Chapter 4542 — Hunted Again

The spirit bird answered with a clear, bright cry, cocked its head, and rubbed affectionately against Wei Zhao, plainly well pleased with its new master.

Wei Zhao smiled faintly, then leaped onto the bird's back. After a vigorous, full-throated cry, the spirit bird spread its wings and gave a single flap, rising swift and steady into the air. That spirit birds were the perfect flying beasts for human cultivators—that saying was no exaggeration at all.

Feeling the wind whistling past his ears, watching the red sun just rising over the distant sea, Wei Zhao's spirits soared. Gone from home so long, and now at last he was going back.

The spirit bird was remarkably intelligent; a single flight along any route was enough for it to remember the way perfectly. This time Wei Zhao did not even need to give directions—the bird could find the aerial path back to North Island on its own, more precisely and reliably than he could himself. All he had to do was sit calmly on its back and cultivate.

He stretched lazily, easing his back, and was just about to settle down to cultivate when the jade pendant's warning chime suddenly rang out, sharp and urgent. Even the spirit bird beneath him seemed to sense some danger, growing visibly panicked and fearful. Wei Zhao's heart clenched; he hastily scanned his surroundings on full alert. What was going on?!

"Wahahahaha—Ling Yi, you little wretch, you actually aren't dead?" A mass of black mist appeared out of thin air behind him, accompanied by the grating laugh of the Old Sect of West Mountain and a note of disbelief: "That hellhole South Island left even this sect battered and bruised, nearly done for—and a piddling weakling like you actually escaped it? Just how much dog-shit luck are you carrying?"

Watching the Old Sect of West Mountain slowly take form within the black mist, Wei Zhao's heart skipped a beat and his expression shifted. He had been so cautious on this return precisely to guard against this very man—not even showing his true face when he went to the Qitian Escort Bureau in the dead of night. And in the end it had still come to this. How did the creature know about him?

But after a moment's thought, Wei Zhao understood. The Dragon Boat Escort Bureau had eyes everywhere around the Qitian Escort Bureau, and they had surely planted plenty at the docks as well. Perhaps even the lackeys at the spirit beast boarding station were their people.

Wei Zhao's movements had been nothing if not careful, but there was one checkpoint he could not avoid: he had to collect the spirit bird Huang Xiaotao had left in their care. That was the sole flaw—and a flaw quite deadly enough.

The moment he took Huang Xiaotao's bird, changing his appearance would do him no good. Anyone could guess his identity simply from the fact that he was riding a spirit bird. Once word reached the Old Sect of West Mountain, he would naturally come charging over at once, just as he had now.

Careless! Wei Zhao cursed himself inwardly. But there had truly been no way around it—even to evade the Old Sect of West Mountain, he could not simply abandon Huang Xiaotao's spirit bird, could he?

"Heh heh. If no one had tipped me off, this crude getup of yours might well have fooled this sect. But seeing you like this, there's no doubt at all—you are Ling Yi. Truly, Heaven itself means to grant this sect its wish. Hehehehe!" The Old Sect of West Mountain laughed smugly.

By now his hatred for Wei Zhao was bone-deep. It was not merely a matter of avenging his two disciples, Wu Baoliang and Cheng Haonan; nor was it only about refining his trump-card puppet. It was, above all, about his own face.

Last time, he had hunted Wei Zhao down in full view of everyone—only to end up thoroughly humiliated. Wei Zhao had neither been killed nor captured, while he himself had been left bedraggled and wretched on South Island. How was a mighty evil cultivator of the Mountain-Opening stage supposed to swallow such disgrace?

As an overlord among evil cultivators, the Old Sect of West Mountain did not, frankly, care much about losing a disciple or two. He had always treated human lives like grass; disciples could be taken again after death, no great matter. But at his level, face could never be lost, on any occasion. To lose it would not only make him a laughingstock—it would badly erode his power to intimidate.

If an evil-cultivator overlord could not frighten people and could not command the field, what the hell was he even doing out in the world?

The Old Sect of West Mountain's sudden appearance was like a bucket of ice water dumped over Wei Zhao's fine mood. Fortunately, his nerves were tough: though the sight of the old devil inevitably left him stunned and shaken, he quickly came to his senses, and without a word of nonsense urged the spirit bird into flight.

The spirit bird flew extremely fast—first-rate among all flying beasts. In raw speed it was at least comparable to Wei Zhao's superior-limit Butterfly Microstep on the ground. The Old Sect of West Mountain might look like he could fly, but compared with a true flying spirit beast, that was at best hovering; his aerial speed could not possibly match the bird's.

Unfortunately, the Old Sect of West Mountain did not need speed to run a man down. Just as before, once his divine sense locked onto Wei Zhao's position, a single instantaneous shift would bring him right alongside. That kind of uncanny skill could not be shaken off by speed alone.

The key reason he had escaped last time was that Wei Zhao had smeared himself with swamp mud, which successfully cut off the Old Sect of West Mountain's divine-sense lock. Only with the help of that wretched creature—half bluff, half scare—had he slipped away. Otherwise, no matter how fast he was, no matter how desperately he pushed the superior-limit Butterfly Microstep, it would have been for nothing.

During that month on South Island, Wei Zhao had in fact gathered some swamp mud with the same effect inside the jade pendant's space. But now time was short—the Old Sect of West Mountain would never give him the chance to smear it on. And anyway, smearing it on himself alone would not help; the old devil need only lock onto the spirit bird beneath him.

Worse still, the weather today happened to be decent. The sprawling sea mist might at least have hindered the Old Sect of West Mountain's divine-sense lock—but now, damn it all, it was a rare day of clear skies for ten thousand li...

Even without divine sense, the man could spot Wei Zhao with his own eyes!

"Don't panic—head for that Five Venoms Marsh from before!" The wretched creature's voice sounded in his mind right on cue.

"Right!" Wei Zhao nodded decisively at once. It seemed he could only repeat the old trick—flee into South Island as before and frighten the old devil away. Of all the places around, South Island's spirit beasts were likely the only thing that could make the Old Sect of West Mountain think twice.

But having learned his lesson last time, how could the Old Sect of West Mountain let Wei Zhao succeed so easily? Killing intent blazed cold around his whole body. This time he had all but abandoned the idea of taking Wei Zhao alive; never mind the trump-card puppet. But he would restore his face no matter what. This time, Wei Zhao had to die! R1152