Chapter 21: The Bone Lantern

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Ye Lu was somewhat surprised to see the two brothers so well-behaved. He hadn’t expected them to be so obedient; he thought they might cause some trouble, but this was better. Ye Lu nodded. He had joined the escort team not only to avoid the constant comings and goings around the carriages but also because he truly had matters to attend to—the weapon crafting had reached a critical stage.

That very night, Ye Lu reported for duty with the escort team. It was their turn to keep watch. He had already told Helan earlier that he would be on night duty and had even switched positions with someone familiar.

Helan was a bit puzzled. “There aren’t always strange creatures roaming at night. Last time, that odd creature you hunted was edible by luck, but usually, the beasts we hunt are not only inedible but often poisonous and troublesome.” Helan had assumed Ye Lu was eager to go again because of the bounty from that fierce-level creature.

To prevent Ye Lu from feeling disappointed, Helan gave him a heads-up.

Ye Lu blinked and smiled wryly. “Aunt Lan, don’t worry. I know that. Besides, we have enough food at home. Tonight’s watch is really for something else, not for hunting those creatures.” It would be nice if there were any, but it wasn’t necessary.

Helan trusted Ye Lu mainly because he had always seemed reliable. Plus, after Ye Lu’s performance facing the fierce-level Tutu Vine Wraith, Helan wasn’t overly concerned about his safety. As long as Ye Lu didn’t take unnecessary risks for the sake of monster meat, he was unlikely to be in any real danger.

“I’m covering for Axi’s shift,” Ye Lu added. Since he had to keep watch anyway, it might as well count as her share.

Helan clicked his tongue, impressed by the boy’s cleverness. “Alright, alright. This watch counts for your family.”

The area Ye Lu guarded was at the front of the refugee caravan, a good distance from the carriages, near the ancestral hall—a critical position in the caravan.

The night deepened.

Ye Lu was alone in a clearing near the forest’s edge. A small bonfire flickered before him. He had already informed the other guards that he had business to attend to during the night. They understood and agreed that he could leave briefly but had to return quickly. The guards were serious about the rules, obviously trusting Ye Lu’s capability, but the escort team’s regulations were strict.

So Ye Lu remained alone there.

The moon slowly rose above the treetops. Its pure, cold light cast a delicate silver frost over the earth. Even the withered grass seemed draped in shimmering silver. Ye Lu looked up at the moon.

It was large, bright, and chillingly cold.

The longer he stared, the more he felt the tree shadows dancing—a fleeting illusion that disappeared upon closer inspection.

Moreover, since the moon had risen, Ye Lu could clearly sense the rising aura of the supernatural energy around him. It was as if the moon was drawing all this eerie force upward, stirring it restlessly, yet the moon’s own serene stillness remained.

Even the laurel seed he had nurtured in his dantian responded, swirling inside, absorbing the faint silver moonlight.

The glossy black seed gleamed as it absorbed the pale lunar glow intermittently.

Ye Lu stared for some time. For some reason, that eerily bright and cold moon reminded him of the one during a bizarre ghostly ritual he had once witnessed.

“Enough. Overthinking is useless,” Ye Lu shook his head, dispelling the unsettling thoughts.

He stood upright in the clearing, extended his hand, and slowly drew out a long weapon. At the other end hung a lantern—a lamp, to be precise.

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No, more accurately, it was just a lamp.

The handle appeared to be woven from a plant’s fiber in a specific pattern, then polished to a glossy, smooth finish. Were the Ghost Scholar here, he would immediately recognize it as the same material extracted from the Tutu Vine Wraith’s corpse.

When Ye Lu had slain that creature, he had busied himself with the corpse early on. By the time he returned, the body had been torn apart, and the Ghost Scholar had wondered if the Tao master had taken something.

Besides the handle, there was a chain.

Also crafted from the same material—several of the toughest vine strands pulled from the creature’s main torso, further split into finer threads woven into a special chain structure. Four chains, positioned at the four cardinal directions—east, south, west, north—securely fastened the bone lantern at the bottom.

The lamp was carved from pure white bone, utterly devoid of any bloodstains, starkly pale. Its skeletal form sent chills down the spine, yet it was exquisitely detailed—finely carved with grotesque figures resembling half-human, half-serpent creatures. These beings, like slithering serpents, cradled the central wick.

These were the Snake Gods.

Legend tells that long ago, before the gods descended, humanity arose from the earth. Tribes gathered into villages, which became kingdoms, rising and falling. Humans first grasped the concept of death and the underworld.

They worshipped the underworld, revered witchcraft and sorcery, and indulged in blood sacrifices. It was during this time that a class of gods emerged from humanity’s earliest yearning for longevity.

The Snake Gods.

This was part of the inherited memory embedded in Ye Lu’s bloodline as the Son of Mount Tai.

Now, in this new world, Ye Lu wasn’t sure if it would still work. He pondered the chaotic presence of monsters, thinking it might be better to carve symbols of righteous deities or spirits. But considering the lamp’s material, he ultimately chose the fierce, bloody witchcraft gods.

More importantly, the Snake Gods were a group of deities, all characterized by their holding of snakes. Their divine power varied but was certainly capable of controlling the eerie bone-crafted lamp.

From handle to chain, a dark bluish-black hue tinged with faint streaks of blood.

The slender weapon’s shaft curved slightly at the tip and was intricately carved. Below the long chain hung the pale bone lantern.

From the moment Ye Lu drew it, the lamp began absorbing the moonlight autonomously, floating in midair without a breeze. A faint silver glow shimmered, pulsating gently. The snake gods carved on the lamp moved as if alive—serpents coiled around their eyes, covered their mouths and noses, ever shifting.

At one moment, the lantern gleamed with a jade-like luster.

Ye Lu narrowed his eyes, focusing on the snake gods on the lamp. When the serpents had wrapped the figures’ mouths and noses, the snake heads resting three inches behind the figures’ heads, tails draped over their shoulders, a strange pattern appeared on the lantern.

“Bone Lantern, Ignite with Oil and Flame!”

Ye Lu uttered the phrase in a cryptic, solemn tone—half chant, half prayer.

It seemed to invoke some kind of pact.

At his words, the snake gods ceased their movement, fixed their gaze on the empty wick in the center, their eyes glowing with serpentine pupils—uncannily sinister—then slowly closed, falling into slumber.

The spirit had been invoked.

“Looks like the Snake Gods can see this world too,” Ye Lu smiled as the bone lantern descended. He caught it, inspecting it carefully.

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This was undeniably good news for Ye Lu.

As the Son of Mount Tai, much of his combat strength depended on innate talent.

“Not bad!” After examining the bone lantern, Ye Lu’s expression grew more pleased. The weapon’s power exceeded his expectations. More importantly, he had sacrificed most of its overwhelming might to focus on two aspects: the lamp’s inherent function and its potential for growth.

Both had surpassed his hopes.

The only drawback was the weapon’s heavy reliance on monster flesh and blood, especially when Ye Lu wanted to unleash its full power—it inevitably consumed the creatures’ remains.

“Hopefully, you won’t tarnish the Snake Gods’ reputation,” Ye Lu said as he casually swung the long bone lantern. With his tall, slender frame clad in Taoist robes, there was an elegant air about him.

The bone lantern jingled softly at the other end.

As he finished speaking, the bone lantern seemed to respond, a faint silver aura briefly shimmering and then vanishing mysteriously.

Having completed this, Ye Lu returned to the bonfire, positioning himself closer to the caravan so the nearby guards could see him.

The night deepened further, the moon still hanging high.

At first, Ye Lu hoped some spirit would appear to test his new weapon, but nothing came. The creatures seemed to sense this place was not to be trifled with, and the night passed quietly.

Only when dawn’s first light appeared on the horizon did Ye Lu withdraw his gaze, somewhat disappointed.

Returning to the refugee caravan, Ye Lu had barely approached when a familiar figure came toward him—Qian Gouzi, one of the twin brothers Qian Linzi and Qian Gouzi, who resembled each other by over seventy percent. One was cheerful and roguish; the other calm and restrained. It was the cheerful Qian Gouzi who called out.

“Stop!” Qian Gouzi shouted from afar, his eyes wary but his smile bright.

Ye Lu obediently halted.

Qian Gouzi nodded to a nearby guard, then stepped out from the caravan’s perimeter toward Ye Lu, smiling politely. “Brother Lu, apologies. Duty calls—you’ve been outside the escort team’s line of sight for over half an incense stick’s time.”

This was one of the escort team’s rules.

Some spirits possessed strange, insidious abilities to replace humans without detection. Often, a companion would leave briefly and return having been replaced by a spirit. Many villages had suffered this, thus the rule.

“Understood,” Ye Lu replied, prepared for this. Everyone who joined the escort team experienced it. He opened his hands—his bone lantern had long been put away—now empty-handed, allowing Qian Gouzi to bring a yellow-red talisman close.

The talisman showed no reaction.

Qian Gouzi breathed out in relief, his smile now genuinely warm. “You may rejoin the team.”