Chapter 38: The Grand Feast

Dusk was gathering, and the garden, already especially cool, began to grow cold. Shadows of flowers and trees clustered and swayed in the wind as night approached. The Dong Residence was particularly eerie after dark—winds always seemed to howl low through the gardens, and indescribable things wandered the night. Fearing Motu would catch cold after being wounded, Qingyin wrapped him in her coat, preparing to return to the guest quarters. They had barely stepped out of the pavilion when Motu whispered, “Wait.”

She halted at once, sensing that something was amiss. Darkness spread rapidly, but it was not just the coming of night; a black mist welled up from the ground, rising like a silent tide. In the blink of an eye, the entire Dong Residence was swallowed into a mass of gloom, so dense that one could not see their own hand before their face.

Under this shroud, any ordinary person would have been rendered blind. Yet, as the last light vanished, a golden gleam shone in Qingyin’s eyes; she quickly adapted to the darkness. Though her vision was blurred by the fog, she could still make out the shapes of things nearby.

From deep within the mist, gray-black shadows shifted, and now and then pairs of blood-red, luminous eyes appeared.

She subtly twisted her wrist, readying the fire-plumed arrow she kept hidden. But the black cat pressed a paw onto her hand and said, “Leave this to me.”

Qingyin replied, “You’re still injured—you shouldn’t exhaust yourself further.”

The black cat narrowed his golden eyes to slits, his gaze sharp as a blade as he glanced around. He licked the corner of his mouth and said, “This isn’t a fight—it’s a feast delivered to my door. Besides, they conjured this mist to hide their demonic aura, but it’ll help mask mine as well. At last, I can cut loose.” With a couple of triumphant grunts, he suddenly leaped from the pavilion and, midair, transformed into a colossal beast.

This time, Motu’s true form was even larger than before—almost as tall as a house. His massive hooves crashed to the ground, snapping several trees; the earth trembled and dust flew.

Qingyin had never seen him so enormous, and she was left speechless in awe.

The gray shadows that had been slowly encircling them grew restless, but when they saw a giant cat with a sharp horn on its brow suddenly appear, they realized the situation had turned against them. Yet, orders pushed them on from behind, so none dared retreat. From the depth of night, a sharp, shrill whistle sounded, and several shadows surged forward, swift as the wind, carrying a foul stench.

As the gray shapes drew near, Qingyin could finally see their true forms: they were giant rats, several feet long, with fangs, claws, and blood-red eyes, their faces twisted and monstrous. Each rat had a clear attack route—some lunged for the throat, some for the belly, others for the hind legs—splitting up to strike at the three-tailed beastcat’s vital points.

The beastcat’s golden gaze held a mocking sneer. With a sweep of his paw, he slashed open one rat’s belly in midair, spraying black blood everywhere. Twisting and turning, he killed a few more in quick succession. The last one left he caught in his massive jaws, biting down with a sickening crunch of breaking bones before swallowing it whole.

Opening his mouth wide, he sucked up several more rat demons lying dead on the ground.

After devouring several of the giant rats, the beastcat’s eyes swept greedily through the darkness—he was still not sated. In the shadows not far away, hundreds of pairs of crimson eyes watched, now clearly stricken with fear.

The old saying goes: when a mouse meets a cat, its fate is sealed. The one directing the attack from the shadows must have realized by now that the wrong force had been sent. But the arrow was nocked and had to fly; there was no choice but to fight with all they had.

The sharp whistle sounded again, changing pitch.

More gray shadows attacked. Motu’s pupils dilated wide in the darkness, a cruel flame burning in his eyes, excitement at its peak.

This was truly a feast of gluttony. He hadn’t eaten his fill in ages. The more he fought, the fiercer he became; the more he ate, the more delighted he was. Any rat demon within his sight was devoured—not a single one spared. The rat ranks were soon in chaos, their shrill squeals echoing everywhere as they scattered in panic, the whistle now powerless to restore order.

Before long, of the hundreds of rat demons, only a few were left. Motu, caught up in the thrill of the hunt, pursued them relentlessly, unwilling to let any escape.

Suddenly, a chill crept up from beneath his feet, freezing to the bone and jolting him clear-headed. He stopped.

Looking around, he realized he had chased his prey into a clearing in a bamboo grove. The shrill whistle, which had been sounding nonstop, fell abruptly silent. Its sudden cessation revealed, at last, the direction from which it had come—right beneath a peculiar ancient tree.

Now that the mist concealed his aura, he could use his powers without restraint. To guard against curses or traps, he summoned a translucent barrier around himself and advanced step by step toward the strange tree.

As he drew near, a figure flashed beneath the thick trunk. Motu didn’t hesitate; he pounced with a thunderous leap, swinging a giant paw at the shadow. But the figure didn’t dodge to the side—only stepped back and, in a blink, vanished into thin air.

With a heavy thud, Motu’s paw struck the tree, carving a massive claw mark into the trunk. A deep crack split open with a harsh, splintering sound, and a viscous, blackish-purple liquid like blood seeped from the wound. The broad, fleshy leaves rustled down. Faintly, a pained screech echoed from the canopy above, and the whole tree shuddered in agony.

Motu snorted coldly and stepped back, his gaze dropping to the tangled, exposed roots. The giant beast paced slowly beneath the tree, focusing on the subtle shifts underfoot. Suddenly sensing something, he began to dig at the earth. His powerful paws made quick work, and soon a deep hole appeared. He paused, then gently scraped at the pit’s bottom, revealing a large clay jar the size of a wine urn. A thick, black root had wormed its way into the jar, sealing its mouth completely.

He peered closer and saw the jar was inscribed with dense, twisting symbols. Upon careful inspection, he recognized it as a soul-binding curse.

Lifting a paw, he tapped the jar lightly, shattering it to pieces. Out spilled a small pile of white-gray fragments—splintered bones. They were so fine and delicate that he could tell at once: these were human bones.

So slender, so fragile—these had belonged to an infant.

Though Motu was not kin to human children, even he felt a chill at the sight of these tiny, broken remains scattered in the soil.

No matter the race, slaughtering infants deserved the wrath of heaven and earth.

He gazed out over the clearing. Beneath that demonic tree, who could say how many such soul jars containing infant bones were buried? No doubt, these were the unlucky children born on the fifteenth day of the seventh month, who then vanished mysteriously on their first birthday. The tales of a ruined ancient tomb, of vengeful ghosts and curses—perhaps these were mere smokescreens laid by the true culprit. It was this demon tree that was the real perpetrator. But why had it cultivated itself with such cruel, wicked magic?

The demon tree, bringing calamity and death, had to be destroyed. Its power was formidable, but he had already wounded it with his strike—a perfect chance to eliminate it.

Motu’s eyes blazed with ferocity as he glared at the tree.

He was about to advance when a cry of alarm rang out from the direction of the pavilion.

Qingyin.

In his bloodlust, he had left her alone in the pavilion far too long. His fur bristled and, turning swiftly, he rushed back.

Qingyin stood beneath the pavilion, stunned by the sight of the enormous beast leaping and sweeping through the rat horde—a vision both terrifying and awe-inspiring. She realized she had only glimpsed a fraction of Motu; who could say how many other hidden faces lay behind that solitary figure?

As she stood entranced, a chill suddenly swept over her. Ever since strange powers had awoken in her five years ago, she had developed a keen instinct for approaching danger. Without thinking, she sidestepped quickly. Just as she moved, a giant rat dropped from the pavilion roof with a whoosh, landing exactly where she had just stood. Its sharp claws gouged deep into the stone floor.

The sudden arrival of the grotesque rat demon startled her into a scream. Though she had faced lesser demons before, she had never encountered such ferocity. The rat demon pulled its long black nails from the stone, stretched, and transformed into a humanoid shape. But this was only half-human, half-beast: a human face covered in coarse, gray-black fur, blood-red eyes, bared fangs, and saliva dripping from its mouth. There was nothing of the usual demon spirit here, only murderous malice.

Qingyin realized that this creature was not even a true demon—it was a being that had lost its very nature, now a monster whose strength far surpassed any lesser fiends she had faced.

The rat demon hunched, then sprang at her with shocking speed. Qingyin reacted at once, flicking her wrist and releasing a crimson-feathered arrow. The arrow shot through the rat demon like a line of fire, and with a thunderous crack, it exploded, shredding the creature to pieces and drenching her face and hair with a spray of blood.

It was the first time Qingyin had used the blood-plumed arrow in combat; she had never imagined such power. She herself was so startled that she slipped and fell to the ground.

Motu, rushing back, saw her lying on the ground covered in blood. He was horrified, letting out a roar like thunder. As he reached the pavilion, he shifted back into human form, knelt at her side, and swept her into his arms, face pale as he called, “Qingyin, Qingyin…”

She was staring blankly, motionless. All he could see was the blood on her face and he thought her gravely wounded, unresponsive—remorse twisted his heart into knots. Lifting her up, he wanted to seek help, but had no idea where to turn. He spun in circles, completely distraught.

Qingyin, still frozen in shock, was jolted back to herself by his shaking. Slowly, she raised her hands and looked down at her bloodstained palms, then let out a scream.

Motu panicked, “What is it? Where does it hurt? Where are you wounded?”

She furiously wiped both hands on his coat, exclaiming, “It’s disgusting! Rat blood is disgusting! I need a bath! I need a bath!!”

“…”

Author’s Note: Daily updates are exhausting—please shower me with support!
Half-Immortal Seal, Chapter 38: The Feast of Gluttony—Update complete!