Chapter 121

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Chapter 121: Title

Qiao Feiyu fell silent, realizing Yang Xingyu seemed to have a knack for attracting misfortune.

Upon reviewing Yang Xingyu’s field mission history, it struck him how something unexpected cropped up during every assignment.

Qiao Feiyu retrieved his phone.

“What’s that for?” Yang Xingyu eyed the device with suspicion.

“Calling in backup. He mentioned wanting to explore beyond Zhongxia. Better safe than stranded if things go sideways.” Qiao Feiyu’s gaze lingered on his companion, unreadable.

A geotagged message pinpointing their arrival airport slipped through the digital ether as he spoke.

Yang Xingyu’s cheek twitched. “You’re actually buying into this? Last time was pure coincidence – I was joking!”

“Accidents happen,” he added lamely.

Qiao Feiyu leveled him with a stare. “Precautionary measure. Your mission mishaps need tallying?”

Yang Xingyu’s palm met Qiao Feiyu’s shoulder in a half-hearted smack, acutely aware of their wide-eyed junior listening. “Not like I court disaster.”

“Who’s this backup anyway?” Yang Xingyu scanned mental dossiers of potential candidates.

“Young Master Leng.”

“Since when are you two chummy?”

“Crossed paths recently. He’s bored and wanted destination tips for his travels.” Qiao Feiyu shrugged. “Plans to join us post-mission.”

Yang Xingyu snorted. “Africa? You’re selling him on sightseeing in that backwater? He’ll have your head when he sees the reality.”

“He called it ‘cultural immersion’.” Qiao Feiyu’s deadpan voice could’ve etched glass.

Africa’s reputation as Blue Star’s most impoverished continent kept casual tourists at bay – especially their destination, a region even locals deemed harsh. Beyond its modern nations lay jungles sheltering tribes clinging to ancestral ways.

Their current mission? A green hellscape where abyssal fissures had bloomed like poisonous flowers during the invasion.

Recent whispers told of tribal survival through supposed interventions by totem deities. Normally dismissed as folklore, these accounts gained traction when multiple nations – Zhongxia included – began dispatching teams to investigate.

Yang Xingyu flicked through mission briefs. “We’re trekking through primitive jungles? Odds of bumping into Wild People?”

“Significant.”

“Would’ve packed extra bug spray had I known we’re playing anthropologists.” Yang Xingyu groaned. “Seriously, Old Qiao – Wild People?”

"I told you you’d end up coming. Wasn’t it you who kept complaining about having nothing to do at the Bureau?" Qiao Feiyu spared him no courtesy.

"I’m done talking to you." Yang Xingyu choked back his words and angrily turned away.

"Red-clad Senior, how powerful do you think these totem deities are? Could they rival those documented in the divine records?"

Ghost in Red paused thoughtfully before shaking her head. "Uncertain."

"Even Practitioners struggle to gauge the true might of deities. As for totem deities… this is my first encounter. I’ve no basis for judgment."

Yang Xingyu stroked his chin. "They must be weaker than proper deities. Otherwise, Africa’s abyssal creatures would’ve been eradicated ages ago."

"Yet reports suggest those horrors still plague the continent."

"Besides, true deities remain elusive as divine dragons, revealing their heads but never their tails. We’ve yet to comprehend their manifestation patterns."

"Even our own legends speak of weaker divinities—Mountain Gods, earth spirits…"

His monologue gained momentum until he noticed bespectacled eyes observing him from the front seats.

"Young man," the old man beckoned, "join our discussion?"

Yang Xingyu’s sharp eyes caught the numeral "Four" on the man’s badge.

"No need! I wouldn’t wave a sword before Guan Gong—just idle thoughts." He forced a strained smile.

Division badges denoted expertise. While Division 6 housed researchers, Division 4 brimmed with scholars devoted to myths and legends.

"Nonsense! Your observations hold merit," the elder insisted, warmth softening his wrinkled features.

Yang Xingyu shot Qiao Feiyu a pleading glance, only to find his colleague feigning sleep beneath an eye mask. The red-clad senior? Unapproachable. Resigned, he acquiesced—the topic did intrigue him.

"Coming." His posture straightened instinctively before these academic luminaries.

…

Midnight shadows cloaked the landing strip.

Their escorts waited beyond the terminal, patience wearing thin. Africa’s night air carried unfamiliar scents to Yang Xingyu’s nostrils—a continent of firsts for most passengers.

The airport city paled against Zhongxia’s metropolises yet stood dignified for its region. Diplomatic ties with this African state ensured embassy support, streamlining their logistics.

"Hotel rooms are secured. Rest well tonight," announced their guide.

Thirty-five personnel—including military guards—required nearly twenty double rooms.

Yu Yue watched dark-skinned locals drift past the car window, foreignness settling in her bones. A sidelong glance captured Ghost in Red’s serene profile beside her. Outwardly composed, she imagined a miniature version of herself somersaulting and shrieking internally.

Her debut mission partnered with a revered senior! She’d die before becoming deadweight.

The military-provided driver and survival expert completed their vehicle’s occupants. Though lacking cultivation prowess, the soldier’s wilderness survival skills and jungle combat experience outshone theirs.

Convoy headlights pierced the velvet darkness.

Female staff received priority for single rooms—mission equality notwithstanding. Accommodations were allocated accordingly: single rooms for women and special needs first, doubles for the remainder.

“So this is why I have to share a room with you?” Yang Xingyu massaged his temples, eyeing the jade pendant on Qiao Feiyu’s wrist with mock solemnity. “You two already form a complete duo. Shouldn’t I spare myself the third wheel status?”

Qiao Feiyu needed no translation for the jest. He rotated his wrist with deliberate slowness, knuckles cracking like autumn leaves underfoot. “Hours crammed in that flying tin can. My joints feel fossilized. Let’s find somewhere to… loosen up.”

Yang Xingyu retreated with a front-desk keycard brandished like a talisman, laughter echoing through the lobby. “Peace, peace! A poor jest between comrades. Shared quarters it is – no need for knuckle sermons.”

Elder observers wore smiles carved by decades of watching youth’s antics, their crinkled eyes telegraphing generational amusement. Qiao Feiyu’s prematurely grave demeanor softened as Yang Xingyu surrendered, tension dissolving like mist before dawn.

Their cultivation paths diverged as day from night – Yang Xingyu’s magic cultivation against Qiao Feiyu’s body refinement. Equal cultivation levels? A theoretical courtesy. Muscle memory trumped spellcraft every time.

Particularly when Qiao Feiyu hovered a full notch above in cultivation hierarchy. The chasm between Innate Realm and Tier One yawned wider than mortals guessed, though separated by mere terminology.

Months into the Awakening of Spiritual Energy, Yang Xingyu’s cohort – the lucky, the gifted, the relentless – mostly breached Innate Realm’s threshold. Yet that elusive Tier One ascent? Like clutching moonbeams. Close enough to tantalize, never to grasp.

Room assignments settled, they supped on local fare before retiring. Night draped the hotel in indigo silence.

Yang Xingyu braced against the balcony railing, night breeze fingering his collar. Tropical air clung like silk. Climate mattered little to Innate Realm practitioners – neither frostbite nor heatstroke troubled them now.

City lights glittered below, constellations grounded by human hands. Less dazzling than home’s neon rivers, yet whispering exotic promises.

“Old Qiao, do you ever—” The question died midair. Across the room, Qiao Feiyu sat lotus-style, breathing synced to some cosmic metronome.

Yang Xingyu’s sigh blended envy with resignation. No wonder the man progressed like spring bamboo. He folded onto his own bed, assuming meditation’s familiar geometry.

Two hours’ spiritual circulation now sufficed for daily vitality – a boon exploited by countless night owls since cultivation manuals flooded the web. Why sleep when enlightenment offered both rest and power?

Each Spiritual Energy cycle sanded life’s rough edges – headaches fading, old injuries dissolving. By Tier Two, common colds became folklore. Innate Realm? The body became its own fortress.

Tier One’s full potential remained veiled, but longevity’s promise already lured millions. A century of health? Baseline. More realms meant more dawns – the ultimate siren song.

*

Jungles sprawled beneath the bloated moon, primal and watchful. No adventurers braved these woods now. Since abyssal creatures emerged, even cicadas held their breath.

The outer jungle is not perilous; true danger dwells in its depths… Not even locals dare claim certainty of returning safely from those shadowed realms.

Within the foliage roam fierce beasts and venomous insects, alongside tribes of Wild People who’ve never embraced "civilized society," remaining bound to the jungle’s primal heartbeat.

Countless Wild People tribes scatter through the verdant maze.

When tales of totem deities began spreading, the jungle’s heart drew disciplined teams bearing standardized equipment – trained units whose snow-white complexions contrasted sharply with Africa’s indigenous peoples.

Among them moved others wielding an assortment of makeshift weapons, their ebony skin glistening as they conversed in local African tongues.

To the jungle-bound tribes living in primal simplicity, these invaders’ origins mattered less than their blasphemous purpose: stealing divine protectors.

Any seeking to claim the sacred totems became enemies marked for death by tribal warriors, their Sacrifice appeasing the great totem deity’s wrath to ensure continued protection.

In a jungle clearing stands a cluster of wooden houses encircled by spiked fences against predators.

Their center holds a leveled space culminating in a raised wooden dais, where a stone slab displays the winged tiger-like creature of legend. Damp stains before the altar suggest recent ritual cleansing.

None would believe such serenity could exist in Africa’s savage jungles – realms whispered to harbor cannibals – without witnessing this newborn settlement.

Every structure bears the rawness of recent creation: uneven earth underfoot, crude carpentry, villagers clad in hides. Only the central dais shows meticulous workmanship.

Somehow these Wild People had quarried stone, shaping steps laid across wooden pillars driven into the soil.

Near this façade of peace stand two arboreal cages – four-meter-square enclosures of jungle timber holding shadowed forms.

Moonlight pierces retreating clouds, revealing the caged shadows as filth-caked humans from civilized lands, their garments hinting at foreign origins.

Patrolling tribesmen pause to inspect the prisoners, departing only when satisfied with their quiet despair.

"Jessica, they’re gone." The man’s whisper carries to the adjacent cage.

A Caucasian woman lifts her head. "Anderl, any escape plans?"

"Gear’s confiscated – no way to signal. But trackers in our equipment… When we miss check-in…" His voice fades.

Their English carries American accents.

A tall man near Jessica mutters, "Their warriors overpower us. No rescue, no escape."

"Filippo didn’t return today." The words hang heavy, echoing distant screams heard at dusk.

Beside Anderl sits a bearded man in coarse tactical clothing, his dark skin and silence setting him apart from the others. Present since their capture, he rebuffs all communication attempts.

"Maybe trick the guards…" Jessica’s suggestion trails off, thin with doubt.

"One a day." The bearded man spoke in heavily accented English.

"What do you mean by ‘one a day’? Are they taking someone daily? Where do those taken end up?" inquired the tall Caucasian man standing beside Jessica.

"Dead. Sacrificed to the Kabatu deity," the bearded man answered.

Anderl reflected silently. He’d heard "Kabatu" mentioned by the primitive tribes before – though labeling them as Wild People felt inappropriate. Though linguistically distinct and technologically lacking, these tribes possessed their own form of civilization.

They resembled primal jungle dwellers more than savages. Anderl’s team knew this particular tribe worshipped a winged tiger totem deity. Their mission: verify the deity’s authenticity. If genuine, they’d "extend an invitation" to bring it back; if false, they’d leave it be.

Mythology researchers theorized that regardless of historical existence, these totem deities must be newly emerged, given the recent Magic Return and Awakening of Spiritual Energy. The preceding end-time era’s magicless world couldn’t have sustained them.

Being recently manifested, such entities would have limited power. Acquiring specimens for study or negotiation seemed prudent. The method? Most totem deities resided within physical totems – retrieval would suffice.

Sent by America, Anderl’s team pursued potential breakthroughs for the "plans to create gods" initiative. Researchers believed these tribal deities might hold valuable insights.

Yet their well-conceived strategy crumbled when tribal warriors – far surpassing them in combat prowess – ambushed them before they neared the settlement.

"One daily sacrifice means tomorrow’s selection will choose among us four," the tall man muttered, grimacing at the 25% mortality risk.

"We need solutions before dusk tomorrow," Anderl declared with authority. As Team Leader, responsibility weighed heavily on him.

…

Dawn broke golden over the horizon as Yang Xingyu and Qiao Feiyu stood ready outside their hotel. Breakfast concluded, they opted for a morning stroll before meeting their jungle guide. Post-meeting adjustments to their expedition plans would help avoid complications – venturing deep into untamed wilderness without expert guidance courted disaster.

The early hour left the city languid. Curious glances from passing locals followed the pair as they wandered toward a riverside path.

"The Spiritual Energy here feels diluted," Qiao Feiyu remarked, recalling his less productive night of cultivation compared to Zhongxia’s potent atmosphere.

"Glad it’s not just me," Yang Xingyu stretched by the water’s edge. "Old Qiao, what’s your take on Spiritual Energy distribution principles? Huaxia’s Spiritual Veins intertwine with terrestrial currents, but foreign lands… different system?"

"Ask Division 6’s specialists," Qiao Feiyu suggested dryly. "I’m no geospiritualist."

"Casual curiosity," Yang Xingyu shrugged. "Our target zone’s a hundred kilometers out. Evening arrival even by noon departure, then overnight prep before jungle entry?"

"Night amplifies jungle dangers."

"True enough. Speaking of missions – I messaged Bai Ye yesterday. Radio silence. Must be field work, but what?"

"Probably mentoring rookies on similar reconnaissance," Qiao Feiyu speculated. "Why the interest?"

"Bai Wei approached me pre-mission asking about him. We used to know each other’s schedules, but nowadays…" Yang Xingyu trailed off, nostalgia tingeing his voice. "Constant field assignments keep us ships passing in the night."