Chapter Two: Malice

The fire raven turned into a streak of light, sweeping low across the sky. Ji Hao stood atop its head, peering down from above.

With a sharp caw, the fire raven folded its wings and darted through a fissure no more than a dozen yards wide between two sheer mountain peaks. Beyond, the view opened up: nestled within the encircling mountains lay a valley over a hundred miles long and, at its widest, some thirty miles across.

Towering beside him was Golden Crow Ridge, the sacred ground of the Fire Raven Tribe. Among the towering green mulberry trees on the ridge, fire ravens nested—creatures said, like the tribe’s people, to possess the ancient and sacred bloodline of the three-legged golden crow, making them the tribe’s mightiest war beasts.

At the far end of the valley sprawled a mulberry grove dozens of miles wide. Amid the branches were countless bird nests, and flocks of fire ravens—each about two feet long—circled silently above the trees.

As Ji Hao rode the giant raven to the mulberry grove, all the fire ravens in the air alighted on the branches, staring at Ji Hao and the great raven in utter silence. Slowly, they spread their wings, pressing their chests to the branches in a gesture of profound reverence for the giant raven.

Nimbly, Ji Hao leapt from the raven’s back and gave a whistle. With a beat of its wings, the great raven became a streak of fire, shooting skyward. Circling at an altitude of more than ten miles, it soared toward the peak of Golden Crow Ridge.

All the little fire ravens fixed their burning red eyes on Ji Hao, and the grove filled with a strange, solemn atmosphere.

Waving to the countless fire ravens around him, Ji Hao followed a narrow, winding path just three feet wide through the mulberry grove.

A breeze stirred, making the leaves whisper. What appeared from afar to be a mere dozen miles across now seemed vast and unfathomable. Ji Hao ran swiftly along the path for nearly fifteen minutes, his body trailing afterimages, covering nearly fifty miles before two towering mulberry trees appeared before him. Each had a trunk so thick it would take a hundred men to encircle it, yet from outside the forest, they were invisible.

The two giant mulberries stood seven or eight yards apart, their massive branches intertwined to form an arch faintly glowing with firelight. Ji Hao stepped through the archway into a surge of heat, and an endless dense forest stretched out before his eyes.

At the forest’s edge stood a vast domed wooden hall of logs as thick as a man. Atop its roof, a wooden pillar over thirty feet thick rose dozens of yards into the air, supporting a wooden platform a hundred yards wide. Upon this platform stood the skeleton of a golden fire raven with a wingspan of a hundred yards, its posture proud and unyielding.

Though only bones remained, the skeleton radiated an overwhelming, primordial aura—vast and boundless, like an ocean enveloping the entire forest. At a glance, it was as if a blazing sun hung suspended dozens of yards above the ground.

What was most astonishing was that this fire raven had three leg bones—it was the remains of a three-legged giant raven.

Ji Hao gazed in awe at the great raven’s skeleton, which still exuded boundless pride and a fighting spirit unbroken by death. He bowed deeply three times and murmured a solemn prayer.

Slowing his steps, Ji Hao approached the grand wooden hall, treading softly to the massive doors over twenty feet tall. Peering through the crack, he looked inside.

The hall’s interior was spacious enough to host a gathering of a thousand. The floor was paved with heavy stone slabs, and at its center was a fire pit two yards wide and long, where a great blaze roasted a skinned and cleaned beast. The meat was golden and sizzling, fat dripping onto the flames, filling the hall with a rich aroma.

Dozens of large earthenware wine jars stood by the fire pit for anyone to use. Now and then, a wizened elder or a burly man would grab a jar and fill a stone goblet with strong liquor.

Around the fire sat several dozen gaunt old men and an equal number of burly warriors. All wore stern expressions, eating meat and drinking wine in silence. Apart from the sounds of knives cutting meat and wine being poured, only the fire’s crackling could be heard.

By the time Ji Hao arrived, more than half the beast had been eaten from the spit. Within a quarter of an hour, not even the bones were left—smashed apart for the marrow, which the men devoured with gusto. The wine too was gone, not a drop remaining.

Suddenly, a man over ten feet tall, his hair tied in a thick braid, his eyes long and narrow like a serpent’s, exuding a fierce and oppressive aura, seized a wine jar and smashed it to the ground, shattering both jar and stone tile beneath.

The tremendous crash shattered the oppressive silence in the hall.

“We’ve eaten and drunk our fill. Now, let’s get down to business!” The man slowly stood, his mighty frame radiating heat. His presence seemed to fill the hall, making the space feel smaller.

“Ji Xia, you are no longer the strongest warrior of our generation! Look at you—skin and bones. Ever since your shaman’s cave was destroyed ten years ago, you’re no longer a great shaman, just an ordinary member of the tribe!”

The man pointed at another by the fire, his face turned toward the door, and bellowed, “How dare you claim the right to lead the warriors of the Fire Raven Tribe? On what grounds do you command our guardians? What gives you the right to hold our sacred ground?”

The accused man slowly rose. His frame was massive—even taller than the challenger. Yet, his body was devoid of muscle, his skin stretched tight over his bones. He looked like a skeleton that could be toppled by a gust of wind.

This was Ji Xia, Ji Hao’s own father, once the mightiest warrior of the Fire Raven Tribe!

But when Ji Hao was born, the ancestral shrine on Golden Crow Ridge was ambushed. To protect Ji Hao and his wife, Ji Xia fought bitterly, taking grievous wounds from the Blackwater Serpent Tribe’s assassins. Over the years, his body had withered, and many believed his strength was gone.

Ji Hao clenched his fists, remembering the sight of his father fighting desperately to protect him—the way Ji Xia’s mighty body had withstood treacherous attacks, shielding his infant son with unyielding resolve. Ji Hao still recalled how his father’s blood, scorching hot, had spattered on him.

Narrowing his eyes, Ji Hao cast a deep glance at the burly man who had provoked his father.

Standing firm, Ji Xia smiled warmly. “Well then, Brother Ji Hou, what do you suggest?”

From the crowd, a youth much shorter than the burly men, his face still boyish, burst forth, pointing at Ji Xia’s nose and shouting, “You old wreck! Isn’t it obvious? Take your ill-omened wife from the Qingyi Tribe and your bastard son and get out! Let my father lead the warriors and guard our sacred ground!”

The youth threw back his head and cried arrogantly, “The Ancestral Rite is in a few days. All the chieftains will be here! Before all these clansmen, you’d best leave quietly!”

Old wreck? Ill-omened woman?

Ji Xia burst out laughing, rage flushing his face. Forgetting the solemnity of the tribal council hall, he leapt up and kicked the massive doors open.

With a thunderous crash, the doors slammed into the walls. Ji Hao strode into the hall in a single bound.

“Who are you calling a bastard?” Ji Hao roared, forming seals with his hands and thrusting them forward. A jet of fire shot from the hearth, engulfing the arrogant youth.

Flames blazed, and in an instant, the boy’s hair and eyebrows turned to a wisp of smoke.