Woof!

Guided by Hwanggu’s sharp senses, Jin Cheon-hee tracked the trail of the Six-Horned Spirit Venomous Serpent. As he neared their destination, a heavy presence washed over him, not as a sound entering his ears, but as a vibration humming against his skin—a physical weight in the air.

• Hmm, indeed. If Lord Condor Dragon said as much… then the time is finally approaching.
• It matters not how many humans die. Once the promise is fulfilled, I can return. However, you are…
• Indeed. So you have decided.
• Humans will always be humans.

The voices resonated directly within his skull. It was telepathy, yet distinct from the projected intent used by martial artists; it felt archaic, heavy, carrying a tone akin to how the Condor Dragon had once spoken to him. And one of those voices was unmistakably familiar.

Yoo Ho?

Jin Cheon-hee approached with practiced caution.

There, standing beside the house-sized bulk of the Six-Horned Spirit Venomous Serpent, was a man with cascading golden hair. His features were Yoo Ho’s, yet he was not the fox Jin Cheon-hee knew. The eyes, usually curved into perpetually smiling crescents, were wide open, revealing a piercing, vertical gaze. More importantly, the pressure radiating from him was far beyond anything a mere mortal could emit.

Normally, a being of that caliber would have sensed an intruder instantly, but he seemed deeply engrossed in his communion with the great serpent.

• A prophecy, you say? You intend to leave a prophecy for that human? Why would you, who will one day become a dragon, go to such lengths for a mere mortal… Ah, I see.

Yoo Ho turned around. His gaze landed precisely on Jin Cheon-hee’s hiding spot.

“It is about time you arrived, you little brat.”

“Hahaha! When did you notice, Yoo Ho?”

“Does it matter?”

The clothes draping Yoo Ho’s frame were not his usual White Qilin Medical Pavilion Chief Steward robes. They were ancient garments radiating a noble dignity, with sleeves that fluttered in the wind as if woven from moonlight rather than thread.

Is this… another side to Yoo Ho?

Jin Cheon-hee kept his expression neutral, masking his surprise with solemn gravity.

“Yoo Ho. Regardless of the form you wear, I believe in your humanity. Therefore, you must help me with my research on the human condition.”

Yoo Ho turned back to the giant snake, gesturing at Jin Cheon-hee with a look of utter disbelief.

“Do you see this? This is what a human is. He is more tenacious than a leech. Why would you waste a precious prophecy on a wretch whose mind contains nothing but intellectual greed and gluttony?”

“It’s okay, Yoo Ho. You look dashing today.”

Professor Jin feared nothing—except perhaps the graduation of his enslaved graduate students. If he admitted this creature wasn’t human, Yoo Ho might just don a celestial robe and ascend to the heavens, and the mere thought gave Jin Cheon-hee goosebumps.

“This human is insane. Do you see? He is a creature composed entirely of appetite and curiosity.”

“It’s fine, Yoo Ho. I love you… Gah!”

Whap!

In a blur of motion, Yoo Ho seized Jin Cheon-hee by the collar and shook him like a rag doll.

“You crazy leech! You intend to exploit my labor to the bitter end?!”

Gone was the otherworldly dignity he had displayed just moments ago. He radiated a murderous aura, shaking the physician with genuine intent to kill.

“Yoo Ho, calm down… Urgh… Yoo Ho! Koff-koff! I didn’t mean any harm…!”

Hiss— Hiss—!

Even the Six-Horned Spirit Venomous Serpent shook its massive head in alarm, seemingly worried that he might actually have to clean up a corpse in his sanctuary. Only after Jin Cheon-hee begged for his life with desperate sincerity did Yoo Ho finally release his grip.

Thump.

Jin Cheon-hee hit the ground, deliberately foregoing a breakfall to roll around and look as pathetic as possible.

To think I’d still get manhandled like this after getting so much stronger.

In those sprawling martial arts epics, celestial warriors usually descend from the heavens to duel the protagonist in the final arc. Was Yoo Ho on that level? Jin Cheon-hee pondered this seriously.

Hiss, hiss!

“I understand. I will calm down,” Yoo Ho sighed deeply as he looked down at the groaning physician. He then internally grumbled, This bastard only got handsomer after surviving a life-or-death crisis. Just looking at that smooth, innocent face brings a wave of irritation.

Truly, the most incomprehensible human in the world.

Hiss, hisssss—!

“To translate,” Yoo Ho said, composing himself, “he says he is grateful that the location of the Wind Burial was changed.”

“Hmm?”

Jin Cheon-hee’s eyes went round. Contrary to his innocent expression, the blue light gathering in his pupils began to analyze the surroundings with frightening insight.

“Come to think of it, the previous Wind Burial site was near the ruins, wasn’t it?”

“This was once a temple where the Six-Horned Spirit Venomous Serpent was worshipped as a god. In the past, humans revered spiritual beasts as deities. This temple was built for him, and he promised to stay and protect this land as long as the temple stood.”

He had to be talking about the leaning pile of debris before them. It still held the vague shape of a building, but a massive tree had devoured it from the inside out; the structure was rotting, crumbling, and overrun by moss and mold, offering no shelter from the rain. The altar was so worn that no trace of its original reverence remained.

“People fear him now; they don’t seem to worship him. Though I suppose they do respect him as a guardian.”

“The form of faith has certainly vanished. Indeed. Humans forget, but we remember. We never forget.” Yoo Ho gazed at the ruins with bitter eyes. “Foolishly, our emotions remain hot, driving us to form contracts. I limited my contract to a single person, but the Snake contracted with this temple. He vowed to protect this place as long as it existed.”

“But that meant he couldn’t intervene in the conflicts of the Yunnan people.”

“It was a bloodbath between those who drank Yunnan’s water and ate Yunnan’s fruit. That was their affair.”

Hisssss—

The sound of the serpent’s breath felt unusually sorrowful, and Jin Cheon-hee knew it wasn’t just his imagination.

“Well, it matters not,” Yoo Ho continued. “Thanks to you, the impure energy of the dead did not enter this temple, and its sanctity was preserved. He says he wishes to grant you a prophecy as a reward.”

“A prophecy?”

“Since ancient times, snakes have been symbols of insight. Spiritual snakes, in particular, possess a foresight stronger than any other creature.”

Jin Cheon-hee nodded slowly. “Before that… If destroying this temple means he can be liberated, I can break it for him right now.”

Hiss…

The Six-Horned Spirit Venomous Serpent let out a low cry, followed by a complex series of sounds directed at Yoo Ho.

“Hmm. He says there are too many memories here to do that.”

One hundred years. No, two hundred… Perhaps memories dating back to the fallen Kingdom of Dali. Humans forget, but beasts remember, remaining anchored to the spot. Even when offered liberation, the serpent chose to guard his home without hesitation.

“But if we leave it like this, isn’t it too beneficial for me…?”

Jin Cheon-hee sensed a wound in the serpent’s breath. It was the pain brought by the sweetness of memory—a deep inflammation caused by things that could never return. Yet, as Yoo Ho said, the serpent could not forget, could not let go, and so he guarded this place.

Jin Cheon-hee spoke nonchalantly, trying not to probe the wound.

“Alright, let’s do this then.”

His next words were unexpected.

“Is there anything you like? Anything you want to eat?”

Hiss?

***

It became a banquet under the moonlight.

Jin Cheon-hee brewed the alcohol himself—a cheat using techniques he’d learned in Wannong, but it tasted decent enough—and since it wasn’t nearly enough to slake the thirst of a house-sized serpent, he had raided the Five Poisons Sect’s liquor warehouse to fill the gap. He invited no one else. It was a feast solely for Hwanggu, Noe-jin, Yoo Ho, the Six-Horned Spirit Venomous Serpent, and himself.

The tree-devoured ruins seemed to swell, painting a silhouette against the moon.

“Here, drink up!”

Jin Cheon-hee tossed a massive vat of wine, and the Snake swallowed it with evident delight. In that gesture, the serpent saw the shadow of the ancient King of Dali, who had once hosted such banquets for him. Now, no one worshipped him. To the world, a spiritual beast was merely a source of internal cores, a resource to be hunted, and the only reason he survived was that he had lived too long for any human to dare covet him.

The thousands of musicians, the tens of thousands of subjects—they no longer existed. Where had the artists who danced for him gone? The Kingdom of Dali remained nowhere but in memory, and the Earth God had become merely a monster.

Drinking wine, drunk on the moon, and listening to the guqin Jin Cheon-hee plucked, the Six-Horned Spirit Venomous Serpent thought: Ah, this is the next memory.

If the memories of Dali sustained him for a thousand years, this memory would sustain him for a thousand more. As long as he did not die, the story would continue. Such was the terrible fate of a spiritual beast.

—Living in this world is like a vast dream, Why toil away one’s life? That is why I drink all day long, Singing loudly, I await the bright moon. By the time the song ends, all feelings are already forgotten.

Jin Cheon-hee recited a bit of Li Bai’s poetry, humming the melody as he plucked the strings and skipping a few verses either due to the alcohol or by design. Singing a song about forgetting to a spiritual beast who could never forget might seem futile, but the sentiment reached the serpent nonetheless.

Eventually, the serpent seemed to make a decision. From somewhere within the ruins, he produced a precious jewel he had been guarding.

This should be fine, he thought.

Humans forget quickly, but spiritual beasts remember long—the bad, and the good. So, if even a single good memory remained, that was enough for the serpent. Therefore, he would stay in this land and watch over its people. Now, at the end of this banquet, he realized it was time to repay the kindness.

The serpent realized.

See. See, O Eye of the Future. We are all descendants of the Condor Dragon, biting tail upon tail, crawling through time. Our shed skin belongs to the past, and our tongues shall taste the future. Whisper the future to this young man.

Hisssss—

The jewel began to emit a brilliant, multi-colored light. Then—

Craaaack—

It shuddered as if breaking, shone blindingly once more, and then shattered completely.

Shatter!

Startled, Jin Cheon-hee stopped playing the guqin.

Yoo Ho clicked his tongue, “Why are you being so generous? Honestly… you naive spiritual beast.”

Jin Cheon-hee wasn’t sure if one could call a creature that had swallowed a Peak Realm martial artist from the Golden Blood Chamber “naive.”

Smoke drifted from the shattered jewel. The serpent inhaled it deeply, his massive body trembling for a long moment, and when he finally opened his eyes, a single, thick tear dropped from his colossal lid. Even Yoo Ho froze, surprised by the reaction.

After a moment, he conveyed the serpent’s words to Jin Cheon-hee.

“He asks… ‘How many more winters do you wish to see?’”

“……?!”

…It was a prophecy that had followed him since his previous life.

—How many winters do you wish to see?

Back then, Jin Cheon-hee had answered, ‘The more, the better,’ and his grandmother had looked at him with incredibly sad eyes. Though the eyes now before him belonged to a snake, not a human, they looked at him with the exact same expression.

Yoo Ho spoke quietly, “He says he must deliver the rest of the prophecy directly to you alone.”

“How…?”

“Since the medium is broken, just press your forehead against his.”

At those words, Jin Cheon-hee obediently stepped forward and pressed his forehead against the massive scales of the Six-Horned Spirit Venomous Serpent. In that instant, the serpent’s voice resonated inside his head.