Chapter Seventeen: The Elder in the Black Robe

At a glance, it was obvious Qian Xiaozhen was trained—she didn’t just charge blindly, but wove through the crowd with precise, deliberate steps. After playing so many days of this game, I figured handling a single man should be no trouble. Besides, D was from the Spirit Investigation Bureau, and Qian Xiaozhen was with them.

What I hadn't expected was that the crowd kept growing, even a few elderly folks joined in, brandishing broadswords as they came at us.

“Aren’t we just passersby? Why the hell are they trying to kill us?” I muttered, back to back with Qian Xiaozhen. Honestly, I was completely spent, and it seemed the exhaustion had set off my old cough.

“You go first, I’ll cover you,” Qian Xiaozhen said, readying her fighting stance again before plunging back into the throng.

After a few more rounds, my body was riddled with wounds large and small. Qian Xiaozhen was no better—despite her training, fresh cuts now marred her skin.

“Go! Now!” she shouted, twin swords whirling as she called out to me again.

I may not be a hero, but I couldn’t bring myself to abandon a teammate.

The crowd pressed tighter. Eventually, someone landed a heavy blow to my head, and I blacked out.

When I came to, it was in a haze as a cold basin of water doused my head.

In front of me stood a crowd of villagers, old and young, but they all wore the same sinister look, as if they meant to tear me to pieces. I was bound to a chair, with Qian Xiaozhen slumped unconscious beside me. To my shock, the old man who’d taken us in the first night was also tied up, looking badly beaten.

As soon as they saw I was awake, their eyes filled with even greater hatred.

Then, as if rehearsed, the entire crowd parted to form a path down the center. From the back, a young man strode forward, handsome and arrogant.

When he reached the front, the villagers all bowed deeply to him.

Was he the village chief?

He called for paper and pen, scribbled a few quick lines, and held the paper up for me to see, nodding as if urging me to read.

I glanced at the characters—his handwriting was a far cry from the old man's: bold, forceful strokes compared to wild, careless scrawls.

I managed to piece the meaning together: “Why are you here? What’s your plot?”

After reading, I thought for a moment and replied, “None of your damn business!”

I couldn’t afford to lose my nerve now.

The young man’s mouth twitched, and the crowd behind him seethed with anger.

I added, “We just wanted to see what secret keeps you all from speaking.”

Before I could go on, another figure emerged—a gray-haired elder, swathed in a voluminous black robe, gripping a wooden staff. I could even sense a spiritual energy emanating from him.

The old man paused when his eyes met mine, then waved his hand. Instantly, everyone, including the young man, dispersed and headed home.

Many cast fierce, lingering glares at me as they left, including the young chief. Yet he seemed to glare not only at me, but at the old man in black as well, his eyes brimming with murderous intent.

...

“What’s your name?” the elder suddenly asked, breaking the silence. Surprised, I shot back, “How come you can speak?”

“There’s no reason. What’s your name?” he asked again.

“Lin Yao.”

“Lin Yao... a good name. Why are you here?”

Question after question—though I’d answered them so many times already.

“I’ve said it over and over. We came to find out why the villagers don’t speak.”

This chapter’s just over a thousand words, heh. Tomorrow, there’ll definitely be more. Definitely...