The ceaseless northwest wind was the defining feature of this desert region in western Longyuan.
Here, there were only two seasons — summer and winter — and the northwest wind blew strongest in winter, reaching its absolute peak just after the Spring Festival each year.
The day of Xijing’s royal sand-worship ceremony always fell on the day when this northwest wind blew at its fiercest.
No matter where you stood in Xijing’s desert, you could feel the sheer force of that wind — yet, strangely, at the foot of Mingsha Mountain in Akbachu itself, you could barely feel any wind at all. Instead, you would hear the mountain’s mysterious, singing sands.
Facing into the northwest wind, the Gu Nanny slowly closed her eyes, feeling — feeling the power of the wind, feeling its scent.
Behind her, all her guards waited in silence. They had no idea why the Gu Nanny had chosen to stop here — after all, they’d been tracking the gu creature by following the multicolored venomous lizard the whole way.
By rights, they shouldn’t have lost the trail.
No one knew exactly what the Gu Nanny was doing. She stood on the ridge, facing into the wind blowing from the direction of Akbachu, for a full two hours straight.
Only as the sun set did she slowly open her eyes.
She extended her arm, and the multicolored venomous lizard obediently crawled out from her sleeve, up her arm, and into her palm — its movements mirroring hers exactly.
It raised its head, facing into the northwest wind, its tongue still, its nostrils flaring open and shut as if sniffing at something.
From start to finish, its tail showed no reaction at all, hanging limp behind it.
This time, the Gu Nanny didn’t rush it.
The multicolored lizard sniffed for a long while before finally turning back to look at her, shaking its head.
“Alright. Not your fault,” the Gu Nanny said helplessly. Even the multicolored lizard, tracking him this far, couldn’t find the gu creature now.
They were simply too close to Akbachu.
The northwest wind here carried all manner of medicinal-poison scents — faint, so faint that ordinary people couldn’t detect them at all. But the multicolored lizard relied precisely on sniffing out the medicinal-poison scent clinging to her gu creature’s body to track him — and here, even its keen sense of smell had finally failed.
“That wretched boy must be nearby!” the Gu Nanny said bitterly. If she hadn’t wasted a whole day treating the poison, she wouldn’t have let her gu creature escape so easily.
He truly was clever, knowing to flee somewhere like this.
The thing the Gu Nanny regretted most was that, when raising him as a child, she’d never kept anything from him — she’d allowed him to read every secret scripture and historical record of the Great Barbarian Shaman Cult without restriction.
Who could have known this wretched boy would show such talent from such a young age, especially for ancient scripts?
If he hadn’t been someone immune to all poisons, if he hadn’t been an orphan of the isolated island, the Gu Nanny thought, she would have truly treated him as her own son.
But he was, precisely, immune to all poisons.
Now that she’d lost his trail, what was she to do?
“Grand Priestess, Akbachu is just ahead. Should we keep searching, or turn back?” a guard asked timidly. They’d been away from the Xiongnu homeland for months now, and Prince Minhan had already retreated his forces to the northern frontier.
If the Great King himself arrived and found the Grand Priestess missing, they’d be the first heads to roll.
“Not searching…”
Hearing this, everyone was overjoyed, but she immediately continued, “But not turning back either.”
“This one needs to think of a way to draw him out,” the Gu Nanny murmured to herself, a sinister curve rising at the corner of her mouth.
She was already advanced in years — in just a few more years, she would have to relinquish her position as Grand Priestess. Once she stepped down, the Great Barbarian Shaman Cult would no longer be hers to command, and countless things she now had access to would slip beyond her reach entirely. Worse, she’d be bound to spend her remaining years confined within the temple, praying endlessly for her royal brother, for the King of the Xiongnu.
She’d have no time, no opportunity left to slip away and cultivate gu creatures ever again.
She had to seize every opportunity available to her now.
If she could just capture her gu creature, finding another poison-immune person wouldn’t be difficult at all.
The Gu Nanny had her scheme carefully laid out — and at that very moment, Baili Weisheng was scheming just as intently.
He had long since made his way through Mingsha Cave, through a series of hidden chambers, and hidden himself deep underground.
This was the lowest level of the hidden chambers beneath Mingsha Mountain — a lush, thriving garden. Anyone who didn’t know where they truly were might easily mistake it for the tropical rainforests of Nanzhao.
The garden wasn’t large, but it teemed with life everywhere. Ancient banyan trees, centuries old, stood scattered throughout, their dense aerial roots hanging down like great tangles of beard.
Remarkably, aside from the banyan trees, every plant here was something never seen above ground — all unnamed, unknown species.
The leaves and stems were enormous, vividly colored, the smallest blossoms as large as two cupped hands together.
If this garden were ever transplanted to the surface, it would surely stand out as a strange marvel amid the desert.
Baili Weisheng lounged lazily across a thick branch jutting out from an old banyan tree, hands pillowed behind his head, while beside him, his young pharmacist’s apprentice sat with chin propped on both hands, wearing a thoroughly troubled expression. He’d just finished telling the boy every one of his secrets.
“What’s wrong with you? Did your father die, or your mother?” Baili Weisheng asked, displeased.
The apprentice pouted, looking as though he wanted to cry but had no tears left. “Master’s about to die…”
Baili Weisheng shot upright at once, spitting in disgust. “Bah, what a jinx of a mouth! This master of yours is going to live to a ripe old age, I guarantee it!”
It was hard to imagine — a young man so elegant and striking, so extraordinary in bearing, could be so crude and foul-mouthed, and yet somehow it wasn’t off-putting at all. Instead, it seemed entirely natural, even fitting.
“Master, you’ve been stuck down here your whole life — is that really any different from being dead?” the young apprentice asked, spreading his hands, tilting his head.
“Who said I’m staying here forever? Let me tell you something — that old witch can’t possibly guard this place forever. She’s the Grand Priestess, do you even know what that means?” Baili Weisheng demanded, righteously indignant.
The apprentice just shook his head, not understanding.
“It means she’s bound to guard the sacred temple for the rest of her life. Want to bet? Within a month, she’ll have no choice but to go crawling back to the Xiongnu!” Baili Weisheng declared.
Even if the old woman dared to break with the Xiongnu’s Great Barbarian Shaman Cult entirely, he wasn’t afraid — worst case, he’d simply wait a few more years, until she died.
Being young had its advantages — he could afford to wait her out.
Of course, Baili Weisheng kept a close eye on the broader state of affairs across the realm — within a month, the wars on both fronts, east and west, would surely be over.
He hated it, truly hated that the Gu Nanny had come charging in out of nowhere — otherwise, he’d have already smuggled Yelu Qianqian off to Xiliang long ago.
“Master, by your own reckoning, a month from now would put us right at Akbachu’s sand-worship ceremony…” the apprentice offered helpfully.
Hearing this, Baili Weisheng, who’d just been full of fire and passion, suddenly deflated entirely.
Even more troublesome than the Gu Nanny was another figure — Jun Beiyue.
Given how things stood now, Jun Beiyue would certainly not miss Akbachu’s sand-worship ceremony a month from now.
And that man, having already learned of the hidden chamber’s existence — was there any chance he wouldn’t come looking for it?