Chapter 609: A Person of Virtue

"The New Year is approaching; I, Aihui, extend early New Year greetings to all listeners, and remind you all to avoid Zhong Zhong Desong Cliff during travel or visits with relatives and friends,"

"You've surely read the news in the papers—Zhong Zhong Desong Cliff's situation has grown extremely tense; just yesterday, over two hundred people reportedly died in the fighting..." Luo Zhengnan nodded slightly; Aihui's voice was still pleasing to hear.

Li Li Banfeng felt the battle at Zhong Zhong Desong Cliff was suspicious; he told Luo Zhengnan to send someone to investigate, but Luo Zhengnan feared his subordinates might mishandle it, so he came himself. At the entrance of De Yuan Village, Luo Zhengnan saw a crowd gathered—he thought another battle had broken out and looked for a good vantage point to observe.

But just as he found a suitable spot, Luo Zhengnan realized it wasn't a battle—seven or eight people were beating a child, about four or five years old. What crime had this child committed? This group, men and women, old and young, were beating only him?

One slapped him, another kicked him; they didn't kill him, but tormented him relentlessly—the child's face was covered in blood, too broken to cry, on the verge of death, yet they laughed as they struck:

"You vile, shameless offspring of sinners, do you know why this is your fate?"

"You vile spawn, don't pretend to be dead—stand up! Today we'll teach you to be a person of virtue!"

"Your parents were vile and wicked; today, being taught by us is your fortune!"

In olden days, the underworld had a saying—De Xiu has no father, no mother, his name spreads far but stinks worse than a latrine. De Xiu's reputation in the underworld was worse than a toilet. But De Xiu didn't care—he said the underworld was full of virtueless people; their slander proved he'd struck their sore spots!

Ever since becoming De Xiu, no one in this sect had any sense of shame. Look at this scene—it's not something humans could do.

Luo Zhengnan couldn't bear it. When he was head of the Medicine Hall in the Jiang Xiang Gang, he never allowed his men to kidnap children. How could he endure this? But if he fought these De Xiu now, how would he fulfill Seventh Master's orders?

Just as he was torn, a man with golden hair and blue eyes stepped into the crowd and picked up the child. Luo Zhengnan recognized him—it was Doctor Cui Ti from the Wujie Hospital in Lüshui City.

What is he doing here?

Cui Ti held the child and silently scanned the crowd.

The De Xiu were uneasy—this foreigner had appeared among them without a sound, proving his cultivation was high.

A man in his thirties gathered courage and shouted: "His parents were virtueless; he's destined to be a virtueless spawn. Why are you meddling?" His words emboldened the others—they surged closer, babbling at Cui Ti.

"Virtue is the foundation of existence—no age exempt!"

"The virtueless must be severely punished to correct their ways—we're doing him a favor!"

"You're an outsider—why interfere in our village affairs? Put down that vile spawn! Don't think Zhong Zhong Desong Cliff is easy to bully!"

Luo Zhengnan worried for Cui Ti—if he lost the verbal battle, these De Xiu might suppress him into silence. Cui Ti said nothing—he simply turned and walked away with the child.

The De Xiu didn't want to let Cui Ti go. They knew he was powerful and hard to fight, and now the crowd had him cornered, silencing him with words—add a technique, maybe they could knock him down!

They'd already prepared their techniques, but now the foreigner turned and left, giving them no opening. Worse—he took the little spawn with him. They had to chase!

But without a leader, they hesitated—no one wanted to be the first to step forward.

As the foreigner walked farther, an old woman gathered courage and unleashed the technique "Virtue Bears All Things." Cui Ti was crushed by brute force and fell to the ground.

He protected the boy in his arms, rose, and kept walking.

Seeing Cui Ti unharmed, the De Xiu dared not pursue—but after that one move, they felt they'd gained advantage, their spirits lifted, faces glowing with pride.

The old woman who struck clapped her hands: "You virtueless foreigner, daring to cause trouble here? Do you know your own worth?" A young woman asked: "Who is this foreign devil? Could he be a savior sent by De Shan Village?"

An old man blew his mustache: "How dare they! This is our own Zhong Zhong Desong Cliff business! If De Shan Village dares bring outsiders in, they've forgotten their blood and ancestors!"

A woman in her fifties offered a new angle no one had considered: "Tell me—don't you think this little spawn doesn't look like us? Deep-set eyes, high nose—could he be this foreigner's offspring?"

An old crone nodded: "I think so. His mother was a witch when alive—no one expects such a woman to uphold chastity!" "I say her husband was useless too—how could he control such a shameless woman?"

"Exactly! This spawn is the bastard child of that shameless woman and the foreigner! Otherwise, why would he take him away? This bastard brought an outsider into Zhong Zhong Desong Cliff—he deserves ten thousand cuts!"

These words were absurd—the child had grown up in Zhong Zhong Desong Cliff, yet now he was suddenly the foreigner's offspring.

But Luo Zhengnan knew this was common in Zhong Zhong Desong Cliff—they sounded like nonsense, yet within hours, they'd turn lies into truth. Unless the child could prove his innocence, he'd forever be Cui Ti's illegitimate son.

"Pah!" The old woman spat. "We should've crushed that bastard with a stick! Pah!" She spat again—this time harder, the spittle hitting the ground with a sharp sound.

That sound was too crisp.

"Sister," another old woman looked down, "how did your tooth come out?"

The old woman licked her mouth—sure enough, her back molar had been spat out: "Oh dear, what's happening to me..."

Her speech grew muffled, as if something choked her throat. After two coughs, she spat out a clump of sticky, bloody flesh. Where did this come from?

"Sister, what's wrong? Did you get hurt in yesterday's battle?"

"Huh... ya... ya..." The old woman kept talking, but no one understood her. Her cheeks twitched—she felt something missing inside her mouth.

She opened her mouth, staring at them. A man shouted: "She lost her tongue!"

The old woman's tongue was gone—the clump on the ground was her tongue—but she felt no pain. Everyone was terrified, asking with false concern, yet none dared approach.

An old man sensed something wrong and leaned on his cane to leave.

He hadn't taken two steps when his right arm suddenly went limp—skin grew sticky, then cracked, pus and blood oozing from the fissures. His entire arm detached from the shoulder, falling to the ground with his cane.

The De Xiu were stunned, confused—what had happened? A young woman whispered: "Is this retribution?" "Nonsense!" another woman shouted. "We punished that bastard—what's wrong with that? Why should we suffer retribution?"

She spoke boldly, but her legs trembled—she'd kicked the child several times, and now her leg felt numb. Numbness meant it was coming.

She shuddered twice more—her right lower leg detached at the knee, turning to mush. A man burst into tears—both his hands fell from his shoulders.

Of those Qiba De Xiu, none escaped—some lost hands, some lost feet, some lost both.

Luo Zhengnan was frightened too.

This wasn't clearly trauma or plague—his reconnaissance was complete; he quickly left De Yuan Village.

De Cheng Mountain was the highest peak in the Zhong Zhong Desong Cliff region; Cui Ti chose a cave.

The cave was well-ventilated, with a spring inside—Cui Ti checked the water; it was safe to drink.

He placed the child in the cave, applied medicine to his wounds, opened a can of beef, and fed him both meat and broth.

Cui Ti's medicine worked—the child ate, regained strength, and limped, able to walk Mianqiang.

"What's your name?"

The child lowered his head, silent.

"Can't you speak?" Cui Ti checked the child's throat and vocal cords—no damage.

"My name is Tang Tang Xinde." The child raised his head, voice clear—he wanted to prove he could speak.

"Why does your name also have 'De' in it? I asked several people—all their names include 'De'."

The child stared at Cui Ti for a moment, then shook his head—this complex question was beyond him.

Cui Ti asked again: "How old are you?"

"Almost six."

Cui Ti nodded: "Your name is hard for me to pronounce. I mean no offense—I'll call you Xiao De, is that alright?" The child nodded.

"Where are your parents?"

"Dead."

"Why?"

"They said my parents were virtueless—they did virtueless things. When young, they married themselves—that was virtueless. They knew Grandpa Pan—that was virtueless. They didn't fight our village—that was virtueless. Everyone in our village is virtueless..."

The child spoke in fragments, disjointed—Cui Ti understood little: "Forget it—tell me something I can understand. Your village is called De Yuan Village?"

"No!"

"Then what's your village called?"

"De Shan Village."

"What's your village chief's name? What's his cultivation level?"

The child looked confused.

"How many villages are there in Zhong Zhong Desong Cliff? How many obey De Yuan Village?"

The child remained silent.

"You don't know?"

The child shook his head.

Cui Ti frowned: "If you know nothing, you're useless to me."

The child still didn't understand—he lowered his head, trembling.

Cui Ti looked at the child's tattered single garment: "Why are you shaking? Fear or cold?"

The child said nothing.

"Stay here. I'm going out to play a game—don't follow me." Cui Ti rose and left the cave. Halfway up the slope, he planted several seeds near the cave entrance.

After walking dozens of meters, he planted more seeds.

Then he descended further, and after another few dozen meters, he took out more seeds—then turned back. Xiao De stood at the cave mouth, using the tin can to water the seeds.

Cui Ti quickly stopped him: "What are you doing?" "Playing your game."

Cui Ti sighed: "Your mental resilience is remarkable. Your parents just died, you nearly died yourself—and you still want to play games?" The child lowered his head, clutching the tin can, lips tightly pressed.

Cui Ti brought him back to the cave, opened two more cans: "Stay inside. Don't go out. If you're hungry, eat this."

"Before I return, try to remember something valuable to me."

"Also, don't water the seeds outside—they'll grow too fast." The child asked: "You don't want them to grow?"

"I just don't want them to grow too fast."

This child had been traumatized, yet still dared ask so many questions.

Cui Ti left. The child hugged the can, silently staring at the cave entrance...

In De Yuan Village, Village Chief Song Song Demei sat in her courtyard.

Not long ago, she had killed the earth god designated by the peddler.

Now the situation was favorable, yet several of her villagers suddenly fell ill.

Their bodies showed varying degrees of decay, yet none were fatal. "This foreigner you mentioned—where did he come from?" Song Song Demei asked.

The old man with one leg missing said: "We don't know where he came from. We said nothing—he attacked me!" "How did he attack?"

The old man looked at the woman beside him, who had lost an arm; she looked at the man with both hands ruined... They all stared at each other, then finally at the woman who'd lost her tongue.

The old woman mumbled incoherently.

No one knew how the foreigner had attacked—in truth, he hadn't moved a hand.

Song Song Demei looked at the crowd, her calm voice tinged with anger: "Another outsider is trying to lay claim to Zhong Zhong Desong Cliff—we absolutely cannot agree." The people in the courtyard chorused: "Absolutely not!"

Cohsicd

A man ran into the courtyard and said: "Village chief, we found the foreigner—he's been wandering between several nearby villages, buying rice, flour, oil; looks like he plans to settle here. He's currently at Chen Chen Laoliu's tailor shop, buying clothes."

"I'll go meet him and find out who's behind this." Song Song Demei stepped out of the courtyard, followed by a group of people. Inside the tailor shop, Cui Cui Tike selected a new set of clothes and handed Chen Chen Laoliu one hundred Da Huan Kingdom banknotes.

Chen Chen Laoliu smiled: "This outfit, labor and materials combined, costs ninety-eight. I'm only making a profit on the shout—I didn't make a single coin off you." Cui Cui Tike didn't fully grasp Chen Chen Laoliu's meaning, assuming it was a hint for a tip: "Then keep the two yuan as change."

Chen Chen Laoliu waved his hand: "The price was agreed upon—I won't take more from you. I only hope you'll come back often, as a friend."

Cui Cui Tike nodded: "I'll come back often."

"With those words, this sale wasn't wasted. Wait—I'll go get your change. Not a single cent short."

The shop assistant poured tea and offered cigarettes to Cui Cui Tike, neatly folded and boxed the clothes he'd chosen. Cui Cui Tike was surprised—Zhong Zhong Desong Cliff's business practices seemed genuinely honest. Yet for those two yuan, he waited several minutes, and the shopkeeper still couldn't produce the change.

"Really, no need for change—I'm leaving." As Cui Cui Tike reached the door, he saw Village Chief Song Song Demei arrive with a crowd outside the tailor shop. Cui Cui Tike finally understood Chen Chen Laoliu's intent. He turned and asked: "You delayed me on purpose—just to wait for them?"

Chen Chen Laoliu pulled out a hundred-yuan note and flung it at Cui Cui Tike, speaking with righteous indignation: "Do you think I wanted your business? I just feared you'd run away!" Cui Cui Tike picked up the banknote and asked: "You spoke so morally upright—just to prove your loyalty to this village chief?"

Chen Chen Laoliu stood tall, face unchanged.

Song Song Demei asked Cui Cui Tike: "Foreigner, did you injure our villagers?" "Yes," Cui Cui Tike did not deny it.

"Explain why. What right did you have to hurt them?"

"They were beating a child—many against one, strong against weak, acting without virtue, staining Zhong Zhong Desong Cliff's name and disgracing all moral cultivators."

To memorize this speech, Cui Cui Tike had put in great effort. He came prepared, aiming to dismantle the moral logic of De Xiu, disrupting its technique's suppression. The old man with the broken leg countered: "We were punishing the immoral."

Cui Cui Tike said: "You beat a five-year-old child."

The woman with the broken arm switched tactics, targeting the child: "An immoral person, even young, brings endless harm." Cui Cui Tike replied: "A group of adults beat a defenseless child."

The man who lost both hands escalated: "With a virtuous heart, performing virtuous acts—even if the methods are slightly improper..."

Cui Cui Tike interrupted him: "Several adults Lianshou beating a child—do you have no shame? You've lost your face—what right do you have to speak of morality?" These exchanges seemed ordinary, but for Cui Cui Tike, each word was a matter of life or death.

This was De Xiu's standard tactic: "See Virtue, Strive to Match It." The technique was low in rank but immensely powerful. If even one phrase placed Cui Cui Tike psychologically at a moral disadvantage, it would severely restrict his combat power, drastically weakening him.

Cui Cui Tike had broken their moral suppression, but Song Song Demei was not so easily dealt with. She shifted tone: "Punishing the immoral within Zhong Zhong Desong Cliff is our internal matter. Even if they erred, it's none of an outsider's business to interfere!"

Cui Cui Tike shook his head: "I'm no outsider. I am a virtuous person. Zhong Zhong Desong Cliff is the homeland of the virtuous—I am part of it." "What proof do you have that you're virtuous?"

"I have evidence." Cui Cui Tike opened his shirt, revealing four large characters embroidered on his chest: "Virtuous Person."

Song Song Demei fell silent. She glanced at the injured group and asked: "Your method of injuring people reminds me of someone—the Green Water Beggar of Green Water City. What's your connection to him?" Cui Cui Tike answered honestly: "He is my Daoist ancestor."

At these words, the onlookers quickly retreated. The villagers who had been tending to the injured all fled far away.

Chen Chen Laoliu, the tailor, was stunned. He had just accepted Cui Cui Tike's money—even though he'd returned it, he had touched that banknote. Song Song Demei let out a cold smile: "Did the Green Water Beggar send you? Does he want Zhong Zhong Desong Cliff's territory?"

Cui Cui Tike shook his head: "This has nothing to do with my Daoist ancestor. It was my own morality and conscience that brought me here—to stop this war, which should never have happened."

"Village Chief of De Yuan, how many innocent lives have already perished in your war for ambition? If you still consider yourself a disciple of De Xiu, if you still possess even a shred of conscience, heed my advice: end this war immediately. Don't let others die for your ambition."

Song Song Demei shook her head: "I don't want war. Everything I've done is for Zhong Zhong Desong Cliff. I have no regrets. As long as Zhong Zhong Desong Cliff remains in the hands of the virtuous, this war need not be fought!"

"I believe your claim of having no regrets. I believe a true virtuous person will one day lead Zhong Zhong Desong Cliff. For the coming period, I will remain here until this war ends completely."

Cui Cui Tike pushed his cart, laden with the food and daily necessities he had just purchased.

He trusted none of De Xiu's promises, and he had no desire to risk conflict with these moral cultivators. But this was the task given to him by the peddler—he had to judge for himself who deserved death and who could be spared, striving to resolve matters with the least possible killing.

He pushed the cart up halfway up the mountain when suddenly a ravine appeared beneath his feet. The cart tumbled in and overturned. A broken path—someone had cleared this route. A traveling cultivator was nearby.

Song Song Demei's forces included more than just De Xiu cultivators. Through perception, Cui Cui Tike sensed at least thirty cultivators surrounding him. Should he kill them? Did he even need to deliberate?

According to his own rules, he did not.

Night fell. Song Song Demei sat in the courtyard, her expression grim.

None of the people she sent returned. They were likely dead at the foreigner's hands.

To control Zhong Zhong Desong Cliff, she must eliminate the foreigner—but he was no easy target.

At night, Cui Cui Tike returned to the cave. His cart was smashed, most of its contents ruined, and he was injured. The child sat silently in the cave, exhausted but forcing himself to stay awake.

Cui Cui Tike sat across from the child, bandaging his wounds as he asked: "Have you remembered anything valuable?" The child shook his head—he didn't understand Cui Cui Tike's words.

Cui Cui Tike looked weary: "You'd better think quickly. My patience is limited. My situation here is dangerous. I can't afford to waste time on you..." Before he finished, the boy held out a tin can to him.

Inside the can was some soil, with a wildflower—unnamed—planted in it.

Cui Cui Tike took the can and looked: "A beautiful flower. You can water it."

The child beamed. Cui Cui Tike set the can aside and counted the remaining tins in his pack: "We don't have much food left. In two days, we'll have no more tins."

The child handed him two tins—the ones Cui Cui Tike had opened before leaving. "You didn't eat?"

"I waited for you."

"You waited for me?" Cui Cui Tike froze. The words felt strange to him. The child nodded. His stomach growled—he was hungry.

Cui Cui Tike stared at the tins, then pulled a small cloth bag from his person: "I brought back some flour and yeast. I can bake bread. Have you ever eaten bread?" The child shook his head.

"Good. Never eaten means you won't be picky." Cui Cui Tike pulled another box from his chest. "For you." The child opened it—a set of cotton clothes.

Cui Cui Tike took water and began kneading dough as he said: "I set myself a rule: anyone who attacks me first must die. Those who don't attack me may be spared temporarily, depending on circumstances. Sometimes I forget the rule. You must remind me."

The child still didn't understand Cui Cui Tike's words. He put on the cotton clothes but buttoned them crookedly, the lapels uneven—he didn't even know what was wrong. Let it be wrong.

He stood before Cui Cui Tike, proudly displaying his new clothes.

Cui Cui Tike set down the dough, rebuttoned the child's coat correctly, and nodded: "Looks good."