Xiao Man never asked why Gao Yang wanted to run.
In this cruel, silent world, he was the only one who had ever shown her kindness. She couldn't bear to drift through life again—alone, unloved, unseen.
Once, she had planned to kill her family, complete Gao Yang's orders, and then take her own life in peace. But now, Gao Yang had given her something far more dangerous than revenge—hope.
She tucked the silver away, nodding firmly. "Master, I'll wait for you."
Gao Yang's expression softened for just a moment. He pinched her cheek lightly. "The steward's coming soon. I might fool Senior Sister, but not him. Go—now."
Xiao Man turned back again and again as she walked away, reluctant to leave, her gaze clinging to Gao Yang's face until it was burned into her memory. The night wind rustled her hair; she looked back one final time before vanishing into the mist.
When she was gone, Gao Yang's smile disappeared like smoke. He turned toward the bodies of the village chief and his son.
The old man had always been a coward—greedy, fearful, and cruel. The older he grew, the more desperate he became to avoid death, trampling others to protect himself. In the Azure Mountain Sect's eyes, such people weren't even worth killing.
Just as Seventh Senior Sister had said—two mortals. Their lives were nothing. Even Gao Yang's parents, mere mortals, had died without a ripple.
He exhaled slowly and summoned the Seven Fiends. The air thickened. A surge of crimson energy coiled around him like serpents, and the ground trembled as the spirits devoured the two corpses, flesh and bone melting into a mist of blood.
The sudden influx of power burned through his veins. His skin flushed red, his pulse roaring in his ears. Sitting cross-legged, Gao Yang closed his eyes and invoked the Bai Family's secret art, refining the energy before it consumed him. The bloody mist around him sank into his skin, leaving only a dark stain on the ground where the bodies had once been.
Outside the village, dusk had fallen. Seventh Senior Sister stood by the gate as the steward approached—a pitiful sight. His robes were torn and stiff with dried blood; his wooden fingers had splintered, half-rotten and blackened. He reeked faintly of decay.
"You're injured?" she asked, her voice laced with false concern.
He snorted. "That old ghost didn't escape unscathed either. When the Immortal Mistress returns, I'll rip out his roots myself."
Then his eyes narrowed. "Where's Thirteen?"
"Burying his servant," she replied casually.
"He didn't try to flee?"
She crossed her arms. "If he truly wanted to run, even I couldn't stop him. But I think Master worries too much. Thirteen killed Xiao Man himself to prove his loyalty. A man who can do that won't betray the sect."
The steward's expression darkened. "He swallowed the Immortal Pill."
Seventh Senior Sister smirked. "If I'd swallowed it, I wouldn't run either. A full belly's better than starving—some of us still know the difference."
He said nothing more. "Take me to him."
They found Gao Yang in the courtyard, sitting in meditation. No corpses—only blood, dark and glistening under the dim light.
The steward's eyes lingered on the stains. He knew what had happened. The Seven Fiends could consume blood and flesh completely. Few dared to use the technique—it shredded one's karmic virtue.
And those without karmic virtue risked the wrath of heaven. Even old monsters like him feared the lightning.
He decided not to ask. "Thirteen," he said instead, "how did you enter this village? The phoenix trees should repel evil."
"They let you through?" Gao Yang asked.
The steward scoffed. "Those trees might irritate spirits, but they can't stop us. If the demons in the forest truly wanted to slaughter this village, do you think a few trees would stop them? They only behave because they fear us. The Azure Mountain Sect keeps them in check. If they go too far, we purge the forest."
Gao Yang said nothing. His thoughts churned.
The sect claimed to guard the living, yet raised demons under its roof. The steward and the gatekeeper were both abominations—monsters cloaked in Daoist robes. And still, without them, the surrounding villages would already be nothing but bones.
Righteousness and evil blurred until they were indistinguishable.
The steward suddenly sniffed the air, his tone sharp. "Thirteen… have you been in contact with anyone from the Hui Family?"
Gao Yang frowned. "The Hui Family?"
Seventh Senior Sister explained, "There are five great branches in these mountains: the Hu, Huang, Bai, Liu, and Hui families. Twelfth Sister is from a Bai branch—they excel in healing and gu arts. The Hui Family, though… they deal in geomancy, talismans, and formations. Legends say their elders can move mountains and divert rivers. Weak in battle—but deadly from the shadows."
She tilted her head. "When did you meet a Hui clansman? I never heard of this."
"I only met that so-called healer," Gao Yang said quietly.
She scoffed. "Impossible. He stank of filth and rat droppings. A filthy creature borrowing the Hui name—a rat spirit at best."
At those words, Gao Yang's eyes darkened. The memory of Xiao Man's suffering ignited a cold fury in him. Seventh Senior Sister had known all along—and let him kill Xiao Man anyway.
The steward nodded thoughtfully. "A rat spirit, then. They're fond of parading as Hui disciples. Cowards. Thieves. Parasites."
He waved a wooden hand dismissively. "No matter. We're done here. I'll 'borrow' a cart, and we'll return to the sect."
Of course, "borrow" meant steal. No villager would dare to demand it back.
They found an old cart with a sagging frame and a weary horse—but it would do.
Seventh Senior Sister glanced at the darkening horizon. "It's nearly nightfall. We should rest here until dawn."
The steward hesitated, then nodded. "Very well."
They retired to their quarters. Gao Yang requested to walk the village, and the steward waved him off with a careless hand.
Night descended.
The village was eerily quiet—too quiet. Gao Yang walked the narrow paths, nodding to familiar faces from the memories of his body's former owner. They all dropped to their knees, calling him Immortal Attendant, their eyes full of fear.
It was suffocating.
After wandering long enough, he returned to the gate. The old well sat there in the moonlight, rope hanging limp, its water black as ink.
He leaned over the edge. Ripples spread across the surface, mirroring his face.
He straightened—then froze.
The reflection didn't move.
It still crouched over the well, staring back at him with a faint, warped grin.
The rope twitched, then snapped taut with a violent crack.
The water convulsed, rippling outward. Something beneath was clawing its way up.
Gao Yang's breath hitched. The night air thickened, the silence ringing in his ears.
Then—
A hand burst from the water, pale and bloated, its skin peeling in strips. Water gushed from its fingertips as the nails scraped against the stone rim.
The hand tightened around the rope, muscles shifting beneath decayed flesh. Black water spilled from its knuckles.
Then came hair—long, dripping, tangled around the rope like seaweed.
A scalp surfaced, pale and torn.
And then a face—
swollen, waxen, the mouth open in a silent scream.