Chương 76: Chapter 24

The Yokai village was nothing short of picturesque. Great trees held halls and whole houses whose floors were still living wood, or whose canopies had been grown to form refuges of knotted branches and leaves. Hollows opened in soft, grassy slopes, leading to underground spaces held by roots. If it wasn't for the wall of roots surrounding it, Nenqin wasn't sure he would have been able to spot the village. It was more akin to a part of the forest than something another race carved out of it.

It filled him with admiration and a strange sense of guilt. The inhabitants were the same. Tall, fair and with skin the color of fresh leaves, they were a strange mix between plant and elfin humanoid; they crowded the paths with graceful steps, barely disturbing the grass, or moved with swift movements on the canopy above. Nenqin recognized some of their activities, like sharpening a spear and carrying a basket, but others were foreign to him.

A plant-woman with a waterfall of petals as hair and clothes made out of leaves was singing to a great tree, her voice rising as though she was performing a love song. A burly Yokai covered in bark-armor stood perfectly still while roots danced around him. They weren't the only inhabitants: busy flows of tiny creatures moved between nests dangling from the canopy, some only large for something the size of insects, others swelling to the point that it made him wonder how the tree didn't tip over, roots and all.

Cats with wide grins and two tails walked side by side with brutes with red skin and ebony horns. Chicken-like things hopped awkwardly beside lovely maidens with fox ears and bushy, flowing tails. And even stranger things walked those paths. Nenqin saw a withered goblin with a humped back and a tongue so long he wrapped it around his shoulders like a scarf; a thing he was sure was a paper umbrella, but with a single eye on its outer surface and that hopped on one hairy leg, and more.

He had heard that the Yokai were foreigners, but that was more than he could have imagined. He had never seen creatures like those, not even during the Siege. Stranger still, their Qi wasn't monstrous like that of beastkin or demonic ones. Enigmatic, yes, almost to the point of inscrutability, but not unbalanced nor virulent. And the colors, the sights, the scents! Everywhere the green and brown of the wood, but also red, blue, white, black, all of them gleaming in the foreign cut of clothes and ornaments.

Flowing garments and ample sleeves ruled, burning with floral and arboreal motifs. And then paper fans, umbrellas, elegant pipes, canes ornamented with silver and gold, pearls strung in prayer beads, small diamonds hanging from cords, and bejeweled weapons. Sparks and ribbons of colors exploded without warning above the heads of the crowd, twisting and turning joyfully before fading away. It must have been an everyday occurrence because it barely got any attention.

The scent of garlic, roasted food, medicinal herbs and something clean and fresh and vital filled the air. And overall, spread like a blanket, a golden light that seemed to come in equal parts from the sun peeking through the canopy and to radiate from the air itself, just as much energy as radiance. Nenqin was stunned. When he heard about the Yokai, he had expected half-civilized savages in touch with nature and with little in the way of effective wealth.

That scene alone could match an aristocratic gathering in the Sable Lotus Palace. And it was no palace here, just the street where farmers and craftsmen would expect. And all of this is in danger of being erased by the Founder's wrath...

"First time among the Yokai, mh?" The voice, sounding like gravel and bark ground together, came from beneath. Nenqin turned, and found himself staring at one of the strangest faces he had ever seen. The old man was small and withered, and that was where his similarities to humanity ended. His feet were large and flat and he had six fingers on each hand. Still, the strangest feature was the skull: massive and elongated, it reached halfway down his back as he kept his head tilted to smile at Nenqin.

Nenqin watched him for a moment before deciding he had seen enough not to be shocked by a little old man and his big head. Black Turtle wasn't helpful in that: it kept flitting across his consciousness, jumping from detail to detail like each was the Founder's lost seal.

"It's obvious, isn't it?" He said. Impressed, he watched the village and the crowd.

"The voices didn't do it justice." The old man chuckled, a dry, crackling sound. Nenqin noticed the pipe he kept spinning in his fingers. Wood lacquered black and a golden trim depicting entwined dragons; his uncle wouldn't have rejected it as a gift.

"Eh, you're a polite one." A smile played on his lips, he tamped something black and grumbly into the pipe. His movements were casual, but there was a piercing attention in his little beady eyes that Nenqin didn't miss.

"Most of you cultivator-types are all in shock by now, trying to work out how a bunch of savages doesn't live in mud huts." He looked him up and down.

"You with the Reborn? If so, you got a wrong turn. The recruitment office isn't here." Nenqin registered the information. So the traitor Sect was recruiting. It drove a spike of anger through him. After standing back and doing nothing during the Siege, after rebelling against the Ancestor's rightful authority, now they dared to try and steal members from their mother Sect? An impudence of the highest order. None of those thoughts made it to his face. He kept his expression to a polite shock.

"I was… taking the sights," he said, shifting to a small grimace. The old man chuckled.

"Sure you were. How about this, I'll tell you where the Reborn are if you buy something." Nenqin followed his wave. Merchandise had been laid on an embroidered carpet that would have looked at home in a noble house instead of being laid like a sheet between two roots as it was.

"This…" Nenqin swept the items, not needing to fake his shock. They were all high-quality things, the kind a worker of the outer districts would need a year of salary to buy. He saw delicate hairpins, painted cups, lovingly carved bone knives, and gems carved into dice.

"I don't think I can afford this." The author's narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon. The old man smiled crookedly.

"I think you do." He chuckled, shaking his head.

"And I'd be grateful if you took some of this stuff off my hands. It's all junk to me." Junk? He knew nobles of the Night who would have killed to possess ornaments like those! Haoran's voice echoed in his ear, gruff as always. You start by learning to look, boy. He did so and learned the reason. The items were pretty, even beautiful, but… that was it. They held no special Qi, no accumulated energy from decades of life, nor particular weight left by their creators. They were baubles, artwork.

Cultivation-wise, junk. And then, doesn't everybody wear something like this? The merchant was watching him with a sly smile.

"You can see it, can't you?" He said, puffing a small green cloud from his pipe, grinning, and Nenqin realized he had been challenged.

"We got plenty of stuff like this. May as well give it away for something truly useful." Nenqin fought with the idea for a moment.

"It sounds like there is an interesting story behind this." He watched the items.

"And they are… different." The word he was looking for was cosmopolitan. The objects seemed to come from a dozen different civilizations.

"You don't know about the Yokai?" He looked surprised.

"I thought those Reborn idiots had told half the world by now." He tilted his head back and breathed out a long stream of smoke.

"We come from Spiral Mountain." Nenqin frowned. That sounded like an explanation, but the name was unknown to him. It must have shown because the merchant chuckled in disbelief.

"You have no idea," he paused.

"Or you're pulling my leg. Whichever it is, you buy something and scram, or you just scram." He waved his pipe.

"So get!" Nenqin didn't push it. He bought a hairpin for Yue, and left. The old man still told him where he'd fid the Reborn Night's recruitment office, and he put his words to memory. He was making his way through the crowd when Turtle's presence chimed in his mind. Waste? Nenqin paused, letting a tiny old woman riding a cart wheel as tall as he was pass. I don't think so. Scarce it may be, any information about these Yokai can be useful. How so?

Whatever connection there is between the Yokai and the Reborn Night is our best bet in infiltrating the latter. He watched monkeys wearing caps and clothes chase each other across the canopy. Knowing more about them will only make it easier to see it. And maybe, he would finally be able to understand the source of his bad feeling. It had been stalking him for a while now, a churn in the pit of his stomach. Turtle's presence hummed with understanding. Just be careful. They don't like outsiders here.

That, he could see. The Yokai gave him the cold shoulder, enough to tell him he was unwelcome but not enough to be rude. The few humans he could see, all of them wearing the garbs of rogue cultivators, weren't treated any better. I wonder what happened, he told Turtle while walking. They are supposed to have fought together. Seeing what should have been a bond reduced to that disturbed him more than he cared to admit. Maybe it was an emergency measure, Turtle commented after a moment of thought.

Tenzin said they weren't fond of humans, and only the threat of the demonic ones pushed them to it. Now that it's done with, they have returned to their old positions. That… would be quite ungrateful, would it? Also possible, but… Maybe. Yes, but remember. It's the Yokai who supply the Reborn Night. And Tenzin didn't mention any payment or exchange for it. That's not how allies work. More like conqueror and conquered, Nenqin completed. But that was all conjecture, weren't they?

We need more information, he said, and walked faster. No doubt the Owls had already walked these paths. If he didn't want to be a footnote, he'd have to hurry. He started where every information run began, from the taverns. Thankfully, strange as they were, Yokai weren't so to the point as to not need a good watering hole.

If anything, walking the floors of living wood, watching winged men with lacquered masks drink by inserting their long noses into thin-necked bottles, or headless things pouring wine directly into what was supposed to be their neck, Nenqin thought that they were more advanced in that science than most humans. Nenqin sat, paid and drank. He watched and talked and fished for information. His cover story was that he was a rogue cultivator.

He had come to join the Reborn Night, enticed by organized cultivation, but he got wind of strange happenings and wanted to know how things were around here. He rarely asked directly. Instead, he asked for guides, where he could buy food and necessities, or if the forests around the village were safe for humans. All practical questions, whose answers told him much. It turned out he had chosen well. The locals were cagey toward humans, doubly so toward humans looking to join the Reborn.

They wouldn't answer his more direct questions, like if there was any hostility between them and the Sect and why, clamming up and walking away. But they would reply to the others, and that helped him. As it turned out, the forests were open to humans, but not safe. The villages worked as neutral hubs. The deeper green, where larger, more aggressive Yokai stalked, didn't have the same rules. He could buy food, but only at a massively inflated price, and no, no guide would lead him to the peaks of the Reborn Night.

If he wanted to join, he could march to the nearest recruitment office, fifty li away. It's not war, and it's not an occupation, he said to Turtle. But it may as well be. What has the Sect done to make itself so hated? He had a stroke of luck when he met You Xi, a fellow cultivator looking to enter the Sect as well. He too had no idea what happened"If you ask me," the burly man told him conspiratorially after the wine Nenqin paid for had loosened his tongue.

"It has something to do with their leader. They say the Magistrate got rowdy lately."

"Rowdy?" He grimaced.

"Not nice, if you catch my drift." Nenqin maybe did.

"If you're hungry, do tell them to feed you," a man that seemed woven out of leafy branches told him, and he took that as a signal that the watering holes had exhausted their use for the moment. Next, he walked the markets. Now that he was looking for it, the colorful, noisy crowds felt like they were turning their volume up on purpose. Look, Turtle said as they walked the stands. Plenty of pretty-looking trinkets, but no cultivation aids. Nenqin frowned. That was strange.

The Yokai, bizarre as they were, weren't powerful. Whatever Qi they emanated, he suspected was more an expression of their alien nature than anything deliberate. And still, it was unthinkable that they shouldn't have any aids at all, especially since there were Core Formation elders among them. A requisition? It would explain the hatred, but why? A few Formation Establishment pills won't change a war against the Sect. Nenqin felt he was missing something.

Maybe he wouldn't, if only someone had the decency to talk to him already. Don't get angry, Nen! Smiling a little, he decided to take a break. For the sake of his disguise, he had brought little in the way of Spirit Stones. He still had enough for an overpriced loaf of bread and some water. Sitting in a defiled nook, so that Turtle could emerge without risk of arousing questions, Nenqin broke the little piece. It was very well-made, like everything made by the Yokai seemed to be, and it wafted with a clear scent.

Oooooh, Turtle said, floating close. It caught itself. I mean, very interesting, yes. It lifted its chin with wise disdain. Another clue in our research into the identity of the Yokai. Nenqin smiled.

"And a very important one," he said, offering it the bigger piece. They were about to begin eating when a cry rang out from a nearby thicket. Nenqin jumped to his feet. He could have recognized it anywhere. Children's cries couldn't be mistaken. Exchanging a nod with Turtle, he dashed for the thicket.