Chapter 717: A Stone Stirs Up a Thousand Waves

Chapter 717: A Single Stone Stirs a Thousand Ripples

At noon, a sudden wail arose within the palace.

Ye Wuzong, the newly minted tenth on the Heavenly Ranking, who had shone brilliantly in the Dragon-Slaying Battle and had his face swollen like a pig’s from being slapped, passed away in the palace guest courtyard.

Xiang Simeng, the Spirit Clan queen whom the Thief Saint had biasedly recognized as his true disciple—though he had only truly taught her his arts for a month or two—wept with pear blossoms in the rain, “vomiting three pints of blood and fainting several times.”

She then beat up all the surrounding treacherous guards, scolding them for failing to protect her master, and ordered the swift preparation of white banners, white garments, and other funeral items. The commotion instantly reached the Holy Mountain and spread throughout the entire Spirit Clan.

The spontaneous spread of such news was faster than the orders to investigate anomalies elsewhere. Many tribal villages hadn’t even received the investigation orders before learning that the queen’s master had died.

The Spirit Clan felt no affection for the Thief Saint; in fact, they secretly cheered his death. Only with him gone could the clan claim the legal right to control the Divine Axe; otherwise, it had always belonged to the old man, who claimed, “Sisi, you can’t control it; let Master keep it safe for you.” In truth, if he hadn’t meddled, the Spirit Clan could have found a way to control the axe themselves.

In the eyes of the Spirit Clan, the old man never intended to give up the axe; he was simply taking refuge after being injured.

Taking refuge was fine, but he lacked the self-awareness of a refugee, acting arrogant and domineering like a father. The queen sent the best Spirit Clan witch doctors to treat him, but he not only refused but also cursed, “Rubbish,” “What the hell is this?” and “You want me to eat bugs?” He only accepted medicines he recognized, infuriating the witch doctors until their beards trembled.

We’re all old men, but are you the only one who’s old? If you don’t die, who will? Die soon, so we can set off firecrackers.

Now he was truly dead, placed in a fine coffin in the holy hall, beside his beloved Divine Axe, the symbol of his life’s greatest achievement. The queen hadn’t even eaten lunch; she sat in mourning clothes, sobbing and staring blankly by the coffin.

One had to admit, the mourning attire was truly beautiful…

The tribal chieftains who came to pay respects were all familiar with their queen, yet they couldn’t help stealing glances. At this moment, the queen had lost her usual mischievousness and wild whims, showing rare fragility and intellect. They recalled that in the Central Plains, Tang Wanzhuang was praised as the most beautiful woman under heaven—was it because of this very temperament? Ah, yes… the queen had been studious these past months, much more refined…

But no matter how beautiful, she was not for others to covet. She was the Holy Envoy’s exclusive possession; in theory, her rule was to govern the tribe on behalf of the Ancestral God. To defile her was to defile the divine.

Yet some also thought: the so-called Holy Envoy was off fighting in distant lands, without any omnipresent divine presence. Was he truly a Holy Envoy? Many discerning minds knew he was not; the vision of the Spirit of Ten Thousand Beasts at the queen’s coronation was likely an illusion, not real.

Zhao Changhe could not represent the Ancestral God, nor could the queen.

Once that was clear, Sisi’s authority diminished greatly. As a young woman without her own clan’s support, her standing within the tribe was weak.

Her core supporters came from two groups: first, the young people who wanted to escape the confines of the Spirit Clan and yearn for the outside world; second, the Xia people who had been sheltered and taken in. The former were often restrained by their elders’ commands, unable to speak loudly under the traditional system, while the latter, having healed their wounds and forgotten the pain, had long forgotten how miserably they were once taken in and had begun to vie for power and personal gain…

So, could they take advantage of the so-called Holy Envoy’s absence to do something…

Stirring up the slogan “The Divine Axe is fated for us” was actually a way to challenge the queen’s authority, testing whether she would prioritize the tribe or suppress it for the old man. As it turned out, she chose to respect the old man, stirring discontent among many neutrals.

The old man was on the Heavenly Ranking, so no one dared to speak out, but now he was dead.

A good death indeed…

As many chieftains went to pay respects, they secretly began to collude, with undercurrents surging.

Zhao Changhe, who had been secretly watching all the changes with cold eyes, expanded his Overlooking Eye to its fullest, covering the entire Holy Mountain’s surroundings. Suddenly, he noticed someone heading toward the ancestral tomb where he had once lived in seclusion.

Zhao Changhe’s heart stirred. What was there? Not just a grave mound. When he had lived in seclusion and practiced, he found that place offered deeper insights. Later, Sisi must have arranged for the tribe’s strong warriors to take turns receiving the Ancestral God’s inheritance nearby, with strict defenses stationed there.

In other words, aside from the Holy Mountain, that place might now hold the strongest martial power within the Spirit Clan.

And… once his thoughts turned to the grave mound, he immediately recalled the inexplicably chilling climate—could it be related to yin corpses?

Who would have thought that the Thief Saint’s attempt to fish for axe thieves would reel in other clues… Zhao Changhe took one last look at Sisi, weighed his options, and then moved his form, heading first to the grave mountain.

That was likely where the real drama lay.

…

At that time, in Dali.

Yue Hongling had observed the movements of Pan Wan, Dao Qingfeng, and other factions, and initially saw nothing wrong. The whole of Dali felt no particular strangeness.

Yet instinctively, she sensed something was off. Her clear sword heart told her that extreme danger and evil lurked here. The constant tension in her heart was a rare warning in all her years of wandering the martial world.

So she didn’t leave to find Zhao Changhe but continued to patrol the area, searching for the source of her unease.

Just as she was getting nowhere, eating rice noodles at a shop outside the White Miao village, a horseman came galloping in haste, seemingly bearing urgent news. Yue Hongling quickly dropped her noodles and followed the man into the White Miao stronghold.

The White Miao chieftain Dao Qingfeng was also eating. The man rushed in, laughing from afar: “Still in the mood to eat?”

Dao Qingfeng was startled, glanced around, dismissed his subordinates, and lowered his voice: “What are you doing, meeting me so openly?”

“What does it matter?” The man laughed. “The Thief Saint Ye Wuzong died half an hour ago in the Spirit Clan’s secret realm. The news is spreading like wildfire. I came specially to tell you.”

Dao Qingfeng paused, not immediately grasping the significance: “Does his death matter so much? He was just a wounded man; even if he had some deterrent power, no one feared only him.”

“What we fear is not him, but his ability to control the Divine Axe of Eternal Life. The divine thunder is a great counter to our plans. Once he’s dead and no one controls the axe, the opportunity arises.”

“How can no one control it? Xiang Simeng can do it herself.”

“Because there will be those unwilling to let her keep control. At this very moment, the Spirit Clan is bound to be in internal strife. This is a perfect opportunity—internal chaos, external coordination… Those self-serving fools won’t realize that their petty desires will cause the Miao lands to change hands in a single day, and the entire Spirit Clan will become our slaves.”

Dao Qingfeng’s expression finally shifted: “Are you sure the Spirit Clan will be torn by conflict rather than immediately seizing control of the Divine Axe?”

“Certain.” The man urged, “The window is only a few hours. If Xiang Simeng is strong enough to suppress all opposition and claim the axe quickly, we’ll be too late. Seize the moment—now!”

Dao Qingfeng hesitated: “Isn’t this a bit sudden…”

“Everything is sudden; Xiang Simeng’s master’s death is sudden too. We’ve been plotting for so long, this isn’t hasty. Xiang Simeng, facing internal and external changes at once, is the truly hasty one.” The man said, “I know you suspect a trap, but the corpse is really lying in the coffin. Even if there is some trap, we’d have to act sooner or later. We can’t wait forever—when else is the right time?”

Dao Qingfeng finally stood and paced a few steps: “Then it’s now!”

The White Miao elite suddenly mobilized, heading not toward Taoyuan Town but toward… the tomb west of Dali, the grave of the Black Miao king killed years ago by Xia Longyuan.

Ever since Lei Zhentang’s failure, the Black Miao had declined and submitted to other strong tribes. The main branch was conquered and absorbed by their sworn enemy, the White Miao. Over the past few months, Dao Qingfeng had gradually excavated the Black Miao king’s tomb, selling many treasures, but the corpse remained.

No one knew why Dao Qingfeng didn’t destroy the corpse of the Black Miao king he so deeply hated, but now Yue Hongling seemed to understand.