Chapter Twenty-Two: The Hidden Realm Beneath the Cliff

Dugu Ling walked through the Cold Moon Forest. Several days had already passed, and his clothes were shredded by the sharp leaves and thorns on the branches. On top of that, he had to constantly fend off wild beasts. Now, both his body and spirit were utterly exhausted.

Fortunately, during his younger years in Dugu Village, his frequent hunting trips up the mountains had given him abundant experience in surviving the wilderness; otherwise, things would have been much more difficult.

Suddenly, Dugu Ling saw a flock of birds fly overhead. Not good, he thought, and hurriedly climbed up the nearest tall tree. He concealed himself among the branches halfway up, just in time to see a pack of giant wolves passing along the path he had just taken. Each of these wolves stood over two meters tall, their sharp teeth gleaming with chilling menace, their fur dense and heavy, and their paws as large as bear claws, easily capable of tearing apart any prey.

As the wolves passed beneath the tree where Dugu Ling was hiding, they paused, sniffing the air intently. Finally, their noses locked onto the very tree Dugu Ling was concealed in. He cursed his luck—he’d been discovered.

He never expected to encounter the legendary Cold Moon Direwolves. These beasts were said to be incomparably fierce, with an acute sense of smell and an especially combative nature. Though merely classified as rank-one spirit beasts, their pack mentality and fearlessness made them infamous. Kill one, and two would appear; kill two, and four would come. For every soul who entered the Cold Moon Forest, they were a nightmare that haunted their dreams.

Indeed, the forest’s name was derived from these direwolves. When Dugu Ling set out, Master Yuan had repeatedly warned him to be careful, especially to avoid the Cold Moon Direwolves. Normally, one might not encounter these beasts even once in a hundred trips, yet Dugu Ling had blundered right into them. Was this luck, or terrible misfortune?

Dugu Ling felt an urge to howl at the heavens—was the universe intent on his demise?

But he would not accept this fate. He still had many things left undone; he wanted to become immortal, to resurrect his loved ones.

After a moment’s thought, Dugu Ling steeled his resolve—he would fight with everything he had. He counted the wolves circling below: five in all. If he caught them off guard, he might be able to slay one; as for the other four, his fate would be left to the whims of heaven.

Waiting for the right moment, he gripped his Black Iron Warhammer tightly, swung it over his head, and leapt straight down from more than ten meters up. The hammer came crashing down on a direwolf’s skull with a sickening impact—blood and brains spattered everywhere, and the wolf died instantly. But the shock that ran up through the hammer almost shattered Dugu Ling’s grip; the force was enough to numb his arms.

No wonder—this hammer weighed at least fifty-four thousand catties. Plummeting from such a height, the force was more than enough to crush a giant wolf with ease.

The slain wolf’s packmates, however, were not frightened off. Instead, they formed a circle, trapping Dugu Ling. The Cold Moon Direwolves’ bloodthirsty, warlike nature was indeed as the legends described.

Dugu Ling squeezed the hammer, but the immense recoil had already torn his palm and numbed his arms—he could barely muster any strength.

The four remaining direwolves circled him for a moment, then, unable to restrain themselves, exchanged glances and lunged at him together.

Dugu Ling understood that escape was unlikely—he could only fight to the death. He ignored three of the wolves, picked a direction for escape, and, as one wolf pounced, smashed its knee with the hammer. The beast howled in agony.

Reacting swiftly, Dugu Ling dashed in that direction, but the other wolves raked his back with their razor-sharp claws, leaving bloody grooves.

He had no choice but to abandon all caution, taking desperate action; in such dire straits, only the courageous could survive.

Yet the situation remained grim. Three direwolves gave relentless chase. On two legs, he could not outrun their four. If only he could fly—wasn’t it said that immortals could soar through the skies? The thought made him yearn for immortality all the more.

What kind of man was Dugu Ling, to have time for such thoughts on the brink of death? Survival should have been his only concern.

Suddenly, he realized with despair that the path he’d chosen ended at a sheer cliff. Dugu Ling reached the edge and looked down into an abyss with no visible bottom.

What could he do, with a cliff before him and pursuers behind? He halted at the precipice. The direwolves soon caught up, baring their fangs as they closed in step by step.

Turning to face them, Dugu Ling raised his massive hammer across his chest. By his reckoning, he had a thirty percent chance of taking them down.

He shouted, ready to fight the direwolves to the bitter end. But just then, the three wolves suddenly fell silent and respectfully parted to form a path. Puzzled, Dugu Ling watched as a giant wolf, pure white and over three meters tall, strode forward.

The newcomer was more imposing than any wolf he had encountered—its fur snow-white, its fangs sharper, its claws more massive and pointed. Its mere presence exuded overwhelming pressure.

The Cold Moon Wolf King? Dugu Ling’s heart pounded with terror. Those who lived near Cold Moon City all knew of the direwolves, but few had ever heard of the Wolf King. History recorded only two survivors who had ever seen it and lived to tell the tale. Both described it as a great white wolf, just like the one before him.

Because so few had seen it, most dismissed the tales as fabrications. But now, Dugu Ling realized the stories were true. His luck was truly abysmal—not only had he encountered the rarely-seen direwolves, he had also stumbled upon the legendary Wolf King.

This Wolf King was at least a rank-two spirit beast—far beyond Dugu Ling’s current abilities.

With his monstrous strength and the Black Iron Warhammer, Dugu Ling could barely contend with a rank-one beast. To think of challenging a rank-two was utter folly.

What now? There was no way he could defeat the Wolf King, let alone with three more direwolves at its side. Death was certain. No other option remained; he would have to leap from the cliff and hope for a miracle.

The four direwolves closed in. Gritting his teeth, Dugu Ling didn’t have time to hesitate. He turned and hurled himself off the precipice.

Time passed in silence. No trace of him remained by the cliff, as if nothing had happened; only the cold wind whistled through the ravine below, carrying a chill to the bone.

The four direwolves stood at the edge, howling at the moon.

...

Where was this place? Dugu Ling shook his still-dizzy head. He vaguely recalled leaping off the cliff, after which he blacked out completely. The rest was a blur.

He checked his body—miraculously, he was unharmed. He hadn’t died after all. It was truly a miracle; the heavens hadn’t forsaken him.

Overjoyed, Dugu Ling stood up. As the saying went, “Those who survive great calamities are destined for good fortune.” Gazing at the breathtaking landscape around him, he couldn’t help but marvel—the scenery here was truly magnificent.

In the distance, countless peaks rose like a forest, cliffs unfolded in grand display. Before him stood towering trees of every kind—some entwined with ancient vines, others just budding with new shoots. The ground was covered with exotic flowers and rare herbs, all competing for beauty. Many of these he could not even recognize, despite having lived in the mountains for three years. The air was thick with the fragrance of blossoms and the fresh scent of trees; one breath filled him with delight, another with vigor.

Wait—was that ginseng? And so large! It must be at least a thousand years old. And that lingzhi mushroom—no less than ten thousand years old. That angelica root, with such color and luster—truly the finest specimen. Dugu Ling was amazed; this place was a treasure trove, filled with rare and precious herbs that were as common as cabbages here.

He carefully dug up these precious materials and stowed them in his bag.

Do not underestimate Dugu Ling’s bag—it was a Universe Pouch. Depending on its grade, the internal storage space varied. For ordinary people, such an artifact was priceless. Even Iron Ox’s Blacksmith Shop only possessed three or four, thanks to its ties with the Divine Hidden Pavilion.

Master Yuan, upon learning of Dugu Ling’s journey to the Cold Moon Forest, had specially given him one for convenience.

Dugu Ling kept gathering treasures, working tirelessly like a diligent little bee.

By the time he finished, he had no idea how much time had passed. Counting his haul, he found 345 pieces of century-old herbs, 78 pieces of millennium-old herbs, and 5 pieces over ten thousand years old. Such wealth was truly staggering.

Just then, a figure suddenly appeared beside Dugu Ling, staring at him in astonishment. The sudden arrival gave Dugu Ling quite a fright.

Who could it be? Take a guess, everyone. There will be a new chapter at noon tomorrow; I have classes in the evening, so I may not be able to update then. If you enjoy the story, please add it to your favorites. Thank you all!