Chapter 9: Sudden Change at the Altar, the Bamboo Sprouts

"This is a tremendous help," Ye Chen thought, feeling a surge of power welling up within his body. At the same time, in the dreamscape he could control, faint wisps of blood-red mist began to rise, rendering the dream ever more stable.

"Though it's still called the Illusory Realm and hardly lives up to its name, it's not so fragile as to shatter at the slightest touch anymore. It's much more solid now." A thought flickered through Ye Chen's mind, and his resentment toward the shaman deepened. "I really underestimated the significance of the Grand Rite. Fortunately, I always assume the worst of my enemies and never leave things to chance. Had I allowed Lingzhu to consume all the offerings alone and regain her strength first, I might not have been able to handle her."

Ye Chen hadn't anticipated the effects of the Grand Rite to be so pronounced, and now his desire to eliminate the shaman grew ever stronger.

"If only someone could be as devoted to me as the shaman is to Lingzhu. People like the shaman are stubborn to a fault; if I could bring him to my side, I’d have to do everything possible to keep him. But if he remains an enemy, he must be removed as soon as possible."

Truth be told, Ye Chen considered the Bamboo Tribe as something he already possessed, and he had invested genuine effort into its development. Eliminating the shaman would certainly have an impact, but it was a necessary step.

"In the end, my strength is still too meager. If I were powerful enough, the shaman’s actions wouldn’t affect me in the least. Then, I could afford to appear magnanimous and display a grander spirit. Only with true confidence can one be generous. But I cannot afford defeat—one misstep and I’ll be doomed beyond redemption. To show undue magnanimity now would be sheer folly."

Ye Chen cast a careful glance at the shaman, then feigned indifference. Though he harbored murderous intent, he needed to consider carefully how best to strike, minimizing the fallout as much as possible.

In Ye Chen’s eyes, as long as the shaman lived, Lingzhu’s position in the tribe could not be easily replaced; there would always be someone to trip him up, always an obstacle in his path.

Ye Chen had no real roots in the Bamboo Tribe; his totemic status had been secured only by distorting the tribe’s collective consciousness.

He noticed that Lingzhu, too, was shrouded in a faint veil of blood-red mist. The scarlet glow around her flickered, making her appear swathed in clusters of blood-fire. Only her shadow remained; her true body had long since turned to ash, and the bamboo seed born of her nirvana was still in the shaman’s hands, yet to take root and sprout. Now, however, her shadow appeared as if it had consumed a potent elixir, becoming far more substantial.

Ye Chen watched Lingzhu closely, his expression growing grave, and realized that she seemed to benefit even more than he did from the ritual.

"In the end, it’s Lingzhu whom the Bamboo Tribe truly reveres. As for me, I’ve gained a little incense power, but compared to Lingzhu, it’s a mere trifle."

The effects might not be apparent in the short term, but if this continued, with Lingzhu constantly absorbing such potent offerings, Ye Chen feared he would be unable to stand against her for long.

"This cannot be allowed to drag on. If I delay any further, I’ll be like a frog slowly boiling in water; by the time I realize it, it may already be too late."

Although Lingzhu could not speak and seemed rather dull, Ye Chen realized he did not truly understand her. He had only interacted with her in her debilitated state; once she fully recovered her strength, who could say what she might be capable of?

The Grand Rite continued, the altar bathed in a golden haze of incense and wishpower.

The shaman stared blankly at the altar, a deep sense of disappointment weighing on his heart. "Lingzhu gives no response."

This was a bitter pill for the shaman to swallow. "Her injuries must be severe indeed. Even the Grand Rite cannot rouse her—could it be that the Spirit Butterfly has gained the upper hand?"

He muttered to himself, recalling how the shadow of the Spirit Butterfly had suddenly appeared on the bamboo plank earlier, filling him with dread. To the shaman, that had been a clear warning from the Spirit Butterfly.

In this situation, there was nothing more the shaman could do. Ultimately, the outcome depended on Lingzhu and the Spirit Butterfly; he could only influence things indirectly, never as a decisive force.

"This wild boar should be offered to the totem as a sacrifice," the chieftain intoned somberly, reminding the shaman. Though Lingzhu seemed inert and the Spirit Butterfly had shown her hand—leaving traces on the bamboo plank, unlike the utterly hidden Lingzhu—the chieftain felt no sense of triumph.

Without a word, the shaman approached the wild boar. Tied and unable to escape, the beast squealed anxiously as the shaman advanced with a bamboo knife in hand.

"It has a certain intelligence," Ye Chen thought, glancing curiously at the boar. With a thought, a wisp of incense power transformed into a breeze and swept toward the animal, snapping the tree-bark ropes in an instant.

Freed, the wild boar immediately charged the shaman, hooves raised.

With a sickening crack, the shaman’s bones fractured, sending him sprawling. The boar’s eyes glimmered with fury and vengeance as it pounced again, pinning the shaman beneath its massive bulk.

"Shaman!"

Cries of alarm rang out from the people of the Bamboo Tribe. None had foreseen such an upheaval; the ropes had surely been inspected and should not have failed.

The shaman, accustomed to wielding totemic power, found himself powerless now that the totem’s strength was failing. If the boar managed to crush him to death, the shaman would become a laughingstock, and the entire Bamboo Tribe would be branded with disgrace.

Outrageous! The chieftain rushed toward the shaman, but the sudden turn of events had caught everyone off guard.

The pain wracking his body was secondary to the shaman; it was the burning shame upon his face that stung the most. To be bested by a mere wild boar, a lowly beast—he had grown careless. He swung his bamboo knife to ward off the boar’s massive head, unwilling to let it draw any closer.

The boar’s enormous weight pressed down upon him, and the shaman could feel his bones creaking under the strain, on the verge of shattering.

Against the boar, the shaman’s strength was pitifully insufficient. The bamboo knife was soon knocked flying.

As the boar’s head bore down, terror flickered in the shaman’s eyes. Death itself did not frighten him—at his advanced age, it was but the natural end. Yet it was the manner of his end that he cared about.

Despair overtook him; he was about to die a laughingstock. Suddenly, a brilliant golden light flashed.

A bamboo seed, no larger than a thumb and shining with a golden luster, struck with explosive force, flinging the wild boar aside.

Ye Chen’s eyes were fixed on the seed. "Lingzhu intervened," he thought with a pang of regret. The shaman was not so easily killed after all; though the seed was small, its power was more than a wild boar could withstand. The boar, though not severely injured, was now fated.

Fortunately, Ye Chen had not pressed too hard, never openly displaying murderous intent toward the shaman. He wondered if Lingzhu had sensed his intentions—if she continued to shield the shaman, eliminating him would not be easy.

The chieftain hurried to the shaman’s side, flustered. "Are you all right?"

"Not dead yet," the shaman replied, voice heavy. He struggled and, with the chieftain’s support, managed to stand—a feat that seemed almost miraculous.

The chieftain’s eyes flickered with understanding. Clearly, this was due to Lingzhu’s intervention; only her power could have so swiftly restored the shaman’s injuries.