Chapter Sixty-Three: Madman

A flash of white light darted into the forest. Shi Qi hurried after it, plunging into the woods as well. He moved swiftly through the dense undergrowth, chasing the light, until at last he glimpsed a white figure not far ahead.

The figure crouched on the ground, engaged in some unknown task; Shi Qi could only see its back. He stepped carefully, quietly circling around to the figure’s side.

The person in white seemed oblivious to Shi Qi’s approach, remaining motionless as he squatted. Shi Qi edged closer, moving to face him, and took a good look.

It was an old man dressed in tattered white robes, with long, disheveled grey hair and a face overgrown with grey-white beard. Yet, his features and hands showed no trace of wrinkles.

At that moment, the old man was hunched over, gnawing at the roast rabbit Shi Qi had just cooked.

“How odd,” Shi Qi muttered to himself. “There’s no true energy emanating from him at all—he seems... just an ordinary man.”

“But how could an ordinary man move so fast?”

Seeing that the old man was still eating and showed no other reaction, Shi Qi mustered his courage, approached, and stood before him.

“Senior, who are you?” Shi Qi asked, clasping his fists in respect.

The old man devoured the rabbit with single-minded focus, paying him no heed.

“Senior, who are you?!” Shi Qi raised his voice and asked again.

Only then did the old man lift his head, his eyes vacant as he looked at Shi Qi and mumbled, “Senior, who are you?”

What?

Shi Qi paused, then tried again: “Senior, why are you on this deserted island?”

The old man stared, shaking his head slightly and replied, “Senior, why are you on this deserted island?”

Shi Qi pressed on: “I am Shi Qi. Senior, do you remember your own name?”

The old man parroted back, “I am Shi Qi. Senior, do you remember your own name?”

Shi Qi frowned. Why did the old man only repeat his words? Judging by his manner, Shi Qi guessed the man’s mind was addled—who knew what hardship he had endured? Perhaps, like Shi Qi himself, he too had suffered deeply.

Shi Qi shook his head, choosing to ignore the old man, and headed back toward the campfire, planning to find something else to fill his belly.

He had only taken a few steps when a white blur flashed before his eyes—the old man now stood squarely in his path, having devoured the last of the rabbit and tossed aside the bones. He stretched out his hands before Shi Qi and mumbled, “Meat. Eat. Want.”

So, the old man could speak after all.

Shi Qi didn’t quite understand his words, but the gesture was clear—he wanted more meat.

Spreading his hands, Shi Qi said, “I have no more meat.”

With that, he sidestepped the old man and continued walking.

To his surprise, the old man darted in front of him again, moving so swiftly Shi Qi’s eyes couldn’t track him.

He held out his hand: “Meat. Eat. Want.”

Shi Qi shrugged: “Meat. There’s none left!”

Then he made a flying motion with his arms and declared loudly, “The meat flew away!”

The old man watched Shi Qi’s gesture, seemed to ponder, then with a “whoosh,” dashed off out of sight.

“What a mad old fool!” Shi Qi muttered. The memory of his first encounter with Su Xiaomu came to him—she too had snatched the spicy chicken from his hands in a blur of speed.

Thinking of Su Xiaomu, Shi Qi clenched his fists, his eyes reddening. “I don’t know how you are now... I hope you’re safe. When your big brother returns, if you’re still out there, I’ll search the world to find you. And if you’re gone...”

His gaze turned cold. “I’ll raze Dianxing Manor to the ground and avenge you!”

Then he gave a bitter laugh. “But now I’m a ruined man, struggling even to feed myself, and there’s a mad old man whose origins I can’t fathom... Alas...”

At that moment, a familiar sound—“whoosh”—and the old madman reappeared, this time clutching a large bird, limp and unconscious in his grasp.

He hoisted the bird, pointed at it, and said, “Fly. Meat. Eat.”

Shi Qi smiled wryly. The old madman must have thought he wanted flying meat, and had gone off to catch a big bird.

Well, at least there was food. Better to fill one’s stomach before worrying about anything else.

Shi Qi took the bird, pointed at it, then toward the campfire and gestured, “Meat. More. Fire. Cook.”

His meaning was clear: catch more meat, and he’d cook it by the fire.

The old madman nodded—whether he understood was anyone’s guess—and vanished again with a “whoosh.”

With a sigh, Shi Qi headed toward the waterfall to clean and prepare the bird.

...

Shi Qi added a few more sticks to the fire, turning the strings of bird meat roasting above the flames.

Suddenly, several thunderous booms sounded in the forest. Instantly alert, Shi Qi tensed—devoid of his powers, he would be helpless against a wild beast or the likes of Yuan Chenglu hunting him down.

Another boom rang out. Shi Qi turned to look.

The old madman approached, hefting a massive wild boar on his shoulder—several meters long and enormous in size. Yet the old man carried it with ease, as if it weighed nothing.

Each step sent a tremor through the ground—so those thunderous sounds were his footsteps.

With a final bang, the old madman dropped the boar at Shi Qi’s feet, the ground shuddering so violently Shi Qi nearly lost his balance.

Coming closer, Shi Qi saw the old man’s face and arms bristled with wild boar quills.

Unfazed, the old madman pointed at the boar, then at Shi Qi, and said, “Meat. More.”

Shi Qi slapped his forehead. What a bizarre old fellow.

He took a cooked bird leg from the fire and handed it to the old man, who immediately scampered off to one side and squatted down to eat.

Shi Qi took a wing for himself and began to eat, too. After a day and night without food, only water to sustain him, even his sturdy body was at its limit. He walked over to the old madman, eating as he went, and began pulling the quills out of the old man’s arms.

The sharp quills left only pale marks on the old man’s skin, which healed instantly as Shi Qi removed them.

“Who is this man?” Shi Qi wondered. He had never seen anyone so strange—no trace of true energy, yet his body was as resilient as a cultivator’s.

Before long, the large bird was finished. The old man plopped down, patting his belly in satisfaction.

Shi Qi, too, was full. He walked over and tried again, “Senior, who are you?”

The old madman looked up and grinned, “Senior, who are you?”

Fine, I fed you for nothing.

Shi Qi shook his head, gave up, and went to the wild boar. With a stone knife, he carefully split the hide, removed all the quills, then skinned the beast in one piece. He cut the meat into several portions, working for two whole hours until sweat poured from his body. Since beginning his cultivation, he had never exerted himself in so honest a fashion.

For a fleeting moment, Shi Qi thought that if his master had never brought him to the Southern Sea Island, perhaps living as an ordinary man would have been a good life.

Of course, the thought vanished as quickly as it came. Shi Qi knew he still bore heavy grudges, and had to break the Spirit-Sealing Nail and return to the Twelve Provinces.

Night had fallen by the time he hung the boar skin on a sturdy tree to dry; once cured, it could be used to build a shelter against wind and rain.

He dug a pit, wrapped the meat in leaves, buried it, and placed a large stone on top—a makeshift cellar to keep carnivorous beasts from stealing the meat.

After all, if such a giant boar lived on this island, there must be other predators—perhaps even more dangerous.

Shi Qi collapsed to the ground, panting heavily. Exhausted, but with a sense of fulfillment he had never known before. More than ten years as a cultivator, and he’d almost forgotten he was once just an ordinary man.

The old madman had vanished—who knew where he’d run off to? Shi Qi didn’t worry. So long as the madman grew hungry, he would surely seek him out. On this desolate island, who knew if there was anyone else? To have a companion, mad or not, made Shi Qi feel a little less lonely.

He walked to the waterfall, washed his face, and only then noticed his white Daoist robe was stained black with blood, filthy and tattered.

He stripped it off and washed his body beneath the falls, the black nail still embedded in his chest—a ghastly sight.

After cleaning his robe and hanging it to dry, Shi Qi found a large tree, leapt up to a thick branch, and prepared to spend the night there.

Sitting cross-legged, his body slowly relaxed.

He turned his attention inward, examining his battered body. His meridians were all blackened, the orange core within him dulled, shrouded by a black shell.

Shi Qi tried to awaken the core, but the attempt brought searing pain, nearly causing him to faint.

“The power of this Spirit-Sealing Nail is fierce indeed,” Shi Qi muttered through clenched teeth.

He pondered ways to break the seal. There seemed no gentle method—he could only endure the agony, force the core to stir, and if even a trickle of spiritual energy emerged, guide it through his meridians to slowly erode the seal.

It would be a long and arduous process.

But there was no other way—no shortcut to unsealing it.

Shi Qi had considered simply ripping out the Spirit-Sealing Nail, but after trying, he abandoned the thought. The nail was fused to his heart. To remove it would mean tearing out his heart as well, which was certain death for a mere mortal.

He sighed, focused his senses, and, gritting his teeth against the pain, continued to rouse his demon core.