Chapter 46: Intercepting the Night Road

Several villagers were middle-aged, dark-skinned, short, and thin—the typical peasant look of these times—and whether from summer heat or sheer poverty, their clothes were coarse and barely covered their bodies.

The senior brother courteously welcomed them out.

“Good people, this is my third junior brother, who possesses some magical arts. These are my junior brother and sister; though they have only recently begun the Dao, they are exceptionally gifted. Since these are merely lingering yin spirits, it is no great matter—let my three junior siblings accompany you, hoping to resolve your village’s troubles.”

“Thank you, thank you.”

The villagers bowed repeatedly in thanks, then turned to look at Lin Jue and the others.

The third senior brother, usually fond of drink and carefree in life, now faced them solemnly, bowed, and said: “I am Li Miaolin. Since you have found us, we shall certainly do our utmost.”

“It’s rather far…”

The villagers lowered their heads, their humility toward the immortals mingling with fear that the immortals might refuse due to the distance, forming an awkward silence.

“This year’s harvest has been terrible; our village has produced nothing. We couldn’t afford to hire a cart for the true immortal, so you’ll have to walk—only reach us by tomorrow night or the morning after.”

“Then we’ll enjoy the scenery along the way.”

The third senior brother, weary yet serious, said: “Allow us to gather our things, then we’ll set off.”

“Good, good, good…”

The villagers nodded repeatedly, bowing low and daring not to speak further, guessing they would fetch talismans or weapons to exorcise demons.

Yet the third senior brother merely washed his face and took a wine flask and a few wild mountain fruits. Lin Jue returned to his quarters, thinking what to bring, but found almost nothing worth taking; finally, he picked up a firewood axe and a staff from the wall corner—useful for clearing paths, chopping wood, and as a walking stick.

“Will you come with me?”

Lin Jue finally looked at the fox in the room.

The little fox tilted its head, staring at him with bright eyes, as if unable to understand human speech.

“Then let’s go.”

The little fox immediately trotted closer to him.

Lin Jue gazed at the fox, now growing larger and more beautiful, and pondered: “I should give you a name, but I don’t know what to call you…”

“Ancients said beasts have names that arise from their own cries—you whimper and mew all day—hmm, no, I won’t name you that way.”

“There’s also the tradition of naming after origin—you came from the mountain, so perhaps…?”

“Tsk…”

“Ah! When I first saw you, the whole mountain was swept by wind—as if you came from the wind itself. Wind has another name: Fuyao. So for now, I’ll call you Fuyao. If your parents ever come looking, you can change it back.”

Fuyao means ‘to rise on the wind’; you came from Fuxiu Peak—‘Fu’ is ‘Fu’, and you’re a fox…

Lin Jue felt this name was perfect—three benefits in one.

“Your name is Fuyao!”

By then, they had reached the outer courtyard.

Behind him, the fox stared up at him, dumbfounded.

The group descended the mountain.

…

“These past few years, who knows what strange thing we’ve angered? Maybe we offended the gods above? Our village only had a tiny stream flowing in; during farming season, it barely sufficed. A few years ago, a great flood destroyed many fields. Though we went hungry that day, we thought the stream might become a great river, and our village would never lack water again. But instead of improving, the stream dried up entirely, and even our wells yielded no water. Without water, crops wouldn’t grow, and harvests grew worse each year.”

The villager walking at the front spoke as the group descended.

Originally, seeing several young Daoists—even two who looked no older than teenagers—they had felt uneasy. But then they noticed the fox trailing behind—foxes, in this era, carried all manner of legends; a Daoist walking with a fox immediately seemed extraordinary, and their unease eased somewhat.

“We can’t even fill our bellies, and no one can afford medicine. The elderly die one by one, and some of the young couldn’t endure either. The population dwindles, but the graves multiply.”

“Since spring this year, at dusk, black mist rises from the two grave mounds at either end of the village. At night, shadows move wildly within them—some recognized them as villagers who had died. At first we were frightened, but we merely avoided walking past them at night. They were our own people; what difference did life and death make? We never thought they’d do anything.”

“But after two months, those shadows began approaching the village—some even entered our homes. Someone saw a ghost in their house, someone fell ill, someone was killed. All say these people died of sickness or hunger, suffered greatly before death, and now, unwilling to rest or lonely beyond measure, they seek to drag others down to join them.”

The villager spoke, glancing back at the Daoists.

Lin Jue and the junior sister both looked at the third senior brother.

“Why look at me? Master told me to accompany you down the mountain. He didn’t say it outright, but I know—he sent me to guard you. He originally planned to send only you two. Do whatever you like—I’m too lazy to meddle.”

The junior sister turned again to Lin Jue.

Lin Jue thought a moment, then asked: “Have any villagers heard the ghosts speak?”

“Almost none. Those who claim to have heard it contradict each other—I think most are just terrified, or babbling nonsense.”

“Have you ever summoned others?”

“With our village’s condition, how could we afford it? The village head’s eldest son trained in martial arts since childhood—he’s strong and brave. Last month he returned, saw the ghost shadows entering the village, drew his blade, slashed—and the shadow scattered. He gathered several young men, rushed to the grave mounds, and slashed wildly—scattering all the shadows.”

“And then?”

“It did no good. The next day, they reappeared. The elders say ghosts fear strong qi—their blood and vigor did scatter the ghostly aura, but it reformed the next day. Someone said Fuxiu Pavilion on Yishan has powerful, kind-hearted Daoists, so we came here asking for help.”

Lin Jue now understood.

Over the past month on the mountain, he had learned much about spirits and demons.

These villagers’ troubles were not true ghosts, but lingering souls.

Lingering souls are weak—like candles in the wind.

A martial man, bold and full of vigor, can scatter them with a single slash—but martial men may handle demons, yet are powerless against yin spirits and wandering ghosts, because blades cannot strike what has no substance.

Unconsciously, they reached the foot of the mountain.

In the distance, heat rose—like someone had set fire.

But Lin Jue knew: it was a hot spring.

Thinking of the hot spring below, he recalled the voice that had spoken to them from the woods.

Later, Lin Jue learned that many spirits on Yishan had cultivated for years, restrained by the Mountain God, never daring to cause chaos. Most lived quietly, cultivating or simply existing—many found it dull. They dared not speak to woodcutters, fearing to frighten them, or burdening their conscience, or inviting the Mountain God’s punishment. But when encountering Daoists, knowing them to be extraordinary, some with talkative natures enjoyed conversing.

That voice was likely the same.

Just as he thought this, the woods spoke again.

“It’s you two again?”

Same voice—clearly not human.

The villagers, heads down, were startled.

But with Daoists beside them, they merely exchanged glances, not fleeing in panic.

“Who’s speaking?”

Someone whispered nervously.

“Elder, we are fortunate to meet.”

Lin Jue bowed toward the voice’s source.

“You’ve changed your location today, yet we meet again—could it truly be fate?” the voice said.

“Where are you, Elder?”

“Why ask where I am?”

“… ”

“Since we met, I’ll warn you: from your talk, you’re descending to exorcise demons. Ancient texts record that where streams dry up, where mass graves, foxes, and insects gather, hidden death-qi resides. Your location is likely such a place. If so, it resembles yin-qi and ghost-qi, yet differs—be very careful.”

“Thank you, Elder,” Lin Jue replied calmly. “Might I know your name?”

The voice fell silent.

A pause. No one spoke.

“… ”

Lin Jue bowed slightly, acknowledging the warning.

Then they continued down the mountain.

He gradually understood why only middle-aged villagers had come to summon them.

The journey was long; young men lacked experience and might lose their way. Elders were too frail to walk so far. These middle-aged villagers were clearly the village’s best choice—strong enough to endure the trek, and trusted to have some competence, capable of navigating the path.

And indeed, as they said, it would take two days.

On the second night after descending—

When still over ten li from the village, dusk fell. Though a path avoided the two grave mounds at either end, the villagers—though strong—still felt uneasy, frequently glancing back at Lin Jue.

“Go on. Don’t fear.”

They had come to dispel these lingering yin spirits—eventually they must face them. Delaying would serve no purpose, only drain courage.

Better to proceed now—if they met, so be it.

Lin Jue had begun studying Fire Dao techniques with the second senior brother. Though not yet mastered, his Aversion to Fire technique had risen from “Medium” to “Superior.” Now, when he exhaled fire, he no longer needed to draw heat from flames—he generated fire-qi internally, making it far easier and no longer exhausting after a few breaths.

With this skill, if he encountered that dog demon again, even if it resisted, he now had far greater confidence to fight and win.

He had also begun practicing Yin-Yang Spirit Art; his internal spiritual energy now naturally divided into yin and yang, granting him strong innate resistance to ghostly yin-qi and its harmful methods, while his yang-qi inherently suppressed yin spirits.

His heart grew calm.

As for the spirit’s warning about death-qi—it was not vastly different from yin-qi or ghost-qi, and with the third senior brother beside him, there was nothing truly terrifying.

Further ahead, night fell completely.

A crescent moon hung in the sky.

With moonlight came illumination—enough to see the path—but the villagers still struggled to see clearly and grew fearful, so they lit two torches, placing them at the front and rear of the group.

The firelight illuminated the country path.

Alongside the road, pine and cypress trees cast dense shadows where neither fire nor moonlight could penetrate—pitch black. Grass thickets looked like figures at a glance; many grave mounds loomed—inevitably unsettling.

Lin Jue glanced at the junior sister beside him.

Though she had begun cultivation, she had only just drawn spiritual resonance into her body—knew no spells, had only just learned yesterday evening how to exhale yin-yang qi from her body. Naturally, she was afraid—but her fear showed no outward sign; she walked with solemn focus, eyes fixed straight ahead on the path.

Just then, a voice suddenly sounded.

“Yingwu?”

Only the sound of footsteps and torches burning filled the night, making this voice unusually clear.

But it did not come from beside the path, from the surroundings, or from anywhere else—it came from among the crowd.

It was the little fox walking ahead of Lin Jue.

Even Lin Jue was somewhat surprised.

Because this fox was exceptionally well-behaved; except during the first few days when they couldn’t find him, it never barked randomly. Later, perhaps because it could always find Lin Jue no matter where he was, or perhaps because it had grown a little and become more confident, less weak and helpless, it rarely barked at all.

Now it not only barked once, but also stopped, tilting its head to look ahead.

The villagers carrying torches ahead continued forward a few steps.

Those few steps pushed the torchlight forward, revealing an unusually large tree standing right on the path.

“This…”

The villagers immediately stopped, their faces filled with fear.

Because this large tree had grown directly on the path.

How wide could a country path be? Just enough for one person to walk—when two people met, they had to step aside. But this tree was as thick as a man, growing exactly in the center of the road. How could this be?

Who would build a road like this?

Who would walk like this?

Everyone turned to look at Lin Jue and his third master.

“A tree growing halfway along the path must be strange, but it hasn’t done anything to us. Maybe it came here thinking no one would be around at night, or perhaps it’s cultivating here and hasn’t had time to leave. Let’s just go around it.”

Lin Jue thought for a moment and said.

He also bent his head slightly, meeting the little fox’s gaze as it turned back, and nodded to it—acknowledging its alertness.

This little thing’s eyes were indeed sharper than a human’s.

So the group walked around to the side.

This country path had fields on either side; where there were fields, there were narrow footpaths, easily allowing them to detour.

But after walking only a few steps, the little fox barked again.

“Yingwu~”

The sound was soft and quiet—only because the night was so still.

The group took two more steps forward, and by the torchlight, they saw another massive boulder lying across the narrow footpath ahead.

“!”

The villager at the very front was startled again, now genuinely chilled with fear.

Seeing this, Lin Jue hurried forward.

He looked down—

The stone stood about one zhang tall and half a zhang wide, weighing countless jin, yet it rested entirely upon a footpath no more than a chi wide, with empty space on both sides—yet the path had not collapsed.

Clearly, this was unnatural.

And he understood: the little fox wasn’t just better-eyed than they were—it truly had something strange about it.

Naturally, this was also the conclusion his mountain masters had long reached.