Chapter Thirty: Gu Yueqing

Before him stood a woman of unparalleled beauty, as if she had been waiting at the foot of the mountain for Ji Xun all along.

If that was truly the case, then she must have lingered nearby and might even have witnessed Qu Qing’s demise—yet chosen not to intervene.

“Who are you? What is this sect you wish me to join?”

Ji Xun gazed at the woman before him, convinced he had never encountered such beauty in his life.

Her skin was alabaster, her figure slender and delicate. Brows arched like willow leaves, her eyes upturned ever so slightly at the corners, and her exquisite features combined to form a visage that tugged at the heartstrings.

Behind her, three white, fluffy tails swayed gently.

“Who I am is of no consequence. What matters is the sect you are to join: my Sanyang—”

“Scatter and run!”

The next instant, Ji Xun bit the tip of his tongue, demonic energy erupting within him. He snapped fully awake and, with the crane’s secret art, darted dozens of feet away in the blink of an eye.

The bear and the dog split from him, dashing into the forest and vanishing amidst the trees.

This way, Ji Xun fled for dozens of miles in one breath, draining all his spiritual and demonic energy. Only then did he stop, utterly spent.

“That woman is truly terrifying. Her cultivation must far surpass mine.”

Leaning against a great tree, Ji Xun slowly regained his strength.

“Young man, what is your name?”

Once again, a bewitching voice called out, making Ji Xun’s scalp prickle with unease.

“My name matters little. What’s important is—”

Before he could finish, the mantis blade in his hand slashed toward the fox-tailed woman behind him.

Such a sudden assault could have severely wounded even a seventh-rank cultivator.

But the blade passed through her as if she were no more than a phantom.

“You carry a trace of my sect’s aura. Ah, you must have drunk the talisman water.” The woman appeared at his side, her delicate nose twitching lightly.

“Sanyang Sect, is it?”

At that moment, Ji Xun finally remembered: when Hu Yu first acquired the Fist Intent, those he hunted were Sanyang Sect followers.

Most of that memory had been erased, but now, he managed to recall a fragment of it.

“What is your name? If you will not tell me, I could inquire elsewhere. But if anything happens—”

“My name is Wang Dali,” Ji Xun replied, knowing there was no point in concealing it.

“What a common name! It hardly suits someone of your martial prowess. To break free of my enchantment—perhaps you will even form your own Fist Intent one day. It would be a shame if you never joined my sect.”

With that, she pressed a finger to Ji Xun’s brow, her three fox tails flickering before his eyes.

In an instant, a sigil appeared and melted into his forehead.

“Remember, my name is Gu Yueqing. From now on, you are to be my protector, to guard my path to enlightenment.”

Ji Xun’s mind was fully alert, yet his body was beyond his control. His lips parted involuntarily: “Yes.”

“But your cultivation is far too low. When you reach the upper third rank, then I shall take you to the Celestial Fox Stronghold.”

“Yes.”

“This is the token of the Baiyang branch of my Sanyang Sect. Keep it well. If you need anything, follow the instructions inside to contact other members of our sect.”

“Now, I must go. Cultivate diligently. Five years from now, I will return for you. If you reach the middle third rank by then, I shall grant you a request.”

Gu Yueqing smiled, her allure overwhelming.

“Yes.” Ji Xun felt a feverish heat surge through his body.

Gu Yueqing glided away, her three white fox tails swaying gracefully, and vanished in an instant.

After she left, Ji Xun stood holding the token, his expression grave.

“Her cultivation must be above the third rank.”

He focused intently on the sigil within his soul.

“So that’s how it is.”

This sigil was an enchantment technique—one that did not directly affect temperament or cultivation. Yet, as time passed, it would cause the marked one to become ever more infatuated with the caster. In the end, even if one realized they were under a spell, they would still be hopelessly obsessed.

If not dispelled early, the sigil would become fused with the soul as one’s age and cultivation increased.

It was, in essence, a magic designed to create sycophants.

Yi Xuanfa had long studied similar fox clan techniques. Though those enchantments lacked this sigil’s capacity to grow, the methods of dispelling them were much the same—Yi Xuanfa’s teachings offered at least a dozen ways to break such a spell.

But only one method would leave the caster none the wiser.

It required the marked one’s cultivation to surpass that of the caster. First, the demonic aura in the sigil must be transferred intact to another beast.

Fortunately, the Demon-Refining Gourd was perfectly suited for this task. All that remained was to find an appropriate beast.

Ji Xun was confident he could transfer the enchantment without alerting the caster—within ten days at most.

…

A day later, at the site where Qu Qing’s body was buried in the woods, chunks of flesh began writhing up from the soil.

Last to emerge was a strange insect, its body fiery red, faintly echoing with the cry of a phoenix.

A wisp of flame flared from the insect’s body, and the fire grew, enveloping Qu Qing.

His corpse burned fiercely, and before long, a hand stretched from the flames, followed by a naked man.

It was Qu Qing himself.

The insect nest descended from the sky into his hand once more.

Countless demon insects within the nest spun silken threads, weaving them together to form a cloak that wrapped around Qu Qing.

“Whew! My old compatriot certainly lived up to his reputation. He bested me, though not without my holding back,” he muttered.

“It’s a pity about the Phoenix-Blooded Insect—I went to great pains to acquire it, but it served its purpose. At last, I’ve rid myself of that wretched woman. I refuse to be anyone’s lapdog.”

“Wang Dali, that woman is always on the lookout for new protectors. You may be only eighth rank, but you fight like a demon. She will never let you go.”

“Enjoy being her loyal fool in my place, hahaha!”

It was the happiest day Qu Qing had known since becoming a fox thrall.

“Qu Qing, is that wretched woman you speak of—me?”

The next moment, Qu Qing’s body shuddered uncontrollably.

A sigil was pressed to his brow.

…

Three days later, in the depths of the old Beast Insect Cavern, Ji Xun sat cross-legged in meditation.

The yellow dog lay nearby, keeping watch.

Outside, the black bear spirit held a toad in its paw—a toad whose dull gaze betrayed a lack of intellect.

“Ribbit, ribbit, ribbit.”

Yet demonic energy swirled around the creature, water vapor coiling about it as it tried to escape in a misty surge—only to be recaptured by the black bear spirit.

Clearly, this was a savage beast, skilled in the art of water evasion.

Ji Xun emerged from the cave and eyed the toad spirit, unable to suppress a smile.

“You really do have a knack for finding things,” he said to the bear.

Ji Xun carried the toad spirit into the cave, where the Demon-Refining Gourd slowly stripped the sigil of its demonic aura.

Seven days later, Ji Xun used a secret art to transfer the sigil onto the toad spirit.

One could only imagine what Gu Yueqing would think if she saw this.

That night, Ji Xun carried the toad spirit hundreds of miles through the darkness and tossed it into a remote mountain valley.

The token was discarded just as carelessly.