Chapter 80: Spending the Night at Lanruo

Qian Chen walked along the path straight ahead, covering roughly an hour’s walk for an ordinary person, until he spotted a village. The night was deep, and the village had long been abandoned, littered with crumbling walls and broken foundations; Qian Chen even saw numerous unburied white bones scattered among the ruins.

“It seems the Lord of Reincarnation didn’t drop us randomly—there must be clues nearby.”

Qian Chen stared for a moment at the shadowed skull in the ruins, then turned his gaze to a larger courtyard, where faint bloodstains still marred the remaining white walls.

If the shattered skull, torn apart by force, could be blamed on wild dogs feeding on the villagers’ corpses, the blood splattered across an entire wall left no doubt in Qian Chen’s mind—he could clearly picture the victim’s upper body violently spraying against the wall under immense biting force.

“Is this… a demon?”

Judging from the ruins, the disaster here had occurred over a decade ago; all demonic or evil qi had long since dissipated.

Yet these lingering traces within the ruins could reveal far more.

“Since the Lord of Reincarnation sent us to Tian Sha Peak, he won’t have placed us too far from it. The signs of demonic activity here suggest the anomaly at Tian Sha Peak is tied to demons. If I were an ordinary reincarnator, I’d start my investigation from this destroyed village—track down the demons, and I’d surely find clues to the peak’s anomaly.”

“But now, completing the reincarnation task is secondary; my priority is preparing for Miao Kong’s inevitable attack and setting traps to kill him.”

“If my guess is right, the difficulty of Main Quest One isn’t about reaching Tian Sha Peak…” Qian Chen looked up at the distant, pitch-black mountain. The peak stood like a celestial pillar—massive, dark as forged iron, heavy and majestic.

“It’s about finding the anomaly’s clues—and choosing a faction along the way.”

“That means all reincarnators won’t be scattered far—they’ll all be near Tian Sha Peak… which leaves me little time.”

Qian Chen risked soaring dozens of zhang into the air on black mist, scanning the surroundings, and spotted another ruin far off.

He skimmed low to the ground, landing to find a ruined temple: its halls and pagodas had collapsed; aside from several half-caved-in rooms and a pagoda reduced to nothing behind them, only broken statues of lions, great peng birds, Weituo, and Mingwang remained, buried under waist-high weeds.

Yet the bamboo grove in the southeast corner and the wild lotus roots in the Merit Pond grew lush and vigorous.

Qian Chen glanced at the temple, now utterly uninhabitable, and nodded in satisfaction—the faint traces of devotional energy still clung to this Buddhist forest, weak but sufficient to mask magical fluctuations. From his sleeve he pulled out a newly crafted paper doll, pointed at it, and it transformed into ten muscular men with yellow headbands.

The Gold and Silver Children leapt joyfully from the gourd at his waist and directed the Yellow Band Warriors to repair the temple.

The Yellow Band Warriors were immensely strong; Qian Chen used cinnabar dust to summon nearby wandering ghosts to assist with hauling, even drawing bricks and tiles from the abandoned village dozens of li away. He buried talismans one by one within the main hall’s Buddha bricks, inscribed with sutras. If any high Buddhist master saw him hiding Daoist talismans inside Buddha-carved scripture bricks, they’d have shattered his skull with a monk’s staff long ago.

Qian Chen hid the Spirit Mirror atop the newly repaired main hall and summoned the Qinghong Sword. Beneath the moonlight, the Qinghong Sword glowed pure white, its blade barely two inches long—no wider than a blade of leek.

Qian Chen selected the lotus with the strongest spiritual energy from the Merit Pond and placed the Qinghong Sword at its center.

With a finger point, the blooming lotus petals folded inward, reverting to a bud.

His mysterious gateway flared, revealing the Guanghan Ice Soul Pill—a crystalline, ice-bead external elixir that, under moonlight, reflected a soft glow. Standing inside the hall, Qian Chen seemed to have summoned two moons—one within, one without. The Guanghan Ice Soul Pill emitted a clear, chilling radiance; he pinched it between his fingers and held it toward the moon… the ice bead merged with the moonlight, which flowed through the ice into his eyes, serene and gentle.

When Qian Chen moved his hand away, the ice bead had vanished…

Yet the repaired half of the Lanruo now glowed with even purer moonlight; the Merit Pond and courtyard shimmered with soft, watery radiance.

Lanruo… meant an abandoned temple.

Qian Chen scattered ten thousand golden grains of sand, which drifted gently into the deserted, weed-choked courtyard. His flowing sleeves transformed into the sleeves of a black Daoist robe. Now, only the artifacts left by Miao Kong remained on his person: the White Bone Relic hung around his neck, the Long Que Ring encircled his wrist, the Seven Fiend Flags gripped in his left hand, the Soul-Binding Rope tied at his waist, the Tian Luo Umbrella strapped to his back, restored to its original form, and the Black Iron Evil Hook concealed in his sleeve.

He must make Miao Kong feel secure… at ease…

Other artifacts, like the Two-Realm Bronze Tablet, had too few sealing layers and were useless in combat—he wouldn’t waste time setting them up.

Once all the traps were laid, the temple was half-repaired.

The main hall was spacious; the side monks’ quarters stood with doors slightly ajar. Qian Chen casually disguised the new repairs, leaving only the appearance of a dilapidated mountain temple—spiders had spun webs across the doorways, thick with age.

Qian Chen entered the main hall, planted the black banner behind him, lit a small fire, and said to the air: “Go your own way.”

The Gold and Silver Children returned to his waist; the ghosts dispersed; the Yellow Band Warriors turned back into paper talismans, burning instantly in the fire. Qian Chen sat cross-legged before the flames, facing the hall’s entrance, eyes closed, resting, gathering his strength, preparing for the coming battle.

He went to such lengths because he didn’t understand Miao Kong’s methods. From the annihilation of the Louguan Sect, he knew Miao Kong acted swiftly—if Qian Chen laid traps and Miao Kong unleashed a Nine You Demon Fire, everything would be wasted. But if he created a location tied to the quest’s clues, reincarnators, valuing such leads, would instinctively avoid destroying them.

But Qian Chen hadn’t anticipated that Miao Kong wouldn’t arrive immediately—someone else had discovered this temple, the only sign of human presence for hundreds of li…

Qian Chen’s spiritual sense had always enveloped the entire temple; when he sensed sword qi slicing through the air, he knew the wielder would descend to investigate—and the sword qi was pure, even purer than his own. When the man reached the doorway, Qian Chen feigned sudden awareness, lifting his head with wary eyes.

After a few breaths, a middle-aged scholar pushed open the hall door. Seeing Qian Chen in black robes, his aura dark and reeking of blood, the scholar frowned slightly but still bowed and said: “Apologies for intruding at this hour—I beg your forbearance. This is the only place for miles to rest; I humbly ask for your permission to stay.”

Qian Chen replied coldly: “This place has no owner—I’m merely borrowing it for shelter.”

The scholar bowed again, then entered, gathered some firewood, and lit another fire. He placed a soft pouch at his waist beside the flames.

The two exchanged only those words, neither probing whether the other was a reincarnator.

By midnight, voices came from outside: “Ah! There’s a temple here… strange. Why didn’t I notice it before? There’s firelight inside… We lost that band of demons anyway, and it’s late—let’s spend the night here! Also, warn whoever’s inside to watch out for demons.”

The man reached the hall door, sniffed, and said: “Trouble—there’s blood here!”

Immediately, a young Daoist burst in, wearing a lotus-leaf headband with its top rising upward like folded lotus leaves. He wore only a coarse Daoist robe, cloth shoes, and bindings of armor on his calves, his body streaked with mud and blood. He scanned the hall, then locked eyes on Qian Chen, raising his talisman sword.

Behind him entered a man around thirty, dressed as a swordsman.

He glanced at the two inside, first wary of the white-robed scholar, then, seeing Qian Chen’s sinister appearance and reeking blood, his eyes flashed with cold light: “This man looks like a demon, reeks of blood—he’s no good!” He raised his sword to charge, but the young Daoist blocked him: “Brother Liang, don’t act rashly!”

He turned to Qian Chen and bowed: “Friend—are you human?”

Qian Chen gave a slight nod, maintaining his taciturn persona: “Of course I’m human.”

“If you’re human, then don’t ask so many questions on the road,” the young Daoist lowered his sword and bowed again to both men: “I’m Zhiquiu, a Kunlun Daoist. I lost my way chasing demons and passed through here—I beg you to let me rest a while.”

“We’re all guests,” the white-robed scholar nodded. “By all means.”