Chapter 113: At the Foot of the Mountain

The early morning on Qingtan Mountain carried a slight chill. Though the sky was already brightening with the light of dawn, the nearby village houses still flickered with sparse lantern light.

Today, Qingtan Mountain was different from usual. Besides the usual stream of pilgrims, there were four additional figures.

If they were ordinary townsfolk or wealthy merchants, their presence would hardly be remarkable.

But the leader of these four men was clad in a magnificent sable fur coat, beneath which his silk garments shimmered faintly in the sunlight. His long, flowing hair fell casually down his back with an air of effortless grace.

His finely chiseled, heroic face bore lips as delicate as cherry blossoms, curved into a perfect arc, as if a smile was ever-present.

Yet this smile carried a distance that kept others far away, a subtle aloofness that was hard to breach.

The magnificent steed beneath him and the three-foot-long sword, translucent as mist, hanging from his waist paled in comparison to his proud bearing and striking appearance.

Hiding inside a small house in the village, Xie Xiushi let the sunlight filter through the window, illuminating him as he peered through the broken lattice, watching the group gathered beneath Qingtan Mountain.

The house’s original occupant was gagged with a sock and tied to the bedpost.

Master Huiming, who had followed him down the mountain, stood properly behind the steed. Even as the horse’s tail flicked across his face, Huiming’s expression remained unreadable.

Were these people connected to the Faci Temple as well?

Xie Xiushi’s mind churned with doubts as he observed the scene.

He glanced again at the man with the heroic visage; the three men behind him also rode fine horses, their appearance and demeanor refined, their garments mostly crafted from costly silk.

“We encountered trouble as soon as we arrived at Faci Temple? Besides the dragon clan from Nanhai, who else in Nanxi County could threaten the two-thousand-year-old mutated centipede spirit that guards Faci Temple?” The young man in luxurious gold-moon patterned robes, riding the horse to the left, frowned and then spoke to Master Huiming, “Are you certain that mutated centipede spirit is truly dead?”

“The demonic energy left by Master Kongchen has already dissipated. Even if it’s not dead, it’s close to death,” Master Huiming replied, holding a purple-gold alms bowl in his left hand, which had somehow passed into the heroic man’s grasp. He looked kindly yet seriously at the man atop the horse.

“I find the human skin you wear most distasteful,” the heroic man said, turning the purple-gold alms bowl in his hand. The shadow of the unsheathed three-foot sword at his waist flickered.

Whoosh—

Master Huiming’s body cracked, the fissure spreading as his human skin and monk’s robes fell away, revealing a blue-faced, fanged demon with short limbs and a glazed, bluish-green body.

The demon’s enraged and ashamed expression quickly vanished beneath a mask of restraint as its small forelimbs gripped a double-pronged six-ringed tin staff.

“The Cui and Xu families from Dreamfloat City have also arrived. It seems the Faci Temple is indeed in trouble,” said a woman of delicate beauty riding a fine horse beside the heroic man, leaning close to whisper in his ear.

Not far away, a narrow winding path showed another group approaching, carrying banners. Among them, two elderly men in wheelchairs stood out.

The apricot yellow banner bore the character “Cui,” while the verdant green banner read “Xu.”

“Have the Xu family’s people be held back by Yue Yong. The county governor of Nanxi no longer bears the Xu name; they have no right to enjoy the Soul Incense. As for the Cui family, let them pass; we must preserve the face of Chief Cui,” the heroic man said calmly, gazing at the tranquil mountain path of Qingtan.

The woman’s hair was simply tied into a bun, with a few strands framing her face. Hearing the man’s orders, she spurred her horse to the rear.

At the very back rode a man in a bamboo-green long gown. His appearance and attire were modest compared to the first three, resembling an ordinary commoner.

“Mr. Zhong instructed that the Cui family bearing the apricot banners may pass, while the Xu family need not be acknowledged,” the refined woman said coldly.

The man in the bamboo-green robe nodded, riding to the entrance of the narrow path, lifting his eyes emotionlessly to regard the approaching people from the Cui and Xu families.

“Who dares block the path of two honored elders?”

Seeing a man on horseback blocking the road’s entrance, several servants brandishing clubs surged forward to drive him off.

But the ordinary-looking man gently tugged the reins. The horse, remarkably intelligent, raised its forelegs and kicked those servants into the fields flanking the narrow path.

“Cui family members may proceed; all others wait here.”

Yue Yong calmly produced a black iron token from his chest. The token bore a fierce dragon’s head at the top and nine phoenix tails at the bottom, engraved with two characters:

“Nanhwang.”

“There are only ten Nanhwang tokens in the entire Southern Wasteland region. May I ask which noble has arrived?”

Xu Zhentong looked at the token and then down at his ailing father in the wheelchair. For some reason, his father, who had been fine the night before, had aged drastically by dawn, now unable to walk and barely clinging to life.

Yue Yong remained silent.

“Daoist Yu, my family has supported you for many years. Now it’s time for you to show your worth,” Xu Zhentong said solemnly, glancing sideways at the gray-robed Taoist standing among the crowd.

“When disaster strikes, everyone scatters.”

The gray-robed Taoist glanced toward the nearby scene, yawned, and then turned. A wisp of smoke rose from the crowd; when it dissipated, only a withered dogtail grass drifted slowly to the ground.

While Xu Zhentong was still pondering a solution, the Cui family had already pushed the elderly man in the wheelchair past Yue Yong and reached the foot of Qingtan Mountain.

“No need to waste effort at the Faci Temple atop the mountain. The mutated centipede spirit sustained by demonic energy to prolong your elder’s life is already dead,” the young man in the splendid gold-moon patterned robes sneered at the group gathered below Qingtan Mountain.

“Miss!”

Suddenly, the Cui family members called out in shock.

At the bend of the tranquil mountain path, a figure slowly appeared. As she drew near, it was none other than Cui Dandan descending the mountain.

“Did she kill that mutated centipede spirit? If she is from the Cui family, does she not know that killing the creature whose demonic energy sustains life means all who rely on it must perish?”

The young man in the luxurious gold-moon robes frowned slightly upon hearing the crowd’s exclamations. His eyes darkened as he regarded the pale, stunning woman coming down the mountain.

Behind her followed a maid dressed in tattered blue clothing.

“She could not possibly kill the two-thousand-year-old mutated centipede spirit. Even if it was wounded during the Dharma assembly in the Mist Soul Forest, no mere girl could handle it,” said Mr. Zhong, riding a fine horse. His long, flowing hair danced in the breeze as he smiled at Cui Dandan descending the mountain.

A closer look at Mr. Zhong would reveal that his irises were not the usual black or brown, but a deep, profound gold.