After leaving the ruined lakeside, Dustin, Margaret, and the others moved even more cautiously, struggling through the dense and perilous jungle.
The strangeness of Penglai Island exceeded all imagination. Shrubs that appeared tranquil could suddenly lash out with thorny vines, bright flowers sprayed numbing pollen, and even the ground underfoot could turn in an instant into quicksand that devoured everything.
Fortunately, with Dustin—the unfathomably powerful one—leading them, he always sensed danger in advance or casually dispelled threats, allowing the group to continue unscathed.
After traveling like this for about a day and a night, the scenery opened up.
Before them appeared a lush bamboo forest, green and vibrant. The stalks stood tall, the leaves swayed, faint mists curled among them, and the air carried a refreshing fragrance. Compared to the perilous jungle behind them, this place felt quiet and harmonious, almost like a hidden paradise.
“This place… is so peaceful,” Qingzhu whispered, finally relaxing a little.
Margaret nodded slightly, though her beautiful eyes remained alert. “The calmer it looks, the stranger it is. On Penglai Island, the more peaceful a place seems, the more likely danger lurks.”
Dustin’s gaze swept across the bamboo grove, his eyes flickering slightly as though he sensed something. He said nothing, simply gestured for the group to move forward.
Deeper within the grove lay a small clearing, and in it, a simple bamboo-fenced courtyard.
Inside, a boy of about five or six, hair tied in a topknot and wearing a red dudou, sat on a crude bamboo swing, lazily rocking back and forth while humming a tuneless rhyme—seemingly innocent and carefree.
Margaret hesitated, then stepped forward a few paces. Stopping at the fence, she softened her voice:
“Little one, where are your elders? We’re just passing by. Could we come in for a bowl of water?”
The child acted as though he hadn’t heard, not sparing her a glance, continuing to swing and hum to himself.
Margaret paused, then raised her voice:
“Little one, we mean no harm. We just wish to ask for directions.”
Still ignoring her, the child deliberately swung higher, the creaking rope making sharp creak creak sounds, as if to show his displeasure.
Margaret frowned, finding it strange, but kept her patience. She reached for the seemingly flimsy bamboo gate.
The moment her fingers brushed it—
“Hmph!”
The child suddenly snorted coldly, his childish face flashing with a look far too sinister for his age.
Without turning his head, he flicked his sleeve.
Swish!
A sharp streak of condensed azure qi shot out like an arrow, tearing through the air straight for Margaret’s chest!
The force was fierce enough to pierce metal and stone—if it struck, she would surely perish.
The guards cried out. Qingzhu turned pale, wanting to leap in but too slow.
At that instant, Dustin finally moved.
He did not draw his sword. With his right hand, he pressed his index and middle fingers together and casually pointed forward.
Pop!
A light sound—before the qi reached Margaret, it struck an unseen barrier, collapsing into strands of breeze that scattered harmlessly.
Margaret broke into a cold sweat, quickly retreating to Dustin’s side.
The child stopped swinging at last and turned around. His small face now showed shock and fury.
He stared wide-eyed at Dustin, speaking in a tone absurdly mature for his age:
“Huh? You outsider actually blocked my casual strike? Not bad.”
Dustin’s face remained calm. Retracting his hand, he said evenly, “So young, yet striking to kill? Words could have sufficed.”
“Kill? Hah! You dare intrude on my solitude, disturb my cultivation, and then scold me?” The boy grew angrier.
Stomping the ground, he shot upward like a cannonball, claws glowing with azure light, tearing through the air with a shrill whistle as he raked down at Dustin!
This blow was far deadlier than the last. The claw force rippled the air itself; surrounding bamboo bent and cracked under the pressure.
Dustin shook his head, almost helplessly.
He still did not dodge. Instead, he raised his right hand, palm up, and gently pushed.
A vast yet soft power emerged from nowhere—like spring rain—instantly dissolving the boy’s ferocious strike.
The child felt an irresistible force suspending him midair. No matter how he struggled or channeled qi, he could not descend another inch.
“You!” the boy gasped, face red with rage, his aura flaring wildly as he prepared another strike.
“Stop, Tong’er!”
A clear, stern voice cut in from above.
An elderly figure in a faded Daoist robe floated down like a drifting leaf. His hair and beard were white, his features lean and austere.
The old man glared at the boy. “Do not be rude!”
The child visibly feared him, reluctantly withdrawing his qi. He landed, pouted, and sulked to one side, though his eyes still glared defiantly at Dustin.
The Daoist elder then turned to Dustin and Margaret, bowed, and said apologetically:
“This poor Daoist failed to discipline his pupil. Please forgive the offense.”
Margaret, sensing no malice in his aura, quickly returned the bow.
“Senior speaks too heavily. We were the ones intruding.”
She hesitated, then earnestly asked:
“Senior, we braved the island only to seek the Immortal Pill to save my father’s life. Might you grant us some guidance—where might we find it?”
The elder studied Margaret carefully, then glanced at Dustin, whose calm presence revealed unfathomable depths. A faint flicker of surprise crossed his eyes.
Sighing, he shook his head.
“Girl, your filial heart is commendable. But hear me: this place is the source of calamity, a land of great peril. The so-called Immortal Pill is an illusion, tangled with immense cause and danger. Leave now, before it is too late.”
Margaret’s gaze remained firm as she bowed again.
“My father is gravely ill, hanging by a thread. Even a sliver of hope I will not abandon. I beg you, Senior—please point the way. Even if ahead lies a mountain of blades and a sea of fire, I will go.”
The elder saw her resolve, and after a long silence, sighed again.
“Ah… fate, fate indeed.”
He pointed east-southeast.
“Through this bamboo grove lies a deep canyon. At its end, you may find clues to what you seek. But beware—the closer you come, the greater the peril. Tread carefully.”
Margaret’s heart leapt. She bowed deeply.
“Many thanks for your guidance, Senior!”
The old man waved her off, saying no more.
Not daring to linger, the group offered thanks once more and hurried off in the given direction.
Only after their figures vanished into the bamboo depths did the child whisper, “Master, why tell them anything? They’re obviously just blood food.”
The elder gave no answer. He only stared toward Dustin’s fading silhouette, brows furrowed, murky eyes gleaming with hidden light.
He muttered under his breath, almost inaudible:
“That man’s aura—restrained, boundless. With a gesture, he dissolved Tong’er’s strike. Even I cannot see his depths. Could it be… he is the one hinted in ancient texts—the Dragon-Slayer?”
A mountain breeze rustled through the bamboo leaves, as if echoing that earth-shaking whisper. - Marinien
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