Chapter 89: The Tear Mermaid
Su Bufan pressed tightly against his left shoulder, blood streaming incessantly through the gaps between his fingers, betraying his whereabouts to the Golden Carp Demon that pursued him relentlessly.
The bleeding would not stop.
That golden-scaled spear possessed a strange power; no matter how hard Su Bufan tried to staunch the wound it had pierced, all his efforts were futile.
“They’re not on this mountain... then they must be at the Tears of Jiao Hill.”
Su Bufan looked up at the pitch-black depths of the sea. The brown irises in his eyes slowly turned crimson, dragon scales spreading faintly across his pale cheeks. The blue tassel crown he once wore had vanished, lost somewhere along his flight.
Such ornaments were but burdens when fleeing for one’s life.
“Let’s hope those few humans cause some disturbance in the Dragon Palace of the Vast Sea.”
Su Bufan glanced back at the mountain receding behind him, yet a golden light pursued him without respite.
He reached with his other hand to touch the brilliant red stone on the jade dragon-patterned belt at his waist. This time, the red stone did not blaze with radiant light—it emitted only a faint crimson glow.
Dragon patterns emerged.
Su Bufan’s swimming speed abruptly increased, and the golden light behind him gradually dulled, falling farther and farther away.
The Tears of Jiao Hill.
Pearls, which should have shone with dazzling, iridescent brilliance, were veiled in a pale blood-red haze. Exquisite carpets lay upon the gentle slopes, strewn with the bodies of Jiao people.
Their corpses were piled into a small mountain.
“Leave a few Jiao alive. The carpets and silks they produce are superb, especially this dragon gauze that stays dry underwater. If thrown into the Immortal Market, it would fetch a handsome price.”
A man with delicate features, clad in autumn-colored robes, sat casually atop a Jiao corpse, stroking the dragon gauze in his palm and speaking to someone nearby.
A cold flash.
Another Jiao fell dead.
“The Cangcanghai Ship cannot cross over, hindered by the winds and waves. Are you certain we can return with these troublesome Jiao tagging along?”
A kindly-faced Daoist in pale blue and white robes wiped the blood from his sword blade, gazing down at the few trembling, fearful Jiao huddled nearby. Their tears fell as pearls onto the ground, stained with their companions’ blood.
“Isn’t there that renowned formation master from Mount Qingzhou, the so-called State of Ten Thousand Mountains? Ask her if her formations can carry a few more Jiao with us.”
The delicate-featured man glanced at the woman standing high atop the Tears of Jiao Hill in a crimson crane robe.
Behind her stood a monk in brown robes, holding a demon-subduing staff, one hand placed calmly before him, eyes closed to the scene.
“The oil from their bodies can be refined into everlasting lamps—those, too, could be sold at the Immortal Market.”
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The Daoist in blue and white robes deftly twirled his sword, and another Jiao corpse fell. His benevolent eyes turned toward an angry Jiao rushing at him, ignited by the slaughter.
A cold flash.
The sword pierced the junction of the Jiao’s fish tail and human torso.
His sword’s speed was imperceptible; it seemed as if the Jiao threw themselves onto the blade, which slid easily into their navel.
The delicate-featured man tossed the dragon gauze to the Daoist, then casually crushed a few water silkworms darting among the corpses, grabbing another sheet of dragon gauze from a nearby rack.
The Daoist received the dragon gauze, glanced at the cowering Jiao, and gently wiped the blood from his sword tip.
“What are they waiting for?” the delicate-featured man asked, finger rolling the dragon gauze as he lifted his gaze toward the two figures atop the hill.
“They’re waiting for that fellow.”
The Daoist looked at the few remaining Jiao, pulled a talisman from his robe, and tossed it lightly toward the center of the group. Though it seemed slow, it reached them in an instant.
Flames erupted.
Jiao screams and wails rang out.
“Using a Southern Bright Fire talisman here is a waste. If only I could keep them alive, I’d breed new varieties for my pets at home.”
The delicate-featured man lamented as flames flared in the deep sea. The Jiao rolled on the ground, unable to extinguish even a flicker of the fire, dying in agony amid cries and screams.
“I have plenty of such talismans.”
The Daoist took a small celadon bottle from his waist, collecting the streaming Jiao oil from the burnt corpses. Though the bottle seemed tiny, he filled it for ages without it ever appearing full.
“These Jiao can only live outside the Southern Sea. If you take them back to your place, they’ll all die in days, weeks at most. That’s why the dragon gauze and everlasting lamps at the Immortal Market are so expensive—Jiao are rare and hard to keep alive.”
He continued pouring the streaming Jiao oil into the bottle.
“Finally, he’s here.”
The delicate-featured man looked up at a faint red glow in the distance atop the Tears of Jiao Hill.
The woman in the crimson crane robe also lifted her gaze, watching the dim red light rushing toward them through the deep sea. Her pupils were an eerie, deep green—not the color of any human.
The monk behind her opened his eyes, raising his demon-subduing staff.
“What have you all done?!”
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As Su Bufan approached the Tears of Jiao Hill, he stopped abruptly, clutching his bleeding shoulder, shocked by the sight of the Jiao corpses scattered across the hill.
“Don’t let him bleed too much—the formation needs his blood as its spirit.”
The woman in the crimson crane robe gazed indifferently at Su Bufan floating in the sea. Her deep green eyes were devoid of human emotion, like a puppet without a soul.
“You could’ve said so sooner.”
The delicate-featured man sighed in resignation from his perch atop a Jiao corpse.
Sensing the danger, Su Bufan tried to reach for the brilliant red stone on his jade dragon-patterned belt, but a copper coin with feathered wings suddenly struck the belt.
The belt fell away.
“My eyes didn’t deceive me; this belt is indeed a magical artifact.”
Before he could register his shock, the delicate-featured man’s laughing voice sounded at his ear, the belt already in his grasp.
“Don’t struggle. Didn’t we cooperate pleasantly before?”
The man smiled gently at Su Bufan. The warmth in his smile now seemed utterly false to Su Bufan, who spat forth a jet of flame from his mouth.
“Oh? The Second True Fire of the Southern Sea Red Dragon—interesting.”
The delicate-featured man showed no alarm as the flame surged toward him. He gently raised the dragon-patterned belt, and the fire was wholly absorbed by the red stone at its center.
The woman in crimson crane robes flicked her sleeve, sending a thin white thread like spider silk shooting into the wound on Su Bufan’s shoulder.
The thread instantly turned red.
The Jiao corpses atop the Tears of Jiao Hill began to shrivel grotesquely. Blood streamed together into rivulets, winding across the hill to form intricate patterns of the formation.
The woman flicked her sleeve again, and a slender red thread darted toward the center of the bloody formation. Su Bufan’s face and body visibly aged.
Above the formation, a faint phantom of a red dragon hovered.
The delicate-featured man suddenly turned his gaze.
A furious dragon roar echoed from the depths of the sea. With that thunderous cry, waves of fire swept through the water, surging toward the Tears of Jiao Hill.
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