A Pawn's Passage

The closer Qi Xuansu and Qi Jiaoyao walked toward the great mountain, the more unsettling it felt. There were far too many empty shells of humans that had been drained dry by Wu Zhen.

This revealed the difference between the Daoist Order and the Wuist Sect. The Daoist elders treated the Daoist Order as a legacy meant to last for countless generations, everything centered on its future. However, the Ancestral Witches regarded the Wuist Sect like an accessory, no different from the magical artifacts they carried but larger in scale. When the critical moment came, they would discard it without hesitation.

After much effort, they reached the foot of the mountain, where the sight became even more horrifying. Thousands upon thousands of wooden stakes stood before them, one end sharpened and the other rooted in the ground, arranged like unopened yucca blossoms. Each stake impaled a human body, driven upward from the lower orifices until the tip protruded from the mouth, skewering the entire body in an extremely brutal fashion. Not all the dead here were empty husks. Some had already turned into skeletons, while others remained as desiccated corpses, showing they had died at different times, even before Wu Zhen drained all the witches here.

So many stakes spread across the mountain’s foothills like thorny thickets, forming a ghastly landscape.

There were also wind-dried skeletons hanging in the air, swaying gently.

Qi Xuansu, seasoned by countless ordeals, was not frightened by such sights. But neither did he find them pleasant.

Qi Jiaoyao examined the corpses and sighed. “These were sacrificial offerings of the Wuist Sect. They were probably criminals or prisoners in life, starved to death, then slowly dried and displayed here. This is barbaric. That’s why the Wuist Sect was destroyed. Civilization replacing barbarism is inevitable.”

Various buildings lined both sides of the path up the mountain. They were completely sealed by something resembling corpse-wax, yet simple murals still decorated their exteriors, unfaded even after many years.

Qi Jiaoyao stopped before one mural. “The stories depicted in these paintings are all related to Wu Zhen.”

Qi Xuansu looked as well.

During the era of the Eleven Witches, each Ancestral Witch had her own followers and believers. They were independent entities, each resembling the ruler of her own kingdom, receiving worship and offerings.

One mural showed Wu Zhen seated upon a massive throne like a giant, wearing a long robe patterned with strange designs and a bronze mask covering her face. Many figures gathered at her feet, not even as tall as the throne’s armrests. Some knelt in prayer, others prostrated themselves, while some stood with raised hands, gazing at Wu Zhen with devotion as if awaiting her blessing.