Chapter Eighty: Divine Thunder

From what I’ve observed, this young girl’s true form is not as I imagined—something close to a human body—but rather resembles a flower spirit.

Qingyuan mused, “Among flowers, grasses, and trees, it is exceedingly difficult for them to awaken intelligence, and even more so to cultivate into a spirit. Trees, at least, enjoy longevity, but flowers rarely live long—some bloom for but a single night. Those that manage to gain sentience and embark upon cultivation are exceptionally rare. Only those with extraordinary fortune can breathe, absorb, and refine spiritual energy, eventually becoming monsters or transforming into spirits.”

“For a flower to assume a human shape is particularly arduous. Many rare varieties, it’s said, require cultivation equal to that of a Daoist master before they can take human form.”

“Yet her cultivation is so shallow—how is she already in human guise?”

Qingyuan furrowed his brows, pondering the puzzle.

“She can transform herself into human form and even wield techniques akin to manifesting the will of the law.”

“But her own cultivation is not high; her body seems as weightless as drifting cotton. This little girl is all too bizarre.”

Walking along the path, Qingyuan recalled the ordeal he’d just experienced, still feeling as if it were a dream.

Had the girl used her powers to nurture flowers and plants earlier, Qingyuan would have been certain she was a spirit. Yet after the encounter, she remained at the second tier—possessing near-spirit abilities, but not quite.

“Could it be she was originally a spirit, but some mishap has caused her cultivation to stagnate at the second tier, though her supernatural powers have not diminished?”

“That is not impossible.”

Qingyuan’s brows creased deeper.

There were far too many uncanny mysteries about that little girl.

Fortunately, he hadn’t pursued her.

He felt no murderous intent towards her. Most importantly, he was seeking a life-preserving treasure and did not wish to create complications or delay his journey.

He continued upstream along the river, unconsciously quickening his pace.

…

Above was a great river that split at a certain fork into two tributaries; one of these was the small stream Qingyuan followed.

From the map, Qingyuan knew that the upper reaches of the river were vast, but as it wound its way, it divided further and further, so that by the end, the streams dwindled.

“At the source, head south.”

The closer he came, the heavier his anxiety grew.

Even though he was normally composed, matters of life and death left him unsettled.

Various possibilities flitted through his mind.

His worry drove him to quicken his steps.

A single moment’s delay could mean someone else discovered the treasure first, bringing endless unforeseen changes.

Just then, a cry sounded.

Qingyuan halted, gripping his iron staff, and looked towards the woods.

A cacophony echoed from the forest—the rustling of countless grasses and shrubs.

He focused his gaze, channeling his true energy.

Amidst the forest, a herd of mountain deer—about twenty in all—hurried towards the river. Their steps were frantic; some stumbled and fell, only to scramble upright again, all in utter disarray.

Qingyuan immediately realized they weren’t coming for water, but fleeing for their lives.

One after another, the wild deer leapt from the riverbank, landing on the far side.

Some, elderly or young, fell into the water, struggling helplessly, swept along by the current.

Perhaps when they reached the lower tributaries, they might survive.

“Something strange…”

Qingyuan was a bit surprised.

At that moment, a crimson light burst forth from the woods.

The light was red, tinged with dark hues, swirling like molten lava.

It hovered in midair, shaped like a small sphere, about the size of a palm.

Qingyuan saw it clearly and was startled: “Rolling Thunder?”

He was of distinguished origin; though his cultivation was not high, his knowledge far surpassed ordinary wanderers.

This Rolling Thunder was formed from lightning—but unlike common bolts, it had taken the shape of a sphere. Its colors varied: red, blue, white, black, purple, orange, green—all were possible.

Its power differed as well.

Legend held the most potent could shatter a mountain, while even the weakest surpassed the fire talismans Qingyuan wielded.

Rolling Thunder was unstable; even without touching or colliding, it could explode at any moment just by hovering.

It was said that many sects had methods to control Rolling Thunder, allowing them to summon or disperse it at will, gifting it to disciples as a protective treasure.

Qingyuan understood the technique but lacked the spiritual power to craft one.

“Is this one of the divine bolts transformed from primordial thunder?”

As Qingyuan pondered, before he could act, the red thunderball spun and struck a deer leaping high.

With a thunderous boom, the deer died instantly, falling into the river.

In a blink, white smoke billowed across the water.

The thunderball spun in the air, then crashed into another deer.

“Still here?”

Qingyuan was astonished. He knew Rolling Thunder exploded upon contact, vanishing thereafter, but this one struck a deer, killing it, yet remained intact.

This was indeed divine thunder!

What inheritance lay within?

Qingyuan stowed his iron staff, leaped forward, and raced towards the divine thunder.

The red divine thunder seemed sentient; it twisted through the air and struck another deer.

The deer managed only half a cry before its body was seared black, smoke streaming forth.

Qingyuan quickened his pace.

Spinning his iron staff, he intercepted the divine thunder, reaching out to grasp it.

Boom!

A sudden explosion resounded.

Qingyuan’s expression changed, and he quickly retreated.

A massive stone smashed down where he had just stood, the earth caving in, cracks radiating outward.

The divine thunder slipped free of his grasp once more.

Qingyuan ignored the thunder, turning instead to the woods, holding his staff horizontally as he shouted, “Who’s there?”

There was a faint stir in the forest, then a giant stag emerged.

It was larger than ordinary wild deer; its antlers were dense and robust, its eyes bright as flames.

“Another spirit?”

Qingyuan had long suspected the existence of spirits within Mount Fuzhong; after all, this was the domain arranged by the ancient master of Guangyuan. It was not surprising that many creatures here had become spirits.

But he hadn’t expected the giant stag to covet the divine thunder as well.

Upon reflection, it made sense. The spirit stag had awakened intelligence and could strategize; its cultivation was equal to a second-tier Daoist, sufficient to subdue the divine thunder.

Suddenly, Qingyuan understood.

This giant stag was the leader of the herd, and the wild deer were not merely fleeing—they had lured the divine thunder here so their leader could seize it.

Qingyuan thought, “This stag is ruthless enough. If it were in the army, it would have the bearing of a great general.”

At that moment, the stag’s gaze was filled with hostility.

Qingyuan slipped a hand inside his robe, preparing to release the tiger-wolf talisman.

A confrontation was inevitable.

But just then—a sharp whistle sounded.

The divine thunder spun and darted downstream, veering into another patch of woods.

The giant stag let out a long, piercing cry and leapt after it.

Qingyuan moved to follow.

But as he prepared to set off, a dozen wild deer blocked his path.