The term “deity” is not to be used lightly. For ordinary tribes, it represents omnipotence and supreme authority! In ancient times, the ancestors held deep beliefs and were meticulous in their sacrificial rituals, convinced that gods truly existed and could be summoned in critical moments to protect them. In truth, as later generations discovered, those tribes were worshiping immensely powerful beings—such as the True Howler or the purest-blooded Pixiu—supreme creatures of the highest order. In those distant eras, the ancients revered these supreme beings, offering sacrifices and reverence, and indeed received their protection in return.
Any entity daring to be called a “deity” must be capable of battling the primordial dire beasts, possessing heaven-defying strength, capable of annihilating several super clans with a mere gesture. Their divine might is unimaginable and nearly impossible to oppose. Even now, it is said that the boundless ancient realms still conduct celestial rites, performing archaic rituals and offerings to the gods. Despite the passage of countless years, the shadow of these ancient deities may yet linger behind these realms—terrifying and enigmatic.
So when the villagers of Shi Village referred to this willow tree as a “deity,” how could it not shock the visitors? This title was not to be taken lightly!
“Are you certain that this Guardian Spirit does not oppose being called a deity?” a cautious teenager from the Zi Shan Clan asked.
“Nope, Willow Deity is kind and has always protected our clan,” Er Meng answered bluntly.
The fact that the Guardian Spirit did not reject the title sent waves of dread through the gathered elites, causing many to step back instinctively. The sight of this charred, seemingly lifeless willow now inspired overwhelming fear. Most Guardian Spirits among humans were connected to deities, often descendants of ancient gods. They were particularly wary of such titles—never daring to claim divinity unless they had kindled the sacred flame, for the hierarchy was absolute.
Yet this willow tree did not resist the title. It must possess terrifying power, likely defying the heavens, unbothered by mortal conventions. Could it truly be an ancient deity, now lingering between life and death in its twilight years? Many harbored such thoughts but dared not voice them aloud.
After this revelation, the visitors treaded cautiously, their earlier arrogance replaced by wariness. Still, they were unwilling to leave without answers. What secrets did this reclusive clan hold? What miracles had this “Willow Deity” performed? Had it bestowed holy artifacts?
After all, relics tempered by true ancient deities were extraordinary, capable of defying fate itself. The outsiders burned with desire—if they offered the finest sacrifices, might the willow lend them its power?
Subtly, they requested to stay, feigning politeness. But the villagers, though simple, were no fools. Sensing deceit, they claimed limited space, hoping the visitors would leave.
Yet the intruders refused to relent. Leaders from the Golden Wolf Tribe, the Thunder Clan, and other great forces—originally here to seek the mountain treasure—now lingered, unwilling to depart.
“Elder brother, have you heard of the treasure in the mountains? Even primordial beasts have gone mad for it. Why didn’t your village search for it?” the Golden Wolf leader probed casually, tethering his unicorn.
“We heard, but our chief forbade it. Only those with great fortune or monstrous strength can claim such things. Others would only meet death,” Shi Feijiao replied.
Meanwhile, Lei Yun Kun brewed a pot of spirit blossoms, the fragrant steam thick with energy, as he coaxed information from the village youths. The children, less guarded, proved easier targets.
Two girls from the Cloud Heavenly Palace giggled as they chatted with Little Rascal, pinching his chubby cheeks. “We drank Snow Lynx milk as children—so sweet and rich!” one exclaimed.
“Mm, beast milk *is* delicious,” Little Rascal agreed earnestly. Their conversation soon turned to a ranking of the best milk blends.
Zi Shan Kun and Lei Ming Yuan passed by, rolling their eyes at such childish talk. But Jiao Peng, still fuming from his earlier humiliation, barely resisted lashing out. If this village truly had divine protection, vengeance would have to wait.
Hours later, suspicion grew. Many villagers displayed no mastery of bone inscriptions—unthinkable for a hidden clan.
“Something’s amiss. Could we have frightened ourselves over nothing?”
Their sharp instincts soon uncovered discrepancies. Had they been fooled? Faces burned with humiliation at the thought of being intimidated by mere villagers.
Worst of all, the so-called “Willow Deity” had only appeared decades ago—not an ancient guardian at all. It had never spoken, never acted as a true Guardian Spirit should.
“It’s a sham!” Jiao Peng spat, fists clenched. “This village is nothing special!”
The revelation stoked rage, especially among the proud youths. To be outwitted by mere peasants—what a joke!
But their fury soon found a new target. If this village had feasted on a Suanni’s flesh, they must possess its precious bone—a supreme treasure!
Such primal inscriptions were priceless, coveted even by great clans.
“Hey, brats! Was all that boasting just hot air?” Jiao Peng sneered at Pi Hou and the others, malice dripping from his voice.
The villagers tensed, sensing danger.
“Big brother, what’s the matter?” Little Rascal stepped forward, arms spread protectively.
“*Reason?*” Jiao Peng scoffed. “Foolish child. In this world, reason only extends as far as your fist can reach!”
Some elders, embarrassed by the scene, intervened. But greed had taken root. The village had profited from a Suanni—they would not leave unscathed.
Then, a sudden cry pierced the air. Three fledgling birds—Da Peng, Xiao Qing, and Zi Yun—scurried into view, their feathers gleaming with newfound vigor after feasting on the Suanni’s flesh. Their mutations marked them as rare, noble-blooded creatures—prizes beyond compare.
“My prey!” Jiao Peng snarled, nocking an arrow. “None shall take them from me!”
“Who says they’re yours?” Zi Shan Kun and Lei Ming Yuan countered, bows drawn.
“Stay away from them!” Little Rascal’s voice trembled with uncharacteristic fury as he shielded the birds. The battle lines were drawn.
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