Chapter Eight: Slaying Immortals and Soaring Aloft

The sinister man, his shock fading, let out a scornful snort. So the other wasn’t dead yet, but was grievously wounded and on the verge of death—was this his final desperate struggle? In the blink of an eye, Qi, despite his injuries, summoned every ounce of strength from his battered body, disregarding the damage to his bones and muscles. He unleashed a force three times greater than his peak, a tremendous might exceeding ten thousand pounds, crashing down upon the fully defended tortoiseshell shield with a thunderous roar.

A crack appeared instantly in the tortoiseshell, sending it hurtling away into the distance. The sinister man himself was likewise sent flying, but managed a somersault in midair and landed firmly on his feet. Exhausted, Qi collapsed to the ground, gasping for breath. Even with his extraordinary self-control, this brutal battle had nearly drained him of all his energy. Especially after that final blow, his right arm’s bones were shattered, muscles and tendons torn—rendering it useless for now. Even for him, it would take several hours to mend his injuries.

“Ha ha ha! In the end, mortals are but mortals. How can you hope to oppose a cultivator? I’ll make you suffer a fate worse than death!” The sinister man’s wild laughter had barely fallen when three dim crimson rays shot from behind him in the shape of a triangle, piercing through his brain, heart, and right chest, finally pinning him to a tree—three indistinguishable throwing knives.

Sunlight filtered into the chaotic depths of the mountain. One man lay on the ground, one stood; the one lying lived, the one standing was dead. It was the first time Qi had slain an immortal, though only a newly initiated one. The three throwing knives were riddled with holes, their surfaces battered. The ice needles had been too sharp; the knives had been easily pierced, though their altered trajectories had played a part. During that earlier flourish of his sleeve, nine knives were thrown—too quick for the enemy to notice.

After colliding and redirecting midair, three knives had circled back for the lethal strike that decided the outcome. “Ha ha ha! So what if you’re immortal? In the end, it’s me, Qi, who has the last laugh!” Qi was elated, perhaps from surviving, perhaps from orchestrating the death of an immortal as a mere mortal—perhaps both. He wasn’t sure, only that he was happy.

Rustling came from the forest—the sound of leaves brushing together. Qi listened intently, then smiled knowingly and closed his eyes to recover his strength and heal his wounds.

The black cat, hidden in the shadows, had been watching the explosions and flashes, the rain of ice needles, the interlacing red glows—like witnessing a 3D fantasy epic. After the final bursts of laughter faded and silence returned, she hesitated a few moments longer before cautiously making her way to the battlefield.

What met her eyes were trees, either pockmarked or toppled, several large craters, and two men lying on the ground—one face up, one face down. She immediately recognized the face-up youth: it was Qi, his chest still rising and falling, a flush on his face—clearly alive. The other, face down, had a gaping wound in the back of his head, lying in a pool of blood, unmistakably dead.

She let out a small sigh of relief and trotted over to help Qi up. At that moment, he opened his eyes and smiled. “Hey, it’s good to see you again.”

The black cat froze for a second, then her face flushed bright red. “Humph! Young man, I’ve witnessed your efforts. Serve me well, and I’ll grant you great rewards. Also—welcome back.”

Qi smiled at her but didn’t tease further. With a burst of energy, he stood upright. Moving his body, he found his strength partially restored, though his right arm remained injured. He had stood up to collect his spoils; he remembered that immortal had many treasures, especially the tortoiseshell shield and that gray-black pouch.

The black cat watched in a daze as Qi searched the corpse thoroughly, then retrieved ten battered throwing knives, a sword, and—a tortoiseshell?

“Come on, let’s get out of here. Whether it’s another, stronger immortal behind him or a wild beast, either would be a big problem.” With his barely recovered strength, Qi led the black cat away, changing direction to continue their escape.

After another day and night of travel, Qi, with the black cat on his back, finally emerged from the forest onto the main road. He didn’t head for any town, but after another day’s journey, he found a secluded spot, dug a hole, and rested well at last. The past few days, they’d been too anxious to sleep properly, but now they could finally relax.

They slept soundly for five hours. When Qi awoke, he stretched energetically—his right arm fully healed, his whole body back to its peak. The black cat was still dozing nearby. Smiling, Qi began to inspect his loot, something he’d had no time for during their flight.

What intrigued him most was the gray-black pouch. Both the old man and the sinister immortal had used it with a mere tap to produce all manner of items. He’d read about such things—storage pouches, used by immortals to store vast quantities in a small sack.

Following the instructions he’d read, he focused his mind on the pouch and indeed saw a space about ten feet across, like a portable closet—light and convenient. Inside were bottles, jars, all kinds of odds and ends, several jade slips, and talismans. Qi’s lips curled in rare delight.

He tried pouring some internal energy into it and withdrew a few items, but, unsure of their use, put them back. He examined the other spoils one by one. The tortoiseshell shield, though cracked, remained incredibly sturdy. The flying sword was unscathed, its cold gleam sharp enough to slice stone like mud—yet even it could not pierce the tortoiseshell’s defense.

The last item was a greenish pouch, which contained a small green cat and a black egg with white markings. Though surprised, Qi left them alone—who knew if the seemingly harmless kitten wasn’t as strong as the great brown bear? Releasing it could spell trouble.

He set aside the green pouch, put all the other items into the storage pouch, and fastened the two light pouches to his waist. No more the cumbersome packs of the past—he felt unburdened and free.

Glancing at the black cat, still sweetly asleep, he rose to prepare breakfast, gathering ingredients from the surroundings and fetching some water.

Before long, the aroma roused the black cat, who rubbed her bleary eyes and wandered out of the stone cave.

“You woke at just the right time—breakfast is ready, and there’s water by the side for you to wash up.” Qi gave her a rare, hearty smile.

The black cat felt her drowsy eyes dazzled by his bright smile and had to close them again. “What’s got you in such a good mood today? Even this morning’s offering is much more lavish than usual.” She composed herself and, adopting a haughty pose to hide her flushed cheeks, asked.

“After surviving such a brush with death, I have to treat myself. Besides, the weather’s wonderful—spring breeze on the face, sunlight everywhere. Of course I’m in a good mood.” Qi busied himself with breakfast, smiling.

“So, what are you planning next?” the black cat asked after washing up, eating breakfast as she spoke.

“I’ll head home to pack a few things, then accompany you to search for clues, I suppose?” Qi caught her meaning and replied.

“No hurry for now. Take care of your own matters first. I’ll treat this as a trip—though I’ve never really traveled far before, let alone flown abroad. Now, in this strange—” The black cat nearly let slip more than she should have.

“Flying chicken? Is that a kind of bird? Do people in your country all travel abroad on birds? Amazing! I’ve never known what it’s like to fly in the sky. The earth feels a bit cramped—sky is the true expanse.” Qi fired off several questions, gazing longingly into the distance. He’d always envied the old man, who could ride his sword across the clouds.

“Pfft!” The black cat stifled her laughter. “An airplane is... a kind of machine, like a complex contraption. With human ingenuity as its hands and the longing for the sky as its drive, humans observed birds to learn flight, and after generations of effort, finally created their own wings. The airplane is the crystallization of human wisdom, allowing mortals to ascend the skies. That’s the gist of it—do you understand?”

Qi seemed inspired. “Longing for the sky, observing birds, creating wings, creating wings...” He ran out, caught a small bird, and began to study how its wings moved in flight.

The black cat watched, amused. “You’re not thinking you can invent an airplane just by watching a bird, are you? Take my advice—given this country’s conditions, you’d never manage it in your lifetime.”

Seeing he ignored her, still observing and pondering the bird, she shook her head and continued, “If you want to fly, apart from airplanes, you could raise a giant bird, or cultivate like those immortals and learn to ride a sword. That’s more realistic than studying bird wings. Unless you plan to grow wings yourself.”

And then the gods played a joke—Qi, deep in thought, suddenly felt his back swell. His clothes burst, and out unfolded a pair of wings ten feet across.

“What... what is this?” The black cat’s jaw dropped in disbelief; her worldview was in tatters. If merely watching birds could make people grow wings, why would humanity have spent generations and fortunes inventing airplanes?

Qi, unaffected by her shock, merely frowned at the unfamiliar wings. Experimentally, he flapped them a few times, stirring up a fierce wind that snapped the black cat out of her stupor. Before she could speak, Qi’s body began to rise, slowly ascending as his wings beat more forcefully.

“He’s really flying,” the black cat murmured in a daze.

“I’m really flying! Ha ha ha, I’m really flying! This feels wonderful!” Qi soared through the sky, laughing, performing loops and rolls, growing more adept with every maneuver.

Beneath the heavens, another had taken flight—one destined to soar higher than any who came after.

After some time, he descended, landing lightly on his toes. As soon as he touched the ground, the wings shrank away, disappearing without a trace, leaving his back as smooth as before—as if the wings had been drawn back into his body.