Chapter 10: The Dagger Revealed at the End of the Map, Edges Unveiled

The clan leader did not dwell too much on the shaman’s injuries; they were related to the Spirit Bamboo, and clearly this was a battle of immortals. The clan leader wanted nothing more than to stay out of the fray between Spirit Bamboo and Spirit Butterfly, fearing involvement as much as one might fear the plague. There was simply no reason to throw himself into the middle of it.

“Catch that wild boar,” he ordered.

A handful of the younger and stronger tribesmen chased after the wild boar. It was one of the last remaining assets of the Bamboo Tribe; aside from these few, the rest were truly just the old, the weak, the sick, and the infirm. The attempt to capture the wild boar was a scene of chaos.

“Did the wild boar really just happen to break free from its ropes? If it was a mere accident, that would be easy enough to accept, but I fear there’s more to it,” the clan leader mused inwardly, his back suddenly chilled. He dared not probe further.

He could not let himself think about it. If Spirit Butterfly had meddled with the boar, did that not mean she could no longer tolerate the shaman? He could pretend not to see, but would that mean watching the shaman fall into peril? His heart trembled; he wanted to speak up, but offending Spirit Butterfly could bring consequences too dire to imagine.

One misstep could drag the Bamboo Tribe into an abyss. Having already betrayed his own, how could he now offend Spirit Butterfly at this critical juncture? There was no going back; otherwise, all his past suffering would be in vain.

“Spirit Bamboo is still stirring—perhaps it can protect the shaman?” The clan leader stared at the bamboo seed, dazed. Upon it, golden divine light surged like waves, radiating outward in ripples. Though the seed was only the size of a thumb, it shone brilliantly, clearly extraordinary.

Incense and the power of wishes cascaded down, enveloping the bamboo seed, which seemed to become the pivotal node in this contest of power.

The tribe members were oblivious, but the clan leader distinctly felt two opposing forces.

“Is Spirit Bamboo fighting Spirit Butterfly?” The clan leader and the shaman exchanged a glance, quickly grasping each other’s intent. The clan leader stepped forward, shielding the shaman.

“What does the clan leader mean by this?” The shaman’s expression was indifferent, his attitude toward the clan leader icy.

“The shaman understands well enough,” the clan leader replied, realizing that such words were ill-suited for others in the tribe to hear—it sounded too much like internal discord. He hastily amended, “The shaman has suffered quite a shock; best to find a place to rest for a while. We can resume the grand ritual once the wild boar is caught.”

The wild boar fled for its life, darting left and right, making it truly difficult to catch.

The shaman snorted coldly, glancing toward the altar, noting the clan leader’s nervousness, then turned to find a bamboo chair and sat.

It was deliberate. The clan leader smiled bitterly to himself; the shaman was no fool. He knew that the current situation was beyond his involvement and could only watch from the sidelines.

The bamboo seed rose and fell in the void, shimmering gold like flowing water, under intense assault.

“This is Spirit Bamboo’s lifeblood—it will never relinquish it,” Ye Chen thought. He had never expected to seize it in a single stroke. That bamboo seed was of great significance; Spirit Bamboo needed it to be reborn, to forge a new life, and its strength would surely soar.

That was the long-term impact; for now, it was inconsequential. Ye Chen did not overly fear the seed. Instead, he took advantage of Spirit Bamboo’s focus on it to target his real objective. Incense and wish-power surged forth, manifesting a phantom dream that descended upon the clan leader.

The clan leader’s body stiffened; a trace of his spiritual light was drawn out and swept into the dream.

The shaman jolted, springing up, his aged frame bursting with unexpected energy. He rushed to the clan leader, steadying him, eyes blazing with anger.

“The clan leader’s soul has been seized,” the shaman raged within, though Spirit Butterfly’s presence was unseen, he was not ignorant.

“Withdraw, all of you. The grand ritual ends here,” the shaman declared, shocking many in the Bamboo Tribe.

“The wild boar is fleeing; just a little more time and we’ll catch it for sure,” pleaded a tribesman, thinking the shaman was angry over the boar’s escape. But soon, all noticed the clan leader’s odd state—not that his soul had been taken, but that he had become like a block of wood. It was obvious to any with eyes.

“Say no more, just leave,” the shaman said sternly. “Must I explain myself? Why are you all still standing here?”

His words were laced with fury; who would dare argue? Though the shaman’s dignity had suffered, with a boar riding atop him, and he seemed less fearsome, his authority had not yet faded. Only the clan leader could stand up to him.

The tribe members, anxious and fearful, sensed a great unease. The clan leader’s affliction portended misfortune, and the shaman's attitude underscored the gravity of the situation.

Could it be that the wild boar’s escape had embarrassed the ritual and angered the totem? The thought worried them deeply.

They could only hope for a favorable outcome. When the tribe had retreated, the shaman asked in a low voice, “What do you really want?”

The scene was silent as if the shaman were performing a solo play. The bamboo seed in the void grew calm, its golden light withdrawn, appearing ordinary.

Ye Chen glanced at the shaman, ignoring him.

A torrent of incense and wish-power burned fiercely, then transformed into a spiritual light. Ye Chen’s soul tore apart, merging with that light, and plunged into the clan leader’s body.

Ye Chen had long planned this: occupying the clan leader’s position would allow him full control over the tribe. Otherwise, it would be like a sandcastle, liable to collapse at any moment.

As a totem, there were advantages, but being too lofty made it unsuitable for reshaping the tribe.

Ye Chen slowly acclimated to the clan leader’s body, moving slightly, feeling stiff—any motion was hard, and the world before his eyes was dim, devoid of light.

With effort, Ye Chen managed to open his eyes, only to find his arms bound by the shaman’s ropes. Not only his arms, but his legs were tied as well. He lay flat on the ground, coldly staring at the shaman, as though it were not him who was bound.

Ye Chen truly did not worry. The shaman, feeling Ye Chen’s gaze like a thorn in his back, steadied himself and croaked, “You’ve taken the clan leader’s place—is it your intention to control the tribe completely?”

Ye Chen’s motives were not hard to guess. He had come this far; the knife was already drawn.

But if his aim was to control the tribe, then he would not strike ruthlessly at its members. They could survive; the tribe would endure. That was a small mercy in an unfortunate situation.

The shaman’s anxiety eased, though optimism was still premature.

“What have you done to Spirit Bamboo?” the shaman asked, voice tinged with fear, worried that Spirit Bamboo might suffer misfortune.

Ye Chen met his gaze, replying coolly, “It seems the shaman values Spirit Bamboo highly. Does the rise and fall of the tribe mean nothing to you?”

Strands of incense and wish-power settled onto the clan leader’s body, transforming into warm currents flowing through flesh and blood. The feeling of separation gradually dissipated, and Ye Chen gained greater mastery over the body.