remained a mystery.