Chapter Thirty-Seven: Little Chubby

Watching the distant figure of the Lady of Drought, the mournful echoes of her voice still lingered in the air. One could still sense her overwhelming and commanding presence. Though she was a woman, it was clear that power was not what she truly sought; perhaps she was, in fact, the most pitiable of all. Wu Ming composed himself and turned to gaze at the ruin-strewn ground behind him.

Luo Kong had awoken and was sitting in a daze, cradling Director Baolong, who was missing an arm. On his usually resolute face, a rare trace of sorrow was visible.

“What are we to do about Director Baolong’s arm?” Wu Ming sighed. Perhaps the Yi Qi Sect would have some way. Though Director Baolong was rough and easily angered, he was an upright man.

“Sister Lingmei, please save Brother Baolong!” Yin Yue was already in tears, her eyes red and swollen from crying.

“I’ve already tried to reach out, but there’s been no response at all!” Lingmei was repeatedly activating her communication jade, but no one was answering.

“There’s no need to try anymore—the Yi Qi Sect is no more!” Xiaomei’s face was filled with grief.

“The Yi Qi Sect was besieged by unknown assailants, suffering heavy casualties. The Nine Provinces Seal was broken, the Twelve Golden Guardians destroyed. With no other recourse, the elders sacrificed their lives to destroy the Jianmu Tree. Now the Spirit Realm and the Human World are completely cut off!” Xiaomei could no longer hold back her tears and buried her face into Wu Ming’s chest, sobbing uncontrollably.

As a shut-in and a self-proclaimed loser, Wu Ming was utterly at a loss. Holding the weeping Xiaomei, he didn’t know where to put his hands, and though he felt he ought to offer some comfort, he had no idea what to say.

“Enough, don’t cry! I’m still here. The Yi Qi Sect will not fall!” In the end, Wu Ming awkwardly patted Xiaomei’s back.

“Let’s go to Bianque Manor. Only there can a severed limb be restored, and only there lies the last hope for the Daoist sects!” The Lady of Drought’s voice drifted down from the sky.

Wait, wasn’t the Seventh Elder, the Lady of Drought, already gone? This was the thought in everyone’s mind.

“Yes, we shall obey the Seventh Elder’s command.” Everyone cupped their fists and bowed in the direction of her voice.

“Transfer all your spiritual energy to me. I will teleport you there!”

Bianque Manor of Linxia Mountain was located in Su Province, a well-known mountain resort. Established during the Hongwu era of the Ming Dynasty, it boasted a history of over six centuries. Bianque Manor, as a branch of the Daoist Pill Sect, had evolved into a modern pharmaceutical enterprise—a major source of funding for the sect’s activities in the mortal world.

At the gates of Bianque Manor on Linxia Mountain, Wu Ming stood with Director Baolong strapped to his back. According to sect tradition, he offered the mountain greeting jade, only to be refused entry by the gatekeepers. Everyone seethed with indignation, but none dared teach those snobbish guards a lesson. After all, even when scolding a dog, you must consider its master—especially when you come seeking help.

“I am Wu Ming, current head of the Yi Qi Sect, here to call upon the current Lord Bianque. Please report my presence—here is my greeting jade!” Wu Ming bowed once more with all the formalities of a Daoist mountain visit.

“Hahaha!”

“Head of the sect? Lord Bianque? And I suppose I’m King Cai Huan! Our Bianque Manor is a private resort—no entry without an invitation! Don’t try to fool us with some worthless rock!” The lead security guard closed the electric gate.

“Leave him be, Fifth Brother. Let’s get back to our card game—don’t let a bunch of lunatics spoil our fun. That guy must be crazy; just ignore him!” A burly man, cigarette dangling from his mouth, urged from the security room door, a handful of playing cards in his grip.

“Brother, why don’t we just barge in?” Yin Yue tugged at Wu Ming’s sleeve.

“Xiaomei, just teleport us to the back mountain! We’re already low on spiritual power, and there’s no way to replenish it anymore, so we might as well use up what’s left!” Lingmei sat unceremoniously on the stone lion at the gate of Bianque Manor.

“Senior Sister, we can’t teleport here. The manor is protected by a very advanced barrier that completely blocks all magical arts. Even basic spells won’t activate, let alone space transfer,” Xiaomei explained after a few failed attempts, shaking her head in resignation.

“Amitabha. I think our best bet is to circle around to the back and climb over the wall,” Monk Luokong, still weak, was sitting cross-legged on the ground, trying to recover.

Beep, beep-beep—a flashy sports car roared up in the distance and arrived at the manor gates in the blink of an eye.

Wu Ming peered into the car and, to his surprise, recognized an old friend. He knocked on the window, and the person inside spotted Wu Ming as well.

The door swung open, and out stepped a chubby young man wearing sunglasses—Wu Ming’s close friend and confidant, Xiaopang. As soon as he got out, Xiaopang enveloped Wu Ming in a bear hug.

The passenger seat’s occupant was also familiar: it was Mo Mo, the doll-voiced waitress from the hotpot restaurant Wu Ming and Xiaopang used to frequent.

“Hi, how are you!” Mo Mo waved at Wu Ming as soon as she got out.

Then Xiaopang noticed Director Baolong on Wu Ming’s back, missing an arm and swathed in bandages.

“What happened to the Director? How did he lose an arm—must be because he’s always so fierce and overbearing…” Instead of the expected alarm or fear at the sight of the blood-soaked Director Baolong, Xiaopang seemed completely unfazed.

As Xiaopang rambled on, the faces of Xiaomei and the others grew darker by the moment.

Sensing their displeasure, Xiaopang suddenly bellowed with the authority of someone shielded by the Director himself, “Open the gate! Are you all deaf? What does the Kuai family pay you for?”

“Yes, young master, right away. But these people…?” the lead guard stammered.

“What do you mean, these people? They’re all my friends. Let them in at once! Take one more second and you can pack your bags and get lost!” Surprisingly, the usually mild-mannered Xiaopang was so domineering at home.

The security guards, cowed and deferential, let Xiaopang and Wu Ming through, and Xiaopang led them straight toward the rear of the mountain.

“I’ll take you to the back. The Director’s injuries are so serious, we’ll need my father’s help.”

“Stay close and watch your footing—don’t step on the wrong stone slab, and follow my lead. The front gates are just a facade for the ordinary world. I’ll show you the true Art of the Pill Masters. Back then, keeping such a huge secret from you was so hard; you have no idea what that felt like…” Xiaopang launched into his usual chatter, slinging an arm around Wu Ming’s shoulder as they slipped into their old buddy routine.

“So you’re a Bianque Pill Master too? And your father is the current Lord Bianque?”

“That’s right. Don’t believe me?”

“I believe you. But hurry—if we wait too long, Director Baolong might die from blood loss!”

“Where are you living now? Why haven’t you been going to work…” Xiaopang started up his barrage of questions once again.