When Golden Finger Meets Salted Fish

Jiang Mo's trio spent nearly half a day observing the settlement from their vantage point, learning quite a bit about it.

The native settlement wasn't particularly large—just thirty to fifty houses with perhaps two to three hundred inhabitants. All able-bodied adults, regardless of gender, had gone hunting, leaving children running freely throughout the settlement, elders sunning themselves against doorways or walls, and youths gathered in one area practicing hand-to-hand combat and archery. At first glance, it presented a scene of peace and tranquility.

Jiang Mo's group, hiding in the tree, watched for quite some time, primarily observing the youths' training—they already knew the island's natives didn't practice cultivation, yet clearly possessed formidable strength, making them curious about the source of such power.

Unfortunately, even after extended observation, they discerned little.

Only Zhong Heng, who had traveled extensively in his early years and acquired broad knowledge, could vaguely recognize elements of body cultivation techniques in the natives' martial arts practice. After some thought, he shared this with the two women.

Hearing this, they exchanged glances before Jiang Mo said: "Though the deep sea is far from the mainland, it seems the two aren't entirely disconnected."

Yun Qingyue nodded in agreement: "Perhaps these people are descendants of cultivators who were stranded here millennia ago."

All three found this conjecture reasonable, but they maintained sufficient caution toward these aboriginals—the settlement Zhong Heng had found by tracking bloodstains hardly seemed friendly toward outsiders. Even if they wished to make contact and gather information, there was no need to rush.

After half a day had passed, Zhong Heng glanced at the native youth still hanging from the tree fork and said to the others: "This fellow appeared to be on duty earlier. Now that half a day has passed, someone might come to relieve him."

Jiang Mo and Yun Qingyue agreed, and after a brief discussion, they decided to withdraw.

Zhong Heng unhesitatingly hoisted the youth onto his shoulders, planning to take him for questioning in hopes of learning more about the island.

Just as the three were about to leave, Yun Qingyue caught something in her peripheral vision and raised her arm to stop them: "Wait!"

Zhong Heng paused mid-motion with the youth on his shoulders, and Jiang Mo likewise halted. Following Yun Qingyue's gaze, they saw a group of about a dozen people approaching the settlement. Dressed in hemp clothing and carrying knives and bows, they weren't the same hunting party Jiang Mo's group had encountered earlier, but their familiar attire clearly identified them as hunters from this settlement.

This wasn't the main point, however. What drew their attention was the "prey" these hunters carried—the figures slung over their shoulders weren't spirit beasts, but people. Judging by their clothing, they were clearly fellow cultivators from the ghost ship.

Jiang Mo glimpsed a familiar figure and immediately tugged at her senior sister's sleeve, pointing to indicate that she should look.

Even without Jiang Mo's guidance, the monk's shaved head practically reflected the sunlight, making him the most conspicuous among the captives. Not just Jiang Mo, but Yun Qingyue and Zhong Heng were instantly drawn to him—who else could that white monk's robe belong to but Tan Xin? And stumbling forward beside him was another familiar face, You Yi.

Neither appeared to be in good condition, with visible injuries and disheveled appearances. Yet compared to the other cultivators who could only be carried back, they seemed somewhat better off.

Upon seeing them, all three felt their hearts sink—the other cultivators might be of little concern, but Tan Xin and You Yi were among the outstanding younger generation of their respective sects. You Yi being a magic cultivator with fragile constitution was one thing, but Buddhist cultivators were famously resilient and tough, barely inferior to body cultivators. On this merperson island without spiritual energy, he should have had a considerable advantage, yet he too had been defeated and captured.

These aboriginals were clearly not to be trifled with—at present, direct confrontation was absolutely out of the question.

Jiang Mo's group didn't dare reveal themselves. Only after the returning hunting party entered the settlement and they witnessed the natives locking Tan Xin and the others in the largest building in the center of the settlement did they quietly depart.

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"I thought the largest building was the tribal chief's residence. Who knew it was used to imprison people?" After they had traveled far from the settlement, Jiang Mo finally couldn't help commenting as they walked: "There were four hundred cultivators on the ghost ship, and that group just captured a tenth of them. I wonder what happened to the rest, and how many people are actually locked up in that building."

This topic was somewhat heavy, as Zhong Heng and Yun Qingyue weren't as carefree as Jiang Mo. Other Xuanqing Sect members were still on the island—Zhong Heng was concerned for his fellow disciples, and though Yun Qingyue had left her sect years ago, she couldn't necessarily disregard former bonds.

Zhong Heng, who had been carrying the captured youth for the entire journey, finally spoke up: "Senior Sister, are we going to rescue them?"

Yun Qingyue nodded without much deliberation—she should go. Not just because Su Hao and other fellow disciples might be captured, but also because Tan Xin and You Yi were old acquaintances. Now that all of them were stranded on this deserted island and she had witnessed their predicament, how could she ignore their peril? However, given the unclear situation and their limited strength, any rescue attempt would require careful planning.

The three had traveled all day and had become familiar with the island's difficult terrain. Now, departing from the settlement, they moved quickly. After running for nearly half an hour, putting several dozen li between themselves and the settlement, they finally stopped.

Zhong Heng unceremoniously dropped his captive onto the ground, though the youth didn't wake—Zhong Heng had struck him too forcefully earlier.

"Shall we interrogate him first?" Zhong Heng asked, pointing at the youth.

Yun Qingyue nodded: "That would be best."

Zhong Heng wasted no time. He grabbed the youth and shook him vigorously, but seeing no response, he drew the bone knife from the youth's waist and made a cut on his arm. Blood immediately welled up, and the pain finally woke the youth. Opening his eyes to this scene, he immediately covered his wound and began shouting in his language. From his tone and manner, they were clearly not pleasant words—most likely curses.

In front of his senior sister, Zhong Heng was an obedient though competitive junior brother, and around the little White Tiger, he was good-natured and willing to work hard. But toward outsiders, his methods weren't gentle. Seeing the youth's continued cursing, he swung the knife down hard without hesitation.

The youth was startled, but fortunately, years of training had been effective—at the critical moment, he rolled away and dodged.

This was partly due to Zhong Heng showing restraint. With a flick of his wrist, he sent the bone knife slicing past the youth's head. The youth dodged again in fear, but this time the blade just grazed his scalp, shaving off a tuft of hair.

After these two close calls, the youth realized he was facing a ruthless opponent. When the bone knife pressed against his neck, he finally became more compliant.

Zhong Heng was satisfied with this effect, though his face showed no sign of it—instead, he forced his handsome features into a fierce expression. Then, in a harsh voice, he said to the youth: "I'm going to ask you a few questions, and you're going to answer honestly, understand?"

The youth heard him speak but showed confusion in his eyes.

Watching from the side, Jiang Mo whispered to Yun Qingyue: "I think he doesn't understand us?"

Yun Qingyue and Zhong Heng had noticed this too, but having come this far, they had to try. Moreover, the three had heard these aboriginals speak before—though their intonation was strange, they could vaguely understand some of it.

The reverse should also be true, though it was unclear how much of the youth's bewilderment was genuine.

Zhong Heng harbored doubts but showed no hesitation outwardly. He rotated the knife and struck the youth's shoulder hard with the flat of the blade. Seeing the youth's expression of terror mixed with pain, he spoke again: "Don't play dumb with me. I know you understand."

The youth was indeed young. Though the island's natives possessed formidable strength, without cultivation they couldn't extend their lifespans—the oldest in the tribe was only about two hundred years old. In comparison, the native youth was truly young, while Zhong Heng, despite his youthful appearance, was over a hundred years old. With his experience, he could easily spot the flash of ferocity in the youth's eyes.

He did understand!

Now confident, Zhong Heng's gaze fell on the cultivator's robe the youth was wearing, clearly from someone aboard the ghost ship. Tugging at the robe, he asked: "Where did you get these clothes?"

The youth had expected to be questioned about some secret, but was surprised by this inquiry about clothing. After a moment's hesitation, he replied: "I found it."

The accent was peculiar, and it took Jiang Mo's group a moment to understand what he said. But Zhong Heng didn't believe such an answer—he immediately delivered a sharp slap and said sternly: "Don't try to deceive me, or you'll suffer the consequences!" Then he yanked the youth up and asked again: "I'll ask once more—where did you get these clothes?!"

Zhong Heng's weapon was a heavy sword. Though magical treasures always responded to cultivators like extensions of their bodies, weapons still reflected a cultivator's preferences. Just as Yun Qingyue's ethereal and fierce sword techniques would never employ a heavy sword, Zhong Heng's use of such a weapon naturally indicated a strength-oriented cultivation path. Even without spiritual energy, his slap was not something an ordinary person could withstand.

When the native youth was struck by this slap, it felt no better than being hit by a bear. His brain buzzed, and half his body went numb—naturally, he hadn't clearly heard Zhong Heng's words.

So Zhong Heng asked a third time, impatiently pressing the bone knife closer until it cut a small line on the youth's neck.

Had it been an important secret, the native youth might have remained tight-lipped, but the origin of the clothing seemed trivial to him, so he didn't persist. After being frightened and beaten, he finally compromised: "I stole it."

Seeing him willing to talk, Zhong Heng knew he had cracked open the interrogation and naturally continued: "What about the person you stole it from?"

The native youth's eyes darted: "They escaped."

This fellow truly hadn't learned his lesson—the handprint on his face hadn't even faded, yet he dared to lie again. Zhong Heng couldn't help but laugh in anger. Just as he was about to give the youth another beating to make him more honest before continuing the questioning, someone unexpectedly tapped his shoulder.

Zhong Heng turned to see Jiang Mo holding a medicinal pill, which she handed to him: "Try this on him."

Since landing on the merperson island, none of them could access their storage spaces, making it impossible to retrieve pills or other items. It was unclear where Jiang Mo had procured this pill. Nevertheless, Zhong Heng didn't question it—he simply took it and forced it into the native youth's mouth, eager to witness its effects. The results came quickly—within moments, the youth began laughing uncontrollably, rolling on the ground.

This situation looked familiar. After a moment's thought, Zhong Heng realized: "Ah, it's an itching powder pill."

The itching powder pill was a prank medicine, probably a byproduct of some alchemist's failed pill refinement. It could be applied externally or taken internally. External application produced milder effects, causing only skin itching, while internal consumption made all internal organs itch unbearably, with no way to scratch. It was said that someone who had taken the drug without receiving the antidote in time had literally clawed open his own chest in desperation, nearly losing his life.

Zhong Heng had never experienced such unbearable itching personally, but the native youth's reaction made its effects clear. He put away the bone knife and tapped the youth's cheek with the flat of the blade: "Hey, ready to talk now?"

The native youth initially tried to resist, but while pain could be endured, itching was unbearable. Eventually he gave in: "I'll talk! That person... that person is in the settlement."

Now that he had truly opened up, Zhong Heng continued without delay, asking various questions: his name, the settlement's name, its population, where the captured people were being held, and more. The longest the youth managed to hold out was for about a dozen breaths before spilling everything he knew.

Finally, Zhong Heng asked: "What does your settlement do with the cultivators you capture?"

Hearing this, the youth first looked confused, then answered matter-of-factly: "Everyone on this island is our prey."