Zhang Fan stared at the bead for a long while. His breathing gradually settled, but beyond noticing that its color and brightness had dimmed somewhat, he could make out nothing else, and so he placed it back against his chest. He turned to look at Tian Ling'er beside him—she was still unconscious, yet color had slowly begun to return to her face, and her condition was much improved.
He picked up the amber crimson silk and examined it carefully. It was the first time he had observed this treasure at such close range—it felt soft against his fingers, remarkably pleasant to the touch. Recalling the graceful silhouette of Tian Ling'er soaring through the air just moments before, a wave of envy stirred within his heart.
He watched for a moment, then mimicked Tian Ling'er's gestures with his own hand, and called out: "Rise!"
Amber Crimson Silk lay like a dead snake—utterly unresponsive, utterly still.
"Hee-hee-hee-hee!" — it was the gray monkey standing to one side, clutching its belly as it toppled to the ground, laughing without end.
Zhang Fan shot it a glare, but having just weathered the peril alongside this monkey, he found himself feeling an unexpected warmth toward it, and what little hostility he had harbored before dissolved entirely. He stuck his tongue out at the monkey and pulled a face, then left it alone, placed the amber crimson silk beside Tian Ling'er, and let his gaze drift toward the pond in the center of the clearing.
It was a small pool, modest in size, with no visible source—likely fed by an underground spring welling up from below. The water within was a clear jade-green, its depth impossible to gauge from where he stood. On the western bank there was a gap, and through it the water spilled out, gathering into a stream that wound its way into the distance.
At the center of the pool lay a heap of jumbled rocks—unequal in size, each a different shape—only a small portion of which rose above the waterline. Amid the scattered stones, a short black rod had been thrust in at an angle, protruding one chi above the surface while the rest remained submerged. It was jet-black from end to end, the material impossible to identify, and altogether an unsightly thing.
Zhang Fan thought nothing of it, only feeling that this place was exceedingly strange and that leaving sooner rather than later would be wise. But Tian Ling'er at his side, though she had calmed down, remained unconscious and would not stir no matter how he called to her. The gray monkey, by contrast, was in high spirits—scratching its ears, rubbing its cheeks, picking at itches and hunting for fleas, unable to keep still for even a moment. It darted up into the trees, plucked a few wild fruits from somewhere unknown, tossed two to Zhang Fan, then plopped itself down on the ground and began eating with great relish.
Zhang Fan picked up a wild fruit and took a bite. The moment it touched his lips, a rush of sweet juice filled his mouth, and his appetite stirred at once. He had set out up the mountain at dawn and had been giving chase ever since; now it was nearly noon, and not a single drop of water had passed his lips—he was long past hungry. He wolfed the first fruit down in two or three bites, then reached for a second—only to pause, shake his head, and set it gently down beside Tian Ling'er.
The wild fruit settled in his stomach, dulling the edge of Zhang Fan's hunger and clearing his head somewhat. He rose and stretched lazily, then swept his gaze across the surroundings—ancient trees standing dense and dark, a brook murmuring somewhere nearby. The scenery was quite lovely in its secluded way. Who could have guessed that such a strange thing would happen in a place like this.
Just then, Zhang Fan felt a sudden warmth spread through his chest. A moment later, a series of muffled cracks rang out—as though something were shattering. Alarmed, he hastily reached into his chest and pulled out the bead, only to recoil in shock. The entire bead blazed with brilliant azure light; within it, the azure energy raged like wolves and tigers, hurling itself against the bead's walls with desperate fury. The seal-words that had held it in check grew ever more brittle, dimming with each passing moment, on the very verge of giving way.
Zhang Fan had no idea that this seemingly ordinary bead was in truth one of the most malevolent objects in all the world—the "Blood-Devouring Bead." Its origins were unknown, yet it possessed a singular and dreadful property: an insatiable hunger for the essence-blood of living beings. Any creature that drew near would find its essence-blood slowly drained away by the Blood-Devouring Bead, and within moments be left as nothing but a hollow husk of skin. It was, without question, a supremely terrifying object of evil. Over a thousand years ago, the bead had fallen into the hands of the Demonic Sect Elder known as the Black-Hearted Elder. Drawn by its power to drain essence and corrode blood, he refined it into an Artifact of tremendous might, and for a time proved utterly unstoppable—countless men and women of the righteous path fell to it, and his fearsome reputation shook the world. The bead subsequently came to be regarded as one of the Four Treasures of the Demonic Sect. After the Black-Hearted Elder's death, the bead vanished without a trace, and from that day forward, no one knew where it had gone.
By chance thirty years ago, the divine monk Puzhi of the Sound Temple stumbled upon this malevolent orb deep in the Western Great Swamp. At that time, within a radius of ten *li*, bones lay heaped upon bones and not a single living creature remained — a scene of utter devastation, with resentment surging to the heavens. Moved profoundly by compassion, Puzhi employed the secret arts of Buddhism to take it into his keeping. From that night forward, he applied the Buddhist demon-subduing rites upon it every single evening without fail, suppressing its evil power without a single night's interruption across three decades. He further threaded it alongside the supreme Buddhist treasure, the **Jade Prayer Beads**, allowing their purifying essence to hold back the bloodthirsty malevolence within. At last he succeeded in pressing down that malevolent spirit, binding it fast within the orb so that, beneath layer upon layer of Buddhist power, it could never again see the light of day.
What none had foreseen was that the battle at Caomiao Village left Puzhi grievously wounded by repeated strikes from the mysterious figure in black, his life force nearly spent. Though the black-clad attacker had also taken injuries and fled, Puzhi knew the man's foundations remained unshaken — and judged that he would stop at nothing to claim the Blood-Devouring Pearl. Having swallowed the Three-Day Death Pill, Puzhi could only force himself to linger three days more. In that desperate moment, he chose a bold gambit: he entrusted the Blood-Devouring Pearl to Zhang Fan, urging him to keep it hidden from all eyes and, when the chance arose, to cast it into a deep gorge or off a sheer cliff. It might wound a few hapless creatures below, but that was a far lesser evil than letting the relic fall into the hands of that fiend.
But what Puzhi could never have imagined was that Zhang Fan, moved by gratitude for his kindness, had actually kept this greatly ominous object as a memento. Stripped of Puzhi's Buddhist power of suppression, and no longer shielded by the purifying aura of the jade prayer beads, the blood pearl's malevolent spirit energy began to gradually erode the seals. Yet the demon-subduing arts of Yinsi Temple were no ordinary matter — though those layered seals had lost their master, they remained ever faithful to their duty, holding that malevolent spirit energy in check for a full three years. But as time wore on, they could no longer hold out; their strength gradually faltered, until this very day, when it seemed the blood-devouring evil pearl was on the verge of breaking through the seals and unleashing havoc upon the world.
Zhang Fan, though unaware of all these twists and turns, had already sensed that something was amiss. During the battle at the Grass Temple all those years ago, when Puzhi and the man in black had exchanged their arts, the true words had appeared many times — young as he was, he had committed them deep to memory. Now, watching the situation within the bead grow ever more desperate, anxiety seized his heart. He steeled himself, clenched his fist around the bead, and summoned what meager, rudimentary understanding of the "Great Brahma Prajna" he possessed, channeling it into the bead.
The two shared a common origin, and the true words inscribed upon the Blood-Devouring Bead actually brightened considerably—yet before Zhang Fan could even manage a smile, they dimmed once more in an instant. Simultaneously, a surge of icy qi seized the opportunity to invade his body, and within moments, half of Zhang Fan's body had gone completely numb.
The gray monkey beside him suddenly caught sight of Zhang Fan's face twisting in agony, a surge of dark greenish aura flooding his features, and let out two frantic squeaks. But Zhang Fan had no attention to spare for that — he felt the vital blood throughout his entire body reversing course, all of it streaming toward the strange bead clasped in his right hand. The Mahabrahma Prajna within him crumbled at the first contact, utterly no match for that bone-chilling energy. His Meridians all across his body went into violent spasm, the agony so overwhelming he could barely endure it.
He could bear it no longer. He staggered backward several steps, and then his whole body shuddered again — that familiar wave of nausea surged back without warning, driving straight into his vitals. Without realizing it, he had blundered back into that open clearing once more. Only this time, there was no warmth rising up to meet it.
The gray monkey was beside itself with anxiety, chittering *chi chi chi chi* without pause, yet no matter what, it dared not set foot in the clearing again.
Zhang Fan's soul nearly fled his body in terror; he was utterly at a loss. All he could feel were waves of heat and cold surging through him, as though ten thousand ants were gnawing him from within. Nausea clawed at his throat, yet there was nothing left to purge—truly a fate worse than death. His mind grew steadily dimmer. He lurched forward, step by stumbling step, wholly unaware that he had wandered off in the wrong direction, conscious only of the strength ebbing from his limbs, bit by bit, until there was almost none left.
His entire body trembled, his limbs drained of strength; his legs buckled beneath him and he crumpled to the ground. He had already reached the edge of the water pool. Summoning the very last shred of his will, he activated the Tai Chi Profound Clarity Dao, barely drawing a thread of earth Spiritual Energy into his body—once inside, he converted it into Brahma Prajña, and for a brief moment the pain eased. But it dissolved into nothingness almost at once. Zhang Fan could no longer afford to think so much; he pushed on as best he could, wresting whatever relief he could manage, one sliver at a time. Yet the icy cold qi was simply too overwhelming, and it came paired with a strange, nauseating sensation that all but turned his organs inside out, driving straight up toward his skull. Golden stars burst across his vision, his breathing fell into chaos—then a sudden sweetness surged in his throat. With a sharp sound, a great mouthful of fresh blood burst from his lips, and he very nearly lost consciousness entirely.
At that very moment, a muffled thud rang out, and in an instant the sky itself seemed to darken. The Blood-Devouring Bead erupted in azure radiance, the entire orb turning a vivid cyan; then a flash of dim golden light swept past, and the Buddhist sacred mantras were shattered utterly. Azure energy surged to envelop Zhang Fan from head to toe, and like a bloodthirsty demon, he was reborn once more.
Yet the strange events had not ended there. Almost at the very moment the azure energy regained its freedom, a thunderous boom erupted from the center of the pool. Winds rose and clouds gathered in an instant; shards of stone shot outward in all directions with a volley of sharp cracks. The emerald waters heaved and surged, spinning faster and faster around a central point until they formed a massive whirlpool. And from within that whirlpool, rising slowly through the gaps between the churning spray, came an object wreathed in dark miasma—none other than that jet-black short rod, some two feet in length, neither gold nor iron, radiating a ferocious and baleful aura that struck the face like a blow.
Zhang Fan cried out and fell backward. The Blood-Devouring Bead clung to his palm as though stuck fast, impossible to shake free. He could faintly make out a pale crimson hue slowly seeping from within his body into the bead.
With a sharp whistle cutting through the crash of waves, the jet-black short staff suddenly shot forward, hurtling toward the Blood-Devouring Pearl that pulsed with flickering cyan radiance. A heartbeat later, a tremendous boom rang out as the two malevolent objects collided. Zhang Fan was struck as if by a cataclysmic force, his entire body hurled more than a zhang into the air, while the ground beneath him was blasted into a deep crater by the sheer impact.
Zhang Fan crashed back to the ground, bleeding from all seven orifices, dizzy and disoriented — yet, strangely, the agony within his body seemed to have eased somewhat. His vision swam in a wash of blood-red; blood was pouring from his very eyes. He wiped at them roughly with his hand and forced himself to focus. He could see the strange black rod hammering against the Blood-Devouring Bead, tendrils of black energy streaming forth in an unbroken current, pressing relentlessly forward. The Blood-Devouring Bead, as though possessed of its own awareness, recognized the dire threat and drew back its azure energy to resist with all its strength. The two forces ground against each other in a dead stalemate — and gradually, the icy cold emanating through Zhang Fan's body and the creeping nausea began to recede.
Zhang Fan gasped and panted, his nerves still shattered with fright. On instinct he shook his hands hard, but the two strange things clung as though they were part of his very palms — impossible to fling away. Black energy and cyan light went on warring without cease.
Zhang Fan's heart was gripped with fear; all he wanted was to put as much distance as possible between himself and those two strange things. He mustered every last ounce of strength to crawl to his feet, yet before he could take a single step, a wave of dizziness struck him. His whole body swayed, his legs buckled beneath him, and he toppled sideways, crashing back to the ground. Before his eyes, the two auras—one born of the green pearl, one from the black rod—coiled around each other in fierce contest, locked in a joyous struggle; yet the black vapor surged and billowed, and it seemed to be gaining the upper hand.
Only moments later, the black energy indeed surged in with full force, the cyan light retreating step by step as though powerless to resist. At that very instant, Zhang Fan suddenly felt a sharp pain in his palm. When he looked down, his heart nearly leapt into his throat. He saw that all around the spot where the Blood-Devouring Bead had latched onto his palm, vivid crimson blood was seeping through his skin in an unceasing flow, gradually pooling into a single large drop of blood.
Zhang Fan's entire body trembled, every trace of color draining from his face. In answer to this, the Blood-Devouring Bead bathed in the cascade of blood droplets, and a brilliant cyan radiance erupted from it at once, mounting a fierce counterattack that not only turned the tide but gradually began to overpower the black miasma.
As more and more blood seeped from his hand, Zhang Fan gradually lost consciousness. The vivid crimson blood welled upward, slowly flowing toward the junction where the dark short rod met the Blood-Devouring Bead—then stopped. Heedless of the ceaseless battle between cyan light and black energy raging around it, the blood lingered there for a moment before seeping in, little by little dyeing the point of contact between the rod's tip and the bead a slow, spreading red.
A faint, metallic scent of blood drifted through the air.
As time passed, that expanse of red grew ever deeper in hue, until at last it seemed almost vivid enough to bleed; and somehow, the azure light and black miasma that had been locked in fierce struggle both began to fade — from their original state of mutual repulsion and conflict, they gradually, against all expectation, took on the semblance of merging into one.
No one knew how long had passed before the strange transformation finally ran its course. The black rod and the jade bead had completely lost their luster, merging into one, and with a dull thud, they slipped from the unconscious Zhang Fan's hand and fell to the ground.
※※※
"Fan! Fan! Junior Brother!…" A cascade of anxious cries echoed in Zhang Fan's ears.
His mind was a blur of chaos, his head throbbing with excruciating pain, as though even the act of opening his eyes had drained every last ounce of his strength. Tian Ling'er's face—anxious and tinged with panic—drifted somewhere between near and far, then slowly sharpened into focus before him. He moved his lips and called out in a low, faint voice: "Senior Sister."
Tian Ling'er's face lit up with joy. "Fan, you're awake?"
Zhang Fan forced a smile. "It's nothing, Shijie."
Tian Ling'er helped him sit up. Zhang Fan's first glance went straight to his own palm—only to find the skin of his right hand completely unharmed, nothing unusual save for a slight pallor. He froze for a moment, for he clearly remembered that just now blood had welled up across his palm in a great rush. How could there be not even a trace of it left?
Could that have been a nightmare?
"Fan." Seeing that after he sat up he simply stared into the distance, his mind clearly somewhere far away, Tian Ling'er felt a twinge of worry and gave him a nudge.
Zhang Fan jolted awake. He had been on the verge of bringing up her strange behavior from just moments ago, yet found himself unable to decide where to begin. The matter struck him as too outlandish—even he himself was uncertain and unsettled by it. He paused for a moment, then finally managed to say, "What is it, Senior Sister?"
Only then did Tian Ling'er's heart settle. When she came to, she found the hour already late — she had been lying beneath a great pine tree, while her junior fellow disciple lay collapsed on an open stretch of ground some distance away, utterly unconscious. Fear gripped her, and she hurried to Zhang Fan's side; mercifully, after a short while she managed to rouse him.
At that moment, Tian Ling'er glanced around and said to Zhang Fan, "Junior Brother, something seems very strange about this place. Let's leave as soon as possible—I'll bring Mother back to have a look tomorrow."
Zhang Fan nodded and was just about to get up when a surge of excruciating pain swept through his entire body, leaving him dizzy and disoriented. Had Tian Ling'er not moved swiftly to catch him, he would have nearly fallen again.
Tian Ling'er saw that his face was deathly pale, without so much as a trace of color, and her heart filled with worry. She immediately helped him sit up. Zhang Fan steadied himself, then looked himself over and found no wounds, and said, "Senior Sister, I'm just a little dizzy. It's nothing serious."
Tian Ling'er looked again carefully, and indeed it was so. She nodded and said, "Then let's hurry back. It's already dark — Father and Mother, and all our senior brothers must be worried about us by now."
Zhang Fan said, "Yes."
Tian Linger took a deep breath and checked herself all over, finding nothing amiss. She muttered inwardly, puzzled over how she could have fainted for no apparent reason. Then she raised her hand in a summoning gesture—red light flashed, and "Amber Crimson Silk" let out a sharp shriek and shot forth.
Tian Ling'er was about to head up with Zhang Fan when a chittering sound suddenly rang out nearby. The two turned to look, and there stood the gray-furred monkey—no one knew when it had appeared at their side—grinning wide at them, dragging in one hand a pitch-black short staff roughly two feet long, its material impossible to determine.
※※※
Before the Serenity Hall of Great Bamboo Peak, Tian Buyi paced back and forth, brows knitted tight, a faint look of anxiety crossing his face. Early that morning, his daughter and that good-for-nothing seventh disciple had gone up to the back mountain to chop bamboo and play around—yet here it was, dark now, and still no sign of either of them returning. Su Ru had gone out to search at first light, and by now he had sent out the other disciples one after another as well, yet there was no trace of them anywhere on Great Bamboo Peak. The surrounding terrain was all rolling hills and dense forest; finding two people in such a place was truly like searching for a needle in the sea.
Just as he was growing anxious, a sound of something cleaving through the air suddenly came from above. Tian Buyi looked up to find that Su Ru had returned with two ghosts in tow. Tian Ling'er and the other appeared unharmed, but perched upon Zhang Fan's shoulder was a gray-furred monkey of unknown origin.
Only then did Tian Buyi set his mind at ease, yet the anger on his face did not fade in the slightest. Zhang Fan stole two glances at his master, his heart quailing with unease, and dared not move a muscle — head bowed all the way to his chest. The gray monkey, however, was thoroughly incorrigible, reaching into Zhang Fan's hair every now and then to rummage about, as though hoping to fish out a louse or two.
Tian Ling'er put away the amber crimson silk. From the corner of her eye she caught sight of her father standing in the hall, his face dark with anger. Her eyes flickered this way and that; then she broke into a radiant smile—utterly adorable—and came bounding over to Tian Buyi's side, tugging at his hand. "You're all back!"
Tian Buyi let out a snort. "Where did it go?"
Tian Ling'er said with a grin: "Fan was cutting bamboo when a monkey started bullying him, so I went to catch it and teach it a lesson for Fan's sake—that monkey right there." As she spoke, she pointed toward Zhang Fan.
The gray monkey perched on Zhang Fan's shoulder gave a start, letting out two sharp "chee-chee" cries in their direction with an air of indignation, then scratched its head and turned its attention back to Zhang Fan's head.
Tian Ling'er made a face at it, then gave a rough account of the chase, adding: "…Later we tracked it into the valley. All of a sudden I felt a wave of nausea, and the next thing I knew I had blacked out. When I came to, I found Fan lying on the ground as well, still unconscious. Fortunately neither of us was hurt. When it was time to head back, I noticed the monkey seemed very attached to Fan, so I brought it along with us."
Tian Buyi furrowed his brow and turned to his wife. "What's going on?"
Su Ru shook her head and said: "When I found the two of them at the back mountain, I went down to check, and there was nothing out of the ordinary. My guess is that it was mostly because Ling'er's cultivation was insufficient—yet she insisted on bringing Ye Fan along and having the two of them ride the Amber Crimson Silk through the sky together. In the end, she was simply drained of strength."
Tian Ling'er pouted. "What nonsense — how could my Cultivation ever fall short? Fan, aren't you the one who's—"
Zhang Fan hastily replied, "Yes!"
Tian Buyi shot Zhang Fan a withering look and said coldly, "As a disciple of Qingyun Sect, getting pushed around by a monkey—if this gets out, you'll have dragged my name through the mud entirely."
Zhang Fan's face flushed crimson, not daring to utter a word, his head hung low.
Su Ru walked over and took Tian Ling'er's hand, saying softly, "You haven't eaten a thing all day. You must be hungry."
Tian Ling'er stuck out her tongue and said with a smile, "I'm so hungry, Mother!"
Su Ru shot her a glare, then grabbed her by the arm and marched toward the kitchen, muttering under her breath, "You little devil!"
By this point, Zhang Fan's own stomach had begun to growl with hunger, yet standing before Tian Buyi, he dared not so much as twitch a finger. He listened as the voices of Su Ru and Tian Ling'er faded into the distance, but his master remained perfectly still. Zhang Fan stole a cautious glance upward — and found the hall empty. Tian Buyi had slipped away at some point without a sound. Most likely, he had decided that even the effort of cursing this dimwitted disciple of his was simply too great a waste of breath.
Zhang Fan stood there in a daze for a long while, until a growl from his stomach finally stirred him. He turned around, but found himself instinctively unwilling to head toward the kitchen, and instead walked to his own room.
Back in his room, he shut the door behind him. The gray monkey perched on his shoulder glanced left and right, let out a cry—as if sensing it was home—then leapt down, scurried onto the bed in two or three quick bounds, tumbled and sprang about, snatched up a pillow and flung it every which way, utterly beside itself with joy.
Zhang Fan looked at the gray monkey, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth — only for it to be immediately overtaken by the gnawing of hunger. He sat down at the table, poured himself a cup of overnight water that had long since gone cold from the teapot, and drank it down.
A chill pierced straight through to the heart.
He sat there in a daze for a moment, then reached into his robes and drew out an object — the very same unsightly short rod. The bead Puzhi had given him had by now fused tightly with that nameless rod, their colors merging into a deep, dark cyan, black and murky, while at the joint a patch of dark red remained, like dried, congealed blood — not merely ugly, but frankly revolting.
He stared at it for a long while, then let out a sudden bitter laugh, flung his arm with force, and hurled the short rod at the wall. It struck with a loud crack, bounced off, and clattered down into a corner of the room.
The gray monkey gave a start, lifting its head to look at Zhang Fan, unable to fathom why he was in such a mood. Zhang Fan heaved a sigh, kicked off his shoes, climbed into bed, pulled the blanket over his head, and went straight to sleep. The monkey scratched its head, thoroughly at a loss.
That night, Zhang Fan tossed and turned, tormented by unbearable hunger, and only when the night had grown deep did he finally drift into a fitful sleep.