Chapter Eighteen: Choose the Second Option

Turning the corner of the alley, the scene within came into view for the two of them.

Three burly men were mercilessly surrounding a boy of about sixteen or seventeen, beating him with fists and boots. At their feet lay the shattered remains of wine jars and bamboo baskets, and nearby rolled a bun with a large bite taken out of it.

The boy, huddled in the corner with his head tightly hugged to his chest, was already covered in blood, his clothes mostly torn and ruined. His body was filthy from head to toe.

“What are you looking at? Get lost!”
“Kid, don’t go looking for trouble!”
The three men, having noticed the arrival of Yintianzi, turned vicious gazes toward him, issuing cold warnings.

“Freeze.”
Yintianzi ignored their words, merely raising his hand and pointing lightly before him. The three men, shocked to the core, found themselves rooted in place, unable to move an inch.

Having done this, Yintianzi’s gaze fell upon the battered youth in the corner. After a brief pause, he summoned a surge of spiritual energy from the world around him, forming it into a long blade before him.

He cast the blade at the boy’s feet.

“The world is cold and indifferent; the weak are prey to the strong. Kill them, come with me, and I shall guarantee you a life of glory.”

A profound light flickered in his eyes, and his voice was calm as he spoke.

“If I follow you… will I…”
“…will I have enough to eat?”

Hearing this, a trace of confusion flickered in the boy’s weary eyes. He struggled to his feet, panting heavily, his voice hoarse and broken.

“Seven years suckling the milk of wolves, surviving in this troubled world for years more—do you still dare hope for pity from anyone?”

Yintianzi’s gaze grew even deeper, his tone carrying a chilling edge.

“No…”
The boy shook his head with difficulty, picked up the sword, and staggered to his feet. A cold gleam flashed in his eyes as he suddenly thrust the blade into one man’s neck.

With a gruesome sound of flesh tearing, the man’s eyes, wide with terror just a moment before, turned vacant. His body toppled slowly to the ground.

Again, the blade sang twice more, and all three men collapsed lifeless.

With the deed done, the boy seemed utterly spent. He slumped to the ground, gasping for air.

It was a long while before his breath steadied. Leaning on the sword, he forced himself upright, resolve slowly rising in his eyes.

He knelt before Yintianzi and spoke in a frail but unwavering voice.

“I want to become strong…
To stand at the very top, never to be bullied again…
No matter the cost, I am willing…
Please… teach me…”

With those words, he bowed his head heavily to the ground, unmoving for a long time.

“What is your name?”
Yintianzi’s expression softened slightly. After a thoughtful pause, he spoke.

“I have no name. The wolf mother in the mountains raised me for three years. Later, I hunted beasts and survived in the deep woods for several more. Then, after being caught in a human trap, I was brought here to labor.”

Still kneeling, the boy did not look up. His voice was rough and subdued.

“Let your name be Ling Ye—drawn from the chill of slaughter and the drifting fate of fallen leaves. From this day forth, you shall be called Ling Ye.”

Yintianzi nodded, then gazed into the distant sky, his voice echoing softly.

“Thank you, my lord, for bestowing this name upon me!”

The boy quickly bowed again, expressing his gratitude with utmost respect.

“I see in you a straightforward nature and acceptable talent. I will give you two choices.”
Yintianzi’s face betrayed no emotion; after a thoughtful pause, his voice was calm: “First, you may become a registered disciple under me—cultivating immortality, seeking enlightenment, and handling sundry affairs. Second, you may become my Asura, carrying out my commands, battling across the myriad worlds. Which do you choose?”

He spoke no further, his gaze fixed on the kneeling youth, lost in his own thoughts.

“I choose the second.”
Without hesitation, the boy bowed deeply again. “My lord saved my life and gave me a name. Ling Ye has nothing to offer in return—only this mortal body, with which I shall slay all your foes!”

“Only then can my heart find peace.”

With that, Ling Ye pressed his forehead to the ground once more.

“So be it.” Seeing this, Yintianzi nodded lightly and, with a gentle wave, lifted Ling Ye with a stream of spiritual energy.

“To follow me, there is one thing you must remember: having knelt before me, you need show neither reverence to this world nor fear to gods and demons. However vast the heavens may be, in the end, I will trample them beneath my feet. In your heart, let there be room for no other master but me.”

He spoke no more, but swept Ling Ye along in his wake, took little Jin’er by the hand, and strode toward the depths of the Western Territory.

There, a most exalted tribe dwelled.

A tribe revered as divinity by all the West.

This tribe was called Xiyue.

Legend held that when the Western Territory was stricken by calamity, it was the gods of Xiyue who prayed for mercy and brought life-giving rain. The countless tribes, large and small, that make up the West survived because of that blessing.

At this moment, the vast valley where the Xiyue tribe resided suddenly trembled in the air. A youth in a black and gold embroidered robe, his expression indifferent, stepped out into the void.

Behind him was a little girl of seven or eight, a wreath of grass on her head, and a battered, poorly clad youth.

It was none other than Yintianzi with his two companions.

“Wangchuan.”

Upon his arrival, a profound light flickered in Yintianzi’s gaze. He uttered but two syllables and gestured toward the valley.

A faint humming reverberated through the world as the void itself quaked!

A sound, as if flowing from the world’s beginning to its end, thundered forth, and the very air above the valley collapsed inward.

A vast, illusory river poured down in an instant, shrouding the entire valley in the blink of an eye.

“Guests have arrived. Does the Xiyue Tribe not offer welcome?”

With the task complete, Yintianzi stood with hands behind his back, his gaze sweeping the boundless valley below, his voice calm and unreadable.

Creak…

“Xiyue’s Chief, Mosen, humbly welcomes His Majesty’s arrival.”

From the maze of wooden houses below came the sound of a door opening. An elderly man, white-haired and garbed in a sacred robe hung with all manner of strange charms, emerged, leaning on a staff.

He bowed respectfully to Yintianzi, his aged voice rising.

“This old one did not know His Majesty would descend upon us today and so failed to welcome you from afar. I beg your forgiveness. I have already sent our hunters to prepare a feast. Might Your Majesty deign to visit our council hall?”

After a pause, the old man bowed again, reverence deep in his gaze.

He wore an expression that all but declared, “I truly had no idea you were coming.”

“Lead the way.”

Yintianzi’s face showed nothing, but a cold smile flickered in his heart. He replied blandly, descending to the earth with his companions.

“Please, follow me.”

The old man, eyes shining with awe, did not dare delay. Bowing with clasped hands, he led the way before the three of them…