He Yuzhu returns in Siheyuan

Chapter 872 The situation is not good

Led by a black-robed cultivator, the forty-man squad formed a defensive formation and fought their way back. The black-robed cultivator would occasionally flick out yellow talismans, which transformed into flames or ice spikes in the air, accurately repelling the demons at the forefront. They managed to avoid major losses, suffering only four or five casualties—mostly from being bitten on the wrist by venomous snakes or dragged into the bushes by mountain spirits' vines, severely injured, their faces pale and limp on the ground, too weak to even grip their magical artifacts. They had to be supported by two companions as they retreated back to their outer stronghold. With the immediate crisis averted, the remaining members found a sheltered mountain hollow, huddled together on smooth bluestone, and began to meditate and cultivate, faint halos of spiritual energy swirling around their fingertips.

The mountain valley was eerily quiet, save for the faint sounds of the cultivators breathing, like the whisper of wind through the bamboo grove, and the occasional howls of demons echoing from the distant woods—sometimes sharp as a baby's cry, sometimes deep as muffled thunder. The closer they got to the heart of the Misty Forest, the denser the demonic aura in the air became, like insoluble ink, carrying a sweet, metallic stench that pressed down on their chests, making even breathing difficult. Everyone could feel the invisible danger closing in, like a beast lurking in the shadows, its greedy eyes fixed upon them. This was why they cherished this brief respite, frantically circulating their spiritual energy to repair their depleted meridians, hoping to have sufficient strength and mental fortitude to face the even more perilous situations that might lie ahead.

Unbeknownst to anyone, the other group of cultivators who had agreed to meet them under the thousand-year-old banyan tree in the central area had already been completely wiped out. Their remains were dragged into the cave and turned into nutrients for the decaying soil in the forest, leaving only a few lingering traces of blood in the wind.

During a break from meditation, a young cultivator with a still somewhat childish face couldn't help but stretch his stiff neck and look at the black-robed leader who was leaning against the rock wall with his eyes closed, resting. He had only been practicing for two years and this was his first time venturing deep into such a dangerous demon forest. His voice trembled slightly: "Captain, how long have we been heading towards the center? The demons are becoming more numerous and more powerful. I think... shouldn't we split up and search for the other team? After all, more people means more strength, and if we encounter a powerful creature like that bear demon we just encountered, we'll have someone to help us."

As soon as he said this, the surrounding cultivators opened their eyes, their faces showing agreement, and they chimed in, "Yes, Captain, judging by the distance, they should have arrived long ago. I hope something has happened to them..." "More people mean more strength. Even if it's just a brief meeting, it'll give us peace of mind." Facing this perilous forest alone, everyone felt uneasy, as if carrying a cold stone. If they could reunite with another team, they would have more confidence.

The black-robed cultivator slowly opened his eyes, his gaze sweeping across the faces of the crowd beneath his hood, unfathomable like two bottomless ancient wells. He remained silent for a moment, his fingertips unconsciously stroking the jade pendant at his waist, before slowly shaking his head: "Wait a little longer. The agreed time hasn't arrived yet; perhaps they're just entangled by other demons. Rashly splitting up to search now will only further disperse our already limited forces, making us more vulnerable to being picked off one by one by the demons, increasing casualties." His voice was hoarse and low, as if sanded, yet carried an undeniable authority. "Let's conserve our energy first. Once we've passed the black pine forest where the demonic energy is strongest, and reached the vicinity of the banyan tree, we'll decide what to do next."

Although the group still harbored reservations and hesitated, they knew their leader was experienced and spoke the truth—in this demon forest, the worst thing one could do was lose their composure. They could only suppress their anxiety, close their eyes again, and immerse themselves in cultivation, letting their spiritual energy flow slowly through their limbs and bones. Silence returned to the mountain hollow, broken only by the rustling of the wind through the treetops, like someone whispering in the shadows, as if recounting the unknown dangers and deaths shrouded in mist within this forest.

The wind picked up, swirling a few withered yellow leaves across the mountain valley. The black-robed cultivator glanced at the sky; the clouds, as if dyed black ink, were gradually lowering, suggesting a heavy rain was imminent. In this misty forest, rainy days were always the most active time for demons. The moisture made their aura more viscous and blurred the cultivators' senses, adding to the danger.

"Speed ​​up your breathing, we'll set off in half an hour." He suddenly spoke, his voice breaking the tranquility of the mountain valley. "Let's try to get through the black pine forest before the rain comes."

Upon hearing this, everyone dared not delay, quickly focusing their minds and increasing the speed at which they circulated their spiritual energy. The light at their fingertips brightened, and the sound of spiritual energy flowing in the air became much clearer, like streams flowing into the ocean. The young cultivator gritted his teeth, enduring the throbbing pain in his wrist from the snake bite—the hasty retreat had only allowed for a quick treatment of the wound, and now the venom seemed to be spreading again, causing his fingertips to tingle. But he dared not utter a sound, fearing he would slow the group down, and could only silently circulate his inner energy, trying to suppress the numbness.

The black-robed cultivator observed all of this but said nothing. In this demon forest, injury was commonplace; whether one could endure it depended entirely on one's will. He took out a small porcelain bottle from his robes, poured out three brown pills, and handed them to the three cultivators beside him who were most severely depleted of spiritual energy: "Hold them under your tongue; they can temporarily slow the loss of spiritual energy."

The three quickly took the pills, gave him a grateful look, and put them in their mouths. A cool sensation instantly spread from the tip of their tongues, down their throats, and into their dantian. Their previously depleted spiritual energy seemed to be infused with a clear spring, gradually regaining some flow.

Just then, a strange noise suddenly came from afar, like something heavy running through the forest, accompanied by the cracking sound of branches breaking, growing closer and closer. The cultivators who were meditating instantly became alert, opening their eyes and placing their hands on the magical artifacts at their waists, looking warily in the direction from which the sound came.

The black-robed monk stood up, his hood slipping down to reveal a sharply defined face with a faint scar between his brows. He gestured for everyone to be quiet, then silently moved to the edge of the ravine, parted the waist-high weeds, and looked out into the dense forest.

A boar demon, as robust as a water buffalo, was charging towards them. Its body was covered in stiff, grayish-black bristles, its two curved tusks gleamed coldly, and its eyes were bloodshot, clearly enraged by something. Even more chilling was the fact that it was followed by seven or eight blue-faced, fanged mountain spirits, brandishing bone clubs and howling as they chased after it, seemingly trying to drive the boar demon away.