Chapter Sixty-Six: Engraving

Roar!

A powerful, commanding roar echoed through the forest, startling countless birds into flight. Several wild creatures scattered in panic, unwilling to linger nearby any longer.

Bang! Bang!

The sounds persisted, coming from the mountaintop. But soon, the commotion softened; the bursts of roaring grew lower, more melodic, losing the majestic grandeur they had at first.

Eventually, it dwindled into a plaintive whimper.

Howl~ Woo~ Howl~

Before the woods, Chen Yu stood still, clapping his hands. Not far off, a black bear scrambled in terror, clutching its head as it fled wildly into the forest, no longer caring for the fresh, fragrant air nearby or the spotted deer that had been taunting it.

It quickly disappeared into the distance.

Chen lowered his gaze to a trail of blood on the ground.

In truth, Chen had not exerted much force—only enough to give the beast a lesson, to make it remember and avoid repeating its transgression.

Though he could have fought seriously if needed, he preferred to inflict a painful warning, especially since his absence in the mountains might pose problems. Better to leave the bear with a lasting impression.

“In a couple of days, I’ll return to the mountains to patrol again. Each time I see it, I’ll strike once more. After a few rounds, it’ll learn,” he mused.

Such fierce creatures mostly hold a strong sense of territory.

Chen’s actions effectively marked the area around the Qingtai Mountain near the Taoist temple as his own. With that thought, he resolved to place several more marks on the trees near the temple upon his return—marks infused with qi energy. With proper control, these could alter the bark’s structure to some degree.

When triggered, they would produce a stress-like reaction, serving as a deterrent through fright.

As for lethality… Even the thin fur of a greedy deer was barely hurt by it, let alone the thick-skinned black bear. Chen never expected it to cause serious harm.

“Though, it wouldn’t be impossible to injure or maim,” he pondered.

He recalled a tale from his previous life about a tree capable of generating thorny wood that it could shoot out. Whether it truly existed was uncertain, but it inspired him to attempt crafting something similar.

Creating thorny wood wasn’t difficult; the real challenge lay in how to launch it.

He sighed, deciding to think it over later.

Chen felt there was still much to explore in developing qi. So far, he had only outlined a few basic characteristics, leaving plenty of room for future study.

…

Returning to the temple, the young deer had once again vanished somewhere to frolic; only heaven knew how it could bound so energetically.

He pushed open the courtyard gate and went to the vegetable garden behind the temple, crouching to stroke the leaves of the precious heart herb. Scattered stones were deliberately placed around it, and it was regularly watered and tended. With the newfound inspiration, it had grown rapidly.

What should have taken months to mature had already begun to coil and knot; its leaves curved tightly together, its roots entwining the stones, slowly transforming into a long vine.

The precious heart herb was actually a vine, a fact Chen always remembered clearly. Yet this particular vine was thicker and sturdier than any he had seen before.

Moreover, while nearby precious heart vines had begun fading from green to yellow as they matured, this one remained as green as jade, a curious anomaly.

He rose and walked toward the vegetable plot—a patch of barren, weeded earth.

One side now bore some wild vegetables; the rest was planted with beans. There were still some leafy greens, but only tender new shoots.

While the medicinal herb field thrived with life, this place felt desolate.

Watching this scene, Chen resolved to plant more crops. Leaving the garden so empty always left him unsettled.

With this intention, he went to inspect the herb field again.

The young millet shoots had already grown tall. These were from two seeds nurtured with spiritual energy. The earlier sprouts, nourished by spiritual liquid but abandoned, had long been cleared—pulled out by the roots daily like weeds, fed to the chickens and fish.

The chickens in the coop had been well-fed these months; the chicks grew sturdy, already promising a decent meal.

This was one reason Chen had gone to the trouble of tracking and driving away the black bear—nearly raising them to maturity, it would be a shame if the fruits were snatched away.

He fiddled with the Lan Ting fruit seedlings. Beneath the lush green leaves, clusters of unripe, thumb-sized fruits were growing, still some way from ripening.

The others were similar. This time, he had used spiritual liquid to hasten their maturation. Whether it would affect spiritual plants remained uncertain, but if it worked, he might soon taste the long-awaited Lan Ting divine fruit again.

Three types of medicinal seeds had yet to sprout, but Chen’s probing mental energy confirmed their vitality underground—no risk of them dying in the womb.

However, these seeds might be the last among the fourth batch of spiritual plants to mature. Whether the fifth or sixth batches would grow to harvest remained unknown.

“At least I can wait,” he thought.

Probably.

If they never sprouted, he wouldn’t stand idly by—he would investigate further.

…

The mountain had been quiet for a long while.

A breeze stirred, and a small, slender faceless bird with silver-white wings marked by faint curved patterns fluttered in the air.

It swayed left and right, drifting slowly past Chen Yu’s side.

Sometimes it hovered above his head, sometimes beside him, yet it never strayed far, maintaining a distance of about a foot.

Lying on the recliner, the Taoist closed his eyes, breathing in a peculiar rhythm. On closer observation, white breath flowed steadily from his nostrils into the surrounding air, never dissipating but wrapping around the faceless bird, flowing into the wing patterns.

A flash of white light, and the bird suddenly quickened its movements, fluttering with a whistling sound. But in the next moment, it trembled and disintegrated, its wings scattering and its head falling apart.

Whew!

Chen opened his eyes, rubbing his brow. After a long pause, he raised his right hand and bent his index finger. Instantly, a pale white glow condensed upon it, forming a small sparrow—dry and faceless.

“Still not working,” he muttered.

Waving it away, he recalled earlier attempts, searching his memory for mistakes and omissions.

After persistent practice, he was now able to release qi six feet away without mental reinforcement!

Yet the difficulty of refining it with precision, which had plagued him from the start, remained. His method of condensing qi into objects was still crude.

But…

“At least it can fly now,” he thought, recalling the first time he transformed qi into a tangible object. Compared to then, progress was undeniable.

With that thought, his hands moved continuously as more birds emerged from his palms. Perhaps there were too many, making control difficult. For a while, they danced gracefully, but soon dissipated.

Chen pondered deeply. After a long while, he formed finger seals again, this time spending more effort crafting intricate patterns onto the birds’ bodies.

Though called patterns, these were operational shortcuts he had discovered—ways to better preserve qi so it wouldn’t immediately disperse upon leaving the body.

In other words, this was a simplified version of a qi nurturing meridian.

Similar to those he had etched into tree bark, though the latter resembled natural growth. Perhaps because the qi came from Chen himself, it bore some of his signature, altering the structure akin to nurturing meridians.

Still, the two were essentially different.

For instance, now he inscribed the nurturing meridian onto the birds’ wings, allowing them to fly more steadily and be controlled more deftly. But the qi infused into the bark was much harder for him to manipulate thereafter.