Chapter 12: Wangxiang Village

The Holy Nun wandered aimlessly in town, using a crafted parrot to curse Wu Haishan.

Wu Haishan led his men in another frantic chase, reaching the valley.

Only Ah Hua remained, loudly praising roasted insect skewers.

One of Wu Haishan’s Wu Xiu, furious, kicked a stone away: “Damn it, we got fooled by that brat again!”

The stone flew straight toward Ah Hua.

The rooster’s head snapped sideways, eyes bulging, one claw shattered the stone, then shot forward like lightning and pecked hard.

The Wu Xiu screamed in pain—a bloody hole appeared on his arm!

He furiously drew his waist knife, but the rooster had already flapped up to the treetop.

He slashed the tree down with one blow, but Ah Hua flew to another tree, perched on its tip, glaring and clucking defiantly.

Go ahead and chop—have the guts to cut down every tree in this mountain.

Wu Haishan grabbed him: “Focus on the mission.”

The Wu Xiu sheathed his knife with curses: “I’ll fetch a bow and arrow later—I’ll shoot this beast dead!”

Ah Hua, victorious, crowed loudly from the treetop, utterly triumphant.

The group continued tracking the trail, dodging powerful evil spirits, circling and looping—Wu Haishan felt several times he was about to catch the boy, but the brat was like an eel, slipping away at the last moment.

They entered a valley, barren and dead—wild grass and trees had withered unnaturally.

Ahead stood a solitary, towering rock, slender and elongated, its top slightly thicker like a head.

Thick vines wrapped around it, blooming with tiny pink-white flowers.

The rock stood seven zhang tall; when Wu Haishan first saw it, he jumped—mistaking it for a massive green-skinned, white-flowered venomous serpent, head raised to the sky, swallowing the essence of sun and moon.

Wu Haishan felt the rock was watching him with ill intent.

Annoyed, he scratched his neck; his internal fire surged uncontrollably, spewing from his nostrils.

He didn’t need to ask Ah Guang—he knew that in Ghost Witch Mountain, such rocks were almost certainly anomalies.

“This mountain is truly cursed!”

The scout up front stopped: “The boy went southwest.”

Wu Haishan snapped: “Chase him—do I have to tell you?”

As he spoke, uncontained fire spat from his mouth.

Wu Haishan never wanted this assignment—he wanted to stay by the Holy Nun’s side, to see what this so-called “bait” really was. For a Dan Xiu, this was a rare chance to broaden his horizons, a form of cultivation.

The group circled the mountain’s base, following the trail.

Xu Yuan was actually just two li ahead, his clothes torn and shredded by thorns, looking ragged.

Several times, they nearly caught him.

He escaped only thanks to his “Wang Ming” ability.

When Pingtian Hui members crept through forests and thickets, Xu Yuan could see their “fates” a step ahead.

The approaching “Heavenly Rock Python,” about to take form, kept staring at him—Xu Yuan’s back prickled with goosebumps.

The anomaly could see all prey within a ten-li radius.

“Reach Wangxiang Village before nightfall—never spend the night in the mountains!” Xu Yuan calculated his distance; time was tight, so he quickened his pace.

…

Wu Haishan chased for another hour or so, then suddenly grabbed Ah Guang: “It’s nearly dark—where could that brat go? Does he want to die in Ghost Witch Mountain?”

Ah Guang replied: “He’s heading to Wangxiang Village.”

Wu Haishan pressed: “Can Wangxiang Village offer lodging?”

Ah Guang answered again: “No—mountain villages never take in travelers.”

“Then how does he spend the night there?”

“Pretends to be a merchant coming to collect goods. The village rule: villagers offer what they have, you must accept it, at fair price—no cheating, no deception.”

Wu Haishan sighed in relief: “Then just pay.”

Ah Guang fell silent, expressionless.

That potion made one obey every command and answer every question—but Wu Haishan’s last remark wasn’t a question, so Ah Guang didn’t explain: it wasn’t as simple as paying.

Night fell earlier in the mountains than in town, causing Xu Yuan to miscalculate—he was half a li from Wangxiang Village as darkness arrived.

The ditches and ravines around him plunged into total darkness; strange sounds rose, as if something was crawling out.

Xu Yuan sprinted; just as he passed a small grove, bark on the trees split open—eyes like murals stared at him, branches like demon claws lashed out, grazing his back.

Those eyes brimmed with regret and hunger, watching the blood meal escape.

“Bang! Bang! Bang!”

The village echoed with the sound of wooden clappers, like city watchmen striking their sticks.

When the clapper fell, the village gate would close.

Xu Yuan panicked, shouting: “Wait a moment—”

Once the gate closed, no one could enter or leave—anyone who dared force entry would face the villagers’ mountain-runners’ axes and crossbows.

If you could defeat the mountain-runners, the village rules meant nothing to you—you could do as you pleased throughout the whole village.

But Xu Yuan clearly didn’t have that power yet.

Wangxiang Village housed over thirty households, fewer than two hundred people.

Outside the village, peach wood stakes were driven into the ground, woven into a fence of peach branches.

The gate was narrow, smaller than the main door of “Yitingfang” Inn.

An old man, early fifties, skin coarse and black, hunched and eternally grim, struck the clapper as he closed the gate.

Hearing the shout, he merely shifted his eyes slightly; seeing a stranger, he didn’t pause at all.

Xu Yuan shouted again: “I’m here to collect goods—I’ll pay fair price!”

The old man’s eyes rolled upward, glancing at the sky—not yet fully dark—so he paused briefly.

The gate closed halfway, halting there.

Xu Yuan dashed forward at top speed, slipped through the gap, and entered the village.

“Us too!” another voice shouted: “We’re collectors too!”

The old man lifted the gate to close it—the night was now complete.

But he recognized one of them: Ah Guang.

Knowing Ah Guang was familiar with the mountain-runners, his grip slackened slightly.

Wu Haishan’s group were all cultivated cultivators; they sprinted without restraint, fast—Xu Yuan wished he could help the old man slam the gate shut.

But inside the village, Xu Yuan dared not move.

“Too late, too late, too la…” Xu Yuan chanted inwardly, watching the gate close to a sliver—about to shut entirely.

Suddenly a hand shot through the gap, wedging the gate open.

By the rules, as long as the gate wasn’t fully closed, entry was still allowed.

Wu Haishan was drenched in sweat—he brought three cultivators, plus Ah Guang, five total.

Besides Wu Haishan and Ah Guang, the other three bore wounds.

The worst off—one had lost his entire left forearm below the elbow, bitten off by something!

They were still behind Xu Yuan; the evil spirits and anomalies had already moved.

Wu Haishan spotted Xu Yuan and grinned cruelly: “Little brat, you run…”

He stepped forward, ready to strike—when a tobacco pipe with a copper bowl thrust itself between them.

“Outside matters stay outside—that’s our village rule,” the old man rasped, his voice thick with phlegm, unpleasant to hear.

Wu Haishan frowned irritably—this old man wasn’t a mountain-runner—who the hell was he to set rules for me?

The old man drew a puff; the copper bowl of his pipe instantly glowed red-hot—Wu Haishan screamed as a large blister formed on his arm!

He stared in shock—the old man had burned him. He was a Dan Xiu, with “internal fire”—ordinary flames couldn’t even scorch him.

Much less burn him.

(End of Chapter)