Chapter 139
Chapter 139
The two Black Stone Mountains standing in the Crimson Glow Desert were its most conspicuous landmarks.
Every piece of dead thorn and dry firewood that could be gathered nearby had been brought together today, then stacked with crimson stones and gravel into tower-shaped piles.
Before the last ray of sunlight vanished, these “towers” were set ablaze.
The Sand People gathered beneath the blazing towers and held their ritual.
Legend had it that many, many years ago, the Heaven and Earth God had descended to the mortal world from atop a burning wooden tower.
This crimson desert had been dyed red by those flames, and all Sand People were the Heavenly God’s chosen kin.
Of course, all of that was now in the past.
The Shaman of each of the twenty-four remaining divisions had new messages smeared across the sheepskin scrolls in their hands.
They were going to convert to another shadow that spanned heaven and earth.
The flames from the burning “towers” danced across the broad offering table.
Because the New God had yet to show any preferences or inclinations, the offerings prepared by the Shaman were rather conservative.
There were no skins of virgin boys or girls, nor any sheepskins, only rice cakes made from neatly stacked refined rice, which had come from the last time the god had poured it into the mortal world.
The altar was simple as well. On a flat, polished slab of crimson stone, a range of mountains had been drawn, and a vast Shadowy Figure, painted with black pigment and soot, cast its shadow over the earth.
There was neither Divine Name nor Divine Shadow.
Such a crude and shabby ritual made the hearts of many Shaman who had come to the Black Mountain Tribe leap and lurch with anxiety.
A shriveled old man with a shaved head and braided hair was wrapped in a golden-red woolen felt.
He had used his own face as a canvas. Painted patterns covered it from top to bottom, and his nose, lips, and cheeks were pierced with all kinds of studs.
Most were polished copper studs, with a few made of silver.
If this old man were tossed into the Incinerator and burned clean, at least two catties of metal lumps would be left behind. Right now, he was sick with worry.
The thunderclouds faintly gathering at the edge of the sky, and the Giant Bird weaving through those clouds, were the nightmare of many among them.
At last, he could not help asking, “Hulan, did this negligent ritual provoke the god’s wrath?”
The one he questioned was the Shaman of the Blackstone Tribe between the two black mountains: the severely burned woman.
The Shaman named Hulan did not answer. She only knelt before the altar.
Facing the New God on the crimson stone slab, she prayed over and over again.
Her chanting grew faster and faster.
The Sand People who had originally gathered near the “towers” now crowded around.
These Sand People were not only from the Blackstone Tribe, but also from other Tribe groups.
Everyone present shared one thing in common: they were survivors who had been trapped by the Thunderbird’s fury.
The Thunderbird had not slaughtered them outright. Instead, it had tirelessly camped their spawn point day after day, laying siege to these Sand People.
Unlike Great Xia, these Sand People had no city-protecting Ranyi Crossbows, and they had truly been helpless against the Giant Bird in the sky.
Trapped in their villages, countless people had died.
They called the Thunderbird the Envoy of Thunder and feared it deeply.
Now lightning flashed and thunder rumbled overhead, while a fine drizzle fell. The terror buried in the deepest parts of their hearts was hooked out once more.
Many grew panicked and gathered before the offering table to pray.
Amid the repeated chants, the “god” painted on the red stone slab gave them no response.
Because she could not understand them.
Each division of the Sand People had its own language.
Standing on a sand dune, Qin Ying clearly heard countless fragmented prayers pouring into her ears.
It was as if she were standing in a bustling marketplace, with clamor coming from every side.
Everyone spoke over everyone else, all of them praying with great enthusiasm.
Unfortunately, with the language barrier between them, her head was about to explode from listening, and she still did not understand a single sentence.
Instead, the voices that had suddenly rung out nearly blew her mind apart.
She could not help clapping her hands over her ears. “Stop. Don’t all talk at once. One at a time.”
The moment her words fell, the crimson stone slab enshrined on the offering table in the Blackstone Tribe suddenly cracked with a sharp snap, a fissure splitting open from the eye of the Shadowy Figure.
The sound was not loud, but it made the entire Blackstone Tribe fall so silent that a dropped needle could have been heard.
The officiant named Hulan looked up in horror.
Her burn-scarred, misshapen face was filled with terror.
The shriveled old man whose painted, studded face made him look like a performance artist immediately wailed in despair, “It is the god’s wrath!”
His own panic would have been one thing, but the moment he started wailing like someone had died, everyone else descended into chaos too.
Aman had no time to think about anything else. He hurried forward in a few quick strides.
When he saw the cracked stone slab, bitterness flooded his mouth.
The good news was that the god had answered. The bad news was that the god seemed to be angry.
Aman was terrified. He had no idea whether something had gone wrong with the ritual.
Just then, the shriveled old man slapped the gray wolf spine-bone staff in his hand. “We still need to prepare human sacrificial offerings!”
His head whipped around as if he meant to grab two people on the spot and burn them as sacrifices.
Every person his gaze swept over shrank their necks in.
What a joke. They had finally survived long enough to drink a mouthful of rice porridge in the Blackstone Tribe. Who would willingly die now?
The shriveled old man was so angry that the studs all over his face shook along with his sagging flesh.
In the end, he slapped his thigh. If no one else would offer themselves, then he would do it.
He tugged open his belt and yanked his gold-and-red felted robe apart.
His bony, dried-out ribs were exposed. Then, from who knew where, he produced a small curved knife and was about to slice flesh from between his ribs.
Aman stared, completely dumbfounded. He thought to himself that after being trapped by the lightning for a while, the people of the Kuxi Tribe had somehow gone even madder.
He hurried forward to stop him, grabbing the old man’s wrist so he couldn’t bring the blade down. “Wait, wait.”
“The people from Great Xia said the New God once sent down rain and grain to save the world. The New God also said not to offer living sacrifices.”
No matter how one looked at it, this was an extremely benevolent deity. That was why they had not used the traditional human sacrifice ritual.
Because of the shriveled old man’s interruption, the prayers had grown much quieter.
Qin Ying was finally able to pull herself free from that irritating, headache-inducing noise.
Only one voice remained by her ear.
Hulan, the Shaman of the Blackstone Tribe, had once witnessed the Divine Shadow descending from the sky with her own eyes.
Because she had seen it, she truly believed. Her faith was the firmest of all. Once again, she cast the divination stones.
She asked what offering the god required, and whether the drizzle that had come with the thunderclouds was the divine beast Fuzhu.
Qin Ying stood atop the sand dune. Faintly, she saw Hulan praying.
This kind of “seeing” was extremely mysterious, as if a scene had been projected directly into her mind.
It was as though Hulan were kneeling right at her feet.
Qin Ying thought for a moment, then tested the waters and tried to communicate with her. “Can you speak the language of Great Xia?”
Hulan, who had her hands clasped together, froze violently.
The vast voice by her ear, impossible to distinguish as male or female, was telling her to speak the language of Great Xia.
Hulan’s entire body began to tremble.
“The god… has answered me.”
Her soft words were like a ladle of cold water poured into hot oil.
The Blackstone Tribe exploded into commotion.
After Hulan’s chest rose and fell several times, her expression became even more solemn, and she switched to the language of Great Xia.
“O god, the Envoy of Thunder has reappeared. Will you still protect us?”
This time, Qin Ying understood her clearly, and a hint of novelty appeared on her face.
It was her first time privately contacting one of her Believers, so she had no experience to speak of. In the end, she kept it brief. “The Envoy of Thunder has already submitted to me.”
“Come out to welcome my… Envoy.”
She had originally wanted to say, “come out to welcome me,” but changed course at the last second and added the word “Envoy” after “my.”
It was Qin Ying’s first time being a god, but it wasn’t her first day being human.
She understood very well that the human heart was hard to predict. For someone high above others, maintaining the proper mystique was a way of protecting oneself.
This puppet body still needed to walk through the World in the Box. If others learned the truth, would it invite struggles and disputes over her?
Qin Ying had no desire to experience a captivity-play scenario, so she decided to play it safe.
After taking the initiative to cut off her connection with Hulan, she turned to look at Han Lie, who was quietly waiting at the side.
“Once we enter the Black Mountain Tribe, don’t call me Supreme Deity anymore.”
“I am only an Envoy. Call me…”
Qin Ying paused, then said, “Just call me Ah Ying.”
When you wandered the jianghu, sooner or later you would take a blade. Keeping your alias hidden was the true way of survival.
Seeing how solemnly she spoke, Han Lie nodded.
At the same time, several ant-like little figures poured out of the Black Mountain Tribe.
From far away, they looked in their direction.
The moment their gazes fell on Wangcai, who stood there like a landmark, quite a few of them collapsed limply to the ground on the spot.