The Qi Arts Master Chapter 65
After the events of last night, an awkward silence hung between Dang Jeong-a and Tian Ailang. And then the unwelcome intruders kept coming. They were unorthodox factions that stopped at nothing in pursuit of personal gain, their methods including human trafficking, plunder, rape—crimes absolutely forbidden and punishable by the state and the common folk alike.
"Kuhaha! You dare try to pass through the domain of the Crimson Blood Sword Sect?!"
Killed.
"You dare ignore the Blood Emperor Spear Poison Sect?!"
Killed.
"Wave Sea Blood..."
Killed.
"..."
Killed.
Tian Ailang ruthlessly cut down anyone who charged at them with looting in mind. He killed those who lusted after Dang Jeong-a's figure and beauty as well. Though those particular fools met a gruesome end by her poisons.
Throughout it all, Dang Jeong-a simply watched. At first, for intelligence gathering, they'd captured a few alive. The captured unorthodox thugs had clenched their jaws in pride, but when Dang Jeong-a stepped in to torture them, they begged her to stop and spilled their entire life stories.
What kind of training did they do in Dangga? Dang Jeong-a's expression remained utterly serene as she tortured them, pulling nails one by one or shattering bones in sequence—like a cook calmly preparing a meal.
Watching her methods, Dangga's Twelfth looked utterly unsurprised, which only made it more baffling.
Yet the information gleaned from such brutal interrogations was worthless. Just distasteful trivia: bribes to this official, affairs with that one, hidden bastards here and there, where they'd stashed their loot, locations of villages they'd massacred, people they'd murdered. Useless to their group.
After that, they stopped wasting time on needless torture and pressed on, killing attackers without mercy.
* * *
In the humid depths of a dense jungle swamp, harsh gazes darted between figures in a natural thicket like a hidden chamber, each expressing their feelings about this gathering.
All those assembled wore garb tied to various beasts. Since ancient times, southern Yunnan had teemed with diverse animals, and at its southernmost edge, the Southern Forest had birthed unique martial arts centered on taming and fighting alongside them. Those who mastered such arts had formed a tribal alliance.
The "beasts" they referred to ranged from swarming insects, rats, and birds to fearsome predators that terrified ordinary folk.
Since beast-tamers dominated, their arts were collectively dubbed Beast Gong, and the tribe itself was known as the Beast Tribe. Most Beast Gong focused on external arts honed for survival in rugged terrain.
"Quiet!"
A towering man bellowed, and the chamber fell instantly silent. Around his neck hung an oiled gray hawk-feather ornament; over his vital spots draped tanned crocodile hide; tiger-skin guards sheathed his wrists and ankles. Where no adornments were, his external art-forged muscles bulged massively.
Beast Gong practitioners typically bore ornaments from one signature beast they handled—the more varieties, the higher their status.
Leading them was the Beast Tribe's chieftain, the Southern Forest Beast King Maeng Geon, who boasted three kinds.
Just as all paths converged to one—like the ten thousand streams returning to the sea—external arts at their pinnacle mimicked internal arts, allowing one to emit energy. Maeng Geon's colossal frame radiated immense aura, making those around him swallow nervously in awe of his power.
In this harsh land, raw martial might was key to survival, and Maeng Geon stood at its apex.
He slowly scanned the room before speaking. "The situation in Yunnan grows chaotic. As you know, the officials have been useless for ages, and these half-baked unorthodox scum keep encroaching on our turf. The Southern Forest has always been our sole domain, but crisis looms now. Sure, the main pests are those gold-hungry, spirit herb-coveting unorthodox raiders invading our lands—but lately, an even greater threat has emerged."
"Octagonal Temple."
The assembly echoed in unison, and Maeng Geon nodded. "Yes, exactly. For reasons unknown, the Octagonal Temple has gone berserk, disrupting the local ecosystem. We've coexisted by ignoring each other, respecting territories. But if it pushes into the Southern Forest—our land—the problem becomes dire."
"Kuhum."
All recalled the Temple's might and grunted uneasily. Southern Forest Beast Tribe folk, dwellers of treacherous wilds, boasted strong poison resistance thanks to their external arts. The mountain-piercing poison mists of the Poison Fog Zone were harmless to them, granting wide roaming grounds.
Their robust physiques let them expand their territory. Many had clashed with the Octagonal Temple in that process, and those survivors now sat as clan heads, their faces grim with memories of its overwhelming power.
Debate erupted.
"The Octagonal Temple is like an imugi on the cusp of ascension. If that monster reaches here, we may have to abandon our homes."
"Let's just fight it head-on!"
"Ridiculous! Has age dulled your memory?"
"What's impossible about it? We've grown stronger—let's charge!"
"It'd be suicide!"
Maeng Geon quietly observed the clan heads' back-and-forth. They shouted like they were furious, but he knew fear of the Temple lurked beneath.
After a moment, he unleashed a gust to cool the heated air. "Enough! You're all right. But I didn't call this meeting just to rehash the crisis."
The clan heads focused intently.
"The Lord of Hao Sect secretly contacted me with a proposal."
"Hao Sect Lord? What's that?"
One clan head, isolated in the Southern Forest and ignorant of worldly affairs, voiced his curiosity. Many shared it, waiting silently for Maeng Geon's answer.
"A massive Central Plains intelligence network. They say it's the top alongside the Beggar Clan. Its leader came to me personally—his skills matched mine."
"Gasp!"
Incredulous stares turned to Maeng Geon. He met them with solemn eyes, silencing the room. It was the gaze Southern Forest warriors used to convey utter sincerity—and they favored straightforward might over schemes, rarely lying.
"He said the head of the Qi Arts House wants the Octagonal Temple's inner core, the Fire Dragon Pill, so he's passing through the Southern Forest to hunt it."
"What?!"
"Insane!"
Chaos reignited at the absurdity from their perspective.
Maeng Geon scowled and roared, "Quiet! Don't interrupt! I'll give time to discuss once I'm done—wait!"
His explosive aura made the clan heads flinch and step back, legs trembling. Unthinkable that someone matched their monstrous chieftain's prowess.
"To recap from the start: the Hao Sect Lord explained our situation, our worries, and a solution. First, the Temple's rampage stems from unorthodox scum."
He continued. "They targeted gold veins hidden in the Poison Fog Zone. To conquer the mists and venomous swarms, they got Dangga's aid. The unorthodox get the gold; Dangga claims rare poison herbs and spirit medicines from the zone. Their reckless destruction shattered the ecosystem's balance where the Temple dwells—triggering its freakouts."
Maeng Geon nodded at their rapt attention. "He knew our Temple dilemma and offered a fix: aid Qi Arts House head Tian Ailang in hunting it, becoming undisputed rulers of the Southern Forest. Then, with his help again, purge Yunnan's unorthodox and expand into fertile mountains. At minimum, lay the foundation. In exchange, become the Qi Arts House's sworn allies."
He crossed his arms. The clan heads furrowed brows, digesting the bombshell.
One ventured cautiously, "Beast King, do you believe those words hold possibility?"
Others nodded agreement, eyes converging. Maeng Geon shrugged. "I don't know. Not yet."
As bewilderment spread, he added, "The Hao Sect Lord said this Tian Ailang outclasses him. And he had zero doubt the man would claim the Temple. That's the caliber. So I'll meet this Qi Arts head myself—verify if he measures up."
"Hoo..."
Admiration rose with the discussions.
* * *
Tranquility. True to the word's meaning of calm and peace, serenity graced Tian Ailang's travels.
Spatters of trouble every few hours or two-to-three days had defined his path, but the last few days were purely peaceful. With no encounters, he delved deeper into poison lessons from Dang Jeong-a and self-checked his cultivation.
He ignored her idle glares.
Today's march matched that calm vibe—until Tian Ailang felt the air turn markedly humid and sweltering. His advanced realm granted cold-and-heat immunity, but the sticky atmosphere still clogged his breaths.
The even damper, hotter Southern Forest and Poison Fog Zone lay ahead, so he practiced regulated breathing in preparation, also drilling Phantom Ghost Steps while walking.
After some time, he sensed massive auras approaching openly from afar. His first thought: Again? Quiet for days, but now more challengers—strong ones, grouped.
Yet as he advanced, they merely flaunted presence, showing no intent to hide or ambush. Soon, they arrayed horizontally ahead, staring their way.
Curious, Tian Ailang closed to visual range. At center loomed a muscle-bound giant decked in beast ornaments, astride a massive brown tiger.
Flanking him were riders on wolves, boars, hawks on shoulders, bears beside, even elephants in the rear.
The tiger rider advanced with overwhelming presence and bellowed, "Are you Tian Ailang, head of the Qi Arts House?!"