Chapter 13: The Villagers Are Honest, Old and Young Are Fair

Wu Haishan stepped back cautiously and turned to ask Aguang: “Is there really such a rule?”

“There is. The village’s rules outweigh heaven itself.”

Xu Yuan sneered: “If the village rules weren’t so strict, do you think you’d even get in? I’d have shut the door long ago and locked you all out.”

Wu Haishan glared at Xu Yuan, gritted his teeth, and said: “Fine. We’ll follow the rules.”

The old man nodded approvingly, hunched his back, clutched his tobacco pipe, and walked off with his hands behind his back: “Follow me. Any household in the village with an empty room can let you stay for the night—but you must pay.”

How much to pay? You negotiate directly with the homeowner.”

Wu Haishan and the others exchanged glances and kept close behind Xu Yuan.

Wherever Xu Yuan stayed, they’d stay too—preferably right next door. Tomorrow, they absolutely couldn’t let this brat run off again.

Xu Yuan pulled out a box of matches and handed it to the old man: “Uncle, could you show me the way to Uncle Jiao’s?”

Most villagers still used flint strikers—they weren’t nearly as convenient as matches.

Xu Yuan had bought a batch of goods from Ying Taipo, and matches were among them.

Ying Taipo’s legs were weak, so she preferred buying in bulk to reduce trips outside.

She also had a poor memory, often buying more only to discover later she hadn’t used up what she already had—so she just kept accumulating.

But ordinary folks couldn’t get them from her—I hoarded them instead.

The old man’s face instantly brightened: “You’re a sensible young man. Come with me.”

The first two groups Xu Yuan brought into the mountains were genuine merchants.

During idle chats on the road, Xu Yuan learned that the best place to stay in Wangxiang Village was Uncle Jiao’s house.

His household had fewer complications.

Uncle Jiao had only one son, now over twenty.

Uncle Jiao’s wife had died, and his son hadn’t married. As long as no women stayed with them, there’d be no danger.

The village was roughly circular, with a massive ancient camphor tree at its center—though for some reason it had long since died, its bark completely stripped away, standing bare and ghostly white.

In the night, this dead tree looked like a monstrous, clawed demon.

The old man led them past the dead camphor tree a short distance, then pointed with his tobacco pipe: “There.”

Uncle Jiao’s house consisted of two crumbling thatched huts, pitch-black inside, no oil lamp lit.

“Thank you, Uncle.”

The old man waved dismissively, clutched his tobacco pipe, and shuffled off, puffing away.

Xu Yuan stepped forward and knocked: “Uncle Jiao.”

A voice replied from inside: “Who is it?”

“I’m the man Zhang San introduced a few days ago—I’m here to collect goods and need to stay overnight. I’ll pay.”

Footsteps approached the door, then it opened. A man in his forties sized Xu Yuan up: “Fifteen copper coins per night.”

Xu Yuan pulled out the coins first: “I know the rules—I pay upfront.”

Uncle Jiao took the money, left the door open, and told Xu Yuan to enter while he rolled up his clothes: “You sleep here. I’ll squeeze into my son’s room.”

Uncle Jiao had neighbors on both sides. Wu Haishan gave a signal, and the others began knocking on doors, asking prices to settle in.

The house on the left opened. It was only a mother and daughter; the mother answered, her face a sharp inverted triangle, eyes set high, slender and elongated—she looked like a praying mantis.

“Fifty taels.”

“What?!” Wu Xiu thought he’d misheard.

The mother reached to shut the door. Wu Xiu quickly blocked her: “Others pay fifteen copper coins—you want fifty taels?”

“That’s our price,” the mother said stubbornly.

Wu Xiu bit back his anger: “This is unreasonable. How about this—I’ll give you a hundred copper coins. Much higher than your neighbor.”

The mother’s eyes darted as she studied Wu Xiu: “You really want to haggle?”

If I don’t haggle, I’m an idiot! Wu Xiu thought.

“Alright then. A hundred copper coins is fine. Come in.” The mother suddenly became warm.

Wu Xiu muttered inwardly: “Truly, poor mountains breed cunning folk—they think I’m an easy mark.”

The other two stayed in the house on the right, where one man had a broken arm and they lived together for mutual support.

This family consisted of a couple raising six children—four were quadruplets aged six, the other two were twins aged four.

A set of quadruplets, a set of twins.

Both parents had round faces and round eyes, but sharp, pointed mouths—looking like a pair of owls.

They demanded “two pigs.” After bargaining, they settled on one hundred and fifty copper coins.

After settling his men, Wu Haishan led Aguang toward the back of Uncle Jiao’s house—there was another household there.

Wu Haishan couldn’t help whispering to Aguang: “Do all the villagers in this village demand outrageous prices?”

Aguang replied solemnly: “The people of Wangxiang Village are honest and fair—old and young alike! They never cheat or overcharge.”

Wu Haishan was about to mock him when he suddenly felt something was wrong. He spun around—and saw a dark silhouette crouched on the branches of the giant dead camphor tree. In the darkness, two yellow eyes glowed, its body covered in feathers, staring fixedly at him.

Wu Haishan stumbled backward, nearly tripping over his own feet.

But upon closer look, it was just a tall old man, draped in a cloak stitched from feathers, wearing spectacles with yellow crystal lenses and copper-rimmed frames.

Wu Haishan whispered again: “Is this the Wangxiang Village’s mountain runner?”

“Yes,” Aguang replied.

The old mountain runner crouched on the branch, fixedly staring at Wu Haishan. Wu Haishan dared not speak another ill word about the village.

At the door of that house, the owner demanded thirty taels. Wu Haishan didn’t even dare to haggle—the old mountain runner’s gaze behind him felt like twin blades pressed against his spine—he quickly paid the silver.

Once inside, the feeling vanished. Wu Haishan exhaled deeply.

After resting awhile and relaxing, Wu Haishan felt the blisters on his arm burning sharply. He pulled out a small silver knife, intending to pierce and treat them.

Just before he acted, Wu Haishan suddenly hesitated and asked Aguang: “Can I pop them?”

Aguang answered: “No. Zhang San’s blisters contain consumption. If you burst them, you’ll catch his lung sickness—you’ll die within a month.”

Though Wu Haishan believed his Golden Core cultivation could heal illness, he thought better of it and decided not to risk it.

“Then how should I treat them?”

“Bring gifts, apologize to Zhang San, and he’ll take the consumption away.”

Wu Haishan asked: “Where does Zhang San live?”

“I don’t know,” Aguang honestly replied. He was only a wine delivery boy—he knew only the old mountain runner, not the other villagers.

In Ghost Witch Mountain, this was the one advantage Xu Yuan had over Aguang!

Xu Yuan had dealt with many merchants and knew the village far better.

Wu Haishan couldn’t help cursing: “Why didn’t you warn me when he was here… Bah, forget it.” Wu Haishan took several deep breaths, then muttered again:

“This mountain is truly cursed!”

(End of Chapter)