Chapter 77
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Chapter 77: Title
The spirit cultivators exchanged uneasy glances until Scruffy Yellow Fox broke the silence. "Didn’t those human cultivators forbid us from leaving?"
"Why should we obey humans?" The purple marten flicked its bushy tail indignantly, rising on hind legs. "We’re spirit cultivators! Since when do we need human permission?"
In his righteous declaration, the marten conveniently ignored the Identity Card clutched in his paw.
Silver-Throated Long-Tailed Tit fluttered onto the marten’s head, delivering a gentle peck with her beak. "That’s unkind," she chirped in a melodic voice. "The humans treat us well."
"You’re becoming as round as those ‘Fat Jiu’ treats they feed you," the marten grumbled, though he made no move to dislodge the plump bird.
The Golden Eagle stretched his majestic wings. Though renowned for solitary defiance, he dipped his head in rare agreement with Black Wolf Spirit’s proposal. "If humans can’t defend themselves, why guard awakening creatures destined for spirit cultivation? We aid no one’s cause but our own."
"Surprising we concur," Black Wolf rumbled.
Though matched in cultivation level, their natures diverged – sky sovereign versus earth monarch. Were this the Mountain and Sea Realm, such rivals might’ve settled disputes through bloodshed. But under human-controlled Jiuzhou, internal conflict served no purpose.
Fifty-eight spirit cultivators occupied the classroom – some sent willingly, others discovered hiding and relocated. Below their building’s security booth stood Zheng Fei, Special Bureau’s watchful sentinel tasked with preventing disruptions during crises.
The Bureau respected their privacy, limiting monitoring to public areas despite housing unpredictable supernatural beings. When emergency discussions arose about requesting spirit cultivator assistance, the proposal died swiftly.
Humanity’s ancient wariness of "those not of our kind" permeated Zhongxia’s leadership. Already indebted to Dragon Lord Ao Yuan after dragon race intervention, the Bureau couldn’t risk owing favors to the weakened spirit cultivators.
Most spirit cultivators retained only Tier One power after crossing into Jiuzhou. What bargaining chips existed? Human Practitioners already rationed cultivation resources, leaving nothing to offer.
The Bureau’s strength lay in its duality: razor-sharp administrative minds from elite universities handling delicate diplomacy, complemented by combat personnel handpicked from military special forces.
Zheng Fei embodied this duality – a 26-year-old former special forces operative now monitoring ancient beings. To spirits who measured lifetimes in centuries, his youth earned him the affectionate "Little Fei."
"Corridor cameras will alert Little Fei," White Rabbit fretted, ears quivering.
Green Peacock’s amphibious passenger croaked agreement: "Direct escape won’t work."
The Golden Eagle scoffed from his windowsill perch. "This is why flight prevails."
"Enough hesitation." Black Wolf’s claws clicked impatiently. "Humans lack focus to stop us now." With a signal to Golden Monkey Spirit, he surged through the suddenly open doorway.
Thus the spirit cultivators diverged – trusting souls like Fat Jiu and White Rabbit who embraced human kindness, contrasted by wary traditionalists like Black Wolf Spirit maintaining cautious distance.
Dealing with human cultivators required cautious skepticism. The black wolf grew increasingly certain of this truth – humans could manifest greater cruelty than the terrifying demons they so vividly depicted.
In the security booth, Zheng Fei’s attention shifted from the news broadcast to the monitoring screen. His eyes widened behind his glasses as he witnessed spirit cultivators casually descending via elevator.
Though the Special Bureau didn’t formally imprison these beings, their outdoor privileges remained strictly limited due to the densely populated residential areas surrounding the compound.
To accommodate their needs, the Bureau had transformed adjacent townhouses into expansive living quarters, complete with specially designed spaces for physical activities.
"What’s their game now?" Zheng Fei muttered, seizing the red emergency phone. His report came rapid-fire: "Multiple spirit cultivators exiting via elevator. Requesting instructions for engagement."
Through previous interactions, he’d cataloged their distinctive traits: the regal Green Peacock, the endearingly awkward Fat Jiu, the exuberant rabbit spirit, the perpetually drowsy black-and-white dumpling, and the venomous-tongued purple marten.
These particular spirit cultivators projected harmless charm compared to their more formidable counterparts – the defiant Golden Eagle, the inscrutable black wolf, and the reclusive butterfly spirit who maintained distance even from their own kind.
"Maintain observation… Understood." Zheng Fei replaced the receiver, tracking the procession through bulletproof glass. The Zhongxia national treasure – typically bamboo-obsessed – now cradled a fish tank containing a golden-scaled spirit whose aquatic form limited participation to passive observation.
This forgetful piscine occupant frequently dozed through lectures, incapable of distinguishing between teachers or peers. "Even the goldfish?" Zheng Fei murmured. "Are they absconding?" The notion seemed improbable – why wait until now?
Their habitual obedience to the Dragon Lord might be fracturing. If they dispersed into human society with their current knowledge, retrieval would prove impossible. This exodus meant breaching the Special Bureau accord – an uncharacteristically reckless move.
His musings shattered as a silver-throated long-tailed tit alighted on his windowsill. "Little Fei!" it chirped. "Final words before departure?"
"You’re actually leaving?"
"Obviously." Fat Jiu’s nod should have triggered Zheng Fei’s usual affectionate response, but duty clamped down on sentiment.
"Destination?"
"Nosy human!" The purple marten’s tail lashed out, scooping up the avian spirit mid-leap. Through the settling dust, Zheng Fei discerned the black wolf leading the exodus.
Powerless to intervene, he monitored their dispersal beyond the compound’s cameras – vanishing acts executed with practiced ease.
From her vantage in the World Tree’s canopy, Ye Linlang rotated slowly before the holographic Blue Star projection. The planetary display zoomed from continental scales to individual dust motes dancing among Spiritual Energy particles.
"Predictable international responses," she sighed, massaging her temples. Her fabricated abyssal invasion – mere 20% intensity of true world fragment crises – already overwhelmed most nations. Only the five major powers held firm.
Resisting the urge to bolster weaker regions, she focused on the African continent’s jungles where primal forces stirred. Churning totemic energies visible only to her and the slumbering world consciousness signaled premature awakenings.
"Impatience born of abhorrence," she mused. All world-born entities shared this revulsion toward abyssal taint. These totems, conceived from pure belief, faced existential paradox – requiring faith to exist, yet powerless to aid devotees until awakened.
"Three-month gestation truncated by fifteen days…" Her fingertips brushed the hologram, shifting view from primordial wilds to urban sprawl. A twin-towered bridge spanned river currents far below, its architecture stark against the flowing water.
