The voice was strange. It was undeniably clear, yet carried an undertone of aged hoarseness. It seemed as though it was produced by a thousand crickets rather than a human mouth. It was like nails scratching against granite, transformed into a voice, with the speaker’s throat clogged with centuries' worth of cough.
By the time the echo of the scream had faded away, Yung’s faith qi and Nanya’s essence qi had almost completely neutralised the malicious Empathic Links.
In the physical realm, the wall of silk and hyphae appeared untouched. Yet, a more meticulous examination revealed it to be dimmer than before, almost devoid of life.
Yung continued to release the excess faith qi generated from all the worship his totem received. Simultaneously, Nanya maintained the cloud of intermingled faith and essence qi around everyone, acting as a protective charm.
She was blushing; Yung could feel it. The Empathic Link emanating from her was filled with all sorts of suggestive emotions: intense, hot, and fervent. Despite Yung’s best efforts to gently release the qi, the intermingling energies acted as a potent aphrodisiac for her.
Fortunately, she had transformed into a furry giant vixen. Yung hoped that no one else noticed the slight pink hue tinting her golden, fuzzy cheeks. Yung hoped that the fact he could notice it didn’t say anything strange about himself.
“Kyu!”
“Arf.”
“Quiet. We are in enemy territory,” Yung whispered, a grin on his face, feeling his anxiety lessen.
Nanya remained silent, and other than her tumultuous self-control, she didn’t appear fazed from the outside.
Yung was unsure of her actual cultivation level. She claimed to be in the 12th stage of the Blood Refining Realm, just a breath away from breaking through to the Meridian Building Realm. Objectively, her strength and skills should have been significantly inferior to those of Youjin Gangkai and Ziyou Maque’s.
But then, she’s a princess. Princesses should have tricks hidden under their dresses, right?... Nyanya doesn’t wear dresses though, or anything really. Wait, since she is a ‘maybe body-double’ for Floofy, who might be the real princess, then… could it be that Nyanya is actually Floofy’s sub-body, like the one that had been killed, with the grey fox serving as the central brain of some kind of mammalian hivemind?
Yung tried to stay focused despite occasionally glancing at his girlfriend and her fluffy sister-master-brain.
Many things didn’t add up. By now, Yung had deduced that Nanya, for some reason, couldn’t provide a direct explanation. They had already stayed up many a night talking about the importance of expressing each other’s feelings honestly. So there was something, or someone, that blocked her from doing so.
He had to figure it out on his own.
Attempting to do so while potentially being targeted by some evil cultist or devil villain was far from ideal. A gap in information could mean a lapse in judgment, proving fatal.
So, despite this, why did Nanya say that she had absolute confidence in keeping him safe?
…does she want us to get into a dangerous situation on purpose? I wouldn’t put it past her to use the Youjin Clan and the madlanders as some kind of proxy to prove her point.
The group pressed on. The protective cloud of qi might have been unnecessary, as no new Empathic Links emerged from the webbed walls. However, Yung wasn’t willing to take any risks. His faith qi was virtually limitless for this purpose and cost him nothing.
“Is your essence qi holding up?” Yung inquired when he saw Nanya’s blush intensify.
“It’s merely a drop in the ocean,” Nanya responded, her tone playful. “How sweet of you to be concerned for us, dear servant.”
“N-No, I mean….” Yung sighed, initiating an essence qi exchange.
Nanya simply gave him a deadpan look, her giant slit pupils unyielding, “What? Dare you say we do not have self-control?”
“Your words, not mine.”
“Kyu! Ki ki ke?” Silky inquired.
“Silky!” Yung exclaimed, scandalized. “Who taught you that word?”
The fuzzy creature pointed at the vixen with one of his six adorable paws.
“Nanya!” Yung demanded an apology.
“A-Ahaha, isn’t this journey just full of surprises? Imagine if we were on a quiet date here,” the vixen diverted, looking away.
Yung stood his ground.
“Fine! We shouldn’t have taken Silky to spy on the courtesans in the red-light district,” Nanya admitted.
“You did what?” Yung asked, his eyes wide with disbelief.
Ahead of him, Youjin Linbi stumbled, barely catching herself with the help of another Youjin Cultivator who grabbed her by the ponytail.
The young woman steadied herself by pushing against a rock, then turned to Yung and Nanya in astonishment. The cultivator holding her ponytail, along with the rest of the group, had fallen pin-drop silent.
Yung had been speaking aloud, ensuring everyone could hear their banter.
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This was Nanya’s way of gradually readying the world for the revelation of their close relationship.
For now, it was flirty banter.
Since most already perceived him as her gigolo—not the kind that shared her bed, but the kind that sustained his position through constant flattery—some playful exchanges of words wouldn’t be seen as too out of place. Many were likely counting down the days until Nanya’s favour waned.
However, there was still the pressing issue of her numerous other suitors, who would target Yung if rumours of their intimate encounters spread. Thus, public displays of affection, such as snuggling, kissing, or even hand-holding, were strictly off-limits.
For now.
Nonetheless, in everyone’s eyes, Yung was her kept man, wasn’t he? The Empathic Links emanating from the others served as ample confirmation. But did they go too far with their banter?
“T-That voice, it sounds familiar!” Youjin Linbi exclaimed after a moment’s pause.
Yung internally breathed a sigh of relief, realizing he had been overthinking the situation. Of course, the immediate threat would be their primary concern.
Nanya was right, though. Perhaps Linbi’s comment was a poor attempt to change the subject, accidentally revealing something she shouldn’t have. The other Youjin cultivators shot her disapproving glares.
“You shall not keep secrets. Speak,” Nanya demanded, her voice laced with anger. Even though her wrath wasn’t directed at the Youjin Cultivators, they instinctively recoiled.
Youjin Chun was the first to respond, “We... are uncertain. But the scream we heard when Ziyou Yung cast that Numinous Art was eerily familiar.”
“It might be one of the old patriarch’s retainers,” the Crafting Elder speculated, “They all vanished after the patriarch’s demise, not even attending his funeral.”
“Indeed. What a disgraceful oversight,” another Youjin cultivator added, “Elder Gangkai, perhaps your Disciplinary Hall should be scrutinized first, given these numerous shameful incidents of not unearthing cult ties.”
“Elder Gangkai only assumed his position after the old patriarch’s passing. I would argue that we should be more cautious around you people first. Weren’t you the ones excessively ingratiating yourselves with the old patriarch despite his madlander morality?” a fourth Youjin cultivator interjected.
Yung clicked his tongue in annoyance.
“I-I apologize. It was a slip of the tongue, merely a figure of speech. I didn’t mean to—”
“It’s fine,” Yung said, though it was anything but fine. “This is not the time for accusations. Just tell me who you suspect is behind this.”
The Youjin cultivators nodded in agreement, though Youjin Chun’s Empathic Link revealed a mix of disdain and slight fear.
“How magnanimous of you,” Nanya remarked aloud, her tone dripping with sarcasm. “Fear not. The words of these insects are inconsequential to a dragon. Shall we mete out punishment on your behalf?”
Youjin Chun’s Empathic Link shifted to outright terror.
“Don’t interrupt us,” Yung replied, sending a private message to Nanya,
Yung gestured for Youjin Chun and Linbi to talk
The party resumed their journey, navigating through small caverns and winding tunnels, as the Youjin cultivators shared everything they knew about the Old Patriarch’s retainers. Occasionally, members of Youjin Liu’s faction would point fingers, reigniting squabbles. At times, Ziyou Maque and the Free Sparrow gang members would join in, unveiling some of the Youjin clan’s dirty secrets they had hoped to gloss over.
The total number of individuals from the old patriarch’s circle who had disappeared after his demise was twenty-one. Seven of them, including the cultist leader who had been apprehended, shared direct Youjin lineage. The remainder were Dim Gold City residents, cultivated to serve as the clan’s, or more precisely, the patriarch’s, operatives.
The scream’s voice was excessively distorted, not resembling human vocal cords. However, there was something in its mannerisms, accent, and emphasis on certain words that left the Youjin cultivators feeling uneasy.
“Ain't it a twisted joke, huh? We've been knockin' heads and spillin' blood for ages, and now, outta all the damn folks in the Westmoon Kingdom, it's these damn cultists who're the first madlanders and native humans to get their act together and team up,” Ziyou Maque said with a sneer, his tone devoid of irony. He had just disclosed that one of the old patriarch’s retainers had been ‘dealt with’ after attempting to flee following a fraudulent act at a lower town gambling den.
“Cults are more akin to pigsties than organizations, Leader Free Sparrow,” Youjin Chun said. “Domesticated beasts fattened for slaughter, only to be sacrificed to their void-dwelling masters. I concede that having a Youjin affiliate with them is a stain on our honour, one not easily erased. However, madlander cultists are hardly a novel phenomenon. Even in the Lunar Bird Dukedom, did they not orchestrate a massacre, their powers tainted by the void?”
“They didn’t have a choice, but you wouldn’t understand, would you?” Ziyou Ling said with a spit. “Master’s been educatin’ me with these historical scrolls. I can’t really blame the madlanders there for reaching for the first helping hand they could find, not when their children were being killed in the thousands by their supposed rulers.”
“Does that mean you would forgive these madlander cultists for instigating the voidfiend rush fourteen years ago, the very event that claimed your mother’s life? Including this ‘best friend’ of your mother?” Youjin Chun challenged with a fierce glare.
“I’ll give her a chance to explain before chopping her head off. Justice and retribution gotta be given separately, or you’ll lose respect in the gangs,” Ziyou Ling said firmly. “Some wrongs can be pardoned. Others, never. Betrayal, for one, is the worst kind!”
“What if it was a fleeting lapse in judgement? What if the madlander cultists were coerced into choosing the wrong side and deceived by others? What if they simply did not know better?”
“By the mad heavens, are you a coward or what? Haven’t the fancy teachers you got taught you that choice is what makes the damn cultivator? What kind of drivel are they teaching in your clan dojos?”
The two continued their heated exchange, ostensibly discussing madlanders, clans, and cultists, though the underlying tension spoke of other matters.
“This is precisely why you should steer clear of yang men,” Nanya advised sagely, “They sow discord on an apocalyptic scale.”
Yung couldn’t help but chuckle.
His amusement was short-lived, however.
The group soon found themselves in a cavern vastly larger than any they had encountered before.
The walls and ground were interconnected by webs of silk and hyphae, forming layers upon layers of white threads from the cavern's exterior to its interior, resembling the spiralling cocoon layers converging towards the imaginal disc at the centre.
“Kiii!” Silky exclaimed.
“I see it. This was the cavern where the foxmoths had nested in Silky’s visions,” Yung panned his eyes through the cavern.
The wind howled, sweeping through the caves with oppressive force. The torchlight spread out, casting rays across the web-filled cavern, creating a chaotic dance of shadows interrupted only by the netting. It was cold, and the scent in the air was musky. Yung couldn’t help but shiver.
“Oi, that’s–” Someone said. Yung had also noticed the anomaly.
At the cavern’s heart stood a rock pillar, roughly at torso height, with a pale white foxmoth perched atop, its gaze fixed intently on the group, exuding an ominous aura.