Chapter Twenty-One: The Enemy’s Encampment

This lonely island at sea stretched seventy or eighty miles in length, making it quite vast, its hills and forests incredibly dense. Barely a mile or two in, all traces of human activity vanished into the shadows of the foliage.

For Ye Mo to search every corner of the island alone, hoping to find all the martial artists' camps, was clearly impossible. He could only rely on luck and observe the footprints left in the muddy earth and rotting leaves, deducing whether large numbers of martial artists frequented the nearby woods.

He had spent over an hour searching through the forest, nearly cutting across half the island. After discovering some scattered footprints, he finally caught sight of another temporary camp belonging to a group of martial artists.

Within the camp ahead, more than a dozen martial artists clad in luxurious clothes gathered around a bonfire, roasting snake meat.

A well-dressed young man wrinkled his nose at the pungent smell. Next to him stood a burly middle-aged martial artist, about forty years old, with a square jaw and thick, sword-like brows that lent his face an air of authority. He carried a sharp sword on his back and appeared taciturn and reserved.

Two elderly men, both in their fifties or sixties and dressed in fine robes, were using wooden forks to roast the meat. Among the others were a tall, bearded man with a bristling jaw and a lean martial artist with a bandaged, severed wrist, all assisting in the cooking.

Ye Mo crept to within several dozen yards of the camp, shielded by dense shrubs.

“So, it’s Young Lord Zheng! It’s them!” He quickly recognized several familiar faces, and a cold glint flashed in his eyes.

Among these martial artists were three who had previously tried to rob his medicinal herbs, only to flee in terror from the young demon crab. The well-dressed young man, the bearded brute, and the lean, one-armed man.

Ye Mo had not made enemies with any other martial artists on this island. Only Zheng Yiqing—Young Lord Zheng—and his group had tried to rob him as he gathered herbs, a grudge Ye Mo remembered well. Should the opportunity arise, he would certainly settle the score.

“That Young Lord Zheng must be their leader,” Ye Mo thought, moving silently to a spot beneath an ancient tree outside the camp, carefully concealed by the thick vegetation.

He sensed a dangerous aura from the burly middle-aged martial artist. The man’s skills, Ye Mo feared, were formidable.

“Fortunately, this man wasn’t with Young Lord Zheng last time. Otherwise, my life would’ve hung in the balance!”

As for the two elderly men, one had the look of a strategist—drooping brows, a pair of rat-like whiskers, and a perpetual, chilling sneer on his face. The other, dressed as a steward, had kindly features and prominent temples, his inner strength evidently profound.

The remaining martial artists seemed weaker and posed little threat to Ye Mo, so he paid them little attention.

“Steward Cao, this wretched island! There isn’t even salt or oil for our meat. I cannot bear another day here! We must find a way to leave at once!” Zheng Yiqing complained irritably.

He sat before the bonfire, holding a skewer of snake meat, but the lack of seasoning made it impossible to stomach. Compared to his life of luxury at the marquis’s estate, even the hardships aboard ship paled in comparison to this misery.

“Young master, please endure for a few more days. We’ll build a boat, and once it’s ready, we can set off to continue our search for the Immortal Village at sea.” Steward Cao replied kindly, then turned to the other elder. “Strategist Hou, how soon can we have a boat?”

“Building a boat is no simple task! Without shipwrights or a proper dock, we can’t construct even the simplest vessel. With our numbers, we might manage a large raft at best. There is spiritwood on this island; we can cut some down, which would resist the crashing waves better. But more than the craft itself, I worry about the sea monsters. We’ve already discovered a juvenile demon crab here—there may be more to come!”

Strategist Hou spoke in a cold tone. “We have Zheng State’s foremost expert, He An, at the peak of the ninth body refinement layer—one of the strongest martial artists among the shipwrecked. Steward Cao and I are both advanced martial cultivators as well. Along with the young lord and seven or eight others, our combined strength might just suffice to fight a low-tier sea monster. How long we can last on this island, however, is uncertain.”

The martial artists in the camp looked grim at his words.

Strategist Hou was renowned for his intelligence and experience, his judgments rarely mistaken. Along with Steward Cao, he had accompanied Young Lord Zheng to the East Sea in search of immortals. If he felt uneasy, their prospects were indeed dire.

Ye Mo, though holding a grudge, dared not approach too closely, so he could not make out their conversation from a distance.

He paid little mind to Zheng Yiqing, the pampered scion, but with so many experts in their group, he was no match for them as things stood.

“It seems I must be more cautious from now on. Their camp’s palisade is neatly built from spiritwood, with dense grain—ordinary sea monsters won’t easily breach their defenses. They are bound to be my most formidable enemies on this island,” Ye Mo thought, clenching his fists at the sense of imminent danger.

“It’s getting late. I’d best hurry back to our camp. I wonder how the construction of the wooden tower is going? Once I return, I must reinforce our defenses and focus on body tempering to improve my cultivation.”

With dusk falling, Ye Mo quietly slipped away from their camp and hurried toward his own cave refuge.

Retracing his steps, an hour later Ye Mo could see from afar that two tall wooden towers, each about twenty or thirty feet high, now stood behind the spiritwood palisade of their cave camp. The undergrowth and trees within several dozen yards of the camp had also been cleared, opening the field of view.

A figure stood atop one of the towers, keeping watch—it was Yang You.

Yang You, spotting Ye Mo, waved and called down to Wang Hu, “Brother Ye is back! Brother Hu, open the gate!”

Wang Hu immediately complied, letting Ye Mo in.

Besides Yang You, who was on watch, Mo Ling and Wang Hu were busy crafting spiritwood weapons in preparation for any sea monsters that might appear. Over twenty spiritwood spears had already been made.

Night slowly descended, enveloping the entire island.

Inside the cave camp, a roaring fire was lit to ward off the chill and darkness.

Ye Mo recounted his scouting that afternoon to the others, ensuring they understood the martial groups on the island and instilling a sense of urgency—for on this island, laxity meant death.

One thing pleased Ye Mo: Wang Hu and Yang You’s injuries had healed well.

Mo Ling, meanwhile, had successfully advanced to the sixth level of body refinement during her afternoon training. Her practice of the Feather Spirit Sword Art was also progressing well; she was now working on the middle volume.

The Feather Spirit Sword Art was a high-level martial skill, reserved for the royal women of Donglai. The introductory volume, “Feather Spirit Strike,” emphasized light and elusive swordplay, making it impossible for enemies to predict—thirty-seven forms in all. The middle volume, “Phantasmal Spirit Strike,” incorporated intricate footwork, producing afterimages that blurred truth and illusion, delivering fatal blows at the perfect moment. The final volume, “Thousand Spirit Strike,” was a devastating area attack, sending out a thousand sword shadows in one sweep, their shifting reality and power overwhelming.

Legend held that this art was left by an ancestor’s first wife, herself a cultivator in the Qi Refining stage. The “Thousand Spirit Strike,” it was said, could be cultivated into the “Ten Thousand Spirit Strike,” whose power was tenfold greater.

Of course, the more powerful the art, the harder it was to master.

The true essence of the Feather Spirit Sword Art lay not in brute force but in its ever-changing, elusive swordplay. It suited women with less physical strength; though its raw power was lacking, its agility could rival any martial artist of similar rank.

Compared to the profound intricacy of its moves, Ye Mo’s own Wave-Cutting Technique seemed trivial indeed.

Such was the gulf between commoners and scions of noble families.

Still, in a real fight to the death, Ye Mo only needed a single strike. His technique had reached a level of mastery that turned the ordinary into the miraculous, far surpassing Mo Ling’s skillful forms.

In terms of will and determination, Mo Ling, raised in privilege, could never compare to Ye Mo, who had tasted the bitterness and warmth of the world since childhood.

Ye Mo fed more dry branches into the fire, the flames illuminating the camp for dozens of feet. Beyond this circle, darkness reigned—filled with lurking dangers.

“By the way, I used the coagulated jade and black mountain root you gathered to prepare the Black Jade Bone Mending Paste this afternoon,” Mo Ling remarked with a smile.

“You’ve already made the Black Jade Bone Mending Paste?” Ye Mo was surprised.

This ninth-grade salve was a legendary remedy for injuries. Even severed limbs could be reattached if treated in time.

“Yes, but the herbal ingredients were limited. Using all the coagulated jade and black mountain root, I managed to make only four portions,” Mo Ling replied, a hint of regret in her voice.

“To craft four doses from such precious herbs is already an achievement. Each portion is invaluable. With this salve, our chances of survival on this island have improved. Even if we suffer serious wounds, we can be treated,” Ye Mo said, smiling.

The four of them quickly ate some roasted wild rabbit and a few foraged fruits to restore their strength, then returned to work—for the night was still young and there was much to do.

Mo Ling and Wang Hu continued making spiritwood spears. These spears, thrown with force, could be retrieved and reused, but in battle, they would not have the luxury to gather them, so the more, the better.

Ye Mo joined in, since he would need ten spears tomorrow to trade with the poison master for antidotes. With only twenty-odd spears ready, they’d soon be gone.

The great tide at month’s end would bring waves of ordinary and demonic sea beasts. They needed to strike hard before the creatures reached the palisade, to ease the pressure on their defenses.

They had to rush to craft more spears in the coming days, lest they be caught unprepared.

Yang You, meanwhile, kept watch from the wooden tower, scanning the area around the camp for approaching sea beasts or martial artists.