Chapter 2: Good and Evil Are Both Deceptions

【Essence-1】

【Essence-1】

【Essence-1】

Every time a red glow was licked out from Li Lin’s arm, the muscles on his face twitched slightly.

It wasn’t discomfort—it was pure pleasure.

This was precisely what made the gowned apparition so terrifying: when she consumed the essence of the living, she made the victim feel blissful; if their will was weak enough to let her have her way, the only outcome was exhaustion and death.

After the apparition had drawn twenty or more sips, Li Lin pulled his arm back.

Though the gowned apparition wore a leather mask, her dull, ashen pupils betrayed her look of disappointment.

“If you keep drinking like this, I’ll fall ill.”

Li Lin shook his hand; he felt a chill creeping up his left arm.

The apparition reluctantly released his arm, her tongue instinctively licking her lips.

Clearly unsatisfied.

Li Lin glanced at the sky and said, “That’s enough. I need to go home. The village’s safety is in your hands from now on.”

The gowned apparition said nothing and made no move; Li Lin took it as agreement.

He waved to her and turned to leave.

The gowned apparition hovered above the altar, motionless, watching the man’s back recede.

Li Lin returned home, placed the sack of rice he carried in his right hand against the wall, where another identical sack already lay.

But this sack contained far less rice.

He lit an oil lamp, scooped out crimson rice grains from the other sack, rinsed them twice with well water from the courtyard, then put them in a pot and boiled them over firewood.

The sky had turned completely dark.

Firewood crackled in the earthen stove, occasionally popping with a ba-ba-ba sound.

The entire village was unnervingly silent—no wind, no insect chirps—only the crackling of fire and the metallic clink of the pot lid being pushed up by steam.

Such an environment felt deeply unnatural.

But Li Lin was used to it. He sat beside the stove, flipping through a book, his expression calm.

Soon, the rice was nearly cooked.

A strip of cured pork hung from the rafters; Li Lin sliced off two pieces with his kitchen knife, chopped them into thin strips, and tossed them into the pot to simmer.

Half an incense stick later, the fire burned out, leaving only faint wisps of smoke.

Li Lin lifted the lid, gazed at the crimson, blood-like rice inside, nodded in satisfaction, carried the entire pot into the parlor, placed it on the table, and began eating it in large, hearty spoonfuls.

In no time, the large pot of blood rice and cured pork was gone—yet his belly showed no sign of swelling.

He returned the pot to the kitchen, and at that moment, a woman’s sobbing echoed from outside the courtyard.

Intermittent, distant yet close, the sobs turned into mournful wailing.

“Xiaohu… Xiaohu… where are you?”

The woman’s shrill voice rang through the village—as if from afar, yet as if right beside the ear.

Li Lin walked to the window; his house stood on higher ground in the village, and through the window he saw a pale, ghostly shadow drifting outside—its voice came from there.

He shook his head, shut the window, blew out the oil lamp, then felt his way to bed, sat cross-legged, and closed his eyes.

As his mind settled, a string of information began scrolling across the lower right of his “vision.”

【Blood Qi +1】

【Blood Qi +1】

【Blood Qi +1】

The blood rice was rapidly converting; his face had turned pale from the gowned apparition’s feeding, but now his complexion regained its ruddy hue.

In meditation, the sounds outside grew fainter.

Eventually, they vanished entirely.

When Li Lin finally emerged from meditation, dawn had broken.

He stretched, reopened the window, and immediately saw Zhao Xiaohu standing outside the courtyard fence.

Li Lin stepped out and saw Xiaohu’s pale face.

The moment the boy saw him, he came forward, his expression panicked: “Brother Lin, last night…”

“I know,” Li Lin nodded. “Don’t rush. Come in, have breakfast first?”

“No, thank you,” Zhao Xiaohu shook his head, his face ashen.

Though he sported a thick beard and eyes as large as copper bells, giving the impression of a rugged man, in truth… he was just an ordinary boy.

Facing a world like this, fear was natural.

“Then let’s go fix this problem for you,” Li Lin smiled.

“Thank you, Brother Lin.”

Li Lin brought Zhao Xiaohu to the village’s central stone altar.

Several villagers were already waiting; upon seeing Li Lin, they immediately gathered around him.

At the front stood Uncle Zhao and a woman.

The woman was Aunt Hua—Uncle Zhao’s wife, Xiaohu’s mother.

“Little Li, we’re in your debt this time,” Uncle Zhao bowed, grateful.

Li Lin smiled: “It’s my duty. Besides, if not for you taking me in back then and giving me a meal, I’d have died long ago. Xiaohu is my brother—his trouble is my trouble.”

“Regardless, we still owe you greatly,” Uncle Zhao sighed in relief.

Many villagers, hearing Li Lin’s words, also exhaled in relief.

The villagers parted to make a path, and Li Lin led Xiaohu to the altar’s front.

A bronze incense burner already sat atop the altar, its sticks lit and green smoke curling upward; beneath it lay fruits and vegetables.

The altar was now wreathed in lingering mist.

“Step forward and kneel,” Li Lin said sternly.

Zhao Xiaohu immediately obeyed, kneeling before the altar.

At that moment, the green mist seemed to solidify slightly, faintly taking the shape of a human form—whether illusion or not, no one could say.

The villagers felt the air grow colder, rubbing their arms and stepping back.

But in Li Lin’s eyes, it was no illusion.

He looked at the gowned apparition hovering above the altar and said, “Xiaohu grew up under your watch—help him.”

At this, the villagers looked on with admiration.

Only a Spirit Hunter would dare speak to a spirit so casually.

In truth, from a Spirit Hunter’s perspective, Li Lin was an unusually unorthodox one.

The gowned woman drifted silently, saying nothing.

Li Lin lowered his head and said, “Xiaohu, perform three kneelings and nine prostrations.”

Zhao Xiaohu immediately bowed and kowtowed, his movements precise and deeply reverent.

“The rites are accepted, the offerings are made—what more do you want?” Li Lin asked, voice calm.

The gowned apparition pointed to Li Lin’s left arm.

Li Lin frowned slightly and said, “Next time, you may take five more sips.”

The gowned apparition finally nodded in satisfaction, then drifted above Zhao Xiaohu’s head, extended her hand, and her wraith-like form swept over his body, pulling out a twisted black thread.

The black thread writhed and struggled, as if alive.

Zhao Xiaohu felt a freezing chill spread through his body, trembling, his face turning even paler.

Uncle Zhao and Aunt Hua watched, tense.

Li Lin smiled: “The Tree Immortal Lady has acted—Xiaohu is fine. Take him home, give him ginger soup, let him rest two days, and he’ll be running around again.”

“Thank you, Little Li.”

Uncle Zhao first bowed to Li Lin, then pulled Aunt Hua beside Xiaohu, and both knelt and kowtowed three times, saying together:

“Thank you, Tree Immortal Lady, for saving our unworthy son. From now on, our Zhao family will offer daily tribute and never forget your grace.”

After speaking, the two of them grabbed Zhao Xiaohu and took him home.

They needed to nourish Xiaohu.

Seeing the matter settled, the villagers also bowed toward the altar—whether they had need or not, keeping some incense favor with the Lady who might help them in the future was always wise.

Li Lin prepared to head home—he hadn’t eaten breakfast yet.

At that moment, an old man called out to him: “Spirit Hunter Li, please wait—I have urgent business to discuss with you.”

Li Lin stopped.

The old man, leaning on his cane, walked up to Li Lin and said: “Spirit Hunter Li, do you know any other Spirit Hunters?”

(End of Chapter)