Chapter 1: Deep Mountains, Ancient Tomb

North of Danzhou, Zihui Mountain.

Lightning split the sky, and raindrops the size of soybeans pounded the old tent, crackling loudly.

Xie Jinhuan lay on his ground mat, head foggy, throat raw as if he’d swallowed a blade, croaking:

“Father… Father~~… Old Bastard?!”

“Where is everyone? Off to the government office on duty?”

Xie Jinhuan called out to the servants and maids again—still no reply. Thirsty and parched, he gritted his teeth, pushed himself up, and fumbled for the teapot.

But as soon as he reached out, he froze.

Torrential rain poured down, shaking the tent fabric violently. A single candle hung at the tent entrance, illuminating several ground mats inside—and a corpse outside!

The corpse lay beside the dying fire, clothes torn, face caked in blood, an iron mace piercing his chest and pinning him to the ground.

The iron mace was pure silver, its rounded haft carved with beast motifs, inscribed with the words “Tian Gang”—his own weapon…

Shit, what the hell did I do?!

Xie Jinhuan bolted upright, glancing left and right—only then did he realize he lay inside an unfamiliar tent, surrounded by pitch-black deep mountains and ancient forests, a sword clutched in his hand, while his mansion, his bed, his lackeys—all gone.

What the hell place is this? Was I kidnapped?!

Xie Jinhuan was utterly bewildered, but as his mind cleared, memories returned:

More than a decade ago, he’d been reborn in the capital of the Daqian Empire, his father a Battalion Commander of Wanan County, his mother long dead, him the only son…

A man reborn—how could he submit to others? At three, he vowed to outwork every local native!

At sixteen, he’d accomplished nothing, and followed his father’s transfer to Lingnan—along the way, they encountered a demon…

And then nothing.

The last image in Xie Jinhuan’s memory was still himself fleeing through the forest, chased by a demon.

The next instant, he was lying here, a corpse laid out before him.

What happened?

Didn’t escape the demon—did I restart again?

This won’t do—I barely made it to puberty, haven’t even tasted the salt and pepper of a wealthy lady’s life…

Sensing something was wrong, Xie Jinhuan raised his sword like a mirror, using the candlelight to examine his reflection:

Good—he hadn’t changed much. He was still himself.

But he was clearly more mature, and much taller…

Had years passed?

Xie Jinhuan frowned, straining to recall recent events—he couldn’t even tell if his father was alive or dead. He turned his gaze to the corpse outside, trying to assess his situation.

Splash… splash…

The torrential rain washed the blood from the corpse’s face—its pale features still bore traces of the terror it felt in life, but the face was unfamiliar.

Blood seeped from beneath the corpse, slowly draining toward a nearby cave entrance.

The entrance lay beneath a small mound, resembling a “tomb”—but its interior had completely collapsed.

Judging by the tent’s furnishings, four people had camped here, at least three days. His clothes were clean—he must be an outsider.

Seeing this, Xie Jinhuan could roughly reconstruct what had happened:

This group were tomb robbers, digging here. He arrived mid-operation, a conflict erupted, the tomb collapsed, three men were buried inside, the old Daoist escaped—and was stabbed by him at the cave entrance…

“But why did I come here?”

Xie Jinhuan felt like a drunk with amnesia—he remembered nothing recent. Examining the surroundings, he realized the power displayed here didn’t match his own.

To gain an edge from the start, Xie Jinhuan had begun striving even while sucking his pacifier—not just martial arts, but also music, chess, calligraphy, painting, astronomy, geography, demeanor, speech, physique…

His goal was to become a complete man—but the result was mastery of nothing.

Because other pursuits consumed too much time, he’d only barely reached the eighth rank of martial cultivation by sixteen.

His only achievement: since childhood, he’d paid attention to his appearance and speech—he was handsome, well-dressed, spoke pleasantly. Every lady who met him remembered him vividly. He was charging headlong toward becoming a “Lao Ai”…

But from the scene’s traces, he’d killed the old Daoist with a casual strike, barely exerting himself—his strength must have increased a hundredfold over what it once was!

Did I fall into Laozi’s alchemical furnace?!

Xie Jinhuan felt a primordial force within him, strong enough to kill a female dragon—his confusion deepened.

Unable to recall the cause, he rummaged through the tent, searching for clues.

What he found clarified his situation—but also revealed something terrifying.

Besides gear and tools, the tent held some documents and a disciple’s tomb-robbing journal.

According to the journal, the current year was Jingning Eighth Year, autumn—he was nineteen and a half, three years since his father’s transfer to Lingnan.

They weren’t in the remote southern frontier, but in Danzhou, only a hundred miles from the Capital Prefecture.

As he flipped to the latest entry, a few crooked characters came into view:

August 5: Master located a dragon vein and discovered a grand tomb behind Zihui Mountain. He suspects it’s where the True Person Qixia entered her death-seclusion—inside must lie profound arts and priceless treasures…

August 8: Today we broke ground and reached the tomb gate. It bore a Daoist seal—like a demon-sealing talisman. Master says it was meant to prevent Qixia from falling into demonic madness during her seclusion…

August 9: Dreamed. Met a red-clad female demon—big chest, fat ass. I felt she liked me. Too bad Master slapped me awake and we kept digging…

August 9, night: The tomb gate finally opened. Inside were many female burial goods. In the center stood the demon-sealing coffin, atop which was planted the Zhenglun Sword—lost for a hundred years on Zihui Mountain. Truly a treasure. Must find a way to pull it out…

The record ended here.

“Demon-sealing coffin, red-clad female demon, Zhenglun Sword…”

Xie Jinhuan had known since childhood that the Daqian Empire teemed with demons and monsters. Seeing these terms now, his heart lurched—he glanced at the sword in his hand:

The blade was three feet three inches long, entirely ink-black, inscribed with the words “Zheng Lun…”

Wasn’t this the sword from the demon-sealing coffin?

Xie Jinhuan’s blood ran cold.

For this sword to be in his hands, the tomb robbers must have opened the demon-sealing coffin—and released the red-clad female demon.

His sudden appearance here might have been an attempt to stop the robbers’ folly—but he failed, was wounded by the demon, and lost his recent memories.

The event must have just happened. If the demon truly emerged, then she might still be nearby…

Thinking this, Xie Jinhuan’s heart turned half-frozen. He cautiously scanned his surroundings.

At that moment, an odd sound came from outside the tent:

Scrape… scrape…

It sounded like some unknown creature tearing at meat.

Xie Jinhuan’s face turned pale. He swiftly raised his sword, pointing it at the tent entrance.

Crack—

At that instant, lightning flashed across the sky, briefly illuminating the camp outside.

Under the torrential rain, the bonfire had gone out. The charred roasted rabbit, once beside it, had been dragged aside. A dark shadow hunched over it, pecking.

The shadow’s fur was as black as coal, like Meiqiu—only its amber eyes glowed with eerie luminescence in the lightning, like two floating ghostly flames outside the tent.

Xie Jinhuan studied it closely—it looked familiar. He ventured a call:

“Meiqiu?”

“Gujii?”

The black eagle, pecking at the rabbit, froze.

Perhaps fearing his master would catch him stealing and scold him, he quietly returned the rabbit to its original spot, then squatted in the rain, pretending to be on vigilant guard.

Xie Jinhuan nearly lost his soul. Seeing this, he nearly swore aloud.

The black eagle’s name was Meiqiu—Xie Jinhuan had bought her for half a tael of silver from the Bird-and-Flower Street in the capital, as his personal maid.

The merchant claimed she was a “Black-Winged Great Peng,” a divine beast with bloodline, and when mature, her wingspan would reach a thousand zhang, feeding on dragons.

But after Xie Jinhuan’s careful care, she’d grown into a “Black-Winged Fatso”—one foot tall, one foot around the waist, Zuiaichi “mushroom-braised flying dragon.”

Fortunately, the unscrupulous merchant hadn’t been that shameless—he hadn’t dyed a wild chicken to deceive. Meiqiu was genuinely intelligent: she understood human speech, and never lied—unless food was involved.

Xie Jinhuan had no time to scold his personal maid now. He grabbed his sword and stepped forward:

“Did you see a demon?”

“Guh?”

Meiqiu looked around, utterly confused.

Seeing this, Xie Jinhuan knew she hadn’t seen anything.

But according to the tomb-robbing journal, the red-clad female demon had almost certainly emerged!

His memory was fragmented—he couldn’t grasp his current situation. He dared not stay. He yanked the Tian Gang Mace from the corpse’s chest, then took the demon-sealing sword as his talisman:

“Let’s go. This place is haunted.”

“Guh~”

Meiqiu was extremely obedient. She snatched the roasted rabbit from beside the fire, flapped her wings, hopped after him, and vanished into the endless rain-soaked night.

As the man and bird departed, the camp fell silent. The eerie atmosphere of the mountains and wilds slowly faded.

As if some invisible thing had also left with Xie Jinhuan… from the deep mountains and ancient tomb…

(End of Chapter)