Journey to the West: The Immortal Clan Begins by Feeding Monkeys at Five Elements Mountain

Chapter 81 The Enchanted Forest
Deep in the mountains and forests, the branches and leaves intertwine like a woven tapestry, creating a dense canopy. The wind rustles through the trees, carrying only a few whispers, like a soft murmur.

Jiang Liang crouched down, following behind the old scout with white hair and beard.

The man's face was deeply lined with wrinkles, and his expression was calm.

They walked slowly, but with steady steps. Their footprints were so shallow that they were almost invisible, yet they seemed to be nailed to the woodland, perfectly still.

He is both the team leader and the longest-living member of this line of work.

He remained silent, and the others behind him also shut up on their own.

By simply walking lighter and breathing more gently, the entire group moved silently through the forest like a few wisps of wind.

This scout team consisted of only five men, each a sharp-eyed and quick-handed individual selected from the camp, and each with their own distinct temperament.

But here, they all resemble shadows more than the last.

Before the troops move, scouts go first—that's an old rule.

The main army is like a sleeping dragon, and these scouts are like the dragon's whiskers, needing to probe inch by inch and sniff out every bit of information.

Where does the wind rise? How many enemies are there? Which way do we go? Is the water source drinkable? How many wisps of fire are rising?

They pieced together the pieces by wading through footprints and finding withered branches and scorched earth.

The forest is too large, and the mountains are too steep.

There are countless scout teams like theirs, led by experienced scouts and consisting of new recruits, scattered and stealthy, that have disappeared into this forest.

Each one is like a drop of water entering the sea, leaving no trace.

Some may still be circling in the forest, some may be dealing with wild animals, and some... may already be lying quietly somewhere, long since silent.
Jiang Liang squinted slightly, his gaze wandering between the shadows of the trees on both sides.

The stillness of this forest is unlike anything I've ever seen.

There was the sound of wind, but no birdsong or animal cries, as if the entire mountain was holding its breath.

He calmed himself, took a deep breath, slowed his pace, and kept his eyes fixed on the thin, bony figure in front of him.

The old scout walked with a brisk pace, yet never disturbed the grass.

His posture was neither hunched nor straight, like an old wolf that had been tempered in the mountains, with skin covering bones and bones supporting tendons, his steps steady and precise.

Suddenly, he raised his hand in front of him, his five fingers spread open, and then quickly closed again.

Before the words were even spoken, the team members stopped in their tracks, their feet firmly planted on the ground, and they held their breath.

The old scout crouched down, his body slightly bent, his footsteps so light they were almost inaudible, and he slid into the shadows of the forest like a dried-up twig.

He moved slowly but steadily, his gaze sweeping like a hawk across a valley; even a single hair hidden in the shadows could not escape his old eyes.

The forest was eerily quiet; the wind rustled through the branches.

The old scout bent down to examine the area, taking the time it takes to drink half a cup of tea, before slowly raising his hand and beckoning behind him.

Jiang Liang's heart tightened, and he tiptoed away.

Taking two steps closer, I felt the air seemed to cool down a bit.

The old scout's face was ashen, his lips were tightly clenched, and a rare look of solemnity and apprehension appeared in his old eyes.

Taking another step forward, I paused slightly, and a chill ran down the back of my neck.

A corpse lay lying in the woods, its armor style identical to that of their scouts, clearly belonging to one of the small teams that had been sent out earlier.

The manner of their death was so gruesome that they could hardly be described as "human".

With limbs broken, tendons severed, and skin rolled up like paper, it looked as if someone had brutally pulled out his tendons and peeled off his skin. He must have suffered immense torment before he died.

What's most chilling is the posture of the corpse.

It wasn't that he fell to the ground as usual; rather, it was deliberately staged.

With limbs outstretched and face upturned, eyes bulging high, and a grotesque grin twitching at the corners of his mouth, he seemed to be both crying and laughing.

It seemed to be staring intently at everyone who approached, scaring them away.

This is a blatant demonstration.

This was the first time Jiang Liang had ever witnessed such a way of dying.

I felt a churning in my chest, and my stomach felt like it was filled with muddy water, bubbling and churning.

His face suddenly turned pale. He quickly held his breath and focused his mind. His palms were covered in cold sweat. He dared not move, for fear that if he relaxed his breath, he would vomit.

Not everyone can hold back. The new scout behind him was young and had only been following the trail for two days.

With a soft "uh," he squatted down, his shoulders trembling violently, and then vomited up all of last night's rations into the woods.

A sour, foul odor filled the air, scattering the insects in all directions.

The two veterans beside him looked alright, but they were also staring intently at the ground, not even lifting their eyes.

The old scout stood at the front, looked around, his expression unchanged, but his brows furrowed even more.

His voice was low and hoarse, like the wind blowing through withered bark: "I've looked at everything carefully."

"This is what happens when the 'Ghost Bun Tribe' of the Nafa Qiang people are caught."

After the words were spoken, there was no sound left in the woods.

The young man, who had just finished vomiting and was panting heavily, seemed to have been doused with cold water. He stared blankly at the corpse, not daring to move.

Jiang Liang remained silent for a moment, secretly memorizing the name that sounded like an enemy.

"Ghost Bun Department."

Before he went to war, he had heard people say that this tribe only kept a tuft of hair in a bun, shaved half of their scalp, and tied the hair in a high bun to worship the mountain spirit.

They say they don't use bows and arrows, but hunt with short blades and bare hands, and are used to pouncing on people from behind trees, biting their throats and killing them with a single blow.

They said that when they raided villages, they didn't consider age, but only whether someone was "usable" or "unusable."

Those who could be used were tied up and taken away; those who couldn't were disemboweled on the spot.

At the time, I thought it was just a rumor from the border regions, and that the story was a bit far-fetched.

Looking at this corpse now, and recalling the saying, "Women are sacrifices, men are slaves, and the old are chopped up on the spot."

Then I felt that the word "cruel" was really too mild.

After the remains were collected, the five-person team, suppressing the heavy feeling and chill in their chests, continued to venture deeper into the dense forest.

My footsteps trod on the fallen leaves without making a sound.

The wind was still, the branches were not swaying, and the whole forest seemed to be covered by a thick curtain, leaving only a group of people wading forward with uneven steps.

After walking only a few hundred steps, Jiang Liang sensed something was wrong.

The scene before me... felt eerily familiar.

He recognized that crooked old elm tree clearly.

The tree trunk stretched out at an angle, with a split wound that stretched from the branch to the root, resembling a grinning face with its mouth open.

Further to the left is a bluish-gray stone with a small chip on its edge, as if it had been cut with a knife.

He remembered that he had accidentally stepped on it and twisted his ankle.

But how come we've come full circle and ended up back here?

"They went in circles."

The old scout spoke in a low voice, his tone as heavy as a mountain pressing down on one's heart.

His expression remained calm, but his gaze was more intense than before, scanning inch by inch, like nails being hammered into the cracks of the trees.

The wind had not yet risen in the forest, yet the shadows of the trees swayed slightly.

A thin mist, indescribable and inexplicable, seemed to be slowly moving among the branches and leaves.

The two experienced veterans, who seemed to have some skills, also quietly dispersed.

Following the old methods left over from training, each person examined the tree rings and the stone imprints, keeping their mouths still and their eyes constantly busy.

Jiang Liang tightened his grip on the long staff on his back, his heart pounding faster than a sparrow's, yet he dared not utter a sound.

The three of them worked together and circled around twice more before finally finding the source of the problem.

The bark was twisted like a face, wrinkled like an old woman's smile.

The wet marks on the ground were circular, as if someone had circled around them, creating a deadly trap.

Beneath the withered leaves lay some bones, some human, some animal, their color grayish, their edges covered with dense bite marks, exuding a damp and foul aura.

(End of this chapter)