Chapter 12: Chapter 12 — The Crane Maiden

The Beast-Warden Token floated in the air, obedient to his thought. The sight filled Fang Han’s mind with possibilities.

Blood-binding refinement—so this was how a Flesh-Realm practitioner could wield artifacts. It was a staggering advantage. Those who trained only the body knew its limits: a body could not fly; a body feared blade and spear, poison, water, fire, and lightning. Even if one’s flesh reached the tenth stage of “Divine Transformation” and gained the strength of five horses, mortality still clung. Only by entering the Divine-Ability Realm—developing the brain, producing mana, mastering supernatural arts—could one truly transcend.

But the Divine-Ability Realm was a needle-thin gate. Among ten thousand experts one might see a single breakthrough—true fortune and cosmic chance beyond ordinary reckoning.

This was where treasure implements came in.

A man of mere Flesh Realm with a flying sword could cleave foes at a thousand paces. A shoulder talisman woven into a mana wall could make one impervious to blade and spear. A Divine-Strength fighter equipped with spirit implements could slay a Divine-Transformation opponent.

Even a low-grade implement like the Beast-Warden Token, if properly used, could command spirit beasts to strike on one’s behalf.

He hesitated. Should I try the Dragon Lurking in the Yellow Springs Map? If that map could be blood-bound and something went wrong—if a wrong omen was triggered—then Bai Haichan’s fate might be nothing compared to his. Better not to tempt that yet.

Fang Han decided to test the Beast-Warden Token first—see whether it could truly communicate and bend the cranes’ will.

He approached the obvious leader among the cranes. This bird was grander than the others: taller, nobler, its red crest blazing like a living ember. When it called, the sound rolled like a small gale.

Immediately a delicate voice came from the token as if carried on the wind: “Boy, hurry—open the net and let me fly; I need to stretch my wings!”

Fang Han started. He glanced around.

“Hey! Don’t stare—can’t you tell that’s my voice? You bled onto the token, and now my voice comes through it. It changes into human language so you can understand.”
The leader crane trumpeted again, and its thoughts came through the jade token clear as day.

“So—you’re speaking?”
Fang Han realized at once how the token worked. “All right. I’ll free you. Then you’ll carry me into the sky.”

“Hmph. Keep my meals regular and comfortable and I might help you,”
the crane said loftily. “If you don’t treat me well, I won’t obey. Don’t think the token makes me your slave. It only opens a channel. We are equals.”

The crane lifted its head; its eyes looked down at Fang Han with regal indifference.

So the token doesn’t force command—it merely enables communication. Keeping spirit beasts will not be easy, Fang Han thought.

He bowed quickly, putting on a flattering smile. “Crane Maiden, I am your humble servant. I will feed you well and meet every need. Tell me what you would like and I will provide.”

“Of course—roasted mountain fowl, roasted rabbit. Go fetch wild rabbits and pheasants. Add salt and mustard. I’m already salivating. I cannot use fire without burning my feathers, so you must be the cook. Roasted rabbit, roasted pheasant—delicious.”

As the Crane Maiden talked she drooled, droplets of viscous saliva falling to the ground, exuding an aroma that made the air seem fragrant.

Crane saliva—crane drool—is a precious medicinal ingredient, Fang Han thought, eyes widening. Centuries-old crane saliva nourished viscera, reinforced yin and yang, and moistened the lungs. A hundred-year drop could be worth a small fortune; imagine the value of these anomalous immortal cranes. He set his mind to collecting it.

“Let us go hunt for wild meat!”
the Crane Maiden cried. With a flap and a gust the cranes streamed out over the mountain range.

“Set up the spits,”
Fang Han ordered his two hundred servants. Within little time the cranes returned, beaks full: pheasant, rabbit, even great fish from the river, wolves, foxes—the harvest grew wilder and richer. They brought back deer, tiger, leopard, antelope, boar, even a bear. The Crane Maiden herself had captured a huge patterned python; the servants jumped back in alarm at the monstrous serpent.

This is a plump post indeed, Fang Han thought. If merely commanding cranes could yield pelts, gall, and rare meats daily, the post was worth a fortune.

He set his men to work skinning and preparing the meat, personally tending the great python on the spit. He brewed strong wine and made careful preparations, fussing over the cranes’ dishes.

The birds feasted until sated, then rose and soared for a time before returning to their perches. Fang Han breathed easier. The cranes were simpler than humans—direct, straightforward.

Days passed in this routine: feeding the cranes, practicing in secret. The Nine-Orifice Golden Elixir at his heart still hummed steadily; his body seemed to have reached a plateau, though he never slackened the brutal regimen. He believed that one day he would breakthrough again.

One day, flushed with wine, he asked the Crane Maiden whether he might ride.

“Flying is no trifle. Grip my feathers tight, and if you fall, I won’t catch you,”
she slurred, her eyes half-closed. Fang Han caught the droplets of her saliva in a bowl.

“I’ll be careful,”
he promised. Quick from training, nimble as a monkey, he vaulted onto the crane’s back.

“Off we go!”
The Crane Maiden rose with a thunderous beat. The world dropped away. Wind tore past his ears; his stomach flipped. Below, mountains and palaces shrank to the size of fist-sized models. One slip meant shattering ruin.

This is what flight feels like. At last I'm in the sky, Fang Han thought, awe and fear jostling in his chest. But this is borrowed flight. When I can fly by my own will—when I reach Divine Ability—that will be true immortality.

He buried himself in the Crane Maiden’s feathers, the wind gliding over them like silk and leaving him lighter and more at ease. The Crane Maiden picked her course and they cut through the clouds, leaving Violet-Light Peak behind.

Then ahead, over the ridges, something terrible thrust upward—seven columns of black smoke spearing the sky like the mouths of hell. Faces formed in the smoke—grim, jagged visages like the doorways to demon realms.

“Oh no! That’s the Demonic Wolf Sect’s Seven-Woe Smoke! Run—run! If they’ve come so close to Yuhua Mountain, death follows. Fly! Fly!”
the Crane Maiden screamed and whirled, nearly flinging Fang Han from her back.

“What’s happening?”
Fang Han scanned the dark columns.

“Run! If we’re spotted, we’re dead.”
The Crane Maiden banked hard and sped away.

From one of the obsidian pillars a thick curl of smoke detached and coalesced into a monstrous face the size of a gate—its mouth opened and lunged at the Crane Maiden and Fang Han as they fled.

Translator’s note: In the previous chapter I made a small revision to terminology for clarity. Artifact ranks are now rendered as: mundane talisman (faqi), spirit implement (lingqi), treasure artifact (baoqi), Dao implement (daoqi), and immortal implement (xianqi). The last two imply attainment of Dao or immortality—only by achieving Dao can an implement become a Dao or Immortal Implement.