Western Continent of Cattle-gift

The Western Oxhorn Continent, where three drops of water echo.

Though its name suggests water, this place is in fact a desolate wasteland.

Cracked hills and deep valleys, twisted into grotesque shapes as if crushed thousands of times, stretch endlessly under a sky of black, parched earth—a lifeless sight.

Sometimes, the appearance of the land carries meaning beyond mere resemblance.

For example, a name might reflect what is lacking, much like how a child’s name is chosen to balance the missing element in their destiny.

Of course, there are also places that have given up entirely, adopting self-mocking names.

Three Drops Echo is such a place—where even three drops of water falling would resound across the entire region.

This land is bone-dry, its spiritual energy utterly depleted.

Amid the cracked earth, clumps of dirt suddenly gathered, swiftly forming three humanoid figures.

Their skin was slightly dark, their eyes slanted with crimson pupils, and their limbs elongated.

One hunched slightly, his frame gaunt and withered.

Another stood tall and rigid, his expression solemn.

The last had a seductive grace, her movements unintentionally exuding allure—even if, at this moment, she didn’t quite resemble a human.

But charm comes from the bones, an instinctive manner, an unconscious tone.

As the saying goes—true beauty lies in the bones.

The woman tilted her head slightly, gazing at the blazing sun in the sky, and murmured softly:

"It’s been so long..."

Her voice was tender, almost whispering, yet devoid of affectation.

The young man cast her a glance, indifferent to her sentimentality, and spoke gravely:

"We’ve been discovered. The Mysterious Purity Heavenly Sect is hunting us like mad."

The old man nodded faintly. "Naturally... Who didn’t know of the Mysterious Purity Heavenly Sect back then? But it’s not the same sect anymore."

"Now, the Eighteen Immortal Sects have carved out their territories. The Mysterious Purity Heavenly Sect’s domain holds none of our people. If they try to reach beyond their borders, the other sects won’t stand for it."

"They were the victors, so they’ve forgotten the pain of the past."

"But we haven’t. We’ve endured that pain for thousands of years... I’ve had enough of those wretched places."

The old man’s crimson eyes lifted. "As long as we’re not extinct, we’ll learn. They’ve grown, and so have we."

"But the time isn’t yet ripe. For now, we’ll toss them a few small baits—let them nibble."

The young man hesitated. "Could they trace our intentions through those baits?"

"You’re still as foolish as ever," the woman said, raising a hand to shield herself from the sun’s glare. She chuckled softly.

"Fishing requires a rod. The hook is cast by the rod, not the face. If the hook sinks to the bottom, just cut the line. Must you dive in and die with it?"

"I’ve never seen you stand with your kin in life or death, yet you cling to humans so fondly. Have you grown so accustomed to suffering that you can’t bear to part with it?"

The young man’s eyes burned with suppressed fury. His fists clenched, as if he might strike her at any moment.

"Chi Li, mind your words!" The old man’s voice was steady, but a hint of anger seeped through. "Do you wish to linger here for another few millennia?"

The woman gave a light hum in response, her gaze drifting back to the scorching sun—as if she adored it beyond measure.

The young man took two deep breaths and slowly unclenched his fists.

The old man looked at him with approval.

"In our weakened state, unity is our only path forward."

The woman remained fixated on the sun, while the young man nodded firmly twice.

The old man turned his gaze to the woman and spoke calmly:

"In the past, we lost not to men, but to the Dao itself. But this time, it’s different."

The woman seemed to sense something. Her eyes flicked toward him, suddenly alight with fervor.

In the old man’s hand appeared a radiant, translucent crystal, within which a strand of pure white light swirled.

His voice hardened. "The Mandate of Heaven crumbles! Fate scatters, yet some remains unclaimed. This time—nothing will save humanity!"

The woman’s voice softened further. "If that’s the case... then command me as you will. I shall obey without question."

"Unleash chaos upon them."

With those words, the old man’s form collapsed instantly, crumbling back into the parched earth.

Seeing him depart, the young man had no desire to linger with the woman either. His body dissolved into dirt, vanishing without a trace.

Left alone, the woman returned her gaze to the sun.

How fiercely it burned.

If only she could stand here forever.

But alas...

Just a little longer.

Once humanity was gone, it would be perfect.

In moments, silence reclaimed the land.

Three Drops Echo remained as it always was—a place where even three drops of water would resound.

Chu Xingchen sat on an aged ferryboat, watching the old boatman strain against the oars in the pitch-black river.

As the dark outline of the continent grew clearer in the distance, its sparse patches of green barely visible, the wrinkled old man finally cracked a smile. Panting heavily, he said:

"Milord, once we cross this Sludge River, the Western Oxhorn Continent lies ahead."

"Mm... Truly unique. The rumors don’t do it justice."

Chu Xingchen surveyed the barren land before him, remarking with a sigh.

He had traveled many places and heard that the Western Oxhorn Continent was the most desolate of the five continents—

The fewest people, the fewest cultivators, the most spiritually impoverished.

A land where demons roamed freely and ghosts paraded openly.

Chu Xingchen had assumed there was a limit to such claims. After all, even in its wretched state, the Western Oxhorn Continent had been divided among the Eighteen Immortal Sects.

It was also the stronghold of the Buddhist sects.

Logically, keeping demons in check shouldn’t be difficult for the Eighteen Immortal Sects—it was merely a matter of willingness.

Or, in more pragmatic terms—whether it was worth the effort.

Clearly, most of the Western Oxhorn Continent wasn’t.

The old boatman didn’t understand such terms. He had spent his entire life ferrying passengers here. Perhaps he was lucky—the river’s hidden beasts had devoured countless souls, yet never his.

Though that wasn’t entirely accurate. The beasts had troubled him before, only to be slain by the passengers aboard his boat.

The Western Oxhorn Continent was a land of utter desolation, where demons ate men without spitting out the bones.

No sane person would willingly throw themselves into the jaws of monsters for no reason.

Of course, such people did exist—where there were many, there were all kinds.

The old boatman was simply fortunate—either his trips passed without incident, or his passengers were formidable.

In his youth, the old man had been driven by desperation. Starvation loomed, while being eaten was merely a possibility.

But years passed, and ferrying became his life. By middle age, he had considered quitting—yet what else could he do?

The laborious jobs were already taken, leaving only the deadly ones no one else wanted.

Now, in his old age, fear remained, but he had long since accepted that he’d lived his fill.

The shore drew nearer.

The old man suddenly spoke again:

"Milord, though you may possess great power, the Western Oxhorn Continent is fraught with peril. It’s not just the demons—as folk from other continents say, the people here are all savages."

"Other continents?" Chu Xingchen looked curiously at the old man and asked, "Could you also be from the Western Oxen Continent?"

"Indeed, a starving refugee fleeing the Western Oxen Continent—just a savage."

The old man readily admitted, steering the boat slowly to shore. "Best be careful, my lord."

Chu Xingchen smiled and nodded, pulling out a silver ingot to pay for the passage.

"Keep the extra as a reward."

The old man's face lit up with surprise as he hurriedly expressed his gratitude. "Many thanks, my lord!"

Chu Xingchen gave a slight nod in acknowledgment before stepping off the boat.

In a place unnoticed by the old man, a translucent embroidery needle flew back into Chu Xingchen's hand from the edge of the blackened river.

The old man was overjoyed. His entire life had been spent risking his life for mere scraps of silver, so how could he not be delighted to encounter such a generous noble?

He quickly tucked the silver away, his gaze shifting to the distant shore once more.

For the old man, reaching the other side didn’t mark the end of the job.

Only returning safely did, for the silver wouldn’t fly home to his family on its own.

He hastily picked up the pole again, maneuvering the boat away from the shore.

But moments later, the old man rubbed his eyes.

Bubbles of blood suddenly surged up from the depths of the black river.

Terrified, the old man rowed with all his might, managing to return home unscathed—though shaken.

Yet afterward, the river remained eerily still for many years.